#Decay and repair - which would necromancy be?

[phoenixcatch7]

The concept of good and evil as a cosmic balance of the universe as a world building thing has always wigged me out since before I could even put my finger on what.

So much of it, when improperly done (ie, good vastly outweighing the bad, evil must be eradicated entirely) is just... The thinnest veneer of a plot device that makes it so hard to develop any good sense of nuance or even real understanding. It reeks of propaganda, and self righteous at that, even when in universe it's a hard proven fact. And it's always the bad/evil being unnatural, inherently wrong, the mere existence irredeemable.

Even when there's a bit more thought put into it, something like 'there is evil in every heart, but we must learn to understand it, and accept it, so we are not overcome' still has, like, that black and white binary to it, like sure there's shades of grey, but it's still... Based around the morals of the creator? It's an entirely objective concept, this good and evil.

Even today, cultures and religions around the world can have wildly varying ideas on what are virtues and what are cardinal sins that'll get you punished forever (even the words there are from one religion that famously cannot agree within itself). In the past global values were even more extreme as people learned more about the world over thousands of years (ye olde sexism is a big example).

Yes, it might not be true of reality, but even in fiction I still find works that explore the concept of a world order that incorporates good and evil physically or spiritually just... Off. Like that one terry pratchet quite from death I am going to quote very loosely - 'grind this universe down to its very building blocks, and show me one speck of justice. One atom of mercy'. The response is 'but people - we have to believe in these things! We need to believe in something!'.

Of course people need to believe in it. We do. We need justice and mercy and love and kindness. But to make those human concepts integral to the universe itself - magic forces of good and light and purity, and evil and darkness and corruption... It always sort of falls through.

But I'd also love to play with that. I'd love to explore other ways a fantasy world could work that could be misinterpreted by its denizens and good and evil. Something that has atoms or motes or fairy dust to make up its being. Decay and repair, perhaps. Warmth and cold. Light and dark as more than the presence or absence of radiation. The dark as a radiation of its own.

To say something is evil for its mere physical existence, I find that very hard to believe.

[thsc-stuffs]

Wait, Hold up, what are your headcanons about Billy G. And necromancy???

:O have we not talked about them before?? Long post time.

OKAY ramble time. Starting with some basics;

Billy G. IDs as panromantic, asexual, and gender non-conforming! They use she/they/he and neos!

They always had an interest in magic, and were admittedly very skilled with it for a human! He was constantly looking for more knowledge on the matter, but was very cautious of it; she knew that it could be dangerous.

They don't remember how they wound up in the clan, or much of anything from before joining. She doesn't mind, however, as what could she have had before that he doesn't have now?

He was very close with Dusty and Coudface, but primarily Dusty. She was pretty young when she joined and the clan was still fairly small, with Dusty having not hit the prime of his leadership yet. He took her under his wing and they were pretty close!

As for the necromancy... Dusty's death was inevitable, with his health rapidly deteriorating. He was old, already in his late 80s, and had accepted that his death would come sooner or later. Billy wasn't ready, however. They became obsessed with finding a way to cheat death; to keep not only Dusty alive, but maybe even the entire clan. Dusty and Cloudface grew increasingly concerned as she became reckless in her desperation, but the two were able to talk her into avoiding anything too dangerous.

When Dusty died, however, Cloudface became a husk of his former self out of grief for his husband of over 60 years. So, not only did Billy have to face the death of one father-figure, they had to watch the other all but die with the first. At this point, Cloudface becomes leader out of barely more than formality, trying to keep up the golden age his husband had started. Billy acted as his right-hand (and interpreter, as Cloudface became entirely mute) but was delving further into the art of necromancy. After Cloudface retires, Billy steps up and becomes leader, opting not to take a right hand. The clan is still in grieving for their leaders, which allows Billy's spiral to go unnoticed.

Billy had done his best to preserve Dusty's body, but technology at the time wasn't good enough to outright prevent decomposition. They were growing more and more desperate, stitching new parts to replace what was rotting, but nothing they tried was bringing him back. So, they sought out their last resort; a dragon. (Yes, she suspected that Jaques was one, but they were not a fan of her and she knew such a young hatchling living among humans wouldn't be able to help her)

He found what he was looking for, on the west cost; a wild, adult dragon willing to convene with a human. He pleaded with her to help him, and she sympathized with his story; she had lost her children, two eggs destroyed and one stolen by humans. So, she gave him the spell, and its required dragon scales and bones, and he returned to the clan to bring forth T.R.N.K.

Dusty's mind was still there, yes. But he was buried under that of the dragon whose essence had been used to revive him, and fragments of those pieces Billy had used to repair his body. T.R.N.K., or so called Trunk, was in constant agony. It couldn't communicate, couldn't function, and Dusty could only do so much to keep the amalgamation intact; a month after its revival, Trunk snapped and went on a rampage, taking multiple lives and injuring countless others. Jaques took charge as Billy broke down, rallying the panicking Toppats into trapping and destroying Trunk.

Billy knew she'd fucked up big time at this point and just... left. Ran far, far way, weaving enchantments through themself to prevent them from fading away. They had bested death and seen the consequences, but she couldn't bring herself to face her own inevitable demise. He made himself functionally immortal, but the energy it took left his body to decay as his soul slowly trickled away.

Jaques would have hunted her down and killed her for what he'd done, and they knew that. In trying to cheat death once more, they instead caused their own fall.

[hellcab]

Examine! A spellbook.

“Examine!” - Spell book

The black spell book shows wear and tear. The binding has become loose, now messily repaired with glue. Various occultic symbols decorate the cover, some of which are strange, esoteric.

