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Decimus King

My my... Don't you just look delectable.

0 · 470 views · located in New Orleans, Louisiana

a character in “The Witching Hr”, as played by zeph_gm

Description

Decimus King

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Introduction:

Race: Warlock
Affiliation: Himself
Gender: Male
Aliases/Nicknames: none
Age: 22
Sexuality: Bisexual
Love interest: N/A
Face claim: Tom Hiddleston

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Hight: 6'2" (malleable)
Weight: 95kg (Malleable)
Build: Slender (Malleable)
Hair Colour: Black
Eye Colour: Blue
Scars/Tattoos/piercings: none
Description: Decimus is a Haemomancer, a warlock who can manipulate the blood of living creatures and himself. His hair is long, black and unkept, his handsome face split by his broad, charismatic grin. Men and women alike are drawn to his attractive features and athletic body but he is rarely seen to stay with any one person long. His peculiar dietary habits leading most lovers to unsavoury ends. His powers require the hefty expenditure of his own physical body and anatomy, meaning he is almost always hungry and looking for a meal, his favourite being other witches and warlocks. He will dine on humans and even animals should he become desperate enough, but rarely stoops so low. Should he wish to feed but keep his victim alive (for whatever reason) He can sake himself with only blood, a trick employed by Haemomancers for centuries and giving rise to the myth of the vampire.
Preferred clothing:
A long leather coat over a similar leather armour, a single pauldron protects his right shoulder. Will wear other clothes for conveniences sake but only if he must.

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Powers: Haemomancy allows Decimus to control his own blood to a finite degree, creating blades, projectiles and even armour from his own blood. This of course has a finite capability, as there is only so much blood he can use till he risks becoming unable to fight from effectively bloodloss. This shortcoming is mitigated by his ability to consume the blood of those he kills, replenishing his store of blood and allowing him to continue fighting. This can be done by either oral consumption, or by an open wound coming into contact with a body of blood, whether it is still inside another person or not, and absorbing it through the wound. Consuming the blood of another also provides other benefits, allowing him to glean information in the form of blood memories from his victims. The effects is uncontrollable and drives many Haemomancers insane with the number of conflicting memories in their head, and often lose their own sense of self over time.

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History:
Decimus was raised by his mother, a Haemomancer like he, and never knew his father, probably because his mother killed him some time soon after conceiving Decimus. She raised him and instructed him in the use of his gifts. This idealic life was not to last long however, as haemomancers live characteristically short lifespans, their powers taking a hefty toll on the bodies of those who practice the art. Most do not live past 40 and thoguh Decimus is but 22, he has the appearance of a man in his mid thirties. Decimus' mother became too old to hunt effectively, and not wanting to tie her son down to her aging remains, requested he eat her, and carry her memories across the world as he found his own destiny. Decimus sorrowfully obliged and has travelled ever since, seeking a purpose.

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So begins...

Decimus King's Story

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Character Portrait: Decimus King
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#, as written by zeph_gm
Decimus King sat in the quiet suburban home, upon a faded beige lounge, its colour that just right shade where you cant tell if it was meant to be that colour or was just dirty. Decimus guessed it was the latter judging by the rest of the house, its sparse furnishings giving rise to the guess that the man who owned the home was one not prone to ostentatious decoration. A plain sturdy coffee table, clearly well used, stained and loved sat in the middle of the room, a large, plasma screen television sat on a stand in the corner, opposite the small, two person Lounge Decimus sat upon.

That was sprayed by the arterial blood that had spurted from his companions neck.

The man next to Decimus was clearly dead. His throat ripped out in a savage display of animalistic brutality. What little blood had not been consumed by Decimus either decorated the beige couch or had drained to the lower portion of his body. It was a grisly sight to behold, but Decimus cared not.
"Hahhhh..." Decimus sighed, raising a remote and pressing a button, increasing the cool breeze emanating from the central cooling unit to a frigid gale, "Henry, you weren't a flamboyant man, but you definitely knew the value of practical appliances." He lay there in the cool, the air conditioning being the only reason he hadn't already left. The Louisiana heat was something one did not trifle with lightly if one could avoid it, and Decimus was quite happy here, safe in the knowledge that he was not going to be discovered any time soon. From what he had gleaned from Henrys blood memories, he lived alone, had few friends and his parents lived a state over. So for as long as he didn't have to leave the cool of the house, he wouldn't. He didn't like eating mortals, it was better than eating animal blood but just barely. It was bland and tasteless, the lack of magical talent leaving the blood without flavour and spice. like the difference between eating a seasoned roast and a burnt rodent toasted over a fire.
"Soon we can feast though." Said a voice in his head.
"Soon indeed," He said to the empty room, "But it will become harder to get away with now that the war is over."
"That has never bothered you before." Said another voice.
"You have never cared if you got caught." Said another.
"We are testament to that." chimed a third.
"Enough!" Decimus cried, his voice echoing in the empty home, "I will not be berated by the ghosts of my meals!" he was greeted by nothing but silence. He sighed and lifted his arm, turning off the air conditioning, "Now look what you've gone and done, ruined my perfectly good day."
He stood and made his way down the hall to the bathroom, using the sink and a towel to clean off his blood smeared face. He finished and inspected himself in the mirror, flashing himself that charming smile he knew people loved so much.
"I always look so much better after a meal." He said to himself, before drying off, and making his way out the front door, the door to the grisly murder scene closing with a soft click.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Pell Laveau Character Portrait: Violet Khiara Character Portrait: Decimus King
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#, as written by zeph_gm
The Pink haired girl hadn't been the only one to notice the witches careless display of magic. Forcing your had through an object was nothing exactly flamboyant, but it was surely something that would get you noticed, and humans were the least of that witches problems. Decimus stood in the cool of a shop front, some grocery store, revelling in the cool interior. Not that it truly helped much, and a bead of sweat still dripping down his temple from his hairline, running down his cheek and dissipating along his chin.
"Why, why do they always live in hot places. Just once I would like to hunt somewhere where it is cool." He muttered to himself as he watched the violet haired girl drag off the rainbow haired one.
"You'll be happy for the heat when you start losing blood." Said a woman's voice from the back of his mind.
"Shut up!" He snapped, startling a nearby employee who cautiously moved away. He sighed, he really needed to stop doing that, it did little to prevent him getting noticed. Another Employee, a woman with a tie, probably a manager or some sort approached him, cautious of the man in the strange clothes.
"Excuse me sir, can I help you with anything?" She asked tersely, clearly keen to see him gone.
He turned and flashed her a toothy grin, "Just browsing, Thank you."
The obvious lie made ever the more obvious by the fact he wasn't even looking at the shelves, but the two girls walking away down a side street.
"I don't think you can help me with what I need." He said, turning and exiting the cool shop and into the oppressive heat of the Louisiana afternoon. "But I think I know who can." He muttered as he made haste after the girl with the violet hair.

