Post by romania on Aug 31, 2012 0:26:12 GMT -5
Alin Vlad-Dracul Fieraru
Name:[/font][/size][/b][/u] Alin Vlad-Dracul Fieraru[/font]
Nickname:[/font][/size][/b][/u] Ali, Red, Ro, Alijandro [by Boss only], Vlad, Dracula, Vampire/Vamp, Bastard, Creep, Dark Knight, the Lone Knight, Knight of (Black) Night, Bloody Knight, Runaway Knight, Traitor (et cetera).[/font]
Nationality:[/font][/size][/b][/u] Ex-Penuria; Currently Pariter [Romania][/font]
Gender:[/font][/size][/b][/u] Male[/font]
Age:[/font][/size][/b][/u] Twenty-four[/font]
Social Rank:[/font][/size][/b][/u] Noble[/font]
Occupation:[/font][/size][/b][/u] ♘ex-white knight trainee; ♞Black Knight[/font]
Hair Color:[/font][/size][/b][/u] Strawberry Blond[/font]
Eye Color:[/font][/size][/b][/u] Blood Red[/font]
Weight:[/font][/size][/b][/u] 164 pounds[/font]
Height:[/font][/size][/b][/u] 5'9''[/font]
Special Features:[/font][/size][/b][/u] Noticeably, Alin supports a genetic mutation of very bright red or blood red (depending on the lighting) eyes, said to have enough intensity to see inside one's soul and his or her dark secrets. Aside from this contradistinct eye-colour, it is noted that his mouth always seems to be curved into, what one might say, a psychotic smile of sorts; it doesn't help that both his canines are abnormally large, the left one seeking vengeance even with his mouth closed. These are the most significant and sightly, whilst his scars, though there, are not. He has a few on his arms and one gash across his neck. Overall, giving to his appearance of a mythical vampire.[/font]
Likes:[/font][/size][/b][/u]
• Meat: Steak to be particular. Anything juicy, dripping with blood he cannot help but fawn over. It just tastes so delicious, delectable and mouthwatering.
• Humming: He may not be a singer, but he is a hummer. No matter the circumstance one can either find him grinning or humming, most likely a twisted picture of both. He can absolutely carry a tune, one little thing with which he prides himself on. For him, humming calms him down and lets him think situations out, it is a gateway that leads him to his own world.
• Blood
• Red
• Myths/Fairytales: Like his father before him, Alin has always been interested in stories. Not historical stories, as interesting as they sometimes may be, but stories filled with the unknown and unseen, about something magical and great. If anything, a story with a happily-ever-after. Despite his uncommon need for horror and gore, there is nothing more satisfying than getting sucked into a tale and completing it with a happy end.
• The Occult: He finds it interesting and fascinating, magic has always come like a second breath to Alin, and something as amusing as with such a name is bound to intrigue him.
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Dislikes:[/font][/size][/b][/u]
Strengths:[/font][/size][/b][/u]
+ Punctual: Unlike someone who likes to break rules, he does not view time as a so-called 'rule'. It is one of his perks: he is always on time. Rarely is the time that he is late or behind schedule (not that he makes a schedule). But if one expects him to be at his or her home by 5:15. He will be there by 5:15.
+ Lying: A natural by far. He can lie through his teeth about anything and not think anything about it. It comes quite easily to him, perhaps because he had lied to his father all of those times about what he was studying in the library. He does not usually like, but sometimes he cannot help himself. His lies, he makes sure, are believable, an answer to everything. Lying and masks, he shoves at people all to well.[/ul][/color][/font]
Weaknesses:[/font][/size][/b][/u]
Dreams:[/font][/size][/b][/u]
Love. He is a selfish being. Craving for things he cannot get. Reading countless stories of magical princess being saved by their 'knight in shinning armor' and the slaying of dragons. And most especially, the happily-ever-after. He wants that. Even if he believes there is no way something like that would work for him, he wants to find something akin to it, a lie might do. Perhaps he could trick himself . . . [/ul][/color][/font]
Fears:[/font][/size][/b][/u]
Personality:[/font][/size][/b][/u] Alin always seems to leave one gasping in confusion, as the rumors say, whether it be from his ridiculous appearance or his enigmatic personality is debatable. He seems very open and energetic, someone with a love for trouble, seeking iniquity 'for the fun of it'. A happy and carefree, good-natured and rarely sullen student of the dark arts. One perhaps to even be proposed as the mythical 'Vampire'.