Inside, various chapters have decayed and faded. The pages themselves are brittle and easy to rip. Through careful examination, the tome belonged to Urian Bowyar, an obscure necromancer who lived in 16th century England.

Rooted in legend, Bowyar was a monk who was casted out for heresy and fled. Years later, Urian returned as a powerful practitioner of the dark arts. It was said he could summon demons for his bidding. He also raised the dead, which he performed as punishment upon those who dare cross him. He was the terror of Severn Valley.

Eventually, Urian was put to the sword  by Witchfinder General Mathhew Hopkin’s order. Despite all his power, Urian could not save himself from the stake. It was said as he was burning, Urian raved on and on, shouting that he would “fester in paradise!” and “become more powerful than God and Satan!”.

Further inspecting the tome reveals some of Urian’s spells. One, obviously shows the spell for summoning an “Imp”. Another for summoning an “Hellhound”. These rituals also providing binding spells, to enthrall these demons to the summoner’s will.

There’s also a spell regarding necromancy. The apparent magical formula involves collecting "essential saltes" from the chosen subject.

[k--havok]

Find the Word Tag Game

Thank you to @sentfromwolves for tagging me!! I love these games lol 

I decided to pull out an old draft of the first book in the Tales of Ozoarth series simply code-named The Five Corvids for now. Extra length given to some of the words for context. 

TW: Hints of eugenics and classism. 

-- 

Boots

She could not recall the process ever being so slow before. As the two heavy doors parted, a thin line of yellow light threw itself upon the ground, marking her with a stripe across her robes. The drakana held her breath, quieting herself completely, before stalking forward. Despite her best efforts, her boots still softly tapped the ground as she entered.

Mud

“But what of hunting, farming, repairing and building? What of cooking and cleaning?” Qzin cried. “Those are many tasks that need to be done in these walls as well.” 

“And all require some understanding and ability of magic.” Emperor Xaln’s eyebrows furrowed. His nose scrunched up as he curled his lips. “And besides, would you wish to live the embarrassment of having a highborn child who lacks magical talents, whose career revolves around any of those? Such a thing would drag the Curindez name through the mud. Do you wish that to happen, Qzin?” 

Finally, Qzin winced. 

“Do you wish to be known as the one who mothered a highborn who works among the poor and the weak?” 

Rough

The corridors were long as they were quiet. Although no sun told of the lengthy days that passed them by, routine drilled everyone into an obedience with their bodily need for sleep. As such, the sconces, burning with a deep purple magic that Braxous couldn’t wrap his mind around, tossed dim and cold light around his and Aeztin’s forms. Their feet, bare but toughened from the hard, smooth stone, ghosted with barely a scuffle. Corridor after corridor stretched in the darkness; hallways branching off into hundreds of rooms like fingers. The walls of the corridors were rough, unlike the treaded floors, and the musty odor that hung in the air told a tale longer than any of them.

Petal

This word does not appear in this story (yet!) So instead I will share some world building!

This book mainly takes place in a large cavernous system known as the Catacombs which lie beneath The Ragged Wastes. The Wastes are a mountainous desert-like region that has long ago been poisoned and sullied by dark magic. The sun does not shine here. The flora and fauna of this region are twisted and unnatural as well. 

The magical cataclysm that caused the pollution of this area is unknown; but what is known is that it caused an entire civilization to crumble into the sea, lost forever, in a single night. 

Ripple

This word also does not appear in this story, so I will share another bite of world building. 

Izuktia, the nation where this story takes place, is the only nation that primarily focuses its education on necromancy and hemomancy (blood magic). Necromancy utilizes the entropic energy that is released when a death occurs. As Izuktia is awash in death and decay due to its years of civil war and turmoil, necromancy is particularly potent here.  

Hemomancy ties into the Izuktian idea that magic and magical prowess is dependent on blood and lineage. Hemomancy doesn’t just focus on boosting the power of spells, like in other countries, but is also widely used for healing. 

As hemomancy and necromancy is either illegal or heavily frowned upon and monitored in other countries, those who practice usually find themselves stuck in Izuktia as it is the only place who welcomes the two practices. 

--

Alright! I think I will be tagging @faelanvance @wildswrites @dogmomwrites @writingpotato07 and an open tag for whoever wishes to participate. 

Your words will be: Blood, dress, whoever, crest, and crunch. 

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

Vampr Erik Origin: Part Two

okay so I wanted to quickly get this out to basically wrap up the origin half of my new vampire Erik series Faerie and Vampr  that I am starting.

Origin Part One

Let’s start with a little background on vampires:

In order to create a vampire, a human must be drained of their blood by a vampire and the blood lost needs to be replaced by some of the vampire's blood. The vampire and human must then sleep in the ground (this is presumably the point where they technically die) until the newborn rises as a vampire the following night. The newborn and the maker will subsequently have a maker-progeny bond, unless the maker deserts or releases their progeny.

If the head, or the heart are missing at the time of death, the person in question will not wake in transition; but simply stay dead. Currently, it is unknown what will happen to a person who lost other organs, such as a liver, or kidneys, and woke up in transition. Most fatal injuries, such as snapped necks, slit throats, stab wounds, and shattered bones from falls will be healed before the fledgling vampire awakens in transition. Furthermore, the person must be mortally wounded or ill to the point that conventional means cannot save their lives. I 

A newborn's existence depends upon their abilities, which are taught to them by their maker. These abilities take time to learn and develop. As vampires age, they become more adept at controlling their abilities. According to the history of the creation of vampires, two-thirds of newborns die during their first year without the guidance of their makers.

