Castlevania: Forgotten Poem

Castlevania, Clock Tower

"What a horrible night to have a cu-"

"Shut it, Gaibon."

Not too long ago this place used to be a small, but prospering town in the middle of Romania. Well, as prospering as one can prosper under such a regime.

Now it was naught but a wasteland devoid of life. Houses became mausoleums and crypts, gardens made place for graves. Previous inhabitants didn't even have the time to escape. Unfortunate, but such is the law of this accursed place. Here it's the dead who walk the streets. The very first outpost of Dracula's demonic army, The Great Graveyard. Any would-be vanquishers of evil needed to progress through the lands of the living dead in order to reach the main gate of this ominous castle looming in the distance.

...but were they any?

edited 8th Nov '14 2:01:42 AM by FergardStratoavis

The Great Graveyard

While I'm sure charging into battle on a mighty steed is a somehow necessary affair yours is somewhat less impressive than Sleipnir. The all too familiar and ever venomous voice of Vafthrudnir rung through the young woman's head, almost bringing a smile to her bluish lips. Even she had to appreciate the visual comedy of the situation - riding through the oppressive night, the sword Skofnung at her hip and into the legions of undead horrors... on a blue, rusted push-bike.

"Sarcasme niet verbetert je charme, Vafthrudnir." Marit Schylar muttered aloud, ceasing her pedaling a few metres from this new graveyard's border and squeaking to a halt, "Als je niet van de fiets, is het tijd om bezwaar gegaan doen." She added, dismounting the 'vehicle' and carefully resting it against the remains of a garden fence, noting a few suspicious stains with a distasteful look.

Why be so careful? You won't be back to retrieve it, Marit. The woman shook her head and chuckled, striding quietly between the houses of the dead, "Alleen als je blijft praten om me af te leiden, idioot." Marit pointed out shrewdly, scaling the side of a tallish mausoleum and taking in the land before them. "Ah, het wordt gewijzigd zoals Ymir vlees onder Odin tintje." She drew her sword, marveling at how the evil of the castle had changed the land itself. Fortunately the path to the source was easy to see, albeit not to pass through. Nevertheless, it had to be done - if not to rid the world of Dracula then to rid herself of the Vafthrudnir.

Well? Enjoying the view? This 'great' vampire has limited imagination. Vafthrudnir quipped, but Marit ignored it as she saw a large undead creature below - it looked as though two people had been warped into one. The scholar leaped from her perch and landed on its shoulders, burying her blade in one of its heads then wrenching it across to sever the other. She kicked off the creature as it slumped to the ground and strode purposefully to Castlevania.

edited 8th Nov '14 12:52:02 AM by Lt.BGob

"Well, end of the road so far as having other people and vehicles move me around" says a peculiar witch, one wearing a nun´s habit under a fine cloak, as she looks at the retreating car out in the distance. Said car belonged to a certain Braum Strevich, a simple minded but brave man who she had managed to... 'enchant' to give her a ride in his car all the way to Hell on Earth. Or at least, as close to it as she could given the hardship of maintain control of him considering the otherworldly and hellish fear that such a cursed place reeking of death produced in a God fearing and good man. Really, his praying started to get tiresome by the third skeleton they ran over on his truck.

"Ahh, and to battle such evil for the good of man I now move out!" declares Lilyan, with a flair for the dramatic in the dead outskirts of a dead town, with nothing but the wind, carrion birds and possibly monstrous horrors to hear her. Well, within one of those categories entered one of her latest familiars, Malachor, the crow, as the bird soared over her. Still, the lack of a proper audience wasn't going to stop her from enjoying herself, gesticulating dramatically, pointing her with arm towards the far off castle "A lone woman in a place of fear and demons, armed only with her wits and the knowledge passed down her line... and of course, the support of God"

Starting her march with a good stride, she brought out from one of her deep pockets her blackwood staff, letting the wood crackle with electricity as she ventured closer to the great Graveyard... swinging her staff with magic enhanced strength to bat away a skeleton's skull or two which she could swear were about to move and grasp at her.