Although this borderlines a complete and sturdy 'true', rumors have always sprung up from facts and facts are what one would call 'true'. For example, in Penuria, it is rumored that Alin is unwanted by all people and is not socially acceptable, as a citizen or as a Knight because of his bad habits and suspicious way of thinking. This, while having some basic facts, is only loosely connected or having to do with any of his actual personality.
One would not be lying when they say that he is mysterious and dangerous. In fact, that is a perfectly acceptable description. Alin has never liked crowds. He prefers to keep to himself and do things as he would like to do them. Nothing of this 'interference' of others. He is withdrawn when he finds the time and an enigma to outsiders, meaning people that he does not know or care to get to know. At the same time, danger can practically be called his aura. A troublesome vibe is always around him, whether it means he will actually grasp trouble and make cause throughout the town is his choice to embrace. Sometimes he can be weary of it, weary of himself, most times he is. At days he will reprimand himself for finding such glee in what society views as repulsive and the next he will get right back up and do them again. A danger both to himself and others.
Yet, he is outgoing and carefree or at least he comes off as such. When acting regularly with a crowd he must, he is flamboyant and flirtatious, flattering and altogether well-rounded. He likes to be that one ball of energy going from one person to another and just annoy the shit out of them. Annoying. It is amusing to him to act as such. Mostly because it lets him figure out what riles his victim up, what makes him angry. Something maybe deeper if push comes to shove. Something, to hold over their head. Of course, it is a ruse. Rare is the time that he actually means it. Most definitely he has fun teasing others and making jokes, but he does not view it as what he would normal do if he were left to his own devices.
For those he does choose to know, or those that choose to know him understand him better, as most would. To them or rather him, he does not feel the need to hide himself behind a mask. And they get the rare unappealing sight of the aftermath of history.
Moody. Sullen. Snappish and hostile; sadistic. But just plain tired. Yet, childish, hardworking, and very perceptive. Alin is not one who runs to doors to have them be thrown open to a stranger. He is friendly, yet suspicious and cautious. His trust, if given, is to be cherished and not wasted. All in all, one may call him fragile. Not fragile as in complete wimpy and lack of attitude fragile, but emotionally fragile to which if he gives one his honest loyalty not just out of obligation, and it is then in return broken, he himself will feel broken. It is in some sense, the spirit of romanticism with which he keeps locked up deep down inside him.
A Romantic. Truly. He always had a strange fascination to romance. It drew him in, feeding him, adding to his yearning of something. Just something. He does not know what yet, but there is something he wants, way far out of reach. He does not know how to find it and grasp it. Once, he felt like he had a strong hold on that something, but it fluttered away just as quickly. He wants to love a person. Really and truly love that somebody. Like in a fairy tale. Where the guy gets the girl, no, lover of his dreams and they ride happily ever after into the sunset. He longs for the notion; basks in it.
Quite frankly, it is a dark wanting, a dark longing for romance. Something he knows or assumes that he does not deserve, no more than he deserves to serve His Royal Highness or have the friend that he has. Yet, the boundaries that he always sets for himself, he cannot help but break. He is disgusted by how easily he can break his own vow. But he is greedy. Wanting. No matter how hard he tries to settle back and think rationally, he is overcome with greed. Sadistic even. A part of him that he hates.
