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Samuel

Genius is always allowed some leeway, once the hammer has been pried from its hands and the blood has been cleaned up.

0 · 364 views · located in Underworld

a character in “The Dark Extinction”, as played by Fabricator

Description


Image


Image

"Nothing is so painful to the human mind as a great and sudden change.”




Normal ||[url]Song | Artist[/url]
Fighting ||[url]Song | Artist[/url]
Emotional | Death ||[url]Song | Artist[/url]
Anger | Out of Control ||[url]Song | Artist[/url]
[/font]





Image
Full Name
Samuel Frankenstein

Nicknames and Aliases
Prometheus, Sam, Frank. Adam
   
Gender
Male

Age
Over 200 years old

Species
The Monster of the Frankenstein lineage

Sexual Orientation
Heterosexual


Description

Image

Eye Colour
Blue

Hair Colour
A dark reddish-brown with hints of grey

Skin Colour
Pale but mottled in places.

Height and Weight
8’ 3” | 550lbs

Markings/Tattoos/Scars
His body is a crisscrossed mess of scar tissue and stiches which have varied over the centuries as he removed decaying thread or improved upon existing work. Some of this was due to wear and tear from his very existence while others were caused from conflict with hunters or prey. His face is surprisingly scar free for the most part save the odd faint line that can only be seen upon close inspection.

Clothing
He wears thick, tough and above all hardwearing clothing for the most part. However in order for it to fit him he’s needed to make it himself, usually by stitching together several items designed for more normal sized people. That being said he’s also found it easier in the modern world thanks to the ever increasing size of humans for him to at least find clothes that are easier to modify if not ones that almost fit. Though for the most part he’s resorted to wearing dark blue jeans and large nondescript tops since it’s easier to resize generic clothing, however he does take some pride in his brown leather duster. In addition to this he also wears thick soled boots with metal plating.





Personality
WIP

Habits/Quirks
Self-consciously checking to make sure his head isn’t hitting the ceiling
Says very little, soft spoken
Cracks his knuckles when nervous
Answers very literally over intent
His accent is a mismatch east European with a Scottish twang
Most of his limbs act as if double jointed
Writes with his right hand but does everything else left handed


Likes
Reading
Sewing
Electronics
Mechanics and Mechanisms
Strawberries and cream
Apples and Oranges


Dislikes
Humans (sometimes), or humanoid creatures (always)
Tomatoes, rotten vegetables
Ignorance and superstition
Religion and cults


Strengths
π Physically strong, notably above average human.
π High Pain thresh-hold
π Mechanical savant
π Does not need to eat, drink or sleep
π Effectively Immortal
π Is energized by lightning and can almost manipulate it on a tiny scale


Weaknesses
Pyrophobia
Dark Metal causes his flesh to burn, corroding it similarly to acid.
Distrustful of almost everyone
High pain threshold causes him to ignore injury to his detriment
Tends to act as a very effective lightning rod
Limps due to his right leg being mostly metal and support than actual flesh
Has issues with giant magnets


Hobbies
Reading
Singing
Electronics
Woodwork
Vehicle repair


Fears
Becoming the Monster humanity says he is
His gift being used for nefarious ends
Humanity
Reapers


Flaws
Forgets his strength when emotional
Can be clumsy when uncertain or out of his element
Sympathy for those caught in the crossfire
Hatred of Vampires and Necromancers
Slow but slightly unstoppable


Secrets
Past relationship with some of the early Dark Hunters
Desire to procreate, by whatever means
Has three beating hearts in his chest cavity
Hopes to finally die someday





History
The so-called Frankenstein’s Monster is a creature of somewhat unknown origin with the almost mythical tales told by Mary Shelly having greatly obscured its actual creation. Victor Von Frankenstein is often cited as the person primarily responsible of course with his descendants also trying their hand at following in his footsteps. However Victor simply sought to recreate what his own ancestors had been attempting some time earlier and the original Creature had existed before his attempts awoke it again.

It was little more than a vague creature of magic and machine that was forged upon an anvil of one man’s desire to become a god himself; a creature who was little more than a child upon its rebirth. Admittedly one on Several attempts were made by others to recapture the creation of the first after it had been hunted down and killed however it was not till Victor was able to reanimate the first Monster using the very powers of nature to give life where there was none.