Newborn vampires will be thirsty and will need to feed to survive. Although newborns have some control of their abilities, they are mostly controlled by their impulses and can cause serious harm and accidental deaths to humans around them. In addition, newborns cannot resist blood at all, as resistance develops with age. The biggest difference is the fact that a vampire gains extreme strength, and has much agility and reflexes. This is more than a match for almost every human alive, and serves the vampire well for hunting and feeding. Of course, like humans, some vampires are just naturally stronger than others. 

Also, if a human who is strong is turned into a vampire, then that human strength is added to the vampire strength, creating a very powerful vampire. This is why many vampire leaders will sire huge men; they make incredible bodyguards even against a Slayer. As a vampire grows older, it’s demon side becomes more and more powerful. Vampires do not age, their bodies are, for the most part, just reanimated preserved corpses, and do they, through supernatural means, stay the same forever. There are some exceptions, for example, vampires still appear to grow hair...though perhaps at a much-reduced rate. 

A vampire can suffer terrible injuries and heal from them easily. Since they can only be killed by a few select things, they can suffer injuries a human could not heal from, like a broken spine. Gunshots, swords, and any injuries caused by weapons that aren’t wood can’t kill a vampire, only cause pain. Certain vampire poisons and magic do exist though, which will permanently hurt, or kill a vampire. In 1610, a powerful witch named Antonia Gavilán de Logroño cast a spell that summoned all vampires within a 20 mile radius to expose themselves to sunlight. This caused a number of vampires to die and caused vampires to be very fearful of necromancy.

Another example of the supernatural preservation is that vampires don’t need to take oxygen to live. They can, however, force air in and out of their lungs, which allows them to do things like smoke, or perhaps cool air into their chest if they get too warm. They do not have a beating heart like humans do. Although this is true, through some supernatural means they still seem to have blood flow. Without a blood flow, a vampire can’t bleed, or react to drugs, which they clearly do. They can’t however become pregnant or produce waste. 

Vampires are recognizable from their fangs, which are located behind the maxillary lateral incisors (as opposed to the canines, as per vampire mythology). Fangs can be extended and retracted by choice, and are controlled by the movements of certain facial muscles. However, fangs protrude automatically when vampires are feeding, angry, excited, sexually aroused (colloquially referred to as a "fang boner"), need to fight, or see blood. Fangs can also be removed, but grow back after three months. Without fangs, vampires cannot feed on live victims unless the victim is already wounded….

——————————-

Erik’s eyes shot wide open in a flash. Darkness surrounded him and his large, muscular body was resting on a hard surface. He could hear the springtails, beetles, centipedes, and ants that make their home in the soil, crawling around. The katydids and crickets were chirping much louder in his ears now. He could smell the odor of dry blood and decay in the earth from the deceased. His body no longer aches and he felt like he had the strength of an entire army. 

The last thing he remembered was waking up on a makeshift bed surrounded by burning ritual candles enchanted with herbs, oils, and crystals chosen for their metaphysical and magical properties. He could recall a voice, a captivating voice speaking Jamaican patois in his ear. Now that he forced himself to remember while lying beneath the cold, damp earth, she said she was Mama Dalma; Tia Dalma. The powerful voodoo priestess Erik heard many stories about in his youth. 

Like flashes, Erik could vividly see her coming down on him speedily and sinking her teeth into his neck, draining him of his blood. What was she? She said that she would give him the power of immortality, superhuman strength, and healing capabilities. Did that include drinking blood too? From what Erik could tell from his razor-sharp senses is that it’s nightfall. His hands reach above him, feeling around since he could only see pitch black. He noticed wood beneath his fingertips. Erik pushed with ease, although the top flew off and landed somewhere far within the distance. He sits up, finally breathing in the night air. 

Erik stares at his hands in bewilderment before looking around him. Erik could see the full moon peeking through the branches of the oak trees. As his eyes moved he could make out a sprawling wooden shack surrounded by a damp, gloomy world. It’s a steamy bayou and the forest within this area looked like a spooky cypress where fireflies flickered in the heavy air. The swamp water surrounding the shack was eerily still. The sprawling shack clings to the branches of a tree within the swamp. This had to be Tia Dalma’s home. 

...Yuh can stay here on muh table and die slowly...or I can give yuh immortality….

Her words rang true in his ears. Tia Dalma saved his life. Erik was about to die by the hands of white men who seeked revenge for burning down their homes and killing their families. He now remembers tasting the mixture of saltwater and freshwater, also known as brackish water in his mouth after being tossed inside the swamp by the white men. The gators would have devoured him in minutes if it wasn’t for him being pulled from the swamp. He figured Tia must have killed those men and rescued him. 

Standing slowly, Erik tested his ability to move by stepping out of what appears to be a wooden coffin and into the shoveled-out ditch. He clearly recovered from the multiple stab wounds to his abdomen. His cream colored linen blend shirt with a collar was still covering his torso even though it was ripped. Erik delicately touches the skin of his much smoother chest, his head lowering to follow his movements with fascination. His blood still stained the shirt that is also covered in dirt and grass stains. Lifting his shirt up, he examined his abdomen, the muscles crunching the more he bends his back to get a good look. 

There are no wounds. The jagged knife used on him to create deep gashes was apparently gone. All that’s left is smooth skin and an eight pack so rock hard that if a mortal punched him their phalanges down to their carpals would be fractured beyond repair. Erik breathes irregularly and his eyes are wide with astonishment. He quickly touched his face and head, his hands moving rapidly with shock. His face is back to normal before the white men kicked, punched, and pistol-whipped him. 

“Wut kind of magic is dis’?” He spoke with a staggering voice. While staring at his hands, a drop of blood landed on his skin. Startled, Erik touches his nose, bringing it down to examine. He’s bleeding. After that realization an insatiable need to eat overpowered him. It hit him so fast and strong that it made his body weaken and stumble. He grabbed at his throat as more blood dripped from his nostrils. Erik lets out agonized gasps that turned into deep growls. His fingers damn near clawed at his throat. He felt like he was going to die if he didn’t eat something, anything.