Alin is, what one would call, emotionally challenged. Sure, he is happy, sad, angry, exasperated, something shown quite clearly at times, but really, he is that faded face behind the mask. The one that has not peeked out for many years, would not even be able to recognize itself once the mask was stripped away and a mirror was brought. For standing in front of that face was a stranger. And that is all Alin knows. So when something traumatic, or something not even, were to happen, perhaps it be something little, he would not freak out. No. He would be strangely calm, uncaring. Brush it off and ignore it. Stay away from the person who had called such emotions to his black face. It is one of the times that his mask slips. It is not as if he does not care, it is simply because he does not understand what to do.[/font]
History:[/font][/size][/b][/u] There once was a little girl named Anica; a sweet, shy sweetheart. She was the kind of girl who would cross a river and a forest for the sick and hungry just so that she could visit them and offer the poor comfort, or perhaps to deliver the last loaf of bread from her family-run bakery. Her mother was what one would call "a dangerous woman" she had her husband on a rope, a chain for a better visual, three inches thick and four inches in length, hung thickly with an iron collar around his neck. Figuratively speaking, anyone could imagine this. The sweet girl's mother was the boss of the house; never mind her man, what she said, went. Now the father was not entirely different. No one could blame the woman if she really did end up harnessing him on a leash. He was a vile man that took to drinking to drown out his problems, he would hit anyone in sight and on the spot if they caught him, in what most people called "the Mood".
"The Mood" was deadly; even to this day in the kingdom, none know quite what was wrong with him. It was if he were void of all feelings, but they got their money from him, so they kept quiet. The husband, known as Vladimir, was a gambler. A very, very bad gambler. Sure, he had his moments of brilliance, but usually, it was he who lost. In those rare times of brilliance, he would hide the money away in a secret safe he found in the cellar of the house, forever guarding it. But it was not full of money for long. Somehow, he needed to buy liquor. Any liquor, cheep liquor; it did not matter. He would splurge on beers from all over, and then hole up in the cellar and drink himself to the death.
Now the mother did all she could to ignore him. She was disgusted that she had married such a vile being, but she had no choice, the marriage was arranged; supposedly from a rich family, for whom the family then quickly shoved their problem onto her, took the money, and ran. Sorina Amanar was left to an alcoholic of a husband, she swore never to have children. But then came Anica.
Before her marriage to her late husband, Sorina was a strong-willed child who had always wanted children. As many as she could get. So when an abandoned little girl arrives on her doorstep, with features that might scare a normal child, despite the circumstances of her home, Sorina took her in, vowing to try and give her a safe and happy life. Let it be noted, that she vowed and tried her hardest for her daughter only daughter, with who she had loved so dearly.
Anica grew up loved at the very least, with an added understanding of all creatures; wild or tame, humans or animals. She was the kind of person who anyone would want to get along with. Nice but quiet, cheerful and kind. With great wide blood-red eyes.
Now, Penuria being that of a suspicious kingdom, what else could they be but weary of the young girl. So she learned to hide, long locks of blond hair spilled down her shoulders and thick bangs covered her eyes. As long as they did not see her eyes and did not know about them, they felt safe in her presence; just a shy, shy girl.
But alone, she could not cope. No, she was human, honestly and humans suffer without companionship. So, she took to the books. Books were her friends; they told her things, took her places, but she longed for the warm hand of a human beside her. One day, she found a book: Dux Magicam. It did not take a genius to figure out that "magicam" meant magic and so, intrigued, she sat in her small room and read.
-------------
Far away, outside the rural boundaries, or rather, caged inside was a young boy named Ruarc. He was not famous, but he was admired by those he knew. This boy, was the son of a great pawn; one proud and fierce, but had no time for petty children. His father had been away from home since the day he was born, left before he could even be born, for fame and fortune. Now, his father really was a kind man, but the idea of an idol got to his head and greed overpowered his normal generosity.
