WRAITH, darius orion

[darius wraith]

Lightning split the night, briefly illuminating the silhouette brooding on a fallen tree. His reflection was cast on a puddle near his feet. An onlooker could distinguish the olive green eyes, all but drained of color in the acute lighting, or the strong jaw, mostly squared at the chin, yet slightly crooked. The brooder's nose was nothing spectacular, being thin and long and having a small enough bulb that it did not distract from his other features, but rather brought a kind of harmony to them. Also notable were the high cheekbones and shallow cheeks, capable of adding a hint of grief to even the warmest of expressions. But nobody could tell, upon first, nor any subsequent glance, that this man was not pale, but bore a peach complexion. In an effort to deny his humanity, he painted his face white. Not only that, but he used black to coat his lips, elongate his smile, and draw rotund black diamonds around his eyes. His shaggy black hair had grown long, falling in a mixture of curls and waves to his chin. Now, part of it clung to his face, glued there by the falling rain, the other part swept behind him by the tempest. Then the split second it took the lightning to reach earth ended, and the figure was once again shrouded in darkness. Pushing off the log, he rose to his full five feet and eleven inches and strode through the gale.

He was in Terrinth, currently owned by and swarming with lycanthropes. And, given the hour, the wolves were all geared up for a hunt. If the man happened across one, there would be a struggle, but he didn't care. He'd lived long enough to have seen the day when Vampyrs owned Terrinth, the days it was infested with dogs, and the battlefields upon which his brethren had lost their lives for their "country". As he advanced on the humble abode of some family of mutts foolish enough to separate themselves from the pack, his vision began to blur. Initially, he assumed it was the rain, hitting his eyes. Then the blur began to twist and turn. Colors bled, shapes were altered, and all of a sudden, he was transported back in time to when the grasslands had not been a peaceful dwelling place, but a field of war. Precisely eight years ago. The man saw himself, Darius Wraith, standing beside his "brother" Alexius. Alexius had also been sired by Markus. It was midnight, and the brothers were priming for a fight. The dogs would be arriving shortly, upon the agreed terms that their battles should be fought during the night hours. Alexius was offering Darius a motivational speech. "Keep your chin tucked," he was saying, "and don't give them any opening. Remember, your neck and chest are your weak spots. It doesn't matter if they carve your intestines or chop your balls." He thumped Darius's heart, "This is all that matters."

The image faded, leaving Darius with a pang of grief. Despite his rough exterior, he was capable of loving. And love he had, more deeply as a vampyr than he ever could as a human being. Alexius had been more than Darius's brother. He had been his guide, his mentor, his best friend, his other half... his world. The world blurred again, and he was trust into another flashback. It was the same night as before, only two hours or so later. The dogs and the demons were at each others' throats. Corpses and sever limbs littered the ground. He and Alexius were fighting back to back, encircled by enemies. They were biting and scratching and stabbing and generally wreaking havoc on their opposition when suddenly, a wooden spike pierced Darius in the back, shooting straight through him and popping out the other end. The spike had passed just under his heart, most likely tearing a lung in the process. Even now, eight years in the future, Darius could feel the burning in his sternum. But he was alive. "Whew!" his past self quipped. "That was a close shot, eh Alex?" Always known for his mordant humor, Darius couldn't he couldn't help tossing off a joke. He peeled himself off the spike, cracked the neck of the wolf in front of him, then turned to face his brother. Alexius never continued the badinage. Instead, he'd slumped over on the ground, his face growing gray as ash. His veins turned black, as they did when vampyrs were reverted back to their corpse state. While Darius's past self collapsed to mourn over the body, his present self was whisked back into reality. The same rush of emotions that had overcome him eight years ago came crashing back -- the rage, the blind hatred, the hurt, the betrayal, and worst of all, the crippling hopelessness.

Sinking his fangs into his fist, Darius drew blood. He'd developed masochistic tendencies since Alexius's death, finding that physical pain was a preferable distraction from emotional torment. By this time, the house had drawn near. In a matter of strides, Darius was through the door. He'd slipped in quietly, so as not to disturb any children that might yet be at home, nestled in their beds. Not that it would matter -- when he finished, their rest would be eternal. Darius stole through what looked to be a dining room and into the master bedroom to begin rifling through the wolves' belongings, but was halted when he came to a mirror. It hung on the wall over a bureau. The odd thing was, Darius could see his reflection. Mirrors were not normally able to detect vampyrs. The owner must have paid a mage to jinx it, on the off chance one came prowling. In any case, Darius hadn't seen a solid reflection of him (unless you count rippling water reflections as "solid") in quite some time. He was startled by how thin he looked. He couldn't have been more than a hundred forty-eight pounds. Then again, the black also had a slimming effect. The long-sleeved tunic Darius wore was about two sizes too small and clung to him like a second charcoal skin. It was also tearing in various places from twenty years of wear. To complete his outfit, Darius wore black leather trousers and wound strips of leather around his abdomen, up his arms, and through his fingers. Over top all that was a black leather trench coat. He'd worn the same thing since he was turned, along with the makeup, and it had become a costume of sorts.

