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Etched in Stone

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About Etched in Stone

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  • Birthday 12/15/1991

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    Depths of the Underworld
  • Occupation
    Writer, Poet, Musician, Composer, Student

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  1. Chateau De Choisel [Haunted Glen]

    The dark lord tenderly grasped Tatia along the slender hip, cupping her with a pale right hand as he leaned back on the stone cold floor with one of his legs. She was a reflection of himself in opposite gender. Unlike his mirror image that cast back skeletal grotesqueness, she was immaculately golden and shined with true beauty ... That of Choisel royalty. Tatia was the Eve to his Adam from the planes of the Underworld. As she was, his twin, contingent upon the fact they possessed the same Fallen Angel of a father Lucif and were procreated in almost unison, roughly minutes after the other. Yet, even as vampires of Pureblood existence with far greater capabilities of intelligence than average undead vampires, they knew only how to survive, kill, and create as they were bound in life. Feelings of compassion, the four letter word that Leinhart disdained down to his very core, love; all were which considered a weakness. These attributes took hundreds of years to develop once the civilization of mankind was set into the world. Only the codes and values of Hierarchy, and the behaviors of instinct were followed until then. “Quin is fine, I made sure of that. Scared her good Lein.” Her reassurance of Quinn's safety and lab filled the emptiness of his void and lack-of-beating heart slightly, with relief. As she touched his milk-white cheek bone she could read into his very core and if she dug deeper, his weaknesses would exploit themselves to her with his greatest, being her alone. Despite being considered an all-mighty and powerful Patriarch, even a perfect man found imperfections in his own creation. There wasn't enough satisfactory in him to be a contempt ruler, even his small gains in the short amount of time it took to acquire such was nothing to boast, nothing to hold pride upon. Those scarlet embers in his eyes tucked away all his vexations. That lack of emotion in his expression was a cover up, should she discern it now with her somatic senses and supernatural intuition. He held onto her silk gown with a half-lidded gaze in silence, the temptations of taking her now and then became a hard urge to suppress. Now, gliding the inch-wide talons of his opposing hand down the back of her spine, puncturing the flesh with small wounds of rolling blood equivalent to scratch marks. “I sent some of the staff to help her fix the clinic back up..” Yet, before he reeled his fangs into the crevice of her neck for an erotic bite he was disturbed in his foreplay. No other than the voice he recalled back in the Glen, the lady of Illmunosa Nova would come peeping in through the window as a raven bird ranting off as was this proof, she neither had changed since their meeting. Leinhart was furious about her popping out from nowhere when the main entryway was just out front, clearly she couldn't miss it. His bedroom overlooked the courtyard which lied directly before the castle's large doors. Giving headaches was what she was best at, though. However, this time he wouldn't tolerate the disrespect. "If I was paying for that I'd be sorely mad. I mean it wasn't exciting." While it took her time to jump from the window and reshape into her true self, the dark lord released his grasp on the Countess Tatia and with extraordinary agility, he found himself standing in front of Nova as she leapt towards the mistress to demonstrate her embrace. The right hand shot forward and latched itself around her throat, not to suffocate her she was an undead that didn't need oxygen, but rather to hold her ass in place so she didn't go squeezing herself out from the lock on his grip. His scarlet embers burned with intense flames in them. "You whore! I should have gutted you when I had the chance! Yet, it is never too late is it? I should feed you to the lab dogs and set restrains on you in the chambers of the dungeon, have you no idea what I can do. Regardless, if you're of Pureblood origins. I care not!" He stared at her menacingly with the dark coals burning in his eyes and a grave tone in his voice, had he not respected her earlier because she was a potential candidate for his rising, she would have had the sense beat into her like he wanted. But now, she threw all of that out the window.
  2. The Blind Wolf's Journey