"Such is the nature of the world... for evil to rise and the good to rise against it! And in the process, perhaps, to come into treasures and powers hidden in the hoards of evil... to appropriate these for the sake of future good! Though then again, a good nun such as I, Sister Natasha, would think not of that. For my heart is heavy with the suffering of the world!" she says grinning as she spots a demonic rat some distance away... and taking aim, she releases a weak blast of lightning towards it, scoring a hit "Yesss! Oh, cough cough... "

"Anyway, a young nun such as myself can't actually be faulted if I fail to save the world, right? That heavy burden falls to the Belmonts, to their kin and those whip wielding heroes. Still, every bit of goodness should be cherished... and surely, my actions will contribute to the vanquishing of evil, right Malachor?" she asks of the circling crow, to the which, the bird lets out a few caws "Oh, what do you know bunch of feathers? Just keep and eye out for danger" she demands, smiling as she holds her staff in both hands, her eyes set into the opening streets before her "Something tells me we're getting to the interesting part of town"

In the dead of night, in a place not too far away

Storm clouds forming over a mooned sky gave a foreboding chill down the spine to those who dared pass this way even in the most mundane of times. But the shadow of the castle spire, scarring the sky like a black dagger, threatens the landscape with its presence. In the night evil stalked across the land, monsters long thought to be mere myths hunting for the living and spreading their influence to the mortal world. But not all that traveled under this darkness had malicious intent.

Across the plains a vehicle sped it's way towards the dead town at the foot of Dracula's castle, it's occupants tasked with an important mission. Two men, the driver and the sole passenger, keep their eyes sharp across the horizon, only moonlight poking through the gaps in the clouds lighting the way. They had both agreed to take the risk of traveling without the headlights. It had already been an herculean effort to get them past the Romanian quarantine, and they would not waste it being caught by their patrols (although nothing could be done about the sharp sensed monster hearing their approach). They rode in silence, the only sound accompanying the engine was the howl of wolves. Or at least, the driver hoped they were wolves. The passenger knew they weren't.

As they drew close enough to the Great Graveyard, the vehicle eventually slowed to a stop, and the passenger opened up the door to leave. Despite the death hanging in the air and the accursed castle baring down on them with it's oppressive sight, the passenger kept an air of clam to him as he pulled his suitcase from the back. The veteran of the horrifying and strange seems natural in this dread place, despite his out of place attire. The younger driver seemed much more frightened, but the senior agent had enough sense about him.

"In two hours I will send a message through the short range radio" the senior man stated, facing the driver "You job will be to act as a relay to send the report back to HQ. Find yourself a safe place to wait, and remember your training." He black dressed then about face, and headed into the town.

"What if you can't send a message then?" The driver asked.

"That is simply not an option"

"...good luck, Roger"

The Great Graveyard

Mr. Johnson strolled into the blasted town. "Strolled" might be too casual. He almost marched with extreme precision down the flagstone path that wound its way towards the castle looming over him. His eyes, hidden behind shades, ever watched for what crawled and slithered along the abandoned homes and street. A glance towards him would make one wonder what would make man in a suit come to a place like this, yet his piercing gaze and and intimidating presence made him almost at home with the monsters that stalk the town.

As he ventured deeper within the town, Mr. Johnson looked towards the sinister walls of the castle before him. Although he keep a stoic face, his fear was still hidden inside. His mission had been to rendezvous with whatever monster hunter dared to venture into Dracula's castle, and assist them in any way he could. And if there was no such person, he had to face the vampire himself. In all honestly, he doubt his ability to do. Even the great vampire hunter families were challenged by the dark lord, and the agent had no holy weapons or power as they do. But he would fight, and proudly die, regard. For it was his duty to face the monsters that preyed on humanity, and he will not fault from it.

He hopes it would not come down to that, though.

The path made way to the town proper, Mr Johnson slipping by the grave markers that now lined the streets. A cold fog, unnatural as it swirled and filled the alleyways, hampered his sight. He could hear the shuffling of some unknown threat just out of his sight and among that he heard... voices. The agent kept one hand close to his pistol, but he moved towards those voice. Either they were some minion of Dracula who had been unwise to flap their gums and reveal their position, or if luck was on his side it was a fellow monster hunter. He's rarely that lucky.

