Path of the Vampire forum

Title: Black Discovery
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Characters: Claude Lambert, Every

Claude Lambert must post first, outlining a story on the following theme (feel free to get creative):

Setting: A pitch black street
Backstory: The group were all attending the same event (some or all characters).
Occurance: You come across an illegal hunt of some kind.
Variable: Claude Lambert is vomiting blood.

Participants: 2
ARES: no
Speed: slow
Chapter: no
Minimum Words Per Post: 100
Maximum Words Per Post: 1500

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This thread was generated via the Roleplay Matchmaking System.

When twilight faded to black, it burned away the drabness of the day; the clock in and the clock out, the mechanized life: robotic and cold. At night, the city was lit by the neon glow of the clubs and bars - all shining their colours on the rain-kissed sidewalks like an oil spill. Street lamps emblazoned each pathway in neat rows like a string of fairy lights and the road was illuminated by heavy traffic; a herd of commuters making their way home. The stars were somewhere behind a haze of clouds that draped over the sky like a pitch-black curtain, and as the wind blew up high in the stratosphere, the black veil twisted, revealing warped shapes of starlight and the transitory moonlight which bleached the greyscale world.

The lake separating Westwall from Coastside also separated him from this bright, exciting world. Claude watched from the dock as the inky water glistened, mirroring the dazzling assemblage of lights from the restaurants and designer boutiques that lined the lake’s edge. The faint wind brushed against the water’s surface, the ripples ruffled the stillness and shattered the reflection of the harbour. While this side of the lake had not been evacuated, there were no attractions to light the night by. In contrast, all the nuances of the city were erased by shadows; a 3D world muted and flattened. Claude found his way mostly via sense of smell; replacing visual landmarks with the distinct scents of briny water, car exhausts, and pine wood.

Claude strolled across the boardwalk following the red blinking lights of distant radio towers twinkling in the night. An industrial smog coated the whole area, acting as a milky filter. The fog softened the hard lines of buildings and diffused the orange glow of sodium-vapor street lamps. Monoliths of concrete soared out of the adjacent sidewalk in an exact grid pattern and a smaller jumble of buildings nestled beneath them like new plant life competing with ancient conifers. Incidentally, with a quick jerk of the head to the left, Claude could look upon the wilds that boarded Harper Rock. It was a territory that few dared venture into as fables of invisible monsters and vengeful spirits put shackles on the boots of otherwise hearty adventurers. Unfortunately, the young Blood Thief was not so easily deterred.

History spoke fondly of times when scientific discoveries were made by personal sacrifice. Claude understood that he was not quite David Pritchard: the immunologist-biologist who tested his findings - specifically that certain parasites can improve the immune system's defense against allergies and autoimmune diseases - by injecting himself with 50 hookworms. Nevertheless, Claude was certain that there would undoubtedly be some merit to his discoveries that benefited others aside from just himself - should he survive to tell his tales and share any evidence, that is. He had expected danger - both fatal and benign - but he hadn’t anticipated how the mischievous Fae of the forests would react to his particular blend of heresy.

As the ground beneath his feet shifted from polished wood to dried mulch, the air tensed making it difficult to breathe. The treeline ahead drank the last of the light so that the bark of the visible trees were like charcoal sticks against obsidian. Robbed of his sense of sight, he noticed how the soft susurration of the branches felt heavy in the ears. His sense of smell was sensitized too; the loam in the earth and the decomposing leaves made the atmosphere close and thick. The blackness nurtured a sense of claustrophobia even though the woodland stretched unbroken for miles. The narrow path, which was made uneven by the knotted roots that crossed it, branched at intervals. There was no map to follow, but even if there was, the perpetual dark would prevent most from using it. What had stopped Claude in his tracks, however, was altogether different and supernatural in origin.

Nausea clawed at his throat suddenly, and he tried to force down the bile, but it was already too late. A torrent of crimson spew forced its way past his lips in coughing, choking waves. Visions of raven hair falling in a cascade of curls around pretty shoulders and a slender neck flashed over his eyes in those moments. Each time his stomach contracted, he would get a glimpse more of the woman who’d fed him last. A pale triangular face, violet eyes, and narrow sweet lips appeared beneath those black tresses. His stomach kept on contracting violently and forcing everything up and out. His own face was pallid and dripping sweat. He lurched forward and sunk to his knees. The pungent stench invaded his nostrils and he heaved even though there was nothing left to give.

All around him, the air shook with laughter.