Vampire (Bulrok) Diaries

Iazamat · October 2021

Context: Iazamat noticed Bulrok visiting Veris in his home. He teased the two of them quickly before disappearing. A few IC weeks later he finds them again in his home and shenanigans and slice-of-life ensue.

You unlock the north door.
You open the door to the north.
A luxurious, sunken lounge.
A sigil in the shape of a small, rectangular monolith is on the ground. Ominiously silent, a white warhound stands here, teeth bared. Bulrok is here. Veris is here.
You see exits leading north, south (open pine door), and northwest.
You close the door to the south.
You lock the south door.

Bulrok is an adaptive Azudim vampire of Minotaur heritage and towers above the average human, an exemplar of his kind. A harsh militaristic upbringing has molded this bovine into a metaphorical mountain, his steely exterior backed by a disciplined frame rippling with cord-like muscles. Muddy-gray pelt mottled by small, freckle-like splotches of black call attention to his throat and shoulders, spreading well down the arms and clearing before they reach his stocky,
calloused hands. Carving out its presence as hallmarks of a hard-bred existence, faint scars shift across the leathery surface of his protruding snout, his nostrils flaring occasionally at anything that might catch his attention, while a battle-mauled set of fur-covered ears twitch testily at the slightest sound. Black orbs constitute his eyes, the rings of his soft gray irises shifting to the availability of light in his vicinity. Bespeaking his fierce demeanor, a wild mane of pitch-black hues tumbles down the apex of his head, fashioned into thick unruly braids that brush across the nape of the neck. In contrast, however, they frame a distinctive pair of large black horns that juts from either side of his temples and gleams invitingly in a promise of unleashed menace. Wrapped around the shoulder and secured with a copper band is a paired shoulder cord showing off colors of teal and crimson.

Veris is an undead athletic Azudim of Atavian heritage and is streamlined with broad shoulders and sloping hips, her lanky figure very tall and wiry like a tapered wall of muscle with flattened, malnourished curves. Burnished wings of deep black-blue and speckled in smooth shades of cream and faded ocher reside at her spine, these tools of flight often tucked away to remain unnoticeable in tightly-furled poise. Her flesh is bronzed like an early dawn in a heat-wavering desert, blending in with the darker shades of her flight-feathers. Its color is luscious and sallow like a dark, exotic olive with unblemished and sketching out animalistic, starkly feminine features; a chiseled jaw, high and hollow cheekbones, and thin unpainted lips. Silken tresses the color of snow-white and gold spill from her pronounced widow's peak in a tousled cascade behind her ears slicked back and cut blunt with a sword's edge at the back of her neck to just past her chin. Beneath her expressive brows are nearly albino-colored lashes that are dusted and smeared in kohl with painted lines of molten gold that swirl about her umber eyes. Like an old, hoary mirror those predatory irises gleam like brushed metal and have no whites; often warming like a bloodied sun at high noon where shadows fall about her. From her slash of a mouth split a set of adolescent tusks, jagged and sharp with rich lines of ivory that taper upwards. Wrapped around the shoulder and secured with a copper band is a paired shoulder cord showing off colors of teal and crimson.

Iazamat is an undead adaptive Idreth of Human heritage and is simultaneously a shadow of his former self and more than when he was last seen. He is gaunt, almost mummy-like in the tautness of his skin, even more weather-worn and scored by the desert than it was previously, faded scars from unseen battles crisscrossing his brown flesh. However, if one can recall him previously, he has, despite his nigh-mummified appearance, changed considerably. Where once lean, toned muscle evinced measured training, the rigours of survival and manifold challenges cling. Where once he was bald and hairless, a great, unkempt mane of black hair hangs around his neck and shoulders. The hair would serve to soften the lines of his face, even in its unkempt state, but the severe angles have only been worsened by his haggard shape, accenting further his broad and hooked nose. His eyes are impenetrable, inky blackness, the irises either indistinguishable or entirely erased by the jet black sclera; the only colour are the pupil-esque motes of vivid, glowing gold, swimming in their pools of darkness. And though it doesn't manifest as bags or dark circles, weariness hangs heavy on his sunken eyes, as if he is perpetually exhausted by the world around him. A pair of giant, golden handprints adorn each shoulder, the thumbs slashing across his shoulder blades and the rest of the fingers curling viciously across the front of them, causing the handprints to appear as if they were grasping fiercely. A pair of slender, sun-bleached tusks jut outward from the corners of his mouth, each tusk curving downward slightly before terminating in curled and sharpened tips.