"Sister Natasha"

"Such a spectacle. Hold me, my jaw is going to fall off from amazement." Someone droned with a voice dripping of sarcasm. On one of the grave markers, busy pushing a rising zombie back into its grave sat... a rather odd-looking figure. His attire resembled that of a cowboy: wide-brimmed hat, a large poncho, spurs, fingerless gloves. Further adorned with a pair of tacky shades and a gray shawl and holding a guitar case he looked like the last person that could be found in such a place, even for a vampire hunter.

...assuming he was one, seeing as his fingers were quite obviously bones that he didn't even bother to hide.

Luckily for the secret agent, this time such odd words belonged to a fellow ally rather than a monster.

Such was this odd girl with no pupils to be seen, covered in bluish markings and holding a sword.

Marit Meets Mr. Johnson!

edited 8th Nov '14 2:16:37 AM by FergardStratoavis

The Great Graveyard

I am still amazed, even for gullible little girl, that you think you can simply shake off my spirit like water from a dog. Vafthrudnir started again, his usual air of droll superiority hardly acknowledging Marit's hands currently being occupied by a cackling skull. "Niet nu, Pisvlek!" The pale woman hissed to the demon, crushing the reanimated cranium to dust and screams with her hands then kicking its fleshier comrade into the wall beside her. Marit drew her sword again and finished the foul thing with a clean slice, noting another shape drawing closer in the night.

Tut tut, Marit! Even you can think of more creative insults - those pitiful creatures can't be giving you so much trouble... Its icy voice laughed in her head, Schylar frowning in annoyance, "Kanker hond, zal ik je zwijgen als het kost me beide ogen!" She growled then tempered her tone, "Iets of iemand komt op deze manier." Marit took a few bold steps towards the figure and held her sword out in warning - it appeared to be human in shape, but in the darkness who could truly tell.

"Wie zijn jullie? Spreken of sterven!" The frozen girl demanded, ignoring whatever criticisms Vafthrudnir had and then trying again in english for good measure, "Who are you? Answer or die!"

The Great Graveyard

The somewhat ugly and large bat disengaged itself from beneath the Truck's underside, and began flapping around, coughing a couple of times. Erich, now in bat form was dirty, and he had inhaled quite a lot of dirt and fumes, but such was the price of going incognito. He had barely time to react, when he had seen the truck on the road speeding towards the castle. Thinking quickly, he had assumed his bat form and let the truck carry him towards the castle.

Floating idlely around the Graveyard, he pondered his options. If he just flew and bypassed most of the monsters he would be at risk of airborne attacks, which as bat he couldn't defend so well. And through the ground, it'd be like all times. Hordes of monsters, puzzles, vampire hunters who could target him aswell...

And then He saw quite the sight. A nun clubbing monsters with a staff. It didn't look quite like a nun... or it was some sort of special spellcaster nun. An oddity. Zauber quickly reasoned that such a sight could only mean a vampire hunter. After all they were the most outrageous freaks sometimes. Maybe he could use that...

The vampire bat then took a collission course towards the nun's clothes, hoping to attach itself much like he had done with the truck, and let her do the heavy job of entering the castle. But he didn't calculate so well the plan when the staff went into a collision course with his bat form, sending him to the ground in a comical way, hitting it hard. OWOWOWOWOWW He thought to himself as he crawled staggeringly in the ground, trying to regain flight in vain.

edited 8th Nov '14 3:05:04 AM by AtomicNut

The Great Graveyard

Hearing the voice and then looking at the sight of the skeletal cowboy, the first thing Sister Natasha did was to look up at her crow sentry with a truly scary frown. Really? You didn't catch sight of that you useless feathery idiot?