“Wah yuh still doin’ down dere?” 

Erik turned with great speed towards the direction of the vivid voice. Standing above him, was Tia Dalma herself. She’s wearing the same sheer, black gown Erik remembers, her long, slender dreadlocks framing her face and a sneaky smile was plastered on her black painted lips. 

“Wut happened to me? Did I die?” Erik says while looking up at Tia Dalma with his inky black irises outlined crimson twinkling in the evening night. 

“If yuh climb out of deh, Mama will tell yuh everything,” Tia Dalma steps back, “Come mi child.” 

Erik grabs hold of a few vines sprouting from the soil-covered wall before climbing up with superhuman agility, his body standing before Tia Dalma in a matter of seconds. The speed still amazed him. It felt like everything around him was moving at a slow pace. Tia locked eyes with Erik before circling him. She was especially proud of herself. She finally has a progeny after 175 years of immortality. Tia smelled Erik’s dreadlocks and squeezed his muscles while circling his beautiful frame. 

“I give yuh more life, Erik Stevens. Yuh will walk deh earth unstoppable, like mi,” Tia caresses Erik’s cheek with her sharp, long black nail. He looked her up and down before his eyes moved to the finger on his cheek. He gently brings his hand up, grabbing her finger and bringing it away from his face. 

“Wut am I?” He spoke carefully with squinted eyes. 

“Yuh a Vampr, Erik, a creature of deh night, deh undead.” 

“Ondèd? Mwen? Ondèd?” He walks away, his head moving up, down, and side to side with curiosity and confusion. Mama Dalma watched like a proud mother with her arms crossed, allowing Erik to get a feel of things before she started teaching him. The sooner the better since he’s a newborn. Erik could see with perfect clarity in the darkness of the night, to the point of being able to detect bodily heat emanations. The keenness was comparable on many levels to a bat or owl but ten times more. 

Erik starts moving extremely quick, testing out his new abilities. He would run to the left and stop, then turn and do the same thing, creating diagonal patterns with his movements. This speed made it impossible for him to be detected. The more he moved, the more excited he became. He was like a curious child, wanting to explore what else he was capable of doing. Erik ran towards an oak tree, wrapped his arms around it, and without even trying, he uprooted the entire tree before dropping it. The oak tree landed on the ground heavily, causing it to shake like an earthquake. This startled the animals, leading to a few deer and owls fleeing. 

“Just rampin around huh?” Tia Dalma laughs before walking up to Erik. His eyes are wide and his nostrils flared. All he wanted to do was move. Staying still only agitated him. Mama Dalma grabs his arm, yanking him towards her with her strength superior to Erik’s since she is much older. 

“Ah, yuh have deh bleeds,” Tia wipes Erik’s nose with her fingers, “Deh is what happens when yuh need to eat.” She checked his ears, and sure enough, he’s bleeding from there as well. Erik raises a single brow in question, clearly not understanding a word she was saying. 

“Out and bad, yuh will have deh chance to play, but for now, mi have to teach yuh about what it is to be a vampr. Listen to mi, Erik,” She spoke sternly while grabbing his chin harshly, “Yuh have to feed. Deh is mi first lesson. Feedin’. Come.” 

Tia Dalma grabs Erik’s hand and the both of them zoom off into the night. 

___________________

A white young lady named Isabella Guidry was playing her violin on the open porch of her family's plantation home. The Guidry plantation had about thirty field slaves before they were all freed because of the abolition of slavery. The only negros left we’re the house negros who prepared meals, cleaned, and baby sat. Isabella had just turned 21 years old and she was in preparation to be wed to a veteran named Alex Bellefleur who served as First Lieutenant in the 28th Louisiana Infantry. She suddenly stopped playing her violin when she heard her mother calling for her. 

“Isabella! Come in darling! Yvette has to do ya hair! Ya have to teach the new debutants in da morning!” 

“Coming, mama!” Isabella places her violin back in its case before securing it. She fluffed out her full forest green skirt that reached the ground, the bustle providing fullness in the back. The cream-colored corset top with cotton bell sleeves cinched her waist giving her an hourglass appearance. She stepped inside of the grand plantation home, the eldest house negro named Mabel approaching her cautiously. Mabel was wearing an apron over her withering cotton dress, her silver hair sprouting from underneath her sun bonnet. 

“Miss Isabella, ya needin’ any help?” Mabel asks.

“Just take my violin, please,” Isabella spoke dismissively, “Da last time one of ya broke my precious violin...DONT break this one,” Isabella spoke harshly. 

“Yes ma’am,” Mabel grabs the violin case from Isabella carefully before turning to leave with a limp in her leg.

“Why are ya walking like that, Mabel?” Isabella studied Mabel’s legs.

“Nothin’ just tired is all,” Mabel smiles despite her pain before turning the corner to leave.

“Isabella!” 

Her green eyes looked up to find her mother standing at the top of the stairs dressed in a black gown with a full skirt, her jet black hair pulled to the back of her head in a neat bun, and pearls dangling from her slender neck. She was clutching a handkerchief and before Isabella could ask why her mother began coughing into it. 

“Get up here, Bella. Yvette will put barley curls in ya hair and roll dem up. She’s waiting in ya room.” 

Her mother turns away abruptly, her heels clicking against the hardwood floor before disappearing into her bedroom. Isabella climbs the stairs to her room, worry filling her belly for her mother. When she finally made it to her room, Yvette was waiting for her patiently by her Astoria Grand Vanity. Yvette is a mulatto slave who Isabella’s father treated differently from the others because she’s his secret daughter. Her father slept with a house slave named Edna and impregnated her. Isabella’s mother found out and sold Edna to another plantation; the Compton plantation in St. Tammany Parish. 