Mjoll is an undead athletic Troll. Her hulking frame towers head and shoulders above most mortals, cutting a bodybuilder's silhouette. Elongated limbs are host to massive and well-toned muscles that were certainly crafted by uncompromising physical labor. Her skin is metallic, the gray-black hue visibly reflective, the steel-like sheen making her appear as if she had been dunked into an enormous vat of molten metal and allowed to dry. The result is a perfect, unmarred canvas of flesh marked only by silver runes swirling across the entirety of her form, from fingertips to toes, stretching in ordered patterns across her massive chest and even her tusks; each rune pulses with a faint, nearly imperceptible flash of silver essence, the rhythm strangely reminiscent of a heartbeat. A broad, flat nose -obviously broken and healed countless times - is further emphasized by the heavy, angular eyebrows which frame her narrow eyes, her irises a cold and striking rust colour. She wears her hair, a vibrant crimson, shorn at the sides, a tangled, chaotic mess styled in a thick mohawk atop her head with braids and dreadlocks haphazardly interspersed throughout. A lone shock of silver has been tamed in an intricate box braid in it's wild run through the crimson tresses, contrasting starkly with both the colour of her hair and her dark, metallic skin. Long, almost Tsol'aa-like ears extend back along her head, terminating in odd, forked tips, and a pair of obsidian tusks jut forward from the sides of her wide, thin-lipped mouth, each half the length of a man's forearm, thick as a shovel handle, and
etched with the same silver runes as her body, spiralling from base to sharpened, curved tip. These final features lend an air of menace to the woman's overall figure. A pervading aura of tension surrounds her, creating a nearly imperceptible haze around her mighty form. Wrapped around the shoulder and secured with a copper band is a paired shoulder cord showing off colors of red and crimson.

Bulrok just thought:
Not awkard.

Bulrok just thought:
Nope.

You have emoted: Closing the door behind him, Iazamat turns around. His golden gaze falls on Veris and Bulrok.

Glancing aside, Veris says to you, "Ah, Father. Shade and water."

You say to Veris, "Daughter."

You say to Bulrok, "You're back."

Bulrok says, "Y-yes."

Veris says to you, "He is. Rather persistent, isn't he?"

You have emoted: Iazamat drags the corpse of Mellias, an elegant Tsol'aa consanguine off his shoulder and drops it on the steps near Bulrok. "Eat," he insists, glancing over the Minotaur.

You have emoted: Iazamat descends the smooth steps one by one, claiming the far corner across from the pair. "Am I interrupting?" He questions them, beginning the tedious work of dragging a ritual dagger across the throats of recently slain prey.

Veris drops herself to sit on a silken splay of cushions next to Bulrok, languid in her posture as she watches the corpse stripe the stone ground with blood. A fire burns bright in the pit, and she watches you curiously. "I do not believe so, though we could always wander to the part of the estate I hoped to designate as my own if you needed some space here," she replies.

"I'm good, I think?" Bulrok says, half puzzled and half amused. "Just had a bite earlier, actually. And," stops, glancing at Veris and nodding as she answers.

Failing to look up and shaking his head, you say, "No, I don't need privacy." With Bulrok's words, he stops and looks up at the man. "You're refusing my - hospitality?"

Veris sets her teeth to her lower lip. The crimson threads of her eyes nearly twinkling in place.

Veris says to you in a guttural grunt, "Go gently, Father. He's terribly shy."

You think: "You are in my home. You are likely being tender with my daughter. Eat what I offer."

You have emoted: Iazamat simply stares at Bulrok, Veris' words falling on deaf ears.

"I..no, of course not. I'd love a bite to eat." Bulrok corrects himself, forcing a smile.

Bulrok just thought:
This bastard.

With a lustful grin Bulrok drives his fangs into a vein of the corpse of Mellias, an elegant Tsol'aa consanguine and, slurping greedily, draws out its still-warm blood from the wound in long, deep, sucking pulls. Finally satisfied, he casually discards the corpse.

Veris just thought:
A raucous twitch of interior laughter, very nearly joyful fills Veris' mind at the stern stare of her pater.

You have emoted: Iazamat's face unfurls in a grin, all teeth and cheer. "See? He's a good man." And with that, sets about his work, soft 'schnicks' of sound accompanying it. He pauses long enough after a moment to wheel the dagger through the air, urging the pair with a "Go on. I'm not here."