Then her next thoughts were split between two very important activities. Talking and also analyzing the possible threat before her "Heh, if you are amazed by just that, I better not show you all I can do" she says, answering his sarcasm with sheer bravado as she swings her staff again to let it rest behind her neck, held by her two hands... and one easy movement from a powerful swing of it. She may be a loudmouth and cocky bastard outwardly, but inside, she was taking this stuff serious. Then again, she was surprised when midswing her staff collided with what appeared to be a little bat now dazedly moving on the floor "Daaamn this place is thick with bats, can't swing a stick around without hitting one of the little pests"

"Anyway! Sir, are you greeting me as a person walking by? Or as a nun walking the righteous path in the name of God? I can afford a prayer or two for you, in these dark times. But not too much more... see I'm on a mission from the Big Man to stomp out evil where I may find it. You know anything of it?" asks the Sister with a bit of cheeky grin... and yet her eyes stared at him seriously. Skeleton, so 98% chance of it being undead. Yet talking, so no lowly one. Nearly any undead that talks is bad news. The cowboy look is... well, surprising, but it may point at a gun user in which case a nearby grave may serve as good cover.

The Great Graveyard

"I assume that Capital G didn't equip you with a pair of functional eyes, did he?" Skeleton cowboy would probably grimace with disdain if he could. His voice oozing with sarcasm was enough for an expression. "Tepes' castle is somewhat hard to miss, Sister."

"...funny. You have a faint stench of Belnades family on you and yet I'm convinced you're something else entirely." The undead rose from his seat, freakishly tall. The zombie he kept holding tried to use the opportunity and escape from its grave, but a well-placed spur cleaved its rotting face in two, causing the dead body to go limp once again. "There's gonna be more of you, vampire hunters, I'm certain of it. I will make this clear and say it only once however: shall you reach the castle gate, you will find only Death. Like that kid over there." He offhandedly pointed to a small girl in a dirtied dress running away from a pair of pitchfork-wielding skeletons, not too far away from them. It was clear that the undead will messily kill her should no one intervene.

The conspicuous bat that Sister Natasha smacked a moment ago remained incognito still.

The Great Graveyard

The blinding fog made for slow movement as Mr. Johnson traveled through the crumbling ruins of a once lively town. Shadows seen passing through the mist, the slow gait and inhuman shapes revealing their identity as the undead, only further demanded caution. The agent moved pass the unholy creatures with quiet steps. He wanted to avoid drawing more to him by starting a fight, and the dulled senses of the monster made the fog as much as a blessing as it was a hindrance. Mr Johnson managed to move through the streets without notice until he found was he assumed was the source of the voice.

The girl stood over the freshly killed body of some abomination, a sword draw in her hand. She noticed him, and was quick to raise the sword against him. But the woman spoke to him, that it wasn't English at first didn't phase the agent. She was cautious. A good trait in a place like this and it set her apart from the monsters. Mr. Johnson rose his hand, signifying that he understood.

"[I mean you no harm]" Mr. Johnson spoke back in the same language as the girl first spoke in, and he moved slowly out of the fog to reveal his full self. He found that speaking someone's native language was a good way to settle tension. With one hand raised and the other at his side holding his case, he tried to look as nonthreatening as he could. If it worked was her choice.

"I am Mr. Johnson"

"Heh, I asked what you know Clint, not what is obvious. Though I must say I'm impressed... you seem to have quite a sense of smell for someone whose nose must be rotting in a pit somewhere" says the foul mouthed nun in retort to the dead cowboy "And with good instincts... I can assure you, before this is all said and done I'll show that I'm unlike anything that has come knocking on the Dracul Lord's door"

Then however, the figure of the young girl running away from skeletons was pointed out to the Sister and she let out a little sigh. How is anyone normal still remaining in this dangerous place? If she was a local, the little girl ought to be quite a survivor. Taking a step towards her, Sister Natasha takes another look at the cowboy before saying "One last thing... are those final words of yours a threat or a warning? Heh, I got to say, you're walking a thin line... even though you are undead I can't tell if you are hero, villain... or most likely, in between. You did point out the little girl to me after all"

"Anyway, Joe, have a good while stomping on zombies. I gotta play hero now! Lets go, Malachor!" says the nun with a bright grin as she starts dashing towards the little girl in trouble, staff held in one hand "Verstärkung Beine..." she whispers beneath her breath, letting magic flow to her legs as her stride suddenly becomes much faster, the lightning struck wood starting to sparkle.

She wasn't sure what to make of the skeleton... it could be a servant of Dracula as his undead nature may imply... however, his bearing and attitude didn't seem to completely match. It could go one way or another... but regardless, despite her banter, 'Natasha' will keep her guard up around him.