    The alpha broke into a snarling charge on hind limbs with it's bulk arms seemingly dragging across the battlefield in his straight-forward direct assault. The beast shed great agility primed for carnage; Kenshi spared himself in further stillness. Twiddling thumbs over the ivory tsuka handle of his bladed edge he sat tight and anticipated, everything the wolf had to bring to the table. Yet, he would assume nothing. A Master swordslayer would only make a single calculative motion and nothing more. Mistakes came few and less often, but this was no man he was in a skirmish against; it was a beast in raw form whom craved bloodshed and moved instinctively off strong and unreflective drive or impulse. The fight would have been over before it nearly started, there was no doubt it. "Arghhhhhhh!!!!!" The alpha's main error and only mistake caused such a battle to be short-lived. By pouncing itself, lunging forward with claws prepped to deliver slashes or perhaps to ahold the Hanyo and tower him to the ground for a vicious chomping with it's shark-like incisors .... The beast was left open and unguarded not for a driving thrust to it's torso, which could have been a detrimental maneuver had it deflected the Katana. Kenshi read through it's bloodlust, it was an animal - a mad carnivore for one. Legendary, yes. But, it's behaviors were still extremely animalistic with only one intention in mind; take down the target, kill it. It had no reasoning, there was no sensible or logical way to do so other than by just .... doing it. While many would have been frightened to engage a beast of such ferocity and stature, Kenshi understood well it's nature and temperament. Thankfully, he was half human. He had the ability and a state of consciousness as well as, awareness. While he was still somewhat a demon monstrosity within himself, one major factor that differentiated the two was his aptness of judgement and astuteness, being able to turn situations into his own favor. As the beast went descending, he used this time to counter react and stepped aside pivoting the rear sandaled foot while he shifted his hips along with the rest of him to face the alpha more at an angle to it's own right. Not only did he pivot his body away from the werewolf, from it's upwards position he swung the katana in a shallow downwards arc. A small application of his yoki demonic energy increased the potency to a strike equivalent to the rather massive horse-slaying longsword, known as the Zanbato added with searing effects that would scald into the meaty fur-flesh of the werewolf like a hotknife cutting through butter. The plum hue of energy coated the blade as it went for the strike along the side of it's cervical vertebrae for an instant beheading. Long before the match began, the Shihan's cool calm and collective attitude went regarded as a weakness. Clearly, his size and such was an understatement that could not been taken back. The head of the alpha went rolling across the snow-fell terrain, splatting blood over the pure white scene while the body dropped limp and lifelessly to the ground.
  3. And we’ll dance underneath the Moon! [Renovatio Event]

    So you put him on blast like that smh.
  4. Dancing on Moonbeams!

    ~ "What journey? Apart from nearly getting killed in a shadow realm? Nothing. What did you expect? I'm not a warrior, Koji. Neither am I yours as to speak. You will never be able to control me and you know that." ~ It was rather disrespectful to not announce herself to the Hoga-Sha prior to engaging in conflict with the Dragon Emperor, Kenshi reacted by side-stepping from her view he was side-by-side with Chijono. Now, he stood 90' degrees to Arashi's right. Such a disruption in the air was perturbing to the Blind Hanyo, the sudden surge of profound emotions filled with vexation, loathing and unquestionable impatience found itself Izayoi, the infamous hundred-man body count of a Katana drawn at an impressible rate and delivery from the swordslayer's deft hands. You had to literally count the milliseconds it took to draw the blade from it's saya scabbard yet even then, it was too late! Unless, one could react accordingly. Still, from it's sheathed edge-up position coming up from the Ookami's left side of the body. With the other hand pulling away it's sheath his sword-drawing one pulled and made a single left-right cut across Arashi's unguarded neck in a seamless, flowing movement. The metallic audibleness was the only true evidence an attack was initiated. See, Kenshi remained obedient to the Heika up until coming to fruition that her trap, just wasn't going to ever close. Likewise while his memory recalled, she was the one whom attacked his concubine in Jigoku hence she was sentenced to her days in the Shadow Realm. The tip of the steel blade's kisaki was hopeful that blood would shed from her, hadn't Kenshi halted his swing just before penetrating the cervical vertebrae. Even then, he pressed it's metallic edge unto her neck in temptations of just killing her now and on the spot unlike Koji, he did not have to think twice on freeing her spirit into the ceremonious atmosphere of Avylon. Singularly, his hand remained in place upon it's ivory tsuka handle while his pearl white iris peered over to the Heika in utter chagrin and disappointment. "You should have killed her off when it was appropriate, my lord. Yet, I will not continue to listen to such racket. Neither do I hold any ties with the dragon-scum."
  5. Chateau De Choisel [Haunted Glen]

