Defense:
You chuckled at this obvious display of stupidity. This is the second time within the last few nights some youth tries to rebuke you within your own domain. Modern vampires are even more obnoxious than you care to remember. "Do not presume to lecture me, child." you say in scolding tone, as if speaking to a kid "I
wrote the laws you refer to and I can just as easily write new ones. Now tell me, little mouse, was it really a wise move to try and invade the cat's den? It is not every night that dinner comes knocking to my door. I wonder if you fools shall taste as well as the last bunch of idiots, that dared to come to my home uninvited... it seems another lesson is required."
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You chuckled at the obvious display of stupidity. This was the second time in as many nights that some arrogant youth had dared to challenge you within your own domain. Modern vampires were even more obnoxious than you remembered, their inflated egos far outstripping their actual power. It was almost a pity that you were going to have to kill them. There was a certain dark comedy in their bravado, a delicious irony in their ignorance. They strutted into your lair, acting as if they owned the place, completely unaware of the ancient power they were trifling with. Yes, it was almost unfortunate—you could have used the entertainment. But you were better than your past self.
You had to be.
"Do not presume to lecture me, child," you say in a scolding tone, the weight of centuries pressing down on your voice. The youth before you, oblivious to the gravity of their situation, has no idea what they've done or the danger they're in. They will learn. Oh, they will learn. "I wrote the laws you refer to," you continue, a dark smile curling at the corners of your lips, "and I can just as easily write new ones." The truth of your words hangs in the air, heavy and foreboding. This insolent child is standing in the presence of a being who has shaped the very fabric of their world, and yet they dare to challenge you. Ignorance and arrogance are a lethal combination, one you have seen countless times throughout the ages. But you will make sure they understand—every consequence, every nuance. This lesson will be etched into their memory if they survive to remember it.
They won't though. You will make sure of it.
"Now tell me, little mouse," you say, your voice dripping with a mix of amusement and menace, "was it really a wise move to try and invade the cat's den?" You pause, letting the weight of the question hang in the air, watching as the realization begins to dawn in their eyes. "It is not every night that dinner comes knocking at my door," you continue, a dark chuckle escaping your lips. "I wonder if you fools shall taste as good as the last bunch of idiots who dared to come to my home uninvited."
You step closer, the predatory gleam in your eyes unmistakable. The air grows thick with tension, and the youth's bravado starts to crack. "It seems another lesson is required," you say, voice cold and resolute. "A lesson in respect, in knowing one's place, and the dangers of overstepping boundaries." You relish the fear beginning to flicker in their eyes, knowing that soon, they will fully grasp the gravity of their mistake.
You had almost forgotten your charges and your prisoner. "Get inside." You ordered.
"What?" Mary asked.
"That order was not for you."
With a flick of your hand, the young Dhampir was violently expelled from your shadow, landing hard on the ground with a thud. He screamed in pain as his body began to smoke, the protective runes around your domain activating to target him, ready to incinerate him at a moment's notice, if he tried to escape. "Get inside, boy," you commanded, your voice laced with an authoritative edge. "We will talk later."
The boy nodded, his face contorted in a mix of fear and agony. Without another word, he staggered to his feet and hurried inside, his movements jerky and desperate. The runes continued to sear him as he passed, a painful reminder of the boundaries he had foolishly crossed and the masters he served. You watched him with a cold detachment, knowing that this painful initiation was only the beginning. There would be a reckoning, and the lesson would be unforgettable.
Mary, twirling Thor's hammer with an eager grin, looked up at you expectantly. "How many do I get to kill?" she asked, her eyes sparkling with anticipation.
"None," you replied, your tone firm and unwavering.
Her smile faltered, and she looked visibly dejected. "But—"
"They are not yours to kill," you interrupted, your voice brooking no argument. The weight of your authority silenced her protest. Mary frowned but nodded, the hammer slowing in her hand.
And those hunters then, finally… realized what had been done. And they tried to flee.
Ending it:
D20 => 20
You only smiled and snapped your fingers, knowing what would come next. They always ran once they understood why you were not afraid.
In an instant, the shadows from the entire town converged on your location. These were your shadows, the ones you had carefully planted throughout the area since you first arrived. The darkness moved with a swift, silent fury, consuming the intruders before they could even scream.
You took a deep breath, savoring the moment. It was time to gorge yourself. "Do not come to the basement, my child," you instructed as you began to walk back into the house, your voice carrying an eerie calm. "It's going to be a bit messy."
Joseph, still glowing faintly from his magics, watched you with a mix of awe and trepidation. He stared at you as if seeing you for the first time, the weight of your countless past transgressions against the innocent—children and young people alike—suddenly palpable. What surprised him the most, however, was just how much you seemed to have changed.
Maybe that is why he stood there, as he finally realized, like his sister before him, that he was safe with Old Man Norton.