He followed at a distance, The violet one clearly too preoccupied berating the rainbow girl to notice his pursuit. Wherever she was taking her, it was good news. Witches and Warlocks rarely lived alone, unless they were, like Decimus, prone to murderous tendencies. The Majority lived in communal groups, or "Covens". Decimus found the whole thing rather boring. He understood the practicality of learning how to better harness your gifts, his mother had introduced him to many other travelling Haemomancers during his childhood who had taught him various tricks and skills. However he couldn't understand the desire to stay in one place for your whole life, living with the same people, doing the same thing every day. Life was short, especially for Haemomancers, and to waste but a single day was tantamount to the greatest of sins.
That brought a chuckle to his lips.
As if he were in a place to berate anyone on their sins.
The Girls reached the gate of an Estate, and turned to talk. The violet one appeared to be inviting Rainbow girl inside. Considering she had just all but dragged her here, the sentiment seemed lost. This was all Decimus needed to see. Where there was one witch, there would be others. Decimus had already eaten today, even if it was just a mortal. He would wait and stake out the Coven, and pick his choice of the delicacies available.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Pell Laveau Character Portrait: Silas Abernathy Character Portrait: Kyle Spencer Character Portrait: Aden Orchau Character Portrait: Bambi (Jess) Soullet Character Portrait: Violet Khiara Character Portrait: Decimus King Character Portrait: Greyson Ault
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Pell Laveau






The lack of explanation and abundance of haste had method behind it. Mistakes, slip-ups, that sort of thing, simply could not be afforded. Not for witches. Not for those whose blood was a bounty when spilled. Pell of course realized she’d haphazardly dragged a helpless girl, capable of phasing, almost a half mile back to the academy. But there must have been some common understanding or at least bare curiosity. Because the stranger with the vivid hair didn’t break away, slip through. Pell had to give her credit where it was due.

Shuffling discord was heard as she dropped all the shopping bags onto the ivory walkway. Pell turned back to face the other witch head on, whose questions grew more hyperbolic and avid, hints of accusation laced in the words. Above, daylight still lingered, but only in dying bands of violet and dusky hue. Her parallel had a stare that yelled, “What the fuck is going on here!” Pell knew that feeling all too well. A dark silence passed between them. Gunmetal gaze sweeping, some red light flashing in her brain, Pell back stepped. The unease wouldn’t surface on her skin. She couldn’t blunder with a new girl potentially on the hook. But something was off. It was a smell. A sensation. Like a stench of quietus and carnage in the air. She tried not to wrinkle her nose and instead pulled back her lips to gleamingly smile. Apparently that wasn’t enough for the other young woman. How was Pell going to word this? How would she make it seem safe to an outsider? What could she offer besides food? And the worst part - who was watching? Or, what?

“Look,” the word was inhaled, low in tone, sincerity in the pitch, “I know. What you are. This,” she gestured to the looming building behind her, “Place is safe.” Still, puzzlement was scrawling itself all over the harlequin ingenue, tensing her muscles, a humored chuckle and gasp here and there attempting to make light of the bizarre circumstances. Pell took her wrists into her own hands, squeezing them lightly and keeping her voice quiet, “We are not a cult. We don’t have any weird practice aside from what we were naturally given. For you, it’s passing through. For me…” Gray jade eyes closed, Pell scraping her lower lip with a row of square teeth. In a neat score, all of the shopping bags began to hover busily and sort of bob toward the entrance of the school. “Pay attention,” she purred, “Very closely.” The grand double doors opened wide, granting access to a very eager grocery bundle. Behind those doors were no strings. No people. No rigs.