    The dark lord had to definitely clean himself up, not only his act and behavioral way of thinking due to his sudden urge for the one taste he had his goldenrod eyes on for a while behind the scenes, but it was also meant in the physical sense of things. This made him forget, not that he wished to remember any way, but this psychological method assisted him in coping with such and moving forward or he'd beat himself to death figuratively speaking. Before Tatia managed to enter the quarters of his bedroom the Leinhart shifted clothing from the luxurious scarlet tailcoat, to an exclusively tailored silk jet black linen suit and long scarlet tie with the handkerchief to match and compliment. Instead of his hair falling naturally with the part in the center of his head, he allowed his obsidian hair to ruffle every possible angle. The bangs of it's elongated wavy texture split in three separate segments upon the forefront of his charming milk-white face and his brilliant red ember eyes. He even stood a hand in the pocket of his dark slacks with the posture of some executive businessman. Clearly, this could not have been the Kronos whom just retaliated against Ms. Nash, but it was all in the flesh. The mirror reflected his true representation however, the grotesqueness of an undead skeletal. While vampires were told to sweep through areas undetected, prior to the Countess arriving just outside, he sensed her overwhelming presence suffocate the air with corruption and astonishing beauty. She was bound to him as Francine once was, vice-versa. Shifting on the heels of reptilian ebony skin he approached with caution and a very slow graceful step in the dimly lit room, hand still in pocket. He'd gaze through the shadow of her soulless spirit, though his eyes persisted in their bloody bright hue they were soft spoken and outright still concerned of his aforementioned actions in the medical lab. It was rare the Patriarch displayed any emotions at all with his rather lackadaisical and spiritless view points on life, which was righteous in it's own considering that even despite being a Pureblood he was still very well conscious even when if he hadn't necessarily been in a so regardful state. "I am fine, ma'lady. Better, that you're here with me now. How is Quinn holding to this?"
  6. The Shell of Great Sins

    Alice In Chains = Would "Wherever you please ma'lady, just don't get captured. I hear they have a department store if the two of you wish to go clothes shopping. Or the popular tavern that bustles with activity all hours of the day? Perhaps the Gardens Inc., where gnomes gather and deal heavily addictive cerebral drugs? Possibilities are endless here." All the while, the Patriarch was only being sarcastic, but by all means they were all free to roam as they wished wherever they desired. Despite her soft and musical voice, Leinhart returned with a rather lackadaisical carefree tone. Of course, the Vampyre whom guided them successfully to the Copper City knew their ways around if they were willing to risk it - but, was it worth the unwanted trouble? Indeed, Tatia had found her skin much more comfortable than her day of arisen with that insatiable lust for blood and death. She was recalcitrant and unstoppable with overwhelming strength that the Count had no other option, but seal her away in the chambers of the Chateau's dungeon, feeding her incalculable servants of Choisel until she regained her lost consciousness. That day, the dark lord came to grasp she was just as strong as he, if not, much more ferocious and bloodthirsty than himself. Though over the course of weeks she seemed to have calmed her wild side, taming the beast from within so-to-speak, she was still a Pureblood from the House of Choisel. The demon inside not once, ran it's course like a cold would. This curse was something she had been bound to, forever. Guess that was the beauty of it all as she was, a truly immaculate being; his twin counterpart and though he loathed the four letter word love, it was only a matter of time until he could no longer veil his tenderness and affection for her. "Yet I think it's best we stay together. Curiousity did, kill the Puss'. With Alistair heading on his own, my plate is full. Perhaps Ms. Nash would like a good drink or to sight-see?" The Count shifted his attention back onto the intriguingly youthful doctor gazing at her surroundings like a tourist. They were all, but tiny spectacles compared to the massive pillaring city. It was in her human nature to be so astounded by such grandeur steel architecture and she had every right to do so. As an entity over One thousand years of ageless life on earth, the innovations and inventions of mankind was so little fascinating. Yet, he had to be fair to her even if he didn't enjoy star-gazing so-to-speak. Faking the funk was better than his emotionless silvery pearl blank face. Keeping her happy and in good-spirits was a job he was obligated, unless he desired she packed her things and ran away from her works at the Chateau. Though, as difficult as it appeared, he put forth an effort in accommodating her every need. While Damien seemed a hard time to discipline himself in the human behavior, he wondered how he acted once they reached the general population of the city itself. That could, make or break the situation here. "Young Vandom, what do you suppose we do for the time-being?"
  7. Down With the Sickness (faction thread)