Though for now, she had some work to do... basically, to crash into the running skeletons, magical staff leading a blow to turn them to dust.

In-Between Time and Space

Soma hurtled through time, if that was even possible. His memories were long gone, and so he had no idea what the hell was happening. The last thing he could remember...saying goodbye to Mina? In...an airport? But why? Where had he been going? Unfortunately for him, though, the extreme pain made it hard for him to concentrate.

At that moment-!

Soma was yanked right out of the temporal tunnel.

The Great Graveyard, 1975

As if the Dark Lord's evil power wasn't enough, something else made itself felt. There was a boom, a crack, louder than thunder, and then, impossibily a rip appeared in the very sky.

And Soma Cruz fell from the rip, landing onto the hard ground and getting the wind knocked out of him. Wheezing, the youth clambered to his feet, face set in an expression of utter shock and disbelief.

"Where...am...I?"

Sister Natasha

Two pitchfork skeletons surely didn't expect any dynamic entries thrown against them. As such, the less fortune got smashed into dusts by speeding Lilyan, dropping its rusty weapon. The other one, perhaps in a moment of brief post mortem awareness, slowed down a bit, just barely avoiding another death. Not thinking much the undead creature threw a simple stab at its new opponent, intent on simply skewering the fake nun.

The child, for lack of a better term, stood there, watching her savior in awe. The skeleton cowboy didn't move an inch.

The place... wasn't really friendly-looking. Put simply, it was a big, big graveyard, ripe with various kinds of undead: skeletons, zombies, you name it. They walked idly here and there, seemingly unaware of his presence...

But there was someone else here beside him.

Five men, all dressed in army uniforms. They looked very much alive compared to other residents here... and two of them had assault rifles trained upon him. Another two kept watching the perimeter, also armed with assault rifles.

The fifth one - likely a leader, a pale man with an impressive blond beard - knelt down by him. Orange sunglasses he wore seemed oddly out of place.

"Te vorbesc limba română, băiete?" He asked in Romanian, slowly accentuating each word.

"Earth to Earth..." Says 'Sister Natasha' standing still after smashing the first of the skeletons, her eyes now set upon the second of the two. She saw the pitchfork stab coming at her... and then just stood still, bracing herself with her reinforced legs. As the rusty weapon collided with her cloak it would not find the yield one would expect... the garment was enchanted to act as armor, protecting the user specially once Natasha prepared for the blow.

"Ashes to Ashes" says the nun, holding her sparking staff with both hands and then swinging it with all might at the basic undead, intending to blow it to smithereens.

"Dust... to Dust" She finally adds, cheekily and with an easy smile before turning to the young girl she had just saved "Your prayers have been answered, Little One. A Servant of God has come now to smite away evil"

The Great Graveyard

Hmm, for a land of the dead there are more living than I prefer... Vafthrudnir commented as the figure came out of the fog to reveal himself as a man - or at least he appeared to be one, Marit not willing to decide on the matter just yet. U liever geen, Vafthrudnir. We weten allebei dat. The girl replied silently to the demon and would scowl at it if she could. However, for the moment kept her attention on the stranger, a little surprised to hear him first reply in her native Dutch before reverting to English.

"You are not from the Netherlands... And not from here." Marit replied after a moment or two of tense silence, "But you speak Dutch well, 'Mr. Johnson'." She kept her sword trained on the trench-coated man and walked up to face him, holding the deadly sharp blade beneath his chin. "Why are you here? Why carry a business case and sunglasses in this place?" Schylar demanded in a calm but brisk tone, still not trusting him - particularly as he did not give a first name.

Why do you waste time on this liar? I think I hear the undead approaching... Slice his throat, it will be no one's loss. The ice demon feebly attempted to persuade Marit, clearly bored with this chance encounter already, "Why should I not kill you and take the answers from your body?" She added.

Soma Cruz, The Great Graveyard

Son of a bitch. Soma's jaw dropped in terrified awe as he looked at his surroundings. This could not be real. This was impossible. But something inside him told him that this was really happening.

But before the confused youth could do anything else, sime (blessedly alive) men came towards him. Soma's relief turned to exasparation when they spoke in a language he did not know.