In recent years however he’s been living on the edge of Las Vegas by running an old repairs shop, dealing primarily in vehicles of every shape and size. Somehow despite this trade he’s managed to get by while dealing as little with humanity, save those few he employees or the dark as best he can. As much as he doesn’t care for either side in the current conflict he does own space in the ‘Underworld’ below Sin City for when he needs a break from above. And as much as he tries to wish he was part of neither world he’s still thankful that he’s not had to deal with trouble from either in several decades but is always fearful of being discovered even if his shop plays on his heritage slightly with some joking that he’s got the gift of Frankenstein with how he can keep motors running.






Face Claim
Christopher Heyerdahl

So begins...

Samuel's Story

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Roslyn Todd Character Portrait: Hayley Rose Brian Character Portrait: Luna Almia Knight Character Portrait: Luca Vladmir Ardelean Character Portrait: Nadia Danova Character Portrait: Georgeta Livia Ardelean Character Portrait: Delia Stanis Character Portrait: Jordan Jessup Character Portrait: Alexandra Herrmann Character Portrait: Jason Hunt Character Portrait: Eamon Duke Character Portrait: Jezebel Klithe Character Portrait: Zachary Black Character Portrait: Dezember Ortega Character Portrait: Terry Price Character Portrait: Declan Cane Character Portrait: Blake Alderman Character Portrait: Lydia Pearce Character Portrait: Elise Sividibus Character Portrait: Ronan Grendel Character Portrait: Augustus Frey Character Portrait: Maya Corbett Character Portrait: Erik Tantibus Character Portrait: Samuel
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#, as written by tigerz
Image

Image

Species
Dark Hunter

Hexcode
#B80404

Outfit
Casual



Alex cursed loudly when Declan and his girl toy disappeared until she noticed that the bullet left with them. She smirked as she started at the empty space from where the two just were. Declan put his body in front of the girl which meant that it hit him first. This meant Alex wounded him which is very useful. The weaker he is, the easier for her to finally get rid of the contract with his blood.

Since Alex was distracted over he little triumph over the most annoying reaper in the world, a vampire took the opportunity to make a jump at her and bit her neck. Bad move on her because Alex grabbed the knife strapped to her thigh and brought it back into her gut to get her off of her. She turned around and smirked at the vampire. "Tsk tsk, blood sucker..." She was too weak to move fast making it easy for Alex to over power her. She grabbed a nearby throwing knife and through it right into her heart before moving on to her next victim.

She spotted a demon that just finished off one of her fellow hunters. She didn't really care too much. That guy was obviously not string enough o now he was dead for it. The demon decided that since it just killed one hunter, it must be strong enough to take on Alex. He was so wrong...

He came charging at her and the next thing he knew, Alex had him by the throat with a knife. She pushed him back all the way to the wall and held him there firmly. She even drew a little blood. She looked him over with a smirk. "Such a shame I have to kill such a beautiful host." She leaned in close enough to where their lips almost touched. "But then again... I've seen better." She sliced his jugular and let the blood splatter across her face and clothes. She even licked her lips after in a sadistic manner before wiping off her blade and noticing Jason leaving with a banshee. She rolled her eyes when the other dark creatures followed and she followed them as well. It wasn't like she needed to stay. If they got themselves killed, it wasn't her fault.

Alex was behind them and shot the two in pursuit of Jason before catching up with him. "Do I really need to save your ass every time?" She eyed the banshee. "Trying to replace me? But I'm irreplaceable." She teased.




Image

Image


Species
Reaper

Hexcode
#13435C

Outfit
Bussiness Formal




[font=sansserif]Declan never said anything as she used the cloth to wipe his now blood stained lips. normally he'd have some witty response prepared for her but he just stayed silent and stared at her. Something was different. Maybe it was the dark metal making him imagine things but something did feel different. It wasn't the same flirting and teasing and antagonizing her brother. This was something real and something Declan didn't understand. Something he could never understand so long as he was a reaper. He never said his thought out loud, but that moment. That one brief moment of her wiping away his blood made him wish for a split second that he was human. That he could understand what was happening for just a split second.

The sound of Georgy clapping her hands together brought Declan back to reality. Back to his reality. "I'm going to get this out of you." Declan was about to comment when she spoke over her and grabbed a pencil. "You might want to bite onto this." She shoved the pencil between his teeth so anything he said after that was muffled. She then took the tweezers and dug them deep within his abdomen to retrieve the bullet. Declan couldn't do anything but cry out in pain and begin to sweat until she finally pulled the bullet out. Is this what humanity feels like? He thought.