“Evenin’ Miss Isabella,” Yvette spoke with her beguiling voice. She has smooth tawny skin, loose curly, sandy brown ringlets framing her face while the rest was hidden beneath a red and khaki tigon, which was simply the French New Orleans version of an African head wrap. She wore a brown southern belle dress with lace drop shoulder sleeves, a low neckline, and a voluminous skirt. Isabella hates that this is her half sister and the fact that she gets to dress so nicely. 

“Who gave ya dat dress?” Isabella asks with an attitude and jealous eyes. 

“I made it, Miss Isabella,” Yvette blinks her chocolate brown eyes away, “I have to do ya hair.”

“I know, barely curls,” Isabella takes a seat at her vanity, her eyes sharp on Yvette. Yvette could feel her burning holes through her head with her furious eyes while she took down Isabella’s black hair. Yvette grabs a brush to smooth it down, “Well? Wut are ya waitin’ on?! Do my hair!” 

“Yes, Miss Isabella,” Yvette moved at a faster pace before grabbing a clip to pin up some of Isabella’s dark strands. 

“I hate ya,” Isabella didn’t hesitate to say, “Ya brought down my family, ya negro tramp.” 

Yvette bites her tongue. She had a lot that she wanted to say to Isabella but she would only end up killed. It wasn’t her fault that her father slept with her mother, Edna, around the same time Isabella’s mother was pregnant. Yvette didn’t ask to be here. She couldn’t control the fact that she was half white, even though she despised that side of her because of how they treated blacks. Yvette will always feel disgusted about that part of her. While Yvette began working on Isabella’s hair, wetting a few strands, a scream rang out from her mother’s room. It went on a few more times, the sound so scary it made Isabella’s fingers tremble. Yvette was in the middle of wrapping Isabella’s damp hair around a piece of soft rag to form the curls when she stopped, a startled expression on her face. 

“What da hell?” Isabella stands, “mama?” She called. Her father wasn’t home yet from an outing with her fiancé, Alex, and the rest of the men for drinks, preferably hard apple cider and rum. It was unnaturally quiet. A pin dropping would probably echo throughout the room from how silent it was. Isabella lets out a panting breath before standing from her vanity. Yvette began to quickly clean Isabella’s vanity, her hands shaky. She heard tales about Ricardo Dupoux and his revolt burning down plantations throughout Louisiana. She didn’t want to be around for it to happen. 

“Go see what dat noise is!” Isabella ordered. Yvette pauses, giving Isabella a dirty look. 

“Did I stutter, nigger?! Go see what dat is! NOW!” Isabella yells with a trembling finger pointed to the door. 

Yvette drops the items in her hand onto the vanity before gathering the bottom of her dress to walk away. Before she could even make it to the door it was torn from its hinges. Yvette runs to the other side of the room, tripping over the bottom of her dress, and falling to the floor while Isabella screams, falling back against her bed. Standing at the door, both bodies covered in blood, is a black man and a black woman. Their eyes are round with pitch black irises, mouths wide open and sharp fangs protruding automatically to threaten. Their faces from the nose down are covered in blood and some of it stained their clothes. The woman, however, barely wore any fabric, her small breasts with hardened nipples and her hairy mound clearly visible. 

“WHO ARE YA?!!! WHAT DID YA DO TO MY MAMA?!!!” Isabella yells with fear. Yvette was hugging herself in a corner, tears filling her eyes as she prayed in Haitian creole. 

“Chè Bondye, tanpri, mwen pa vle mouri,” She sobbed while praying. 

“No use in cryin’ child, hush yuh mouth,” Mama Dalma spoke with an evil tongue, “hole yuh cahna, gurl,” She insulted Isabella, putting her in her place when she kept yelling about how they are a bunch of niggers and how her father will find them and kill them. 

Erik tasted his first victim and it was glorious. It was like an unimaginable, indescribable sweet heavenly nectar. It’s like being able to perpetually exist off nothing but sweet desserts without any negative health repercussions. The taste of Isabella’s mother's blood reminded him of fresh gala apples. It satisfied his hunger but it didn’t give him that feeling he yearned for, a feeling close to an orgasm. A feeling close to his dick chubbing up in his brown knickers. As he stared at Isabella with predatory eyes, he could hear her heart racing, and smell her fear, a scent that Erik relished. While he was draining Isabella’s mother dry he could hear Isabella’s heartbeat through the thick walls. His new powers as the undead allowed him to see Isabella’s blood and brain activity as well. 

“Mwen pa ka tann pou tiye sa a,” Erik spoke with a deep, gravelly voice before licking blood from his chin with his thick pink tongue. Mama Dalma gave him a seductive look, her clit jumping below her tightly coiled pubic hair. Yvette shudders from his words. He said he couldn’t wait to kill Isabella. Yvette wondered if he would say the same about her. 

“Eat mi child,” Mama Dalma says with a wave of her hand, granting Erik permission to drain Isabella dry. Mama Dalama couldn’t keep her eyes off of Erik’s blood-covered lips and fangs. Isabella tried to run with a high-pitched scream filling the room but Erik already detected her escape, running up on her at a whizzing speed that ripped through the air, grabbing her by the back of her frail neck and slamming her face first on the hardwood floor. Erik twisted her neck painfully before sinking his fangs deep into her pulsating jugular vein. Since he’s new, he drank from Isabella with so much excitement to taste her blood that Tia had to stand by him to instruct him. 