“We’re an academy. Safe place.” She turned on her heel, again. A trail of hazeled hair like pixie dust swayed behind her. “Obviously you could have made a break for it by now if you really wanted to, you know? I don’t blame you, if you decide to. Something just tells me that you won’t. You want to see what’s inside, and I really think you should.” Slowly Pell sauntered up the brief front stairs, pulling some tresses into her palms, “I can’t sit here and tell you everyone is great and you’ll make friends, we actually are super abundant in bitches, bad attitudes and mind control. All that shit, really. But you’ll have me.” A dash of self doubt came in the latter statement. But Pell liked to think it was well veiled. She gave a shrug and weakly dimpled, “I’m not a half bad guide. My name is Pell, by the way.” Standing in the vast doorway, she glanced at her iPhone in a lukewarm fashion, “If you like what you see, you can stay the night and hang around. See if it’s worth the research. If you want to lead your life the way you’ve been, even with the threat of being kidnapped and killed by men who put all their trust into holy water and blessed bullets, that’s always an option. It’s your life. Know this, though…” She peered back, “If they find you, you won’t know it until you’re bound and taken from your bed in the middle of the night. They will disable you, your powers, and any means of escape you think you might have. This shit isn't just in movies. Unfortunately it's real. I don’t want to scare you, I just want you to be safe. We’re a dying breed.”

Whether or not the girl chose to follow now was entirely up to her alone. Pell wouldn’t further the persuasion. She’d taken it as far as it needed to go. Pell chuckled grimly, “The more you know.” Pausing when she accidentally brushed Kyle, putting off his undead balance (which was bad enough without her fluky shoulder checks), Pell offered a revitalized grin. Obviously stepping out for a couple hours helped her to decompress. Softly she patted Kyle’s square shoulder, much different in form than the other. This was the way she regarded him if she ever decided to touch him. She knew touch was often associated with trauma for him, so rough or abrupt approaches may not do him well. The trace of warmth left on his shoulder would disappear in seconds. Slowly her chest rose, then fell, as she looked over Aden and Silas as well. She felt another sigh coming on. But, she choked it back. Silas’ aura was a bit less frantic and bewildered. Not quite at home, yet, but surely getting some bearing. “Hope the tour is going well, roomie.” She added with a nudge of her arm that didn’t even touch him. She was sure if she did, he might hastily step back and put on elbow pads or something before contact was made. Aden as per usual, had a sequence of thick smoke pooling in his mouth. His expression was dead and unamused, but Pell knew that in his head, there was mischief at work. She followed the smoke with her eyes. It absconded in an erotic fashion, forming a pithy curtain around his face.

“Potential fresh meat,” she mentioned to the trio of male inhabitants, “caught her at the cafe in public. Fuckin’ phasing through the table. Thought she might be a good addition to Ceremony.” Pell’s fingers curled, thumb extended as she pointed with it back at the girl whose mane mirrored the image of something one might see through a kaleidoscope. The hall they stood in was so wide. All throughout, the echoes of their conversation could be heard. Past supremes’ eyes followed the occupants from their unmoving position on the wall. Pell realized this may at first be very, very creepy. But hopefully, one of the boys would at least say hello and help erase some doubt.

“Anyway, grocery shopping is done,” she commented to Kyle as she sort of skipped to the staircase, eager to put on her Ceremony garb, “Gotta’ go change, maybe play dress up with the new girl.” During her giddy little caper, she passed Bambi’s room and heard a few muffled, scathing remarks which momentarily perplexed Pell. Something about shutting up and, “You’re not real.” Pell simply rolled her shoulders and furrowed her brow. The academy had seen stranger things than arguments or imaginary friends. She was done being the moral support crusader, at least until she got dressed and had dinner. As she scaled the foyer, she was happy to know that the AC had been turned off. Bobbin lace curtains and fixtures billowed at either end of the vestibule as they moved with the oncoming evening gale. It was almost holy and celestial this way. All trimmed and adorned in ivory finery. It would give a wonderful contrast to its residents, dressed as black as a Sahara night.

ImageStill ajar, Pell’s room welcomed her home. The bag filled with Ceremony fashions beat her to the bed. It sat neatly there, begging her to put the pieces on already. There was no composure left in that moment. Pell eagerly peeled her daytime clothes off, not caring about the open door. Her arms shot toward the ceiling, candles that encircled the bed spaces bursting into glorious flame, “Ceremony in twenty minutes!” Her shout echoed throughout the entire academy and even put such a scare into the candles that their miniature infernos danced to the side with caution. Pell was quite the enthusiast of Ceremony. This was probably due to the everlasting supply of gourmet food and wine. But mostly the food. God, did she love the culinary divinity of that school.

The slope of her hips came to widen slightly at the waist, silhouette warmly complimented in the soft luminescence of the tiny tealights placed around both beds. Happily she flicked a pair of thigh highs out of sight. She’d simply go barefoot. Next came an A-cut maxi skirt, and then the crochet-inspired lace crop top which struck up an elegant divergence to her porcelain skin. The topper was a thick black choker, tied in a petite bow at the nape of her neck. Her fingers threaded themselves through her locks as she sort of paced around the room, thinking of anything else she could add. Charcoal and licorice herb filled her senses. A playful smirk met her reflection in the window, her own indication. Greyson was probably soaking that beautiful tawny skin of hers, taking her time, unfazed by time matters. Or she was nearby. With that, Pell remembered to roll on a faint lavender perfume and nonchalantly decided to call something out down the hallway, when Greyson appeared. Pell stammered for a moment, which was a rare occurrence. But Greyson’s beauty had a habit of doing that to her. Leaving her speechless, kind of in awe, looking for any way to get a grip on reality before completely dissolving into a blubbering puddle.

“How cute, you’ve brought home a pet.”