Ah, damn it. He knew Spanish, Japanese and English..but not...Wait. English? When did he learn that? Why did he have huge gaps in his memory?!

No. He could deal with that later. First, these men. He decided that English was his best bet.

"Ahm..Hello. My name is Soma. Where am I?" His voice was still hoarse and his throat hurt. A lot.

The Great Graveyard

A brief moment of silence passed between the two. Mr Johnson could see that the girl was tense, but it seemed she was at least somewhat disarmed by speaking her own language. Enough to further keep her from attacking him as she advanced and had him at literal sword point. Despite the weapon at his throat, the agent kept his stoic look to him. Even with fear creeping on him, he kept unwavering. If anything, it almost looked like he had the situation under control.

"I am here on mission from the Bureau of Paranormal Research and Defence," Mr Johnson slowly reached into a pocket of his coat and took out his wallet, flipping it open to show the badge that proved his claim "and the United States of America in order to rendezvous and assist any vampire hunters and generally prevent the further spread of the vampire known as Dracula. The case carries all my equipment allotted for this mission. The glasses are just part of the uniform" He explained. Although the uniform itself was designed to minimize recognition rather than just for look.

At this close range, the agent could better read the person with a sword to his neck. She didn't trust him, but that was to be expected. But she didn't have that look of someone who'd going to kill. But there was something else. A familiarity. The agent picked through his memories, thinking of an almost endless amount of files.

"You are Marit Schylar, aren't you? You've been missing for four years" He asked, keeping his wits about him and his free hand at his side but very ready to grab his pistol.

Down another road, the loud rumbling of a big, powerful motorcycle could be heard. The noise would've been brutally out of place in the desolate Romanian countryside under normal circumstances, but it was positively bizarre in the haunted atmosphere that emanated from what was now known as the Great Graveyard. The rider did not really fit the location either. This leather-clad, tattooed, bearded brute seemed like he would be right at home crossing the great american roads with a pack of other mean-looking men, breaking the law and the bones of rival biker gangs with his ham hock-sized fists. He was obviously not a local, and his looks were not was expected from a vampire hunter.

Jack Lockwood, the biker, was indeed a vampire hunter. Of sorts. He had next to no substantial knowledge of the supernatural, no great sorcerous powers or holy weapons, but his muscles were all that he'd needed to keep the roads back home safe. Him and his gang, his brothers and sisters. But now they were all dead and he was here to get payback because the only clue he had pointed him this way. He'd gotten some info on the way and he was now certain that he'd made the right choice. He was going to walk into that castle and punch everything in there to oblivion before setting it on fire, and even then he was only going to feel at ease when he ground whatever killed his family into a fine paste.

So he gunned his bike, stolen from a local impound, and ran over the few undead that bothered to stray into his path towards the massive castle looming in the distance.

The Great Graveyard

This Mr. Johnson didn't so much as flinch at the sword near pressed to his throat, much less her somewhat bizarre appearance - even in a place such as this. This impressed Schylar, and amused Vafthrudnir, even if she couldn't see his eyes to tell if this stoic front reflected his nature.

Hij moet moedig zijn...

Or profoundly stupid.

Ik geef toe, het is het meer waarschijnlijk zaak. Marit admitted, but wasn't entirely sure she wasn't guilty of similar foolishness given their situation. She smirked slightly when Mr. Johnson claimed to be from some American bureau and waved an ID which she had no method of verifying. "I have never heard of this 'bureau' of the supernatural, your badge means nothing." The woman said matter-of-factly but sheathed her sword after a final warning look should he try treachery, "And I am a scholar, not a hunter of vampires or like - not in any strict sense."

Vafthrudnir sighed in disappointment, And here I was thinking you might do something interesting for a change. If I had even an hour's control, I could accomplish more entertaining feats than you in a decade.

Ja, en als ik dat deed - we zouden allebei dood in een jaar... Of minder zijn, dombo.