“Patience, Erik, slow down,” Mama Dalma moves some of his dreads from his face, “Feel her heartbeat...yuh feel that? Yuh hear it slowing up? Deh is what yuh want to look for. When yuh feedin’ yuh must never take deh last breath or it will draw yuh in and yuh will drop out. If yuh plan on feeding yuh have to learn how to do it without killing dem, yuh know?” 

Isabella’s cries grew fainter and fainter. Yvette was staring her in the eyes, watching the life drain from her body. Tears of fear fell from Yvette’s eyes and a hand came up to cover her mouth so she wouldn’t scream. She didn’t understand what she was witnessing before her eyes. 

“Good job, Big up yourself,” Mama Dalma congratulates Erik on properly feeding from his victim, “Now, yuh may finish her off.” 

Erik didn’t need to be told twice. He sank his fangs deeper, ripping the flesh from her neck, and in a matter of seconds, Isabella was lifeless. Erik retracted his fangs before dropping her body to the floor with a loud thud. Her blood was much better than her mother’s, it tasted like cinnamon apples. He could easily tell Isabella and her mother apart from their bodily odor, down to their blood types.

“Now, appreciate yuh prey,” Mama Dalma smashes Isabella’s head like a watermelon with her bare foot, “Deh are food, and only food.” She reminds a newborn Erik. 

“More,” Erik says while the blood of his victims electrified his body. 

“There’s one more,” Mama Dalma points her sharp black claw nail at Yvette, “She’s a pretty one too...I bet she tastes better,” Mama Dalma says with a honeyed voice. 

The echo-sensitivity of Erik’s hearing is what made him notice Yvette. When his eyes landed on hers and his nose sniffed the air she openly cried, her hands flailing and pretty face stained with tears. His sheer speed made it impossible for Yvette to escape. Erik picks Yvette up by her neck and slams her against the wall, grabbing her chin to aggressively turn her head so that he could have access to her neck, or, another area…

“Mwen...Mwen...bèl, Mwen,” His eyes are glued to the copious amount of cleavage she has spilling over the top of her dress. Her skin was translucent to him and he could see her veins and arteries contracting and pushing blood throughout her. Then, Erik could hear her heart like ritual drums pounding his ears. She smelled so...good. Her scent was like Heliotropes with their vivid purple beauty that reminded Erik of cherry pie. 

“Tanpri, pa touye m’. Mwen ansent!!!” She pleaded and shook with fear, “Mwen gen yon ti bebe k ap grandi andedan mwen!!” She couldn’t look Erik in his killer eyes. 

Erik retracted his fangs, his eyes tearing away from Yvette’s cleavage with great restraint. He lets go of Yvette walking away to control himself. Yvette slides down the wall to the floor clutching her belly. She trembled as she cried. Erik clenched his fists, trying his best to control his breathing and his temptations to drain her dry. 

“Erik? Wuh are yuh doing?!!!” Mama Dalma spoke with rage, speeding over to Erik and standing in front of him, “Yuh stopped...why did Yuh do deh?!” Mama Dalma was hysterical. 

“Not dis one,” Erik spoke with a low trembling voice, “She’s pregnant.” 

Mama Dalma tilted her head up at Erik before grabbing his chin roughly, causing her sharp nails to sink into the flesh of his cheeks, drawing blood,“Yuh came here to feed, right? Wat a gwaan? Yuh killed the other two just fine. Yuh can’t have remorse, it’s not in our nature.” 

“I can’t do it,” Erik moves his head away from Mama Dalma’s grip, “There has to be another way, I can’t-I can’t kill her.” 

Mama Dalma’s eyes were scornful on Erik. He didn’t cower under her gaze because he knew she wouldn’t kill him, she needed him, that much Erik could tell. 

Mama Dalma closes her eyes with a shake of her head, “Yuh queff dem whites...Yuh need to glamour this one then, wipe her memory.” 

Erik’s eyes narrowed with confusion. 

“It's a form of hypnosis. Come, I’ll show Yuh.” 

Both Mama Dalma and Erik dash to Yvette causing her to scream. Erik places a hand over her mouth to calm her but it wasn’t working. Mama Dalma rolls her eyes with frustration, preferring to kill her but Erik did need to learn how to glamour his victims. 

“Alright, now, stare into her eyes.” 

Erik locks eyes with Yvette. 

“Keep eye contact...yes...now, yuh will feel yourself invading her mind...when yuh feel that connection, hold it with all Yuh might. Now...use your voice to compel her to do wuh yuh want her to do...now try.” 

Erik felt tethered to Yvette’s mind. It was hard to hold on but Erik pushed himself to keep Yvette under his control. He liked the challenge and if this was going to be his life he needed to do it right the first time. That was the perfectionist in him, even as Ricardo Dupoux. 

“...I’m going to release ya mouth now….” Erik spoke calmly and carefully. Yvette didn’t make a sound as Erik’s hand left her mouth. She stared at him with a dazed expression like she was in a dream-like state. 

“Tell me, what’s ya name, girl?” Erik asks. 

“Yvette,” She spoke with reverie.

“Yvette...ya very lucky tonight. Ya get to leave dis plantation and never look back. Ya can find ya family, and be free with ya babies,” Erik smiles with his blood stained lips and deep charming dimples causing Yvette to smile. 

“I can finally see my mama?” even in a stupor, Yvette couldn’t fight the tears of joy falling from her eyes. 

“Yeah, ya can go to ya mama. Ya won’t remember wut happened here tonight, ya never even saw me, or her,” Erik reaches out to stroke Yvette’s face. She leaned into his touch while staring at him like she was stuck in a daydream. 

“Now, I’m gonna let ya go now, girl. Forget this plantation, just keep going and don’t look back, ya hear me?” 

“Yes sir.”