It was finally out and Georgy removed the pencil from his mouth and then pushed his wet hair back so he could properly see her. "How do you feel?" Declan shrugged nonchalantly and looked down at the wound that began to heal rapidly. "Still a reaper." He smirked and looked down at her hand and then at her. He noticed something shift in her expression. Something he's only seen once before. "Don't you ever scare me like that again... You hear me," She whispered and he watched the single tear roll down her check and onto his lap. That same tear that brought him back to when they first met.

"Georgy..." He whispered back softly. She was just inches away rom him now. He could feel her breathe against his. He looked down at her lips and back into her eyes unsure of what to do next until she began to pull away. He knew this was his only chance so he leaned in faster than she could leaned back. Declan did this until their lips finally collided and he felt absolutely weightless in time. Declan actually felt something. He cupped his hands around her face and just held her there with him in that moment.

In that moment until they heard a knock on the door to pull them out of whatever that was. Declan groaned for he knew exactly who it was and had to pull away from Georgy. He got up and walked to the door much better than he would've a couple minutes ago. Of course things would be even better if she waited a little longer to pop a visit... Declan opened the door and looked down upon his fellow reaper. "Well if it isn't my favorite companion... Who also has horrible timing." He buttoned up his bloody shirt still determined to look amazing even when covered in blood. "How are you, Dezember?"

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Jason Hunt Character Portrait: Lydia Pearce Character Portrait: Samuel
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It’d been a rough day at the shop. Business had been slow but steady as usual, even so Samuel’s heart hadn’t been in it. Not really. He’d been lost in his thoughts and hard at work; and going from the looks the others gave him from time to time he’d been unnerving them more than he normally did. But the pay was good and they didn’t ask questions. The machine shop itself could almost be called cavernous since he’d designed it so it’d fit his bulk rather than that of the usual mortal. A total of five others were at work today with one lass and lad working on an old truck in the corner while two other guys and a girl were spread across the floor darting between a handful of bikes and a couple more cars in slightly better nick.

Samuel himself was stood at the back of the room in front of another bike on a stand that he’d just finished with watching them all intently, rubbing some oil from his hands onto a large cloth. He’d been out of sorts since the Reaper came that morning with an invitation so it said; to a meeting of those in the shadows. He didn’t care much about this war save that he’d rather weather the storm as best he could and as loathe as he was to admit it that would probably involve picking a side sooner or later. That being said neither side appealed nor had they done much but earn his ire over the years.

But when a Reaper offers you something it can be rude to turn them down, worse if you’ve met them a few times on less than favourable occasions.

”John. Close up early. I’m going out.” His voice was low and quiet with a faint growl that still managed to carry through the din of the shop as he addressed one of the guys wandering the main floor.
“Sure thing.” The man called back before turning to the others to get the place tidied up, sounding a little too cheery to be normal. But then again most of them were a little wary of the large man who ran the shop since he was quiet all the time and never seemed to stop working. So the shop shutting its doors early was rare indeed as far as the staff was concerned if not entirely unliked by them to get some free time.

Nodding for a moment in acknowledgement Samuel turned and walked through the large doorway at the back which led into the house he built and attached onto the shop. The rooms were large and fitting of his size though few in number since he had little use for the same requirements as most when all said and done. As soon as he’d entered he went and collected his sheath and sword from their hanger on the wall, pulling it free for a moment to ensure it moved easily before replacing it snug. The weapon had been a gift and something he often kept for travel to the Underworld since despite such dire times infighting between the various things that went bump in the night was still rife. The blade had been tempered in holy water and inlaid with silver to make it something deadly against the right foe but if the stories were to be believed the Hunters were dealing a much more perilous material these days. Shrugging the harness over his shoulders and stretching till the blade rested down his back he reached over and picked up his duster which lay over the back of his large chair by the fireplace.

After giving his face a faint splash of water from the sink in what passed for his kitchen and satisfied that he was presentable, or as much as he’d likely be given that he’d been at work all day he walked towards a hidden door in the far end of the house and opened it to reveal a set of stairs which descended to the other half of his property in the world below.



As he entered the twisted reflection of the city above him he sighed softly to himself, feeling somewhat uneasy as he often did when venturing into the Underworld. He knew he’d left it late to attend the meeting, not just today but in general. He’d made himself enemies down here but few tried to even the score, at least not intentionally. His metal shod boots clattered on the stone pathways that ran through the warped streets as he made his way towards an age old watering hole that had been marked for this meeting. It was a little distance from where he’d entered so he quickened his pace, noting with a faint smile a few shadows flitting away from him. While at first he’d made an assumption that they were simply wary of him he noticed that more of them looked to be fleeing away from where he was heading rather than avoiding him. As he slowed for a moment to ponder this the air was filled with wailing screams in the distance. A banshee’s call. A bad omen.