    System of A Down = Chop Suey "You're already dead, ma'lady. Even as soulless entities, I doubt the Hydra will actually physically, harm us. Not even, poisons are effective. Blood sacrifices to my father Lucif is what keeps us alive, corrupt and tainted. You have a contract you must abide by, especially under the House of Choisel. All of us do. Yet as a Pureblood, I must say, I'm rather less constricted to hold myself accountable. You see, my duty is fairly simple as the Count. I must pollute the lands of the nations, the airs, waters with our essence and vitality. You all are Pawns in this game of Chess dying in order to live, living just to die. As our newest member, soon you will understand the curse of immortality should you crave peace in a humble death. We are bound to suffer, it is the Sin we created amongst ourselves in order to sustain such eternal life." A light grin creviced unto pale thinned lips with glorious goldenrod eyes fixated on Arianna, an once innocently sweet daughter of a peasant farmer cherished by all men in her quaint town that wished to wed the beautiful virgin. It had been maybe months since she has been back at her homestead and like Tatia, she still was adapting to her newly formed body. He admired her unadulterated essence and was that reason in it's self, he proposed the offer of her immortality and riches. Not only did it affect her own personal life, but he was more than enough secure on the fact that her family had to no longer plow the lands and would afford the appropriate medicines for her illed mother. In a barrage of Crows, the dark lord descended swooping to the earth his form granting the near instant ability to morph into haunted minions be it vampire bats, or ravens, in almost the blink of an eye across a distance being grand or small, without exerting much his Nether in a sufficient and easy manner. Leinhart landed upon his cowhide loafers one foot after the other, regressing back to his former corporeal self the tail from his coat finally ceased to drift from his great trajectory atop the cathedral. He brushed his fingers down the coat and gave a brief look to double check his shoes weren't matted with dirt. Little did these vampires care to know, the Patriarch was all about appearance. Sometimes good, sometimes bad and though his mirrored reflection shed light on the skeletal grotesqueness of his true form, he was not once caught out as a public figure looking sloppy. Despite having no true working cerebro he remembered the dusk evening like it was no tomorrow, rising from the catacombs of his own Hell the day of his procreation and the look upon his father's face prided that his son would claim the mortal realm in ways his own lack of material substance could not. Unlike himself, his father was not of flesh or bone, but of an incorporeal darkness restricted within his own planes of existence. He was and forever would be, the Fallen Angel. - "Good evening, Young Master." - While the thousand undead marched the front lines separate in divisions each horde trooping a maximum of five hundred dark legionnaires, the Patriarch had familiarized himself with that voice once before and then he recollected his arrival upon the soils of the Haunted Glen. Yes, no other than the Butler Sebastien of House Vandom. To his own amazement, the vampire brought with him a platoon of hellish creatures under the complimentary commands of Master Vandom to accompany his travel towards the northeast section of the region, the majority being freshly turned vampires. Could it been the Vandom and Choisel Pureblood families were on their way to forming an alliance? The Patriarch ignored the intemperance from the young Vandom in his addressing of the dark lord himself he received no words from the Kronos, only a half-shitty grin that spoke more of sarcasm than in actual appreciation. It was true, the kid was getting rather comfortable in his own skin enough to have wanted to speak to Lord Choisel as if he was conversing with his own father. Yet, that was not the case. Of course, over enough time spending with the child he realized he was in fact, just a kid after all in spite his lack of social teaching and consideration for the hierarchy of vampires. It was that reason he spared the boy his life from day one. Unlike the young Vandom, Sebastien surely had enough common sense to address his own with the proper etiquette. In that reason alone, he gave acknowledgement to the butler upon his arrival followed by a brief few words. "Your Master understands my cause, yes? Excellent. Send him my gratitude once this is over." Still, the Count had not moved from his position prior and his infinite goldenrod gaze fixated itself upon Alistair his only sired son. He read through the Keeper like a book, his worries, expectations and thoughts. Second to only the Countess Tatia due their sharing of a father. He never once made mention of it, but Alistair was his most valuable possession. Faithful and devoted always for the cause, Leinhart bestowed upon him via his own supernatural capabilities a reassuring sense of clarification so-to-speak. Surely more than capable of handling his own, though now was not the time to question any thing; soon, he would find all his unanswered questions with solutions. ~ Give it time, Son of Istrefi. The dark lord made note of the not-so-familiar presence looming in the vicinity with her malevolent immense prowess. It was like a disruption in the calming air, yet he worried the least upon the evidence she was not a threat towards he or any member of his House, nor Vandom. Neither would he go addressing himself to her, not every action needed a reaction and her arrival was clear whom she had been looking for. A little under a quarter mile ahead the few vampires who remained stationery along Leinhart, the dark legionnaires were on the move trampling the ground with each step. Mind you, their numbers were now approximately Two thousand and One hundred, once the company of Vandom joined the ranks and marched. Unlike humans and those that required a great deal of stamina to keep such a timely pace, these undead creatures moved off hunger, thirst, and insatiable forces of adrenaline. From here-on-in, time is of the essence.
  8. Dancing on Moonbeams!

