Post by Reinhard Glais on Sept 30, 2016 11:42:31 GMT
His diction was sharp, and his voice was a heavy baritone. The room was spattered in blood. Various shades of red painted across the broken wood, illustrating a beautiful picture of mayhem and carnage. Much like the room he stood in, Reinhard’s figure was covered in the same red mist. Looking down at his hands, a soft grimace pulled at his features. There was a tear in his right glove - he rather enjoyed this set. It had taken them a week, but with the aid of one of the Ladies of the city they had uncovered a sect of unregistered humans who had been planning a coup. While he admired their mettle, the futility of their situation was anything but flattering. Such complete and utter stupidity was not something that he could applaud. Their bodies were strewn out across the room in various states of decomposition. Some were whole, the majority in pieces.
He had entered the room like a maelstrom, slaughtering all who had the misfortune of crossing his path. In such moments, with such stakes, there could be no quarter given. It hadn’t been. They had struck out in the early evening, storming the compound without warning and without hesitation. The Inquisition had descended upon the two story, four bedroom home without so much as a knock. Once the door had been kicked in, the blood began to flow freely. While he wasn’t very senseless violence, there was something to be said about the thrill of the hunt and the intoxication that often consumed one during times of such violence. Reaching into his black trench coat, he produced a handkerchief and began dab at his blouse.
“What about the children?”
An Inquisitor questioned.
“Registered?”
He quickly responded.
“They have no markings.”
Reinhard frowned, baring his fangs as he did so.
“Contact one of the local Praetors. Ready them for intake and interrogation.”
Exiting the large entryway, he began to make his way through the home. The owner had obviously gone to great lengths to restore the building to its former glory. But, in scouting the location, it became apparent that the home had gone through several unnecessary renovations to make it more human friendly. The skylights were distracting at the very least, but they had been ready for such variables. He gazed out from beneath his head, placing his hand into the waning rays of the sun. The tear in his glove exposed his porcelain skin. He could his flesh bubbling underneath the warmth of the sun's embrace. It was late in the day. Soon such nuisances would no longer hinder their investigations any further. As he entered the main room, sobbing and stammering was all that he could hear.
A survivor. A vampire. He knew that there were human sympathizers. This wasn't noth something new. They had existed long before the fall of the veil. While their numbers had dwindled, they remained a burgeoning threat inside of the Inner City. This was his home, thus his responsibility. Among the many unregistered humans that had been slew that day, there were several that were not only registered, but had been to this man.
"You would betray your brothers and sisters? Do you seek our mother's embrace so readily?"
Reinhard asked. Monotone and cold. While his displeasure towards humans was well-known, there was nothing in his eyes worse than of a race traitor. The man did not respond. He continued to look at the floor, broken and bloody. Reinhard kneeled down, placing his hand gently upon the man's jawline. His index finger traced along it slowly, before pressing his hand firmly to the vampire's throat. But before he could act, they were interrupted by the presence of another.
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