Marit could hear sounds in the fog and dark, some clearly belonging to the long dead but others less certain. She was about to advise they discuss things further on the move when the agent spoke her name - The possessed woman inhaled sharply and narrowed her eyes in suspicion, hand on her sword hilt, "Missing? Is that what they say... Hmm, not so wrong. How do you know this?" Schylar questioned as the demon made some interested, but teasing, comments in her mind. She felt suddenly conscious of her warped appearance, the scars of binding runes... "If you are here to kill the Dracul - we can move our feet and mouths at the same time, hm? Come." Marit motioned the agent follow her, eager to turn her face from his and continued to stalk in the direction of the castle.

Feeling shy, are we?

Kalm aan, kankerhoer!

edited 8th Nov '14 10:45:02 PM by Lt.BGob

The Great Graveyard

Finally recovering after suffering the staggering blow, the vampire bat regained flight once more. He stood idle for a couple of seconds, watching the events unfold around himself. It then sighed, resigning itself to consider another approach, and exploded into his true form. There was no point in guessing what he was. Sharp dressed, in red and black, pale skin, white hair, red eyes...fangs... Not even when he neatly took some shades from his pocket and put them on. Most notably, there was a reddened bruise in his nose, no doubt from the earlier hit of the staff.

Zauber cleared his throat, figuring out that while the nun was busy playing hero, he would not be attacked. "Greetings, denizen of the graveyard. Since you're able to speak, would you mind answering a few questions for one of the Brethren of the Night?" He answered, before rummaging through his clothes and showing a picture of Rosa, his daughter. "I'm looking for this dhampyr, called Rosa. Have you seen it?"

edited 9th Nov '14 6:51:04 AM by AtomicNut

Soma

"So you're not a local, huh? Figures." The man responded with his own question, this time not bothering to hide a thick Russian accent. "You're in Romania, just a bit away from the fabled Castlevania." The man got back up, taking off his glasses. He missed a left eye, the other one stared at Soma with a mixture of amusement and disappointment. "You're not a local and judging from your disposition you're not a vampire hunter or anyone of such sort either. The only logical conclusion is that you're a monster trying to play us with your poor-quality act." The man frowned. "Give me one reason why I shouldn't have my men riddle you full of silver bullets."

The girl beamed cheerfully, running to hug her savior. "T-thank you, Miss! T-thank you so much, I swear I will go to Church more often and won't tug on other girls' hair and-" The stream of words spoken in a panicked, yet relieved voice quickly devolved into incoherent rambling. Seems she was just that happy to live another day, almost integrating herself with Lilyan's clothing in a fit of happiness.

The skeleton cowboy looked at the vampire, lowering his glasses. Toxic green lights hid deep in his eye sockets as he evaluated the newcomer. "Referring to your daughter as "it"? Most callous, Sir." He spoke, looking at the photo. "Can't say I did though. Your best bet to ask would probably be Big D, he's chilling about by the main gate." With utmost calm the skeletal gunman opened his guitar case, revealing an old-looking rifle - perhaps from 19th century - folded in two. He put the weapon together, rested on a gravestone behind him, waited a moment, aiming through its iron sights and pulled the trigger. The rifle fired with a cannon's volume, the bullet leaving behind a trail of black smoke as it followed its unknown target...

...that target being a tire in biker's motorcycle. The bullet didn't just pierce it: it pretty much exploded the thing into pieces, rendering it unusable until a new tire has been found - as well as likely catapulting the unfortunate driver further away in a tumble.

"Apologies for that." The skeletal gunman put a still smoking rifle on his shoulder, putting on glasses again. "Kids these days, trying to bypass their way up to Dracula's throne room. What happened to good ol' fashioned "Belmont Strut"?" He asked no one in particular, chuckling to himself.

It appeared that their dialogue finally attracted some attention.

Out in a thick fog one could see a giant skeletal silhouette approaching them, easily dwarfing both of them in size. In its hand it held what looked like a mace and with each its step the ground quaked a little. That attracted lesser undead as well, their shapes also already distinguishable somewhere around giant's legs.

It seemed that this graveyard housed things more terrifying than ordinary dead men walking.

OOC: That was some weird ass grammar fail.

