Quote of the year
(not an actual quote)
Roman in a disagreement with Remus about which movie they are going to watch: what are you doing with that?
Remus in a calm yet agressive tone: well, I’m going to take this long spoon and scoop out your eyeballs and eat them. Then I’m going to puke them up and eat them again.
Janus and Logan used to their antics: pft- what did we just hear.
Remy: ok ladies, I’ll pick the movie.
Roman and Remus turns on Remy: no! We choose.
The night continued in chaos.
Silent as the wind, and using naught but the moon’s pale light to guide him, the assassin slipped his blade underneath the latch holding the window locked. Skillfully, he shifted his blade to undo this latch, allowing him to slide the window open and slip into the stuffy, dingy bedroom where his target lay sleeping. Footsteps yielded no sound as he moved over the floor to the bedside, and neither did his clothing as he positioned the blade above the man’s sleeping neck.
The man, who’d stepped into the wrong building at the wrong time earlier that day, couldn’t know that this was coming.
One swift movement of the assassin’s arm, and the sharp edge of that blade flashed in the moonlight. A splash of red followed, and the man’s head rolled and plopped to the floor. There’d been no time for him to loose a scream before his brain’s connection with his body had been severed, but the terrified look in those eyes, and the gaping mouth was plenty to indicate the horror he’d felt at the moment of his demise.
Tears brimmed in the assassin’s eyes at the sight of his handiwork, but there was no time to get remorseful. Lingering at the site would mean getting caught. Getting caught would mean the end of him. And that would be…
With a deep exhale, Nyb wiped the bloodied blade onto the blanket adorning the bed. Then, sheathing the weapon, he slid back out of the window and lowered himself onto the pavement below. His technique, mastered through so many years of practice, left him without so much as a bloodstain on himself.
Regardless, he felt the man’s blood coating his hands, combining with the blood of so many past victims to form the shackles binding him to this fate.
Muttering this, quiet enough so as not to stir up any trouble, Nyb continued on, down the street towards his next job. Manacles, that more often felt just as real as the blade he carried or the bracelet tightly bound to his wrist, dragged at his feet. He wanted to stop. No more he wanted to say. No more blood.
But of course life wasn’t that simple.
And unfortunately he’d made a minor miscalculation.
On his begrudging way to the next victim, he ran into a man. Stern-faced and with pink-ish hair. It wasn’t Nyb’s first time seeing him, and he knew vaguely that the man had something to do with Scepter 4. Part of him wanted to give everything up and turn himself in right there, but the self-preserving part of him disputed that and swiftly took to the shadows of the nearby building.
If the man saw him, he would have to talk his way out.
Wind gusted, and Nyb felt a wet trickle on his face. He didn’t remember coming into contact with anything wet.
He swiped at his face with a finger, and then brought it in front of his eyes to examine.
The miscalculation he’d made had gotten some of the man’s blood on his own face, and he hadn’t noticed until now. Too distracted by the weight of his sins to notice such a small detail.
The Marquise can locate where some of the parts came from. The eye from the body with both arms. The throat cut apart, clearly missing her vocal chords. The one… with… a heart removed. Ah. So something happened? Who took all of these corpses or living Mindfangs from their respective timelines to put them here? Who put her together again? Is her brain even her own? Does she have another Mindfang’s memories?
Maybe more pleasant ones.
It’s careful, detached observation. The mechanical arms are broken and rusted–she takes a picture to send to Dhanus. It explains the state of her own arm–not as bad, but enough that she fears she needs a replacement.
She might as well loot the place, taking pictures of some complex tools. Might as well try to find payment.
GORETOBER DAY 10: Impale
Shes good. No worries. 🏹
A key goes into the keyhole. It turns with fluid ease, as if the locks are broken in, and not stiff, or rusted and old. There’s a moment to wonder about how long this has been here, or the set-up. If… this is the same, but modified manor she knew when she was young or was this something else?
Does it matter?
The room is dark, not a source of light to see–but then? Then, oh, she wishes she never opened it.
There are eight tubes with bodies. HER body. Her. Parts of the arm missing from what she can see. Arms. Legs. Eyes. Horns. All of them disfigured and dismembered… but the eighth one is empty. Not a corpse in it–or at least she assumes.
Slowly, she enters further, looking to the left to see a table covered in her hue, dried–dried blood. It…
Her breathing, she has to remember how to do it as panic shoots through her because for the moment she can’t process what it means. Slowly, she shakily ventures in with fear in her heart and horror, no, terror at what has happened here. The implication is there. Someone had her. Someone put her back together–or–or tried many times with these bodies? Her? Alternates? Clones?
As she approaches the table she sees that someone has cleared away the blood in the form of letters.
*ONLY YOU SURVIVED*.
She dare not repeat it aloud, and slowly takes out her device to take pictures and send them.
What is this?
Vampire the masquerade player characters!
Hope you like my spooky boys