    "Perhaps, my lord. Perhaps." A small grin creviced it's way unto his pinkish lips as he recalled his previous warlord Tadokuro, a man who aspired almost the same as his current. Yet, as a human couldn't battle past his own particular mortal imperativeness. Killed by a gathering of ninja amid a period that was assume to been of peace, deceived and tricked, on that exceptionally same eve Kenshi was the special case whom refused to commit seppuku in hopes to later retaliate for his late master. It was a frosty winter night, in the wake of finding the guilty parties required with Tadokuro's passing about sixteen days after the fact, he engaged the person who had delivered the gift of a sealed box executed as a detonating device that wiped out nearly the whole pagoda. Kenshi drew his sharp edge with a solitary right hand even after the culprit begged for his own life unarmed and unmanned. He charged forward of hand grasped around it's ivory handle of Izayoi and a particular push through the silk attire of the traitors chest was all it took to pull away his life. The man died with little suffering as fast as the blow was given. The firecrackers detonated over the nightly sky illuminating the yokai's milk white flesh and his amazingly featureless white iris' in a fiery blaze of faded grand lights. The half-demon found little to none enthusiasm towards it, not that he didn't appreciate the celebrations in general, yet it was fairly hard to fixate consideration on the celebration at such a period of difference amongst he and the lord of Jigoku. This was if not, the first occasion when they've extremely set down such differentiated perspectives not that it made a difference, but rather for once, the Swordslayer had really voiced his opinion to the youthful Master. Certain view purposes of which Koji and himself couldn't concur upon, didn't really mean they couldn't differ either. His face continued as before emotionless and cold as a man who found little beauty in the physical domain in the first place, not at all like the humans who were normally attracted to things that appealed them. Life itself was delightful with beauty. Demise in it's own particular right, held fascination. Koji wasn't wrong of Kenshi appearing more weak if not in the physical sense, surely in the emotional. Yet he had to understand that it was in his shugendo way to become so consciously aware. Spiritually, he was stronger than ever.
  9. Dancing on Moonbeams!

