Path of the Vampire forum

Driiiiip……. Driiiip….. Drip….. drip…. Slow drips, one by one, splashing into the small pool beneath them were the only sounds in the dark, dead end alley. The sound was localized behind a dented rusty dumpster overfilled with the weeks garbage. A small, slow trickle edged from the pool, slowly picking its way across the macadam, following the cracks and contours as it made its journey towards the distant storm drain. It was a dark, viscous fluid, almost black in the few rays of moonlight that found their way through the clouds and rooftops to caress the alley’s base. A soft moan broke the silence as movement stirred behind the dumpster.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Thierry-Rene Talin pushed himself from the supine position he had been laying in, using the dumpster as support, the tall, muscular male finally wedged himself into a seated position. Blending with the dark chocolate tone of his chest, the dripping became faster as partially closed wounds tore open, releasing fresh torrents of blood coursing down his torso. His body was destroyed, nothing but low pitched moans interspersed his labored breathing, but still his mind was active, thinking back into the past. It was said at the moment of death, your life flashed before your eyes...but the blood soaked man found that he had to work at it, had to try to remember… Forcing his way back to the small boat his mother had purchased passage on, capsizing in sight of land, and his desperate struggle to make it through the crashing waves of the storm. That day he landed more dead than alive, never noticing that the woman who had given birth to him, had never made it to land, until he woke alone.

The difference was, this night, he doubt he could recover, tonight he had ingested much more dangerous things than a mouthful of seawater. Lead was a poisonous metal...there were ads all over about it….but it was his personal opinion that bullets were worse than old paint. Like the bullets that now filled his chest cavity.

Authorities never found her, nor did they send him back, as most Haitians that washed ashore were. Instead he was doled out to one foster home after another, none wanting the dark skinned adolescent that barely spoke English, and the English he did speak was tempered with the lilting French patois of the islands. Eventually as his body began to fill out, he began to draw the attention of gang leaders in his neighborhood, and one night deciding it was time, he slipped from the window of yet another family leeching money from the government with eight unwanted, and uncared for children, jammed into one small house…. and began his journey to find a home. He has smiled as he thought of how they would whine when their monthly stipend was reduced, then cracking his neck, and shaking out his arms, he headed out into night.

Thierry’s career in the gangs was cemented by his size, and lack of conscience and fear. There were none he feared, and he liked the up close and personal feeling of wrapping his fingers around a person’s throat and slowly tearing out their larynx with his thumbs as his fingers dug into the carotids, depriving them of oxygenated blood to the brain. Katrina ended that…. Not only was his gang decimated in the floods, but their base, their hood, was never rebuilt…. Thierry had survived. Once more he had had to swim through a storm, swim for his life. And once more, He had lost everything of his past. This time he had headed north. Wanting to forget it all, he had relocated into Canada, Harper Rock city, to be exact…

Another moan slipped from his mouth, this one accompanied by a splash, as his right hand dropped from his lap into the pooling blood seeping from beneath him. His eyes opened as his thoughts came back to the present… “Vampires” The word oozed loosely from bloodied lips… Once more his mind slipped, this time not far into the past…. He had come to this city, and tried to go straight, get an honest job, earn an honest dollar…. But once more there was no place for a man, that had never finished school. The soft lilt to his voice, the only remembrance of his childhood, had brought ridicule, jokes about bobsleds, ganja, and laziness. Again, it was in the slums that he had been appreciated, and once more he had climbed the ranks, and had become second to one. He was not ‘an’ enforcer, he was ‘the’ enforcer.

It had been just another night, sitting about the office, listening to the runners as they brought in the days take. They had no worries of theft or shortage, all the runners knew that if the take was off, Thierry would be paying them a visit. Loosely translated his name meant power of the clan reborn, a talon of vengeance… and the underlings knew better than to fall into the grasp of that talon. Then the night was interrupted by shattering glass, and slamming doors. Thoughts of a raid were quickly banished, the cops of Harper Rock were easily bought, and most were on the take. Launching from his chair in a smooth almost feline motion, a pair of Sig-Sauer P227 Enhanced Elite .45’s appeared in his hands as if by magic.
Twenty-two rounds of 230 grain jacketed hollow points were poised and ready to clear away whatever trash had decided to blow in through the doors this night.

Thierry had burst into the front room, the green tri-dots of tritium lined up on the six intruders. As his fingers had started to tighten, they had charged. Charged with fangs bared. Fangs. Long pointed canines, Fangs….. Zombies he could of dealt with, they were after all a part of his culture… but vampires? They were myths, legends, and charging right at him. Flames stretched from the barrels, interspersed with thundering reports as Death was delivered. The room quickly filled with the stench of blood and burning nitrocellulose, Screams rent the air, but they still came on. Numerous had shots straight through their chest, narrowly missing their hearts, but still they came. Led by some queen ***** that looked and sounded as though she had just stepped out of Elizabethan England, they were unstoppable. As the slides of his Sigs locked back over empty magazines, he could have sworn the freaky ***** had cast Magic Missile at him , and everyone knew there was no saving throw for magic missile…. They had charged past him, leaving him in a blood soaked pile as they continued their rampage through the building, killing everyone and everything they came in contact with.