You think: A flickering flame of amusement settles in his mind, dancing mirthfully.

"Must be my imagination," Veris says to you, her voice a slender and silvery thing. She turns to Bulrok conspiratorially, and kicks away the dusted husk of the corpse he just sucked dry. The gory sounds have no bother or bearing, as she continues on, "I would consider the matter prior settled, don't you?" She lifts a brow. "At least until that transition has been made."

*Mjoll enters*

You have emoted: Iazamat's eyes flick up occasionally, staring through the flames of the fire roaring at the center of the lounge, bouncing furtively between the pair before returning to the task at hand.

Mjoll pauses after slamming a jewel-encrusted sacrificial dagger through an uncountable number of corpses, "Oh. Hi!"

"It's getting late into the week for me, anyways." Bulrok suggests, turning towards Veris. He glances up at Mjoll as she enters. "Evenin' Commander."

You have emoted: Iazamat glances up at Mjoll, pausing in his own ritual sacrifice. He casts a smile in her direction.

Nodding, Veris says to Bulrok, "Let me know what you want to do. Especially with the sermon and [redacted], alright?"

Bulrok nods his head at Veris.

A sickly-looking bat comes flapping into the room, drops an elegant white letter into Mjoll's hands, emits a high-pitched squeaking sound, and flaps away.

Veris steps to her feet, and kicks at one of Bulrok's thighs. "Up, let's get you going before you pass out on my favorite spot to sleep," she says, too loudly.

Mjoll wanders through the cushioned pit offering a tender, massive mitt to the top of any head willing to take it on her trek through, "Don't mind me, just passing through - BATS!"

Mjoll opens an elegant white letter.

Mjoll twitches spasmodically.

Mjoll gives a pained sigh.

*Mjoll leaves, returns shortly*

Mjoll says, "Mphm."

Mjoll says, "ANYWAY."

Exhaling thinly, Veris says, "What is it, Ma?"

Mjoll smiles impishly and says, "Shop donations."

Comprehension flashes across Veris's face.

Mjoll says, "And now I'm crawlin' in bed before something else distracts me from it."

Veris sidles up to Mjoll and gently rubs one of her tusks against her.

Mjoll sidles up to Veris and gently rubs one of her tusks against her.

Mjoll says to you, "Don't be long."

Veris says to Mjoll, "Dad could distract you, likely, if you asked."

Mjoll says to Bulrok, "Take it easy, Ser."

Mjoll's mouth lifts slightly at the corners as she gives Veris a small grin.

Bulrok says, "You too, Commander."

You have emoted: Iazamat coughs suddenly, as if clearing his throat.

*Mjoll leaves*

Veris just thought:
"My revenge is complete," she hums.

You quietly click your tongue against the roof of your mouth.

Veris says to you, "A bit of sand there, Father?"

Finishing up with the last few corpses, you say, "Something like that."

You have emoted: Iazamat retrieves a length of cloth from his cache and begins cleaning the ritual dagger of blood. Absently, he glances up, fixing his attention on Bulrok.

You think: "You can hear me, no?"

Bulrok just thought:
REGRETFULLY.

You think: "She is made of steel, but she is - fragile right now. I know you're a good man, don't break her."

Veris snaps out her foot, harder to Bulrok's thigh.

Bulrok just thought:
Breaking things comes naturally - but it's not my intent.

Bulrok stands at Veris' kick, scowling slightly. "Ah, right. Enjoy your evening, Iazamat."

Veris says, "Legs are key to moving, I find."

You have emoted: Iazamat makes his way to his feet, satisfied by the cleanness of the ritual implement. "Good!" He enthuses, whether to the dagger or the room is hard to gauge. "He needn't leave. I'm going to bed."

Bulrok fiddles with a sulfurous amulet idly, grinning. "For poor people." He turns to you and shakes his head. "Really, it is getting late for me, and I need to be going."

Veris rolls her eyes at Bulrok.

You say, "Sands keep you, then."

Veris sidles up to you and gently rubs one of her tusks against you.

Returning the tusking, his landing against the side of the woman's head, you say to Veris, "And you, daughter."

Her skull making a sharp thud, Veris says to you, "And you, Father."

You have emoted: Iazamat spins about and heads northward, a low, sonorous chuckle escaping him as he vanishes from sight.

*END*