    What Heika said was just in part, right. The outsiders looking in might have thought it took the country much too long to gain such, yet it was not all that completely right. War and fight was a round of Chess, not Checkers. It was tied in with sorting out the bewilder. One of the Sovereign's issues was he stressed excessively on the wrong issue however, he neglected to ever acknowledge he did as such. His plate was sufficiently full and even with the Mugen third eye he bore covered past his brow, regardless, he couldn't predict everything and only one out of every odd thing was so effectively dealt with. Maybe that had been the Dragon Emperor's shortcoming? To go about as though the whole land mass of Genesaris didn't seek him dead and on a platter, to get over his shoulders as though he'd been a totally unfeeling mass with just yet, a couple of considerations to this exceptional world? Henceforth, it was a gift for the hanyo to fairly esteem his own particular life even as it was under the immense hazard of his own lord's doings. "I have invoked numerous dread into the incalculable killings from my sharp edges. However, what does that really inspire? You might be more youthful than me my Heika, however you are all around similarly as experienced and I won't address you further. However, I fear our foes will one day, outdo our country. We are, in the focal point of the Midlands should I remind you." The clamoring excessively swarmed city roads appeared to section a portal for the Heika and the Shihan whom didn't consider much it. For one, the yokai held his strict aura in his approach with his cutting blades sheathed in their respective saya and his head held modest, yet with much sense of pride and teach. He didn't try to draw in the people of Avylon and they felt his focused consideration. They were peons and unworthy of his chance, so-to-speak as issues here were entirely with the end goal of business. No questions, would they feel his grave idiosyncrasies which most likely was a reason they avoided pouring the hued chalk onto him or the Heika he took after behind. Also, it was evident Kenshi wasn't from these parts and he had no thoughts as where to head persay, walking with the group that appeared to head towards what everybody was alluding to as the Castle. A group of kids played in the boulevards with each other, some sword-battling with wooden edges. The adults appeared to extravagant their selves with drinks and the intoxications of the service itself. This place was energetic, loaded with extraordinary vivacious individuals whom all appeared to be excessively cheerful and delighted in by the city's celebration. However, Kenshi was unfamiliar to such and he trusted none so his primary goal was just getting to their destination in an orderly and safe manner. Cutting somebody up for meddling or venturing in the way of their goal was a feasible alternative, however he knew the Heika would have a comment about him drawing superfluous consideration which he watched over. On the off chance that it was regarded fundamental, he'd experience each and every individual inside the city hacking them down, one-by-one. It was his obligation. As Hoga-sha Gaurdian, as well as even as the eighth Omagatoki in which his right pointer sparkled with the metallic token of a ring to do as such by control of a professional killer. Definitely, he was no player and a long way from an instigator. In any case, in the event that it was one thing that the general population of Avylon read from his persona and lavender white eyes, it needed to been this once samurai implied business and strict-business. His own life didn't make a difference as a shame less warrior of the Tadokuro Regime. His resurrected one under the Jigoku Country and Datsuzoku Dynasty was a completely separate circumstance.
  10. Dancing on Moonbeams!

    "Just second to ..... ? Maybe, yet since when have they've contacted the warriors of our Country? We are new to Oo'xora's soils under the summons of Jigoku, I'd preferably allow them to consider us as weaker hopefuls than to be subjected as the strongest of all, regardless. Element of surprise is, the most deadliest fighting style my lord. We should beauty them with consideration as our own particular siblings and sisters, yet the minute they appear to be excessive with their own particular skin and words is the point at which they will get a venomous bite from the mythical Wolf and Dragon. Rest guaranteed as usual, I'm here to ensure your security Heika. In spite of the fact that I'm mindful, this festival will be of cheer more than of savage circumstances." The Imperial City was developing in reality, just like the Rising Sun dojo Kenshi trained as the Shihan or Sensei. Numbers were developing, unavoidably as it wouldn't have been long until the arrangement of things played totally to support them. The hanyo swordslayer dressed as needs be in his customary wears as it was his way of life to do as such and in spite of at which being an easternly warrior, he held himself and his grandness with the most extreme regard for their experiences. A light summer robe or Yukata in a snow-white silk half agape mid-path to his midriff uncovered the chiseled foundation of his abdominal area. Glimmering white pearls scanned the skyline for the nearing city pupiless in their enlargements with swell veins at the sanctuaries of his skin. Ironic enough, the Mountain priests alluded to them as the Infinitely knowledgeable Eyes, however this acquired visual deficiency was really both a blessing and revile. The half-wolf couldn't see such an extensive amount of the physical domain in an unmistakable range as one did with totally solid eyes. Rather, reflections were thrown back at him in two courses either dark for non-living for example, strong solid materials, or in shades of white wonderful lights that had layout every one that was living or spiritual yet, having some type of creation being insidious or great. As a profound warrior it was his shugendo approach to master the otherworldly ability of things, for example, his control of Qi or life energy and his indications of darker more degenerate material like yoki for his devilish vitality. During harsh and taught practices of meditating and awakening, accomplishing edification with the kamis amongst mankind and nature Master Kenshinobu figured out how to adjust to his blindsenses and even accomplish more prominent mindfulness and understandings of life and death so as to see through such contrasts. In that way it was as though the yokai had never really been visually impaired, or outwardly debilitated. Master Kenshi remained at a stature of roughly 5'7 tipping the scales at 145lbs soaking wet. Thin and mesomorph he was whether anything, progressively that met only the eyes. His long secures of obsidian fell separated the focal point of his head, falling the scruff of his neck with two voluminous strands to fall front of him. His feet walked in customary wooden shoes close by the privilege of master Koji's course not precisely in synchronization, a couple of ventures off on the off-chance that they marched one-two, one-two, he stood venturing on the three-four, three-four tally. Sufficiently odd, he didn't carry with him any warriors from the Rising Sun as he had done in Cobran for the occasions of whispernight which was not precisely something that had been arranged. In spite of the fact that on such a late notice, he could just figure out how to follow along himself and two steadfast cutting edges Izayoi, a steel Katana tucked in an ivory casing and One Thousand Winters, a shorter sword otherwise called the Wakazashi sheathed in a comparatively hued saya secured to his silk lavender sash or obi on the left half of his frame. A genuine swordsmaster would realize that one sword was a thousand swords in the correct hands and for that by itself, he went as he would in the country of Jigoku. A kasa or straw hat brimmed his countenance from uncovering his whole face, however it wasn't inspired by a paranoid fear of identification. Rather, it smudged any immediate daylight from hitting his eyes. His hands concealed in the folds of his yukata separately, his left in over the right while he walked coolly ahead towards the great city of Avylon. Before long, they would arrive upon it's forefronts.
  11. The Blind Wolf's Journey