Turning down one of the winding side streets he picked up speed and headed towards the cry, one which was not alone if the distant shouts and gunshots were any indicator. The sounds he’d earlier identified had at first sounded like a faint banshee’s wail however as he neared he could more make out the hint of words as a plea rather than a true wail. As he rounded a corner sword in hand a group of figures in dark clothing barged into him with the effect on those unable to stop being not to dissimilar to an animal crashing at full speed into a brick wall. Slowing down to evaluate the now scattered group Sam saw that three lay sprawled on the ground with one having lost consciousness while the other two attempted to stand rather unsteadily. A little way behind them stood a few more who had managed to avoid the collision. One of their number appeared to have a girl slung over his shoulder.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Jason Hunt Character Portrait: Lydia Pearce Character Portrait: Samuel
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Pausing but a moment as a glance passed between him and the shocked figure with the woman slung over his shoulder Samuel charged, his boots sparking on the cobbles and his longsword swinging out in an arc before him. The blade sliced through the neck of one hunter who’d not reacted and time and cut deeply into the chest of another who’d tried but also failed. Startled but more prepared than his companions the burdened man barked at those with him to attack and the roar of guns echoed into the night, but their aim was wide and their trigger fingers were jumpy and fleeting.

Sharp bursts of fire embedded themselves into brickwork and cracked windows with some cutting holes in Samuels coat as it billowed behind him as he ran. A few hits landed but his lack of reaction unnerved those he hunted and they faltered for a moment which was all they had as his sword hacked down on the barrel of one’s gun and his fist came forward and dented his skull inwards. As the body reeling from the blow it cannoned into the figure with the woman, throwing him off balance and smashing him hard against the wall with a sickeningly wet crunch.

Staring around the wreckage and remains of the hunters he slowly walked over to the pair he’d disturbed upon arrival and plunged his sword through the chest of one as he reached unsteadily for his gun and even though the other remained still he brought his boot down hard on the man’s skull just to be sure.

As he straightened up he winced in pain for a moment and staggered slightly. Sheathing his sword he looked down to check for any injury, running his fingers over his numb and thick flesh, while the other pulled out his knife from inside his jacket to use it to carefully remove the offending bullets as best he could but knowing he’d have to take a proper look soon. And given that he’d need to make repairs he moved over to one of the corpses and swiftly sliced the flesh from the bone till he’d cleared an area equal to half of the torso and most of an arm. He grunted slightly as he looked down at the patches of his own body which even now were blackening and flaking away as the residual effects of this new dark metal were still working their magic.

Satisfied they were dealt with he reached down and lifted the woman’s body in both hands, and being unusually gentle he turned and made his way back to his abode in the world below. After depositing her on the large couch and bolting the doorway tightly he hung his coat on the wall and filled the fireplace, igniting the withered boughs within.

All in all he felt a little uncertain of how to proceed given his lack of contact with others but he placed a mug of cold water on the table. Slumping in a corner he groaned slightly and pulled off what remained of the fabric covering his torso and began the slow task of cleaning his wounds and removing the cause of his discomfort. His hands worked with the new skin sparks of electricity danced between his fingertips, gently sewing the new flesh into place. Once done he lay back and closed his eyes for a moment to rest.

Back in the alley of the Underworld however a faint breathing belonging to the figure now pinned by the corpse of his now fallen comrade went almost unnoticed by the other creatures just as it had by Samuel.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Lydia Pearce Character Portrait: Samuel
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Lydia couldn't say how long she was out, but when she woke, she found herself oddly comfortable...despite the pain that erupted from her leg. She was on a soft coushin, like a cough as far as she could tell. She didn't bother to look, as she just knew this was some twisted game the Dark Hunters were playing a way to break her spirit before they broke her body.

But Wait...
Blinking a few time, she noticed, there wasn't a mortal soul around her. She would know, she would see them, sense them, even through walls, but not here. it was like when she and Ronan first entered the Underground there were no mortals there.

Lydia sat up slowly, surveying her surroundings. She felt the warmth of a hearth and a glass of water beside her. "Wha..." She questioned softly, she sat up a little more, and sucked in a wince. Her leg was on fire, as was her shoulder. Her memory of what happened came flooding back. The last thing she remembered was being carried off by the dark hunter, Jason, to whom's sister he was able to save with her help.