He never blamed his son for his mother's death after his birth, although Ruarc thought that he should have, but he simply had no time for his new son. Ruarc saw him up close and personal through eyes of a one month old, and the rest through parchment and ink.
Anyone would be lying if they said the boy led a hard life. He did not. Just with the absence of his father and mother. Which is lonely, but not hard. He took to the library, reading, writing, creating story after story of adventures and dragons, folklore and myths. But his favourite were the vampires, they came out only at night, said to prey on the weak for food. They had brilliant red eyes and long canine teeth, ready to sink them into his prey. He once came across a story about a vampire that sparkled in the sunlight. Upset, he stomped on it and threw it in the fire. "What is this bullshit?" However, after that one incident, he found an entire book about them, how they lived slept, ate, their characteristics, and most importantly, where they lived.
He treasured this book secretly, and brought it home unbeknownst to the caretaker, reading it over and over again; creating stories after stories, (some of vampires, some not), until he reached his eighteenth birthday. On his eighteenth birthday, his father came home, to apologize to his son after the years. He had expected for his son to shout at him, shun him, perhaps even kick him out. But Ruarc was not there.
Being the eighteen year old he was, Ruarc finally had the courage to seek out adventure. And so, with a small band of his friends, he set out to find the vampires. Soon, he came to a small town. As expected, they welcomed him as tradition calls. And as soon as the night had run, he set out to find these supernatural creatures. Unlike his friends, he wanted to meet him, but he was well aware of his friends' views of them. Penuria is a superstitious always has been and always will. It feared creatures such as Vampires and Werewolves would bring harm upon them. Ruarc himself, was indeed suspicious, but more curious than ever.
After the first night of having found nothing, he made his way down to a small river. Dipping his feet into the water, he heard a peculiar noise. It wasn't quite singing, but it certainly had a melody, a brilliant vibrating melody. He did not know what happened, but he slowly found himself a place to hide. Why? Even now he would not be able to fathom why.
The air was ominous and silence stretched far with only the small dripping of water. Drip. Drip. Drip.
A woman, clad in white, stepped out, her bangs shielded her eyes from others. She was so beautiful. Pale blond hair, locks of fair tumbling down her shoulders. Unconsciously, he stepped forward. Careful not to make a sound: crack. Apparently not too careful. She turned sharply, dropping a book he did not seem to notice onto the pebbles of the river and with supernatural speed, she seemed to stand beside him.
"Who are you?" He muttered.
He received no reply, only bright red eyes, staring at him in anger.
----------------
Seven years later, a baby was born in the kingdom of Penuria. An old pawn stood by his bedside next to a similar looking younger man, staring at a pale woman that lie in the bed. The child, named Alin, squealing in delight. Each person in the room sighed in relief as they stared into his brown eyes. Just plain relief.
The relief was short lived, for when the baby finally opened his eyes again, the old man took all of his strength to not drop the baby and jump three feet away. The eyes, had changed to red, a muddied red at the moment, but a red nonetheless. The baby was loved: by the parents and the "husband's" father. The two never were married, but they loved each other nevertheless.
As the boy grew, his eyes became more red as the days passed, his canines grew to be abnormally large, giving him the well-known appearance of a Vampire. He caused trouble all around town, seemingly not knowing what else to do with himself. Few would acknowledge him, and those that did were frightened of him and threw stones. He ignored them.
His mother, also graced to the feared red-eyes (but not the abnormal teeth), took pity on him. She was a kind woman, but stern. On the day of his eighth birthday, she handed him a book. The book was old, the cover almost ripped, and the pages crackling as if it were dipped in water and left to dry. Despite this, he held it preciously to his body. It seemed so wonderful. Of course, he was still new at words and their stories, so he stored it away under his pillow for the time being.
His father was a mystery, some days he would come home and swing the little boy in his arms, chanting about how much he loved him and other days, he would come home dreary and ignore the presence of his son and lover. One day, he decided to take his son to a social gathering, bad mistake.