Typical. That was just like Greyson in her sort of not-interested-in-attendees-or-their-powers way. And it wasn’t even just guest listed girls with their colorful hair that kept at Pell’s heels like a puppy. It was everyone. Greyson had charm and social grace, but she didn’t need to exhibit it. People gravitated toward her and more often than not, she could care less. She was long term at the academy and maybe her passion and zeal had burnt out over time. Either way, Pell liked her just the way she was. Her stare crawled all over the dark-eyed girl. “Sounds like jealousy,” Pell countered in a humorous tone, grabbing Greyson’s hand and pressing a mild kiss to it. “Don’t worry, you won’t be replaced. Besides, this one might not make it through the night."

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Character Portrait: Decimus King
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#, as written by zeph_gm
Dog. He could smell dog.
Decimus hated werewolves, for varying reasons. They tasted horrible, for one, like eating an animal, they were also better at tracking and so could smell a Haemomancer a mile off, finally if a Haemomancer wasn't careful, too much consumption of werewolf blood without the proper blood filtering that haemomancers practised, the curse could be passed on to the warlock.
And Decimus could smell one on the grounds of the school, for school it was, there were too many young witches and warlocks of various breeds and flavours for it to be anything else. Puritan covens wouldn't allow such mixing of practices and the more liberal covens would never settle down in such a uptight traditional setting.
And then there was the werewolf.
Though it wasnt uncommon for covens to have guardian creatures and servants, werewolves were free-willed and wild beasts, unsuited to guard duty and railed against authority and constraints. That one was bound here as its guardian meant that either he owed the Coven a great debt, or more likely, he was bound here by powerful magics, only a school for young warlocks and witches would deserve such powerful and difficult to procure protection.
The beast had already probably noticed the Haemomancers scent, they werent hard to identify, to the trained nose the scent of blood and meat was strong in the air, and those who knew how to follow it would find the haemomancer.
Decimus smiled, let the werebeast come, if he was to prey on the school, he would need to test its defences. The fact that the werewolf was bound here already told him much. A powerful Witch or Warlock ruled this coven, and they would be unlikely to face him lying down. However Decimus had all the time in the world, and the young were oh so prone to running off for a thrill. Decimus had no doubt that soon he would get his meal.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Pell Laveau Character Portrait: Silas Abernathy Character Portrait: Hale Bjarki Character Portrait: Kyle Spencer Character Portrait: Jacqueline Emilie-Marie Lavaeu Character Portrait: Aden Orchau Character Portrait: Rowe McDermott Character Portrait: Violet Khiara Character Portrait: Arturo Christobel DeGari Character Portrait: Decimus King Character Portrait: Fiona Goode Character Portrait: Greyson Ault
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Mr. B

Cordelia had seated herself and made casual conversation while Hale eagerly helped himself to first a glass of Merlot, then of Bourbon. By the time she had acquainted herself with the new arrivals, asked Violet how long she knew she was ‘different’ and explained house rules, Hale had relaxed and relocated to a newly empty spot between Silas and Violet. Across the table Greyson and Pell eyed him suspiciously. He paid no mind. His usual uncanny sparkling smile was set in place, eyes slightly glassy, attire ironed to a paragon. Overhead, a primitive and ornate candle chandelier began to sway, surely the work of Pell’s boredom. Hale pivoted, resting one leg on the opposite knee as he turned to face Silas.

“… So, I’m thinking from your rather distressed body language - you are having second thoughts, hm?” A virile hand raised a glass, golden liquid sloshing. The routine grin had slackened into a sort of meticulous and stagnant smile, dimples fluctuating against the expression. In the background Cordelia’s distinct voice crooned with intrigue over new arrivals. Hale kept his gaze away from her and set it on a worthy understudy, writhing probably at the idea of wearing all black and feeling slightly isolated. Now the dining area was aglow with fieriness and laughter. Plates were clearing and conversation buzzed on while sorcery was at play, free and elated. Candles blew out and relit spontaneously. Wares moved about the table on their own. “Was it what I said? About the women being in charge?” Hearty chuckle released, Hale rocked on the embellished woodwork chair. Another swallow of fire water, another casual question and content regard on his lips.

“And you?” Hale jerked his head toward the rainbow trout, yes, that’s what he would call her, now. The flimsy inky fabric of her shirt was revealing but modest. Certainly a fitting choice for Ceremony. “Are you frightened by this?” His eyes lit up with mirth as he finished the beverage. “I suppose being ‘locked in’ is a little much for a newbie, but the nice thing is, it’s more of a perimeter type of screen. So, you can still step out and wander the grounds without being seen, without having to worry. You just can’t go beyond the gates. Which I,” he grinned and slid the glass onto the crimson table cloth, “Enjoy thoroughly.” The vague riddle was answered by the pack of cigarettes pushing themselves from the pocket of his slacks.

“Silas here is new, as well. So you have that in common, along with being helplessly thrown into a coven.” Patting his sweater, Hale tittered again. If anything was frightening to the craft immigrants, it was probably good old Mr. B and his preternatural way of being amused. Even about the grim, nudity, and the plain unusual. He could feel Fiona’s cold stare from the far end of the table. She was not so easily amused. That, and she had probably taken notice that Aden was nowhere to be found.