She wanted to believe there was still hope for humanity, but after that....she couldn't say. Feeling tears well up in her eyes ,she shook her thought away from there and more on the more pressing issue. Where the hell was she?

She turned her head and noticed something just off to the side. Gasping, she stiffened. A body was slumped in the corner. She couldn't tell if it was alive or not. She couldn't tell if it were mortal and dead or if it was was immortal and sleeping. Either way, she threw her legs gingerly over the side of the couch. Her legs hurt so bad that she whimpered.. She snapped her hand over her mouth for a moment. She waited and then swallowed. "Hello?" She said softly. "Um....Mister...?"

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Character Portrait: Lydia Pearce Character Portrait: Samuel
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The pain had faded but he still lay there semi-conscious, with his heart beats echoing in his ears and drowning out all other sounds while his breath came out in a steady rhythm. His reprieve was broken by a faint voice that disturbed his memories.
"Hello?" She said softly. "Um....Mister...?"

Opening his eyes slowly he stared up at the figure as his eyes adjusted, her frame haloed by the flickering light of the fire for a moment.

”Helena...?” His voice sounded raw and broke for a moment as he spoke before his body jerked a little and he frowned. ”No, you’re the girl with the Hunters. Forgive my confusion. You’re safe here.” He slowly pushed himself up, his large hands reaching up to grip onto the nearby bench to better support his weight. Stretching slightly he began checking over the latest patchwork repairs that adorned his checkerboard torso of scars, stitches and skin grafts as he made his way towards what passed for a kitchen in his underworld hovel.

”This meeting, was anything agreed or are we still rapid dogs biting each other’s throat while they close in on us?” He asked as he turned round, a large bottle of dark ruby liquid grasped in his hand before pausing to give the girl a quick evaluation. ”I should have asked sooner. Are you well?”

Setting

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Character Portrait: Lydia Pearce Character Portrait: Samuel
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”Helena...?” Lydia blinked, startled at his sudden moment. She was glad he wasn't dead which mean it wasn't mortal. ”No, you’re the girl with the Hunters. Forgive my confusion. You’re safe here.” He said and got to his feet. Lydia swallowed but said nothing. He wasn't mortal, but she couldn't tell what he was. He seemed sore, she wondered if he had been in a fight or something
She could barely see, by the low light room, but she could have sworn she saw stitches, some looked fresh.

”This meeting, was anything agreed or are we still rapid dogs biting each other’s throat while they close in on us?” He asked and she shook her head. "We just fought, argue and taunting one another, nothing was accomplished." She told him as he turned to her with a dark liquid in a bottle in his hand. ”I should have asked sooner. Are you well?" He asked and she looked down at her thighs and over at her shoulder. "No, no really...That hunter....He stabbed me, a few times....with dark metal....I'm not gonna heal from this." She said with a sigh.

"I should thank you, he was going to do very bad things to me...he told me so." She said, holding out a delicate hand to her savior. "I'm Lydia, Lydia Pearce, Queen of the Banshees." She said, she couldn't hide her disdain for the title, but it was who she was now, for all the good it did.

Setting

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Character Portrait: Lydia Pearce Character Portrait: Samuel
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The girl seemed a little hesitant as she answered his questions, her body compacted a little in reaction to her pain if he could judge. Her clothing was certainly damaged in places and the flesh beneath didn’t seem too worse the wear save for a hole or two. At her announcement of her name and title Samuel couldn’t help but raise his eyebrow and take a swig from the bottle.

”Royalty then.” He grumbled and walked over to the large leather chair to the side of the now roaring fire. ”They call me Samuel; it’ll do for you as well. And I am what I am.” He gestured to the couch he’d lain her on when he’d first brought her back, and then shifted a little uneasily not sure what to do and wondering why he’d brought her back or saved her at all for that matter.

”I don’t entertain much, so water is about what I have to offer bar this.” He gave his bottle a slight shake. ”It’d kill most mortals but I doubt that’d be a worry in your case.” After a pause he took another gulp of the dark liquid and stared at the banshee queen.

”You sound like you’ve no love for your station; surprised you were out there alone.”

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Character Portrait: Lydia Pearce Character Portrait: Samuel
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”Royalty then.” He said, walking over to a large chair beside the fire. ”They call me Samuel; it’ll do for you as well. And I am what I am.” He said and she frowned at him. They? He then gestured to the couch she was in and she looked behind her then back at him. He didn't know what he was. That's what it seemed. ”I don’t entertain much, so water is about what I have to offer bar this.” He said and she nodded. ”It’d kill most mortals but I doubt that’d be a worry in your case.” He said and she just watched him. She didn't care for alcohol, it had no effect on her.