At first, he was rather taken to a pretty girl his age, she had long brown, curly hair. She seemed nice. Until she started boasting about her manliness. He had scoffed at her, manliness? She was female; a girl, obviously. Apparently, she had so clearly saw herself being male. This irked him for some unknown reason. Why did she insist on such stupidity? A glint caught his eye and there and behold, he found a dull knife. In hindsight, he should have wondered why there was a random knife lying there so randomly. But at the time, it did not matter. He grabbed the knife and the petty girl's hair. Boys were not supposed to have long hair. He cut it off. There was just something about her; he did not like her.
He kept the knife, as a souvenir. The girl had deserved it he reasoned; nothing to fret over. When he came back, apparently the news at gotten out. Alin had cut off someone's hair. Alin was different. Thus, Alin is dangerous. The few friends he had shied away from him now, calling him a Vampire. Creep. It was not too bad, he still had one friend that supported him, but even he thought that Alin was a vampire. He got so used to these words, these accusations, that he began to believe that he really was as dangerous as people said. That he was a vampire. And he had nothing to do but play that part. The only part that people accepted, no expected from him.
Slowly, he morphed into their expectations. He would bare his teeth at strangers, hiss at those he despised, talked about blood and horror, and most of all, practiced magic.
Magic.
Vampire or not, it intrigued him, made him feel alive. There was some connection that he felt with it. If he had to be different? It might be something that he all and well liked, no? He uncovered the book that his mother had made in his childhood. The pages even more worn from him going through it, picture by picture. But now he could read better, understand more. Alas, he understood very little. The book was written in some ancient language, one he was sure only his mother knew. Should he ask her? She did give him the book.
No, his mother, as kind and helpful as she was, did not need an extra burden. He did not want to rely on her. He would figure it out himself. He promised himself that. if he were to strive for anything, he would do it alone. And then came the time at the ripe age of thirteen, he was given a sword.
Now, he had practiced with a sword before but not with the sword his father had given him. It was long but made with excellent quality work, by some of the finest workmanship in Penuria. That along with his book, it was a trophy. With this present, he felt obliged to use it. To learn the ways of the art his father so dearly loved.
------------
Apprentice Knight.
Honestly, he was ecstatic. To think, the kingdom chose him, specifically out of all others. Well really, the kingdom had not, it was his mentor who had found him one day. Found him and his skills and ignored the superstitions that surrounded him. After arguing with the Bishops, Alin was given the title of Apprentice Knight.
Things seemed to be looking up for him, people nodded to him, greeted him, talked to him. Yet, they did not try to know him and he was fine what that. Very fine, in fact, he thought it to be for the best. So he continued his training with the old Knight. Swordplay, archery, hand-to-hand combat, all the specifics. He made more enemies, some friends, and new rivals. Most entirely irked when he found out that the new Queen was the stupid male-female that he had cut the hair off of. Despite this, they seemed to get along just fine, perhaps even enough to call her a "friend", take that with what you will.
[Insert minor stuff about Nyo!Scotland]
Every day, his father and mother welcomed him home with shinning eyes and open arms. They just seemed so damn proud --so why did it have to go all wrong? Why? Because Vladimir lost his patience.
A note arrived in the kingdom, "for the Fyeraru Household" it had said. He should have noted something was wrong as soon as he saw it. No one spelled their name that way anymore. No one they knew; no one they liked. He warned his parents against opening it, but although they respected his concerns, they could not ignore a letter as such.
It turned out to be his grandfather on his mother's side: Vladimir. Wishing to visit his amazing daughter and adopted son because he was lonely ever since his wife had died. It was well known that his father hated his wife's father. And if his mother was forced to say it, it would be that she was not too keen about him as well. However his mother was a kind person, and had her fair share of loneliness throughout the years. A person who would forgive anyone for anything. So, against her husband and son's wishes, she wrote back, explaining where they lived and how they were doing.