    "I accept your challenge, halfling. You will be the primary example I set on the people. I've grown tired of these lesser beings. Perhaps, you're no different?" Words spilled out of the belly of the beast in a dim baritone voice before it jumped from the housetop with it's rear legs just to dive the snow stuffed ground about twenty or so feet from Kenshi's position. Unusually, it talked the human dialect with no obstacle in it's tongue. Debris heaved every which way upon it's property and though the swordslayer couldn't decipher the beasts details at large, the faintly sparkling white aura that was it's material frame spoke all of it's monstrosity. The alpha had been considerably more mammoth face to face, three times the extent of the normal weighted master Momoku and in stature overshadowed the visually impaired man with feet to save, not inches. It's substantial arms was about as wide as a standard weapon called the club if not, make that two clubs. It's jaws withdrawn wide nearly having no limits to how far they broadened. The hanyo was diminutive contrasted with the werewolf, a regular man to one's eyesight be that as it may. His soul remained unbroken and his position stayed firm in the snow with his feet dispersed pointing at an independent ninety degree angle. "You appear to be too certain that you'll crush me. In that case, let us begin." His right hand reached out to the left side of his obi in a smooth movement turning his wrist upon the grasp of the ivory tsuka. He pulled from the sheath, his steel Katana so that it was parallel to his bladed arm. A shallow slice would not be sufficient to bring down this creature alone, however Kenshi knew he just required one cutting edge to do as such; a solitary sword was a thousand swords in the correct hands. His left went putting fingers over the other as he took to a slight hunch and drew his hands close to his chest with the sparkling metallic cutting edge upwards. His pupiless white eyes closed while he took this minute to practice his stillness, calming his psyche to clear it from all contemplations. However, aside from of fight. Moderate breaths entered his body and pushed out calmly. The hanyo freed his spirit furthermore by unwinding and extricating his muscles, directing his mind waves into a harmonious state. He wound up one with the air, the snow and it's falling beads. This was his shugendo way; his awakening.
  12. Down With the Sickness (faction thread)

    People of the antiquated town spoke of the Gaian Folkore all before getting wrecked with the rest whom wished not to join the positions of Choisel. In endeavors to spare their own particular lives, they did their best to induce Leinhart and his dark legion that the city was in truth useless and nothing of fortune to him. Their specify of the legendary Sable, an unassuming man of Gaian Faith and how he killed the transcending eleven headed hydra was a confirmation of the Church and it's religious powers that the individuals who censured fealty to the House would soon enough, one day, get their requital. The general population even went further as to prevail upon the son of the fallen angel by letting him know of a fortune that lie in the core of a swampy surrender situated at Snake's Way and how the blessed sword still stayed in in tact well as the eleven headed hydra guarding it. What they wouldn't have known, the dark lord had enough wealth to spread to the whole city and a few others; that he was not inspired by neither the gathered fortunes found there nor it's sword. It was the appalling hellish creature that topped his enthusiasm for purpose of picking it up in his own support controlling it thus, to use against all whom trampled his direction and his plan to overcome what was the World. He envisioned the subjugation it held under his summon. The Patriarch dressed himself in his luxurious red tailcoat and slacks with his exclusively customized cowhide loafers upon his feet. His long obsidian twists of silk hair fell in it's ordinary way, free falling by the part amidst his head. His brilliant goldenrod eyes gazed at the numerous countenances in front of him, several creatures of the night from beasts, wendigos, banshees, vampires, spoiling bodies and apparition wolves stood anticipating orders from their ruler and master from what appeared to once been a massive Cathedral with Leinhart locking an arm around the figure of an extensive oak cross from it's rooftop sitting above his dark legion. "Let us march towards Ponkapoag River into the Upper east! We should take this hydra as our own."
  13. The factions are coming OOC