“Good girl, now, go on, love, leave and never, ever look back.” Erik stressed while holding the eye contact he had with her. Yvette blinked her pretty chocolate brown eyes at him like she was under a love spell, “Say, yes sir so I know you understand what I’m telling ya to do.” 

“Yes sir,” Yvette says with a nod of her head. Erik left her in suspended animation while Yvette lifted from the floor, gathering the front of her dress, and walking out of the room. She was gone. 

“Yuh gonna tell mi wuh happened back dere?” 

Erik turned to Mama Dalma and she was on him in a flash, slamming him to the floor hard and breaking the floorboards beneath him. His fangs extended and he hissed at her with his dark eyes unblinking on her. Mama Dalma’s hands are a blur as she holds Erik down with his arms above his head. She hissed in his face harder, her fangs inches away from biting a hole through his pouty bottom lip. 

“Yuh enjoy misbehaving I see. Let me tell yuh something,” She spoke with venom, “I am Yuh maker, I created yuh, and I can take Yuh life away,” She snaps her fingers before dragging her hand down his body to his crotch, squeezing his erection hard,  “Just...like...deh, do yuh understand? I command yuh, I have a link to Yuh body and when I call on yuh...yuh come to mama,” She whispered before pushing off of him with great speed, standing above him. 

“Retract yuh fangs,” She says. Erik glared at her on that floor, disobeying her yet again. 

“As yuh maker, I COMMAND YUH TO RETRACT YUH FANGS...NOW!” Her voice boomed. 

Erik retracted them without any more trouble. 

“Good boy,” She says, “Now get up. I’m not finished feedin’.” 

_______________

There are rows of Cajun homes within New Orleans that belonged to many white people. Some were plantations, others were of regular architecture. Mama Dalma and Erik have been feeding all night and it would be dawn soon in a couple of hours. Since Tia has already killed the men that attempted to kill Erik, Erik seeked revenge on their families. They couldn’t walk into the homes unless they were invited which is what got them inside of the Guidry plantation. An elder house negro named Mabel invited them inside when Mama Dalma persuaded her. As soon as Mama Dalma and Erik stepped into the home, Mama Dalma killed Mabel by draining her blood through her throat. 

Mama Dalma made Erik glamor each white person that owned the homes so they could invite them inside to kill them. Bloody footprints made a trail up the road to each and every home. Children, mothers, and fathers all lay in a bloody pile for the flies to swarm them. It was sensual and addictive to feed from his victims. He didn’t feel sexual attraction towards them, especially the racists whites all over New Orleans, but the tastier the blood, the harder his dick became. His mortal life was becoming an afterthought, especially with what happened at the Guidry plantation. He couldn’t bring himself to kill Yvette, even as a newborn, because she was pregnant. Her fear and her words made him think about Justine Dupoux; his wife, and his two little girls, Rose Fabiola Dupoux and Felicie Ines Dupoux. 

With Dawn approaching, Mama Dalma and Erik are simply walking through the bayou, dried blood on their skin from head to toe. Mama Dalma tells Erik the story of how she was created. A mob of pirates came looking for her to kill her because of a curse she placed on them. They hunted her down and each of them took turns raping and stabbing her to death. She was coughing up her own blood in her shack in Cuba similar to the one she has in New Orleans. Just minutes later, a handsome vampr with smooth bronze skin, a broad and hooked nose, thick curly hair, and a tall, slender frame cane upon her. He said he had traveled from the Eastern Desert that extends from the Nile Valley all the way to the Red Sea Coast. He was stunned by Mama Dalma’s bravery and beauty, so he granted her the gift of immortality. 

Erik impressed Mama Dalma for his thirst for things. She, however, knew that Erik was going to be trouble since he’s not used to taking orders from anyone. Within their walk in the remaining hours of darkness, Mama Dalma taught Erik all about the world of a vampire and its history from what her maker shared with her. As for Erik’s new powers, he was beside himself with the pleasure of it all. He will live forever, he is strong and unstoppable, and he can hypnotize people at will. One downside to it all was that he was going to miss the feeling of the sun on his skin, releasing endorphins such as serotonin; proven to improve mood, and energy, and increase feelings of calm and focus. Another downside stood before his eyes right now. Erik didn’t mean to come here. 

Hiding in the trees, Erik stares at his old home. It was a beautiful forest retreat surrounded by green. He remembers building this home from the ground up. Focusing his eyes, Erik can see an oil lamp ignited in the small window of the living room. Just beyond the glass, Justine could be seen praying with Erik’s mother, Fabiola. He could hear them calling on the spirits for help to bring Erik back to them. Rose and Felicie are sound asleep in their beds. Erik can hear their soft breaths. He couldn’t stop thinking about all the times he would enter that home, kicking off his riding boots and sneaking up on his wife while she sewed their daughters clothing, placing a delicate kiss to her neck before trailing those kisses down to his wife’s copious cleavage. He could almost feel her curves against his solid frame. Then, the smell of his daughter's hair; a lavender scent. They were always so happy to see him. 

“Come on, we’ve stayed long enough,” Mama Dalma says with a hand to Erik’s shoulder, “A vampire's life is a life of discretion.”

“Discretion?” Erik looks down at Mama Dalma as his eyes become glossy before they leaked bloody tears, “Why must we hide, Mama Dalma? We are da powerful, we are da immortal, we should walk fearless in da open,” Erik spoke with a raucous voice. He didn’t like that he had to leave his family behind. Stopping here to see his home one final time was a grave mistake. 

“Deh cannot be, mi child,” Mama Dalma wipes away Erik’s bloody tears with her fingers, slipping them into her mouth to clean off, “Mortals must never know bout’ us for deh sake of our kind-

“So I can never know my family?!!!” Erik’s voice was thick with emotion.