Everyone had scarfed down their meals and helped themselves happily to wine. Slowly they dispersed into the sitting room, where portraits hung and great pillars burned orange. Violet, Silas, Hale and Rowe lingered. The latter wasn’t long lasting. He was more of a lone wolf, McDermott. Hale had taken it upon himself to be his sort of guardian, but Rowe was not a fan of the supervision. It always showed in his tone and his narrowed eyes. Fortunately, not much fazed Mr. B in the way of standoffish people. He pervaded the known limits of those types of folk. Rowe cordoned himself off, hadn’t many friends, or any, at all. At least not that Hale had noticed or seen. Call it charity, call it Council work, but Hale did it for his own reasons. Perhaps empathizing. Who could say? The Council scout was tight lipped about his garnered impressions of others and his ultimate intentions. That was how he maintained his position at the academy.

Rowe split off, probably to go into the courtyard. Kyle wasn’t far from the dining room table, naturally fascinated with newcomers. Fiona lit a cigarette and rose with a glass of rusty liquid in hand. She wrinkled her nose and muttered to Hale in passing, “Don’t let your guard down. There is something in this house.” With that, she meandered into the sitting room to enjoy or manipulate students as they played with their birth-given gifts. A cerebral cackle left her mouth as she passed her guard dog and set her sights on Jacqueline and Pell, two curiosities worth all of her attention. Fiona had certainly tried her hardest to gather Pell’s trust, which proved to be less taxing than the chore of getting her cousin’s. A work in progress, much like all jobs at Robichaux. Pell soon disappeared, bored to death probably and needing her space for a secret cigarette and half a bottle of Apothic to herself. Hale only knew this because she so often followed the same patterns.

He didn’t tense at Fiona’s warning. He simply carried on conversation with remarks like, “Oh, please tell me more about your origins!” and “Do either of you see yourselves here for the long haul?” Truth be told, he was deeply fascinated with fear reading, certainly when it chose someone discrete and timid such as Silas.

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Character Portrait: Decimus King
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#, as written by zeph_gm
Hunger...

Unending...

Burning...

All consuming...

HUNGER...

There was nothing felt by a Haemomancer stronger than the intense hunger burning at all times in the core of their being. It wasn't a hunger like a human hunger, not like a need, not like an addiction. It was like void, an empty sucking void inside him that could only be sated by blood, magical blood. Human blood was a poor substitute, like a placebo, only lessening the pain, not numbing it. Not curing it.
But now, the hunger would be sated, the void filled, the pain alleviated.
Decimus could feel the magic warding around the coven, like a light velvet veil, sensed not with touch but the magical senses. To a mortal it would be imperceptible, and even to a magical person, you would have to be paying attention to notice it.
And Decimus was very observant.
It was a simple ward, a magical burglar alarm if you will, probably linked to the coven leader or someone who was in charge of the covens defence, the dog perhaps. It took a magical register of those who entered and left the coven, keeping track of those who travel through onto the coven grounds.
The only issue with such safeguards is that they only send an alert, they don't actually keep anyone out. He took a single step into the grounds and stopped, waiting for some warning alarm or klaxon, but nothing, silence, only a ripple in the ward. He smiled, discretion for the betterment of the younger students may help prevent a panic, but it meant it was much easier to avoid detection.
He broke into a run, his hands rising to his mouth. Needle sharp canines lanced through the flesh of his hands, blood flowing out of the wounds far faster than it should have, flowing down his hands towards the end of his fingers. It wrapped itself around his digits, coating them like a second skin, with a sudden elongating flash they elongated into clawed talons. His sprint ended in a leap as his claws dug into the bricks of the wall, allowing him to scale it with unnerving speed. He reached a second story window, eyes peering around the edge into the dimly lit hallway. Not a soul in sight, the hallway lit by solitary lamps in the wall that lit the walls in a soft golden glow. After making sure his right hand was lodged in the wooden frame, he slid his left hand into the gap of the window, wedging it open with quick, deft movements. It wasn't long before the window swung open with a slight creak, allowing him to slip inside, the blood around his fingers receding into his skin with a dull hiss. His soft tread down the hall not making a sound, only the rustle of his cloak around his clothes making the barest rustle. He couldn't hear anything, and smell was pointless, there were too many people and smells mingling around for it to be used effectively, perfume for one. He could smell the youth on the air, hormones, sex and deodorant.
It made him hungry.
There was something just so much more appetising about consuming young, soft flesh than old wrinkly skin and ageing bones.
He had to be quick, the ward had already been triggered, and any moment now the defences would be mobilised.
He had to find his prey soon.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Pell Laveau Character Portrait: Silas Abernathy Character Portrait: Hale Bjarki Character Portrait: Kyle Spencer Character Portrait: Jacqueline Emilie-Marie Lavaeu Character Portrait: Violet Khiara Character Portrait: Decimus King Character Portrait: Fiona Goode
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Mr. B

With Fiona’s gaunt warning in mind, the council scout had risen to his feet with haste. But he didn’t move much. Instead Hale yanked Kyle to his side, a large hand clasping the boys bony shoulder. With a hearty shake, he sighed and spoke into blond tresses, “You should interact more freely, you are not just an academy ornament. You are also someone people want to know.” A reassuring, but goofy grin spread across Hale’s face. The happy haze of being buzzed became bleached and nonexistent. There indeed, was something in the air. Something not right. Not human, nor witch, nor warlock. Hale would let it roll off his square shoulders like nothing. But it did bother him. Ate at him in a frustrating way that he simple had to get to the bottom of before the night was up. That was, if some disaster didn’t strike before then.

Oh, stop thinking that way! The shield was set. The veil is unflawed. Cordelia has been doing this for years. With the help of the Supreme, she can pull off anything. Without fail or a single glitch. Why would you assume something would go wrong? Tonight of all nights? Why? Ceremony is always the safest night of the week, don’t you know that from teaching at Robichaux? Have you learned nothing?

