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

RE Flectere Si Equeo Superos, Achaeronta Movebo NoxRogue To say he was strong enough to fight against them being a Methuselah was an understatement. He seemed frail from his self-imposed malnourishment, so there was little to no effort being exerted to bring him to the separate wagon and imprison him. While listening to their music, he let his mind wander in an attempt to quell the feeling the solitude. It had been quite some time since he had interaction with humans on the level that he previously mucked up and he found a pang, a twinge if you will, in his chest for that company again. He didn't fault her for her caution though. He had attempted to drain her for his own selfish reasons, after all. It felt like an eternity secluded from them, left with nothing but traces of conversations and the shifting of the wagon as it traveled over holes in the worn roads. Eventually the caravan came to a stop once more. When they lifted the flap on the end, he was greeted by small fragments of light from the street lamps running parallel on both sides of the dusty streets. He was wrest free from his shackles and thrown from the end to the ground. It was then his eyes came upon the city they were in. Derelict as it was, it still seemed to be decently populated. There was a man near them. He had a shock of hair and a thick, grisly beard. He was wearing rather off-putting clothing, bright in color and hue. They were mentioning him. Then he craned his head into the door and before he could blink the street was flooded with people from inside the decrepit building they were before. He heard the screaming and the struggling. He just couldn't bring his body to do anything about it. He was like paper in their arms as they dragged him inside. He knew this smell, knew this taste filtering into his mouth from the smoke they had brought him to an opium den. They flung him into a chair, rocking back onto the two hind legs before he crashed back to the floor. He almost collapsed forward and onto the floor from his perch in the chair if not for the man. His voice was gruff, his accent thick. He was a Northerner, that much was apparent, Fear not blood man. We have place for you here, just as for the gypsies. Funny thing about gypsies. No one to miss them, right? You are going to be an asset, I know. And cheap, too. I got you for free and a few extra women for my customers. Shackle him. They bound him without hesitation as the man removed a cigar and began to light it, parting his mouth to continue speaking, though it sounded muffled, You see, our customers love opium. But sometimes they get too strung out to enjoy anymore and they leave to sober. Not good for business. You have purpose. You are going to drain blood and 'poison', so to speak, from them. They get unhigh and want to get high more without leaving. I make more money. Don't think about draining them to point of death either. I know that's how you turn them. No more Methuselah unless I say blood man. With a snap of his fingers, another order was issued, Prepare women a room and let customers know we have new selection. Kill the men that were with them. No purpose. Everyone must have purpose. His head lolled around. The frenzy was becoming stronger and he was becoming weaker by the moment. So weak that he wouldn't even be able to save himself, let alone these people. What felt like days passed where he was left alone until the man came back, Your first night has arrived. Guards will be watching you, and you be kept chained for--- A man came into the room after a knock, leaning inside to convey a quick message, Boss, bad news. That young gypsy girl, the teenager or whatever, Malak broke her unfortunately. Just rode her right to death. Little thing couldn't handle all that fucking obviously. The man blew smoke from the cigar into the air, Malak very loyal returning customer. We let it go. Take her out back and burn her. Let the men know they can fuck her if they want before you burn her. The man nodded, They'll enjoy that. With that the door closed, Big night boy. Come. He unshackled him, then refitted him with another set of shackles attached with a chain, leading him out to the club. The night was a blur. He began to feel his strength renewed after the fifth person he fed from in order to purge them of their intoxication. The guards were stiff and watchful though. Once he was fully restored, he would have to look for an opportunity. After the twelfth person his nostrils caught the scent of human flesh burning, wafting through the club, too subtle for humans. That they would do that to a girl on the cusp of womanhood, not even eighteen yet. They would pay. He had seen the worse in men several times on the battlefield. He had learn to turn that emotional attachment to the preservation of life off. Some life didn't deserve to be preserved.