Enraptured by his reflection, Darius approached the mirror, leaning across the bureau for a better look. His gaze came to rest on his eyes. Shrouded in makeup, there was no mistaking them. They were his mothers. Darius studied them for a moment. A dull ache sprung to life in his head, and the world morphed around him. He was seven years old, sitting at a table in his house in Wynth. His mother bounded about the kitchen, hurrying to prepare a meal. Darius remembered that his father was supposedly coming home from war that evening. Darius rarely saw his father. Alistair was always off fighting some new enemy. He left Darius, his mother Gertrude, and his sister Adelaide at home and in poverty. War had bankrupt the human race. Every last scent the family had went to the generals to support the effort. They were promised new land, but it was never won. Gertrude was fretting, muttering to herself about the crookedness of the curtains, the mismatched silverware, how Darius hadn't cleaned his room... She stopped there, turned on her heel, and yelled at the dark haired five-year-old. "Darius! I told you an hour ago to clean your room, and it's still an animal sty!" When Darius refused, saying he didn't feel like it, Gertrude exploded. "I do not care if you don't 'feel like it'! You are going to go in there and pick up your room this instant! Gods! Why couldn't I have been blessed with a more obedient child? Your father does everything for this family, Darius, and you treat him horribly. You never smile when he's around. Why can't you be grateful like your sister? I hate you sometimes, you know!"

Her tirade was interrupted by a time cut. All of a sudden, it was seventeen years later, the eightieth year of Cydria's existence. Twenty-five-year-old Darius was in the midst of a heated argument with his parents. Adelaide had left the house with one of the village boys. She'd grown up to be quite the ditz. Darius rarely spoke with her throughout their childhood. At the moment, his mother was screaming at him to join the war. Alistair took up the cause, though his tone was more stern and commanding. Darius continued to resist. "I'm not going to fight for territory we're never going to win!" he retorted. "The war has done nothing but tear apart families and starve the people. If we could just be content with the land we were given, we could learn how to work it and our people would flourish." His parents couldn't grasp the concept. Darius had always been wise beyond his years, and more so than his simple-minded parents. They called him a coward, when the issue wasn't Darius' fear of fighting. He was quite the fearsome soldier when provoked. However, he had a greater understanding of the causes behind both the war and the poverty of the humans. His parents, ignorant of reality, called him a coward and ordered him from the house. So he went, out into the mountain paths with nothing but the moon to guide him. Then he was brought back into the present. All of the anger and resentment he held toward his parents returned with him. Darius worked it out by destroying the master bedroom. He leaped onto the bed and shredded the sheets. He tore open the pillows, spewing down and stuffing. He split the bed frame and raked his claws along every surface he could get his hands on, tearing fabrics and splintering wood. While he did this, he screamed. Not a word, in particular, he just screamed.

"Mister?"

Darius halted in his tracks, whipping his head around to determine the source of the voice. A little girl of no more than four years stood in the doorway, fiddling with the hem of her nightgown and turning from side to side. She continued. "Who are you, and why are you in my house?"

A red haze fell over his field of vision. There came a familiar burning sensation from his throat. Unable to control himself, Darius attacked the girl. Biting into the side of her neck, he gulped down mouthful upon mouthful of blood. The child's blood was almost therapeutic, calming Darius' nerves after just a few sips. His eyelids felt heavy, so he closed them. The rest of his memories played out in his mind, cutting back and forth in scattered bits and pieces. First, he remembered the middle-aged man who'd intercepted him on the mountain path. The man introduced himself as Markus, and offered to take Darius in. Back then, he'd been a docile, affable person. He came willingly, only to have Markus tear at his jugular. Darius was barely conscious when Markus forced some of his own stale blood down the boy's throat. Then he remembered waking up in Markus's home in Terrinth, how Markus and Alexius had stood over him. How he had spooked and attempted to flee into the sunlight, only to have his eyes burned. He remembered the first time he convened with the vampyrs in Shadow Wood, and how everyone had been so accepting. So welcoming. He remembered his first hunt, watching Alexius take down an entire cerberus on his own, and Alexius' promise that Darius would one day do the same. He remembered how content the vampires were on their own land, and how they rallied together, calling each other "family", whenever the wolves attacked. Everything was much simpler when the vampyrs lived and fought for each other.

Opening his eyes, Darius cast the girl's drained body aside and rose shakily to his feet. He wasn't weak, - as a matter of fact, he felt stronger now -, but he couldn't stop shaking with emotion. All those feelings, all those memories he'd fought so hard to suppress, brought back by one raid. Carrying all this with him had left him somber, but at least then, he wasn't passionate. He wasn't vulnerable then, he didn't hope for things that would never come to pass. Licking the last drop of blood from his bottom lip, he stumbled toward the cottage door. He needed to clear the area before the wolves returned. No doubt they'd come looking for their child's murder. Gathering himself, Darius then disappeared into the storm.

FACE CLAIM :: Brandon Lee </I do not have an odd fascination with deceased actors. geez.>
ALIAS :: Lady Emmaline, Emmy, Em, Emskizzle, E-girl, etc.
EXPERIENCE :: Four years.
CHARACTERS :: Amarus.
HOW YOU FOUND US :: Imadethesite Fell down a rabbit hole.
HOW ARE YOU DOING? NINJA ADMIN ELLIE BEAT YOU TO IT, CHEATER!

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HEAVEN IS WRAPPED IN CHAINS ©

[LADY ELENA ©]

Welcome to Heaven Is Wrapped In Chains, random layday who claims she made this place! Darius' app was killer - makes me want to create a vampyr for him to avoid interacting with. x3 You're writing skizzles are top notch as usual, which makes me feel better. I won't feel guilty in the slightest about the long-arse Calista app I'm going to foist on you once she finishes telling me her history. I'd tell you to post in the face claims, but you're an overachiever like me and you've done it already, so I'm just going to ramble on for a moment more cause I can. I can't wait until this place gets active! </thatisall>