Thread: flectere si nequeo superos, Acheronta movebo (NoxRogue)

Click Chess Pieces For Character Pictures. -- Yuri de Elias Schiffer Nox, Liliana Greand Rogue. -- Annaleise de Elias Schiffer. Though the night was cold, like the skin of the dead, he was oblivious by way of the heavy coat on his upper body. It enveloped him, promising the warmth of a new day's sun, for as long as he kept it upon him. The coat was nothing fancy it had not been crafted from the finest materials, but it's purpose was for the travel-weary. It had been weaved with gray fabric, adorned with golden twists of material along the hems of the coat, some of those golden edges frayed and tattered from usage. The man wearing this coat leaned forward, some of the accoutrements attached to the fabric chiming with the sudden shift in posture. He held his black leather clad hands before the fire, the gloves assimilating the heat and passing it through to the skin. He could hear the soft humming being perpetrated by his companion. It reminded him of a time long since past. A time when he himself felt he was a well-to-do man. Bronzed skin. A body chiseled from granite and marble. The strength to face convictions and judgement with naught but a hearty disposition and an even heartier scoff. Now the man was a shadow of his former self. Some might have called it a wisp, even. His ebony tresses were drawn behind his head, slicked back with wayward grease he had happened upon, the length tickling the undersides of his shoulder blades. Where bronze skin once was lay pallid, sallow skin. Though it seemed to shine with an ethereal glow, it was only because of the gift, if it could be called that, that he had been bestowed with. He lifted his eyes, focusing on the woman across the flickering fire they had created for warmth, the light from the flames refracting against his vibrant blue pupils, causing them to twinkle like beautiful sapphires. His left hand came across, tugging at the edges of the heavy coat, drawing it over the blood red tailored vest and lace frill that dangled from his throat and to a close. While hardly mentionable, being as nondescript as the gray slacks and black loafers on his lower body, there was a clockwork piece dangling from a silver chain hanging in the left forward vest pocket. It extended to the corresponding pocket of his slack. A treasure, given to him by his sister. His sister. Annaleise..... There was a time when a young man had to stand up and do what was right for the way of the family. His parents had raised them well. They had the finest education within their means. His father, though originally a vagabond and a mercenary, had come to love his mother and settle down. He even joined the ranks of the Magistrate, using his previous aptitude to further a career in their militia. Everything was wonderful, until the letter. He still remembered the reaction. A downward glance. A futile effort to catch his mother as she collapsed into a racking sob. The smell of the man who had delivered it. He smelled of leather and grass. His father had been murdered by the opposing force on the battlefield. Their life changed drastically in a manner of five minutes. It took only a year for his mother to give up on life and join his father, leaving them orphaned. What was a boy of fourteen to do? Not a soul would beggar to hire such a young chap. They all turned him away, even in his time of need. So he did what a man would do. More importantly, he did what his father would do. He took the sword that once hung proudly in their living area as a testament to the great man his father was and became a sellsword. It turned out the preaching of genetics by all those scientists was true. He had a knack for it. With his living as a sword-for-hire, he was able to provide for himself and more importantly, give a good life to his sister. She never wanted nor needed for any item. Though it kept him away to the battlefield, they remained close. As close as they had always been. They shared a blood bond, but not only that, a bond of love and friendship. He never thought that that bond would be what was his salvation, but her damnation. How was he to know what a legend, a nightmare, a child's fable to scare children to sleep, would look like face-to-face? He wouldn't, but he came to know. The vampire, or Methuselah, as they were known in their tongue, easily had overwhelmed his natural, humanly skill. He never understood why the Methuselah partook of him so openly, but left him to die a dog's death in the pouring rain. He still remembered that rain to this day. For some reason, it was sour. It felt like Death was grasping him. But he survived, if he could call it that. He did not want to die without first setting eyes on his sister. So through the battlefield he dragged himself, within an inch of his life, back to their cabin in the plush countryside. He made it to the steps before his body refused to cooperate. She found him, disheveled and on the verge of the abyss. She brought him in and poured tears for her brother. In return, he embraced her, draining her life from her, but giving her another. In his frenzy for blood, after the change had effected, he turned the only person he loved into an abomination, leaving himself to teeter on the edge. What the Methuselah never spoke of was the fact that if one were to drink of a compatible blood descended of your own lineage, it would staunch the transformation or revert it, creating a hybrid of half human, half Methuselah. He was neither. He had been graced with their power, but suffered none of their weaknesses. The catch? His sister took the transformation. His ignorance in the matter left her to become something that was intended to be his burden. That had been eighty years ago, a young man on the cusp of twenty-six, yet now never knowing what it was like to reach that age. He blinked, the sapphire eyes refocusing to his companion as she spoke something to him. He ran his tongue over his dry, aching lips. He hadn't heard a word she had said. They had spent most of the night in their own thoughts, contemplative of what was to come...