Thierry-rene listened as the shooting and screams continued, unable to do anything to help those he was sworn to protect. Slowly a tear rolled down his cheek as he struggled to rais his head. He had failed. Silence fell as he slowly bled out, but still he lived, testament ti the superior conditioning of his body. Slowly, inch be agonizing inch, the man pulled his broken bleeding body through the house. They were dead, everyone of them was dead. His life wiped out for a third time. This time, it had been a storm of vampires.

Head hung in defeat, air wheezing though perforated lungs, the Haitian ex-patriate, dragged himself into the alley behind the stronghold. With the last of his strength, he had dragged himself behind the dumpster, immobilized legs trailing his blood soaked torso.

Slowly the chocolate brown eyes focused one last time, as the last breath rattled from his lungs. He heard the sound of footsteps as his vision faded
out to black.

“E'tin be cum'n tagetha.” Atabei murmured to herself as she looked at an old abandoned building that would be claimed as hers. She had been looking at the tiny alcove for weeks now, waiting to see who, or what owned the small space that was probably an old drainage spot that had been relocated or re positioned throughout the years.

The light chocolate toned woman looked around the space, as she started to claim it as her own. She imagined others like their kind had lived in this spot before. Maybe even a small pack or coven of like minded individuals-ones with no direction maybe, or those who were like her. Preferred to stay out of the view of others for whatever their reasons were. “I t'ink dis be da place.” Atabei nodded her head while she moved an old abandoned mattress from the center of the larger room, and propped it against a wall, followed by kicking cans with her bare feet against the same wall. Harmony had given Atabei some teeth made of a very fine, precious and expensive stone needed to make the tomes they would be needing to get to the place that would be theirs after a little tender loving care. She would get the very first magical piece of paper that Atabei would create, the Hispaniolan woman had decided the night Harmony gave Atabei the teeth. Then Valentine, Clementine and finally Atabei herself. It was more important for them to have a place they could be safe, than for her. She had blended in and vanished from any and all eyes, other than those of her own blood, that another week or two wouldn't hurt anyone, any, Atabei concluded. No one that didn't know her paid the woman any mind.

And while Harmony worked hard to go those precious gems that the demi-fae required, Atabei decided she might need more. Who knew what the future held, especially after the great big ole fete they had not that long ago? Once the garbage was against one wall, and things that might be of some value to the lwa's or demi-fae themselves, Atabei darted out of the old abandoned building and made her way down the girth of the sewers, to the west. The woman followed the length of the underground water passage that would take her to the newborough district and out a grate not far from the area where the more dangerous of the humans that lacked any special abilities lived. The slums.

Not wanting to interact with any of the humans, Atabei provided them with a show of some summoned zombies to dispatch of while Atabei scoured the broadness of the area most would consider a shanty town back in her early nights as a vampire. The first building provided Atabei with little success, but when the woman made it to the northeastern building, it seemed there had been a couple members of the human underworld, Atabei found not one, but two diamond teeth from a man with spaces and gaps a plenty between the two more expensive teeth. Either booze, drugs, or lack of personal hygiene was this man's problem, but her fortune.

Outside the window where the dead lower ranking gangster now lay, Atabei heard the murmurs of 'vampires,' and 'fight,' and other words associated with violence as they collected together and started to devise a plan. There was an unfamiliar name mentioned and then another, and something about a fortress. The mention of death was uttered between two people, a male and a female and they took off sprinting in the opposite direction of where the zombies were station by Atabei. The woman placed the two teeth in the folds of material nestled around her waist and followed the two, crawling out through the half opened window.

When she arrived on the scene, there was a strong stench of blood and death that permeated the night air as the wind blew. There was a fire in one of the corners of the building, which would eventually spread to another part, and then another. She would remember this place, because her pile of ash from the trees of houses from the nights before the lwa allowed her release was getting low. She had much to make up for with the lwa's with her absence from this plane. There was chaos and frantic movement as people moved inside the building, around it and shoved past the small collection of people a few yards from Atabei, who was standing besides a large tree, peering out from around it. There was an alley where she saw a fallen figure on the ground, moving around lethargically, that no one else seemed to notice. The woman crouched down in a predatory stance and proceeded to inch her way over to the figure that no one seemed to care about. Maybe it was due to panic, or an attempt to salvage the building that was being consumed by fire, inch by inch, minute by minute.

The individual's blood was the first thing that hit her, but there was nothing appealing about it. He, she concluded as she approached him, still in a crouched position, wasn't a vampire. She wasn't surprised, with the hoopla the humans were making. Why would they care about vampires dying and their buildings being on fire? “Did chew do et?” She asked, not caring how little life he had remaining in him.