Not three days later, Vladimir arrived at his doorstep bright and early. He immediately made himself one with the couch, ordered the household around and ate all of their food. Both of his parents were upset. Alin wasn't. No, of course he wasn't upset: he was enraged. How dare this man barge into their home and demand everything of them? Alas, nothing was done about it. Not a thing, perhaps something could hae been done, perhaps of his father was not so sweet on his mother he would have kicked the grandfather out immediately, but no, he stayed.
For six (or was it seven?) months he stayed with the family, mooching off of them like the pig he was. He left them alone though, he did his "business" while they did theirs; it was peaceful this way. Apparently, Vladimir did not like peaceful. He decided to take Alin to town to, well, he had never said what they were to do, "just go into town" was all. Reluctantly, he gave consent and was led out. The entire time, his inclement grandfather would not shut up. It was not even like he talked about good or interesting things. All it was was about himself, how great he was, what a pity he had a daughter like her, how life could be so much better and how stupid his daughter and her lover were. It took all of Alin's willpower not to punch him in the face and note, for a fact that he did try.
He was just unsuccessful at this attempt. Pity.
It was not until later, after the walk through the market, did Vladimir tell him what he really wanted. "A discussion between grown men" was what he called it. He told Alin about how hard it was for his mother growing up alone as she did, how she resorted to ridiculous bewitching spells and such nonsense. Alin did not think these miraculous wonders were nonsense. He told his grandfather so. The grandfather just patted him on the shoulder mirthfully. You will understand soon enough.
He talked about tiresome things then, irrelevant, not particularly avoiding the subject, but rather to create a rise out of his grandson. Alin finally snapped, growling at the older man to get on with it. He almost wish he hadn't. Almost. There grew a twinkle in the old man's eyes, sharp, calculating, not the stupid bum others had made him out to be. And suddenly, Alin saw this man for what he truly was. A monster.
No sooner did he come to this opinion that Vladimir glanced down at him and smiled a cold smile. "You are just like me; you are the perfect tool. I see a fire within those eyes more sinister than mine, would you like to help me with something, son? Something, mayhaps said as interesting?" It was like out of a fairy tale. The big, bad monster tempting the innocent little boy at something that would condemn him later in the future. But Alin was not an innocent little boy. Far from it. And although the stories warned him what might become in the near future, intrigued, Alin muttered a dry: "Yes."
He waited for the regret to come rushing at him. He expected it. Like all those boys and girls expected him to be evil and troublesome. But nothing happened.
He laughed then, the boy with the red eyes and sharp teeth. Laughed at the irony. How he longed for the happy-end. Peace and to get the girl. The wonderful girl, no, woman. Of beauty and tenderness. But there was no woman, and instead he sold himself as what is good as called the Devil. The laugh was harsh with a bitter edge of hysteria. Vladimir ignored him for the better part, but a smirk was wide under his stuffy mustache.
Alin could never say that he regretted this day. Nor could he say that he thought it was grand. Nor normal. But it was change. Not something that one could but a label to classify it as good or bad. It was just . . . a change.
He returned home by himself, sullen and eyes dull. All he could do was think. Think. Think about the consequences, the future, and the plan his grandfather had told him. And if not so deep in thought of danger, he would have known. It was a stupid plan.
It failed to work, naturally, but his grandfather had gotten caught; good riddance! It was not until a year later when he was caught. A boy at come to him, seeking for his help. Foolishly, he obliged. Foolish. Simply foolish. He was brought to a clearing in the forest where the boy's sister was captured and tied up, complete with her own magic spell. The spell was quite easy to break. It was not until he turned to leave that his Grandfather issued a duel between Alin and a mysterious figure.
Alin won. It was by no means a fair fight. The entire time, him being an apprentice knight, he could defeat the man easily. Angered, the man tried to kill him once he had turned his back. It was there that his own life ended. On Alin's blade, the rusty one with which he had borrowed. The grandfather ran then, and the boy and girl had vanished. He just stood there, with the corpse on his blade, and thought.