”You sound like you’ve no love for your station; surprised you were out there alone.”

"What is a Queen without people?" She asked rhetorically and disdainfully. "I wasn't alone....not at first, I was with with Queensguard, Ronan, he was fighting them, we got separated when the Hunter took me. He was the only thing I had left....if he's gone then we are....." She stopped with a sob cawed up her throat." Forgive me," She said turning her head, trying not to cry but she couldn't help it. "As far as we knew we were the last of our kind..." She told Samuel. "If he gone, then we are lost."

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Character Portrait: Lydia Pearce Character Portrait: Samuel
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He lent forward slightly as she spoke, his elbows resting on his knees and his hands wrapped around the bottle. Lifting it to his lips he drained the remaining liquid and gently placed it on the hearth with a loud clink before trying his best to smile at her which simply pulled his skin taught into more of a grimace.

”Being the last of your kind isn’t a curse I’d wish on any, similar to that of being the first.” He carefully got to his feet and stared down at the frail form of the girl which belied her true nature.

”We should find this ‘Ronan’ of yours; ensure your kind isn’t as lost as you think. Do you have a means to find him, other than screaming?”

He went over and picked up his coat where he left it before slinging the sword back over his shoulder; ensuring it was strapped back into place before turning and offering a gnarled hand which almost dwarfed the girls to help his guest to her feet ”Can you walk Banshee Queen?”

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Character Portrait: Lydia Pearce Character Portrait: Samuel
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”Being the last of your kind isn’t a curse I’d wish on any, similar to that of being the first.” Samuel said, standing, somewhat carefully.
Lydia sighed. They were alike, it seemed. He was the first and she was the last.
”We should find this ‘Ronan’ of yours; ensure your kind isn’t as lost as you think. Do you have a means to find him, other than screaming?” He asked and she frowned, shaking her head. "N-no." She said, looking down at her hands. She had a dark feeling that he was truly gone. She could usually sense him but she couldn't feel anything. It could be the dark metal dulled her sensory abilities....or Ronan was truly gone.
Lydia looked up as he moved, grabbing a sword, slinging over his shoulder like the hero in a movie. He offered her his hand, massive next to hers.

”Can you walk Banshee Queen?”

She looked at him and then down at her legs. They were still sore, and she'll be walking with a limp for a time, but she figured she could in fact walk. "I think so." She said and slid her hands into his. His hand was rough, like someone who worked all their lives, and hers was soft, making her feel weak. Banshees were always a peaceful race, and it was only after the decimation on their kind did they start to fight, even though they had to also fight against their better nature. With Ronan gone, she wishes she had learned to fight more. She stood up, bracing herself by gripping his hand a bit tighter. She took a few steps and let her hand slip from his grip, to show that she could walk on her own, despite the limp.

"Samuel, How well do you know how to use that blade?" She asked, looking at sword on his back. Her tone wasn't one of disbelief, as if she didn't think he knew how, it was one of curiosity, she wanted to know if he was good enough to teach her. She was tired of relaying on others, it just got them killed. She wanted to fight on her own.

Setting

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Character Portrait: Declan Cane Character Portrait: Lydia Pearce Character Portrait: Samuel
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Her hands felt strangely delicate in his, which fell in line with her frail appearance despite the old rumours he’d heard that banshees were tougher in body than first glance suggested. Her next words however startled him somewhat as she stood, almost half his height while he glanced over his shoulder the blade now sheathed across his back.

”I can kill with it, if that’s what you’re asking.” He sighed and tried his best to smile, though all this achieved was the twist his scarred face into more of a disfigured grimace. ”We find your kin, if we can. I’ll keep you safe till then but I’ll show you what I know once that’s done.”

As he made to unbolt the door he glanced he brushed his fingers against a portrait of a young woman, the picture itself mostly covered in dust and the dim lighting had kept it obscured but a plaque beneath was well worn as visible. Sometimes it is man who is the monster, yet fear makes monsters of us all – Mary Shelly.

”Declan, I swear this is the last time I listen to you.” He muttered darkly under his breath as he stared into the mist shrouded alleys of the underworld. Wondering not for the first time where the accursed Reaper was in amongst all this chaos, hoping a little that the bugger knew his name was being taken in vain. ”After you, we’d best make haste. Those hunters may have returned from licking their wounds.” He held the door open for her before locking it behind her as they hurried into the shadowed city.