Spastically, Hale beat a flat palm to his left ear, as if hoping to empty bad thoughts out of the right. Suddenly his eyes widened. Scanned his surroundings. Kyle’s confused eyes, rainbow trout twitching, Silas anxiously trying to resume conversation as if nothing strange had happened. Speaking hesitantly about being overwhelmed. A mawkish and priceless beam settled into Hale’s toothy mouth, eyes so narrow they were nearly slits. He must have looked the way a dog did when putting its head out the window of a car. A car doing fifty five miles an hour. Instead of flapping, his cheeks stayed pinned by the corners of his mouth, “Nonsense, that will go away in a little while. Soon you will settle right into the swing of it all, and feel no sense of hierarchy. It’s really a cozy little system - err, family, almost, if you will. I find Cordelia to be quite accommodating, and really such a great teacher.” His eyes twinkled and he caught himself, “And you, you…” His gaze inhabited Silas’ soul, “You strike me as someone who might have a lot to teach others, as well. How exactly do you feel about your gifts, Silas Abernathy?”

ImageHe felt the ridge in the ambiance. It was like this chill cut into the warmth of Ceremony. Something uninvited had arrived. “Hmmm,” Hale rubbed idly at the clean shaven flesh of his chin. The same hand that had perched itself below his mouth struck Kyle’s wrist momentarily, “Go get Arturo. We need to scale some… Of the property. Indoor and out.” He tried to lower his voice as to avoid causing alarm. Quickly he turned away, the height of his cheeks once again shining with rapture, peering at Silas again. Who, was, tugging at his collar and murmuring gradually about only remaining at the academy if he was wanted. Who, was he wanted by - if anyone? That sort of insecurity seemed to be a common theme with newbies. Adorable, really.

As if it weren’t enough that something or someone was intruding, there was now blood slicking the air. And it was by no means some voluntary mishap, an innocent bit of experimentation. It smelt like Pell, burned into existence as a combined redolence of menthol and ichor. Where on earth was Jacqueline? She hadn’t been nearby in what felt like hours. Hale became a bit tense, knees locking as he glanced around the dining room and into the lounge. The chandeliers began to swing at a more rapid pace, an obvious but subtle alarm that had been triggered. Cordelia was out of sight and, from the looks of it, had alerted nor bothered no one else. Truthfully, Hale would have hated to be any more impolite or caused any more broken and perhaps annoying conversation. Even if it were for the good of the academy. He may have then, found it appropriate, to bend some rules.

“Silas would you care to join me on the terrace? I’d like to get some fresh air and maybe see if any of our students have wandered outside. I have a feeling Fiona would like everyone to regroup tonight rather than dispersing and sort of, well, doing their own thing. There might be some general knowledge to be shared.” Graciously he offered a hand, if Silas would accept.

And what would he find beyond the doors? Nothing at all, right?

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Pell Laveau Character Portrait: Silas Abernathy Character Portrait: Hale Bjarki Character Portrait: Rowe McDermott Character Portrait: Papa Legba Character Portrait: Violet Khiara Character Portrait: Decimus King Character Portrait: Greyson Ault
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Greyson hadn’t been much of a lively dinner guest, but that was never her forte anyhow. Most of the meal consisted of her consuming to much wine and watching the new comers with the matching intensity of Pell. It was so pleasant to have someone who she could just know she was on the same page, but it had always been that way with Pell. She had been this wonderful possibility, but Greyson knew she couldn’t keep anyone close, for their own safety.

Biting her tongue to not make a comment that she might be reprimanded later as being rude, Greyson watched the painful exchange between Hale and Silas. She honestly pitied Hale for his genuine caring nature, he was still new to the Academy from her eyes. That being said, he had many other reasons that left her thinking of very many ways to be very, very, very nice to him. She pretended to be interested in what Silas and Pell’s pet had to say, still having Pell beside her to look over to every now and again, almost like a refresher.

Honestly, one of the main perks of dinner was usually the fact that all of the seasoned coven members would sit together, so Greyson didn’t have to tolerate the small talk bull shit. She wasn’t even sure how they had room for two people, when it clicked to her. The boy was usually so equally sullen and quiet, she hadn’t noticed his absence. Scanning the table for Aden, she made eye contact with Kyle, looking away quickly.

Everyone else had continued the conversation, the new comers professing a want to dive right into the coven, it took everything she had not to scoff. Pell took the BS queu as a moment to leave, she felt the girl lean in beside her, kissing the side of her head. Greyson had almost instinctually wrapped her arm around the girl, not phasing any other way, letting her hand linger as the girl walked away. Now she was alone, without an ally, which was not good.

While Silas did seem entirely endearing, there was almost this sickly naive part of him that just made Greyson want to vomit what little food she had consumed right onto his plate. The girl with the technicolor hair was tolerable, she just seemed sort of out of touch with the world, but Silas just had something about him that made her feel like he should know better than to appear so optimistic. As he spoke about his past and of wanting to stay, Greyson couldn’t help but groan. She received a stern glance from Hale, which caused her to smile briefly before straightening up in her chair.

“Wow, Silas, you are right. That was not interesting at all.” Greyson stood, shooting back the last of her wine and sleekly pulling out yet another cigarette. “Welcome to the coven, I suppose then.”

Hale was shooting daggers at her with his eyes, she wouldn’t be surprised if he stormed out after her in a rage, but she also knew he’d feel a sense of obligation to mend the damage. She could hear Madison behind her, “And I’m supposed to be the bitch around here?”