He was found later by the dead man's friend, searching the woods with a small bundle of villagers. They saw Alin in the exact same place as to where he was left the previous night. They saw, and they assumed.
They hauled him in before the other nobles, for it appeared that the man he had slew was of high and rich noble blood. They accused him and he fought back. But they took it as unjustified rage. He should have been hanged. Honestly he should have. But the Queen was forgiving. Forgiving might seem to strong of a word. She was smart and knew him enough to know that he would not do this without a justified action. Despite this, she pardoned him on account of he leave Penuria. And never to see his face again.
Alin had not the chance to bid his parents goodbye. He was given his horse and his sword and sent off to wherever: as long as it was not there. He rode. Rode for hours, days, weeks. He could not remember. All he knew, was that he ended up on some bright and sunny territory. He assumed it was abandoned. It was night though. He should have learned to never assume.
It turned out, it was not abandoned, but it was, in fact, the kingdom of Pariter. The Black Kingdom. He knew not what to do, so he took to the streets and sunk to his old game of scaring children and others. But it was harder, everyone was less suspicious. They did not scare as easily more often, they would laugh or just be mildly frightened. Alin was surprised, if not astonished.
And then he came and Alin somehow wound up in a fight with him. He wielded this ridiculous axe, shiny, and sharp. This fight was not like the fight with the nobleman. No, this was a fight; one that he could not help but laugh and smirk. Feel alive in. The fight seemed to last for hours, a long fight fitful fight. He lost. For one of the first times in years, Alin lost to this man wielding an axe (Although Alin would say it was unfair that he had a giant axe he had never thought to fight against before). He lost and he expected to be killed. Again.
But, he was pardoned. Again. He turned out to be the King. The fucking King of Pariter; of the Black Kingdom. All Alin could do was blink and raise an eyebrow. In the end, he told this man how he came to be in his kingdom and the King offered him a job. As Knight. Told him to call him "Boss" because that was what he was most fond of. And that was that.
"Factum est."
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Additional Information:[/font][/size][/b][/u] lskdjflksjflk Oh my god, the history. Ro-muse got to me and it became fairy-tale like. ;w; forgive me.[/font]
Roleplay Sample:[/font][/size][/b][/u]
He grinned widely at the boy before him, making sure to open his eyes wide and luck his lips tenderly. Oh yes, his appearance seemed to say, I eat little boys like you for breakfast; drink your blood to be precise. The small and innocent face of the boy stared up at him numb. Frightened. Probably shit his pants then. He bared his teeth one last time and the boy took off, "Monster!" he heard the child squeal.
His smirked wider; such excitement, such adrenaline rush! Fantastic. To be feared by the villages and civilians. It was like he had control of the people in the palm of his hand. His eyes shut tight as he thought as such. It really is fun.
No. No it is not. His eyes snapped back open. No, it was not fun. What was fun about having no friends and being feared. Was the civilians' influence changing him as such? He grimaced. Had he fallen for their cleverly lain trap for his place in society? Sighing wearily, he sat down on the grass, his legs crossed. Perhaps he had. Perhaps he did enjoy this now, the pranks, the faces. He had a sadistic nature and anyone knew it. Yet, by the same way he loved to be feared, he hated it as well. When one is feared, he or she is usually respected as well. Alin was not respected. Smaller kids would run up to him in a taunting manner and then flail about and cry when he did a harmless thing as to smile. It was ridiculous.
Even his father was weary of him. No, he did not doubt the love that he received, but he knew that his father was cautious, calculating. His mother, as her mother before her, relied on Alin to figure out things for himself. If his standing in society was how it was, well, deal with it. But no matter how much he tried, Alin just could not find a way to open up to others. The first boundary being that they would not listen to him and the second boundary was that he, himself, was often too much of a coward.