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The young Dhampir sat in the basement, his eyes wide with a mix of fear and grim satisfaction. He had witnessed you drain the blood from all his companions, turning them to ashes before his eyes. The silence of the basement was thick with the weight of what had just transpired.
You didn't need millennia of experience to recognize the signs of abuse. The boy's demeanor, his quiet satisfaction at seeing his tormentors destroyed—it was all too familiar.
"What is your name?" you asked softly, trying to coax him out of his shell.
"Boy," he replied, his voice barely a whisper.
You shook your head, understanding immediately. The boy had likely been sent on dangerous missions before, treated as expendable by those who should have protected him. "My name is Norton," you said gently, "and you are not a tool of the hunters anymore."
"Paul," he murmured, a hint of fear still lacing his voice.
"Do you know who I am?" you asked, your tone kind but probing.
"I know you broke the sacred laws," Paul replied, his voice trembling. "And you have the Conduit in your possession. You're threatening us all."
You couldn't help but feel a surge of irritation. So they were calling Joseph the Conduit now? Bloody ridiculous. It was clear they'd tried to brainwash the boy, filling his head with lies and half-truths. "Who was the vampire of your bloodline?" you inquired, trying to steer the conversation.
"Mother—" he started, then abruptly stopped, as if something prevented him from speaking further.
Your gaze fell on his neck, where you noticed a faint, smoking mark—a rune. You recognized it immediately as a control mark, designed to bind and silence. The sight filled you with a mix of anger and pity. The boy had been enslaved in more ways than one, a pawn in a cruel game he wasn't expected to survive.
Giving Freedom:
D20 => 17
You glanced at the smoking rune on Paul's neck, your expression hardening. With a sigh, you walked over to your toolbox. The weight of your responsibilities felt heavier with each new stray you took in, and the weariness of it all was beginning to show. You just wanted some nice peace and quiet for a century. Was that too much to ask?
As you rummaged through your tools, the sharp metallic sounds echoing in the quiet basement, you couldn't help but think of the others you'd saved before. The constant cycle of breaking their chains, both literal and figurative, before bringing them to your chains, was exhausting. You didn't want to do that anymore.
You had long since given up trying to be a conqueror, a slaver, a monster.
But despite your weariness, you couldn't turn away. There was still work to be done, and this boy—Paul—deserved a chance at freedom. Even if it meant adding another stray to your growing collection.
"This is going to hurt," you warned as you unsheathed the dagger from its hilt.
Paul's eyes widened in alarm. "What are you going to do?"
Holding up the dagger, you replied, "This is Cassandra's ritual knife, a little keepsake from my time in Troy. One of the last blades around that can remove magic from a body."
As you approached, Paul tensed, fear flashing in his eyes. You could see the rune's magic tightening around him, reacting defensively to the presence of the blade. Without further hesitation, you carefully pressed the edge of the dagger against the smoking rune on his neck.
Paul's reaction was immediate and visceral. He growled and then screamed, a tortured howl echoing through the basement. The dagger's touch made the rune flare up, emitting a dark smoke that rose from his skin. The magic embedded in his flesh resisted fiercely, as if it knew it was being purged.
You worked quickly but carefully, cutting away the enchanted mark. The process was excruciating for Paul; the magic did not want to let go, clinging to him as if it had a life of its own. His skin sizzled where the knife touched, and more smoke filled the air, acrid and thick.
Paul's cries grew more desperate, a mix of pain and rage. The rune was fighting back, its magic lashing out as it was severed. You gritted your teeth, knowing that the longer it took, the more it would hurt him. But there was no other way; the rune had to be removed completely, or it would continue to bind and torment him.
Finally, with one last, precise cut, the rune was gone. The air was heavy with the scent of burnt flesh and dissipating magic. Paul collapsed, gasping for breath, the ordeal leaving him pale and shaken. The smoke lingered for a moment before fading, leaving behind only the faint scar where the rune had once been.
You sheathed the dagger, watching Paul fall into a peaceful, blissful trance. He would awaken in a few days. Hungry for blood.
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The children were getting along… for the most part, but now you had to get revenge and to protect your children.
Paul's mother was a former Archduchess of Austria, going by a different name now. "Elizebeth Brickton" A silly name but a fitting one for America. She couldn't go around with so many blasted titles and the Von Hapsburg name waving around, now could she.
She was now the enforcer of the sacred laws in North America.
And worse of all, she was aligned with the bastard Sea People.
What do you do?:
[]Walk in the Front Door: You were sure that the Council would be happy to see one of their own come back after a long absence.
[]The Social Clubs: You are going to walk in, assert dominance, get oaths of fealty, loyalty, and all that crap, and then leave.
[]rampage: They tried twice to invade your home. Well, you are going to do the same, and you will not be stupid enough or careless enough to not get what you need.