Yet again she found herself on the front porch, lighting her cigarette. She wasn’t able to pinpoint what it was that made her say the things she did, or feel the way she felt. She desperately wanted to want to be nice, but Greyson was pretty sure she was incapable of thinking outside of her own world most times. There were a few people in this world she found tolerable, Pell being one, Aden another - Kyle once upon a time.

As if someone had blown a breath on the back of her neck, Greyson felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. She stared out onto the gate, stepping forward, slowly. ”Aden?” She called out, inching closer. Where was that kid? Movement on her left caught her eye, she jumped, spotting Rowe and Pell. “For fucks sake..” she mumbled under her breath, and for a moment - she smiled to herself.

Analyzing the situation, she could see the tension and body language between the two. Greyson rounded onto Pell’s side, burning cigarette still in hand, “Everything alright here?” She asked, looking between the two. There was something in Rowe she recognized, maybe in his eyes or from the way he stood, but she could sense the hostility growing from within him. She saw a bit of her own madness buried under his own layers, recognizing the demon that fueled his reactions. “You okay?” was all she asked, her voice monotonous as ever.

She would have asked Pell the same question, but the woman was stronger than steel, she was sure it would have been more offensive than caring. Eyes shifting to the windows of the house, she could see people head to the door, and while she had found the source of her noise she still had the sensation that someone else was out there. She looked back behind her, to the gate again, looking for someone. Goosebumps her rising up and down her arms. For the first time Greyson’s confidence wavered, her arm wrapping across her torso to run her fingers up and down her arms, perplexed by the way her body was strangely reacting to the situation.

With genuine confusion, Greyson looked up at the others. “Am I the only one that feels that?”

She risked sounded mad because the sliver of hope that it wasn’t all in her mind meant everything. She looked at Pell for the first time, searching her face. There was a look she had never seen on Pell's face....anger, fear? There was nothing to compare it to, so often Pell kept the same mild smirk or neutral expression. If it wasn't for the lavender hair, she almost wouldn't be able to recognize the girl. "Pell? What's up?" she asked softly.

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Character Portrait: Decimus King
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#, as written by zeph_gm
Footsteps.
Female by the click of the heel.
Yes, definitely female, the stench of rose perfume became almost overpowering.
He sneaked into one of the rooms, closing it with a soft click as the girl rounded the corner. He spared a glance around the room behind him, there was a case half unpacked on one the beds, he other clearly well inhabited by a woman. The room stank of cigarettes and burnt ash, elementalist maybe.
There was the loud bang of the door across from the one he was in closing with an unnecessary amount of force, youth, so full of emotion. He decided to have some fun and allowed some of his blood to run out of the cut on his right hand, forming a singular talon around his index finger. He used its razor sharp point to start jaggedly carving into the wood of the door, his sharp claw making short work of the weak material. He finished and examined his handiwork, smiling before opening the door and walking up to the door opposite, from which rock music could now be heard loudly through the door. He slowly and silently eased open the door, slipping inside like a ghost. Only one of the beds appeared to be inhabited, surrounded by posters of various bands as well as various mortal and magical items and memorabilia, the music emanated from a large pair of speakers plugged into an Iphone. The girl was lying on her stomach on the bed, her hand casually flipping the pages of some magazine. She hadn't noticed him, either the music was too loud or the magazine too engrossing to allow her to notice his arrival. He smiled, as much as he loved to see the fear in the eyes of his meal, he decided tonight was not a night to risk being caught, and Witches were always unpredictable, and if she were alerted to his presence, she may be able to hold him off and sound the alarm.
He stretched out a hand and opened his palm towards her. faster than the eye could blink, a thin spear of blood no thicker than a finger punched out from his outstretched hand and impaled the girls throat from back to front. She tensed and her muscled twitched as her severed spinal cord fired of frantic, incommunicable commands. She made a weak gurgling noise, her mouth spraying blood across her pillow as it began to pool from the wounds in her neck. With a sudden jerk he pulled the small red spear from her neck and she collapsed on the bed, unmoving.
Decimus could barely contain his delight as he descended upon her, blood forged talons ripping into her soft flesh and thin clothes, he cared not for any preservation of her flesh, he had gone for too long without eating, and he needed to feast NOW.
blood sprayed across the room as his sharp fangs and claws ripped the young witch apart. Her defiled corpse spurted warm blood and Decimus drank deeply of its sweet magical substance. He felt life flood through him, his body rejuvenated by the power in the girls blood. His teeth bit down through her flesh tearing off chunks which he greedily swallowed down in hungry chomps. He lost himself, taken by the madness of the kill, drowing out his mind in the swirl of red.
He ate, and ate, and ate, and across from the room in which he feasted, was the message he had left for its inhabitant. Though by the time it would be discovered, he would be long gone.
Carved into the back of the door, in jagged, angular scratches, was a single word.