He stood again. He said he wanted love. So what? He would not open up. He was a hypocritical and contradicting creature. Yet he yearned for someone to love him, selfishly, even though he could not love them back. Sure, he could give the appearance, but the cold dark heart with which he carried did not want to be broken.
He was a jokester to the one friend he had, teasing, mocking, getting on the friend's nervous. But was he really like that? Was he? He wanted to believe he was. That he enjoyed it. He did, did he not? . . . Did he not?
"P-please help . . . !" Looking down, he saw a small boy, perhaps eight. He could not see his face as his face was cast downwards, but soft hands tugged at his coat, "P-please, sir."
Alin frowned, obviously the boy did not know who he was talking to, "Are you sure you want my help?" then the boy looked up. Seeing the red eyes startled him, but only a little. The child's face was grim and dirty, blood was smeared to the side, trails of water mixed with the dirt. Tears.
"I-I just need help!"
The vampire, the one with the red eyes and oversized canines, known to scare even the bravest of the gangs, slay anything in his path without a thought, looked down at the boy with something akin to pity, "What is wrong?" he muttered.
All the kid could do was point across the field and tug on the coat as signal to follow him. He hesitated, why should he help the people who have picked on him and taunted him his entire life? But a second glance at the boy made him give in. He still does not know why. Maybe it was because there was some sort of deep courage in his eye, something that was deep and determined. Something that Alin could admire.
He was led to a forest, tall and bare, creaking at the slightest breeze. He was led to a small clearing, a crudely marked line drawn between himself and . . . and, what was that?
"My sister," the boy said simply. Alin's eyes narrowed as he saw her. She was tied up, blood running down the side of her head. Gagged, too. And the bruises. There were so many, making her look even less like a human than he did. He observed carefully, there seemed to be no one there. So why had the boy needed help? To carry her? And then he saw it. The signature above the crudely drawn line, symbols decorated the outside; symbols that he recognized. He swore.
It was a spell. One not too complicated, done by an amateur. It could easily be undone.
Ferent pacem uero infortunii! Fiat cuius!
That was all that was to be said and done. The boy rushed up to his sister then, pulling at the ropes with a small dagger. He sought to leave then. Alas, fate did not think so.
"Well, it seems as if you do know magic, I had my doubts, yessir, I did!"
Alin raised an eyebrow, "What do you want?" he glanced at the man beside his grandfather.
"To spar," at this Alin's brow furrowed, "Not with me of course, but with my trusty friend here. If you win, he promises to let the girl go, if you lose, well, you lose more than a match," the smirk did not match the man's face. His lips twitched to a grin and glee was ever present then. He threw Alin a sword. Rusty, but something. Unfortunately, he had left his own at home.
Without warning, the man flew at him. The man had no skill, but he gave the appearance as if he did. He knew the attacks, just not the strategy. A pity. The spar seemed to take less than three seconds, he knew it was more, but in all honesty, there was no game.
"I won," he smirked at the grandfather, "now go away."
Naturally, as he turned away, the man decided to play unfair. It was that mistake that ended the sorrowful life. Quick as a flash, Alin ran his sword through him. He watched him go limp on his blade and could not help but feel a thrill of anticipation and honest glee.
He did not see Grandfather leave, nor the boy or girl. It was just him and the sword. Him and the corpse. He wondered what kind of fantasy story would be made from this. Would he be crowned king because of the terrific deed he had done to defend the poor boy and little girl? He let out a laugh. No, because this was not fiction. This was life.
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Alias:[/font][/size][/b][/u] Ro/Romania, Evening[/font]
Age:[/font][/size][/b][/u] Fifteen[/font]
Experience:[/font][/size][/b][/u] Two years at most.[/font]
Additional Information:[/font][/size][/b][/u] Tangents are my specialty.[/font]
Credits:
[/font]Application Code made by B and C. Lyrics by Temposhark, song “Don’t Mess With Me”[/font][/center]