    I will be posting soon. I apologize. Activity is slowed for me. And honestly, I feel this role is way bigger than I imagined. Still trying to fill the shoes, persay. I'm not just going to write anything. So I've got to make sure my thoughts are solid. But, I will post. Sometimes you gotta' feel this things out. At least, myself. I got kids, I'm sure others do. I managed to find a steady job the other day. I know I'm pretty behind. I apologize.
  14. Chateau De Choisel [Haunted Glen]

    This was enough evidence to believe lady Quinn had possibly, never been in contact with a vampire before. At least not a pureblood of Leinhart's stature. He read through her mind like a book with many pages; her thoughts became exploited, her fears became his strengths, her interests became his desires. Cornering her to the back wall of the clinic single-handedly lifting her into the air, the pulsing veins in her neck throbbing against the cold apex of his palm as his grip tightened and became more detrimental. Give or take Doctor Nash had about fifteen seconds before she felt all life be suffocated from her which was an odd method of death for a vampire who fed on the vitality of others. The dark lord could have sucked away her lifeforces until she was wrinkled and withered as dry as a prune. Yet his crimson eyes lusted her bodies fluids and for that, he had to pierce those pearly white fangs into her flesh. Just then, before he sunk into her with uncanny incisors the book she had been holding the entire time became used as an old whacker against the back of the undead's skull. Mind you, the damage did very little if that was it's intended purpose however, it did allow him to free his grasp upon her throat so she wasn't choked to death bidding her enough time to scramble out of harm's way. While the slight blow to the head was a good maneuver to free herself, it did not knock the dark lord back into what human's called a conscious and aware state. "You've remained human long enough, it is time you joined us officially under Choisel House." Leinhart slowly turned on the balls of his cowhide loafers as dramatic as scenes played with bloody killers in horror films. For one, he wasn't about to play any game of tag and he surely wasn't going to chase her around the table that lie the cadaver. Instead, he lifted his right hand enough beneath the surface edge of said work counter and slung the piece across the other end of the room with it's corpse to fall somewhere between a wall and the table. Now, she couldn't use it to distance herself from him at all and the only thing that was between them literally, was air. That dull metallic ring however, it was like a dog whistle against the pureblood and he caught himself fighting between satiating his hunger while attempting to battle his own inner demons. He tried to block out the temporary sound by cuffing his ears as it was too overbearing. The countenance of his handsome features contorting to and fro the mirror image of an undead skeletal, flashing bits and pieces of the thousand year old vampire. Truly hideous, ghoul-like and with tendrils of ash black hair as written he was, the son of the Devil. The familiar voice of the Countess rang through his ears soon enough, however as soothing as it was it did not alter his current motive and thought. Sooo tied up with hounding Doctor Nash and himself, he failed to realize the woman had been standing behind him. It was almost magical the way she appeared with a hand on his chest holding him still for the time being. That same hand raised to grapple Tatia around her own neck that bell drove him even into a more maddened state, however, as he hissed into her eyes with his bloodlust hues he remembered slowly her words sticking to him like glue. - “And, you’re not holding up to your promise..” - "I don't feel so well, excuse me." It was then, he released the Countess his eyes reverting back to their glorious goldenrod hue looking at his own destruction, the pulsing veins from Doctor Nash were no longer pounding in his ears as he soon felt a sense of guilt shroud over himself. He turned to face the Doctor, though his eyes were not as their unusual emotionless state. Instead, they poured out a slight grievance onto her. He wouldn't apologize, just yet, as everything was still registering in his mind he had attempted to harm Ms Nash. When his word had been bond, it was also broken. Heading towards the door to exit back into his bed chambers, his form vanishing into a barrage of crows once outside.