HELLO

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Character Portrait: Decimus King
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#, as written by zeph_gm
In hindsight, sticking around to watch the chaos caused by his brutal attack on the student would have been most entertaining, but in the thrill of the moment, Decimus cared for nothing else. Nothing but the screaming wind in his ears and the feel of the asphalt beneath his taloned hands and feet as he bounded bestially across the city. Magic blood coursed through his veins and he never felt more alive than this. The bursting, fluctuating magic of a teenage witch flooded through his body, fuelling his powers and bringing his jaded mind to life with bursts like sparks of electricity. Yes, this would remain his hunting ground for a while yet, so much blood, so much meat and magic to consume, he would live here like a god. Of course, his future victims would not be savaged in such a brutal fashion, true, he enjoyed the viciousness and freshness of the meal when they are recently alive and kicking, but he was a pragmatist. A meal would last much longer, and be far more satisfying in the long run if he could consume it at his leisure, enjoying each morsel and bite. This was just a stress relief, a soothing of the debilitating hunger for real meat he had felt over the recent months. Now that he had been appeased, the real hunt could begin. Though he would have to be careful now, after making such a grand entrance, They would raise their defences and be wary of the danger he posed. Well, that was assuming that they thought it was him at all, god only knows who they could pin the blame on, and Decimus was fine with that. He would pick them all off one by one, and feed upon their glorious blood, as was his birthright.
With a sickening roar of inhuman delight, he bounded away into the bustling city, eager to celebrate his feed with some more mortal pleasures of the flesh.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Pell Laveau Character Portrait: Silas Abernathy Character Portrait: Hale Bjarki Character Portrait: Kyle Spencer Character Portrait: Rowe McDermott Character Portrait: Decimus King Character Portrait: Fiona Goode Character Portrait: Braxton Lee
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Hale had taken Pell and Rowe by the shoulders firmly. He started to have a twinge of regret, or hesitation, as he brought them to Council in the greenhouse. This tiny sentiment exploded when Pell started caterwauling and howling for Kyle, fear corpulent in those charcoal eyes of hers. She thrashed so violently that Ms. Snow’s factotums seized her securely without words. They pulled her into the greenhouse, ahead of Hale and Rowe. With a flinty whisper, Hale said, “Be contrite, Rowe.” Hale’s long fingers relinquished as he stepped back and watched his students be formally requested… Or taken, by the very council that employed him.

The young scout folded his hands, eyes alert and forward. Myrtle, modish in her regalia with her epic red hair, drew her lips into a thin line. There was no sympathy or curiosity as to why Pell fought back. They did not care, had all gone too far now. It was especially strange to see the anomalous woman not the least bit intrigued. Worse than strange, it meant bad news. Deals with the gate keeper weren’t to be taken lightly, whether or not they were made. Contact with Legba could mean opening a can of worms that no one wanted to confront. Age old wars, voodoo on the horizon, that sort of thing. Pell was certainly in trouble, and Rowe, with his second strike on the same offense, was as well.

Straightening his thin crew neck, Hale stepped to the side and assumed for the most part, his role was no longer needed. Other than witness type responsibilities, that is. Myrtle and her entourage were resolute. Pell took this as some sort of horrible prelude to her death, and begun speaking hastily as components of the green house began to combust. Hale merely raised his eyebrows. The girl was a fighter. Rowe, too, but more of an adamant and silent type. Pell clutched onto him and began dragging him toward the nearest exit while the foundation of the green house simultaneously began to buckle.

The Council was already up to speed, their fingers simply moving to orchestrate the safe rehabilitation of the greenhouse as they proved to be the case from it. Hale filed himself into the madness, but tried to break away to find the two students before Council got their hands on them. He reached them only seconds before Myrtle’s voice rung out.

Inked hands, trepidation etched into their every grasping movement as Pell and Rowe’s shoulder were taken beneath their fingers, held onto the fabric of their clothes until the inevitable came. Hale felt his soul deflating, life leaving his blood as he looked into the pair of students. Rowe was so anemic and fearless looking in the glazed moonlight, but with pupils so flitting that it wasn’t hard to tell his brain was running amok with anxiety. Pell on the other hand, with cheeks flushed and remnants of a nosebleed, looked more calm, now. Both poles apart. Both so brave - but so incompatible. From the two, one could only expect disaster and ruin. And the little show they had just put on would not be handled with elementary laughter and a slap on the wrist.

This would end in flames.

There was a crowd gathering on the front lawn, and even if a seal was secured to keep non-magic folk unaware, they surely would see and hear all the people. Myrtle, in her ostentatious tone, hailed, “Enough!” Silence enveloped their world. The only sound following her stipulation was the cat’s paw pulling through the plot of garden and brick as the smell of smoke fell from the air. Ashes settled into Pell’s lavender locks from whence she came. Ivory cinder flecked Rowe’s eyelashes. They stood as a team, prepared for a fate they didn’t mean to embroider into Robichaux’ history books. "You must all be aware that we are facing more than just unruly students. Fairytale monsters are real, very much alive and present. A Haemomancer has been here tonight." There was confusion in wake of her statement. Fiona slowly sauntered along the perimeter of the bedlam, still with a Cabernet in hand. Somehow apathetic and somehow pleased. It baffled Hale until he peered back to the empty brick path where Pell and Rowe once stood.

"That experiment of yours," Myrtle hissed at Fiona, "Kyle. Get him to give you a statement on Pell and Rowe. Seems he would be the only honest source." Her red lips quirked, "Maybe, this new Silas, too." She glanced around for him on the porch.

A squad car rolled gradually to the front of the academy. Myrtle, unfazed by this blatantly fluctuating scoreboard between herself and Fiona, drew an Oriental fan from the waist of her cinched garb. Idly she fanned herself with it, breaking the seal and looking above to the second story of a school she used to attend, “No messes to clean up. Except for your ever so distasteful attitude, Fiona.” She and her entourage swayed elegantly to the same rhythm upon exit, nodding to the attending officer with a, “This one will bore you to death. Good night, officer.”

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