Great Graveyard

Erich stared blankly at the skeleton, before realizing that he had mangled his english. He rubbed his forehead. "Or maybe that hit scrambled my head more than I thought." He excused himself awkwardly as he stared how the cowboy shot some target at a fair distance without even flinching. "Nice aim...umm...whatever you're supposed to be..." He then looked at his surroundings. "Many thanks, I'll go see the Lord Dracula." He added, neatly tucking his photo and once again adquiring a bat form which then began to fly towards the gate.

edited 9th Nov '14 11:04:34 AM by AtomicNut

"Wow, wow, there you go... you're an affectionate one, are you not?" asks 'Natasha' as she brings one hand down to ruffle the girl's hair as she keeps clinging and hugging. Then again her reaction was to be expected given the current circumstances... and to say the truth, the nun was happier to deal with this instead of a scared, crying mess.

Then however came the issue of what to do with her. The troublesome part of saving someone, usually you had to take it all the way... she considered the path she had walked to get here from the last bastion of civilization. Could the girl get there all the way on her own? Would the border guards let her through without harming her? If she gave the girl a copy of Saint George's blade to carry and ward away undead with, would it be enough to keep her safe and last long enough to get to the guards? All these questions circled around Sister Natasha's head.

Basically, the only response to this questions can come from you GM. It is based on Natasha's knowledge and judgement in game, but it all depends on your worldbuilding so I'll need you to answer them for me ^^;

OOC: I believe that (shooting at Jack) is what is referred to as a cheap shot, Ferg. Oh, if anyone wants or needs to know what Marit says in other languages just ask. I am often using Google translate (because my dutch is rusty) so sorry for bad grammar.

The Great Graveyard

"Kut..." Marit swore as she turned to eye the gigantic skeleton baring down on them, wishing she had kept the conversation to a minimum earlier, Ben je nu blij, Vafthrudnir? She thought with some irritation, prompting it to laugh with the usual cool cruelty. Happier than before. Though I might point out it was you that they heard, Marit. The woman sighed outwardly and drew her sword, taking a bold step towards the monstrous thing, ''Ja, hé hé - Kalm aan!'

Though the ground quaked with each lumbering step Marit did not so much as waver, rather marching to meet the brute as she appraised it through the fog. "You say you are here to help, Mr. Johnson - Now is the time to show it, ja?" She called over her shoulder with some humor to her tone, hoping he had some sill stored away in that suitcase of his. I doubt he has more than a few paltry tricks and his own death.

Schylar leaped an inhuman distance to the side of the giant, into the swarming lesser undead that surrounded it and slashed Skofnung in a low arc to clear the area and cleave leg from body. With barely a pause to confirm the effectiveness of the slash the 'scholar' lunged between the great undead's legs and attempted to climb to the knee of one. From there she attempted and powerful jump onto the magical construct's shoulders.

edited 10th Nov '14 2:38:29 AM by Lt.BGob

Whatever impacted on the wheel, Jack didn't see coming. Only the booming noise in the distance could've served as some manner of alert, and even then, wierd booming noises in the distance didn't seem out of place where he was. When the front of the bike exploded he was completely unprepared and was tossed over the handlebars as the vehicle careened off the road, tumbling across the ground and losing pieces with each impact until it crashed against a large tree, finally reduced to a barely recognizable pile of metal. The rider did not seem to fare much better as he ragdolled across Romanian soil at speeds no human being should be able to survive.

When his body finally came to a stop, thankfully without slamming into anything, Jack just lay there, face down and completely immobile. One could be forgiven for thinking he was gravely injured or even dead. The nearby undead seemed to think as much as they circled around the body like a pack of scavengers. His trousers had gotten torn at the knees, the gloves were obviously badly scraped, his wifebeater was dirtier than ever and he'd have to buy a new vest sometime soon, but Jack was not only very much alive but also not hurt too badly. As the first zombie knelt near the body to take a bite, Jack's hand shot up, grabbing the creature by the forehead and slamming it down hard enough to pulp the skull.

"Eugh. I hate when that happens" he coughed as he slowly got to his feet, dusting himself off and eyeing the surrounding creatures, which didn't seem to care about their recently destroyed comrade. "Alright then. I'm gonna go find whoever did that to my new bike and I'm tearing him a new one. Fuck off or get destroyed". He figured they wouldn't listen, but hey, what did he know.