“Not unless yuh plan on killing all of dem. Yuh have to cut out, Erik,” She steps closer to him, her eyes more serious, “Yuh must be dead to deh world.” 

“I can’t accept dat,” He steps away. 

“As yuh maker, I command yuh to leave yuh family behind.” 

Erik’s body felt like it was being controlled just from those words alone. Mama Dalma starts walking away, and Erik has no other choice but to follow her while bloody tears stained his cheeks. 

“Yuh will do nothing but feed and feed until yuh are satisfied. We are savages, it is time for yuh to understand deh...I am sick of repeating myself wit yuh,” Mama Dalma scolds, “Now, let us go to ground until tomorrow night, I’m craving infant blood,” Mama Dalma wickedly laughs while twirling around in a state of euphoria, her hands playing in her dreadlocks, “I know where deh newborn nursery is at Charity Hospital!! Nice, plump babies!!!” 

Tia Dalma is the epitome of vampiric evil and malice, all because of her abusive, cold-hearted, and manipulative maker named Abasi. Abasi and Tia traveled all over from South America, Africa, Europe, and North America.Together, Abasi using Tia’s abilities to seduce and entice men and women, he lured them into his clutches, thereby raping and murdering countless men and women then mutilating their bodies. Abasi created a sadistic vampire. Erik has yet to see what Mama Dalma is capable of and she couldn’t wait to transform him into a male version of herself, just as cruel, limitless, sadistic, and torturous. 

____________________

It is the year 1891, three years after Erik Stevens was made vampr. Mama Dalma and Erik often traveled to the French Quarter, also known as Vieux Carré and Barrio Francés. Anglophone Americans and Francophone Creoles would meet and do business in both French and English. It was a big tourist destination. There are multi-story Creole townhouses with businesses occupying ground floors and living quarters above. There were railroad tracks, warehouses, and industries built near the riverfront. Some wealthy Quarter residents relocated to Esplanade Avenue and North Rampart Street when things became overcrowded. Here, Mama Dalma and Erik felt most alive at night. It’s been a while since Erik came to the French Quarter. 

The old Lalaurie mansion that was burned down by a mob in 1834 and remodeled in 1838 is used as a public school for girls. Evening parades with drunken civilians who engaged in sex and violence thrilled Mama Dalma and Erik. There is a luxury hotel that Mama Dalma and Erik often decide to bombard and take the riches from the wealthy whites after draining them. Erik especially loved to steal three piece lounge suits and polished shoes for himself from local shops. He looked dapper with the slim fit, always wearing his jackets partially undone to reveal the high buttoning waistcoats and watch-chain. He didn’t bother buttoning his shirt since he preferred it to be open to show off his defined pectorals and sculpted eight pack. He still dawned the Vodou jewelry he adored so much.

Mama Dalma is a confident woman who screams sex. She often wore long, sheer gowns that gave you a view of her nudity. She wore heavy jewelry like Erik and dark makeup that made her inky black eyes pop. She was determined to fuck Erik, waiting patiently for him to finally accept his new life. It took him over a year to freely accept being a vampire. He never talked about his family again which made Mama Dalma very happy, especially if he was going to be her lover. It was his compelling eyes, his remarkable body, his voice, the way he fed on his victims, how his dick would thicken and leave an enormous bulge that she wanted nothing more but to ride, suck, and nibble on with her fangs. She noticed the way women; white and black, looked at him. She noticed a lot of traits in his new vampire body. Erik is calculating, disobedient because he didn’t like to be told what to do and when to do it, seductive, calm and methodical unless pushed towards a lethal violence with surprising strength for a newborn. 

One evening, Mama Dalma and Erik visit a brothel, posing as a wealthy black couple. The prostitutes of the brothel were a mixture of races; French Creoles, Spanish, Haitian Creoles, African Americans, White Americans, and the list goes on. It’s been three years since Erik had sex with a woman. He would often lure and seduce them to kill them or feed but not to have sex. Seeing all of the half naked women offering themselves to him stirred something within him that he hadn’t felt since his wife. He could never see them again so there was no use in denying himself of what he craved besides drinking blood. Mama Dalma sensed his struggle and decided to let Erik have some fun while she watched, that is, until she intervenes.

 Erik chose a beautiful African American girl named Althea who physically reminded him of his wife; short, curves in all the right places, and lips so round and full he wondered how good they tasted. She wore tight, barely curls in her hair and Victorian lingerie with a corset in a peach color. She looked timid, constantly staring at her bare feet to avoid Erik’s piercing black eyes. Just simply extending his hand for her to grasp made her gasp. When Erik took her to a room draped in red velvet with fancy suede red furniture lit by an electric lantern, he informed her that Mama Dalma simply wanted to watch them have sex. This poor girl Althea didn’t know what was coming to her. Mama Dalma took a seat in a corner, removing her long coat and revealing her sheer gown underneath. 

“I’ve never done dis before...having a woman watch me,” Althea whispered nervously. 

“Just act like she’s not even there, girl,” Erik kisses down Althea’s neck, “Ya like da way I kiss?” 

“Yes,” Althea gasps when Erik’s tongue snakes down her neck to her cleavage, “Ya sure love to lick my skin, Sir,” Althea laughs nervously. She couldn’t keep her eyes off of Mama Dalma. 

“Ya smell just like honey,” Erik drags his nose along Althea’s skin, “I bet ya taste like honey too, girl...right here,” Erik says while rubbing her pussy lips through her lingerie. 

“Please,” Althea lays back in the bed, “ya so handsome, I need ya to fuck me.” 

Mama Dalma brings her hand down between her legs, resting her fingers over her curly pubic hair. Wet wasn’t even the word to describe how slick her folds are. Watching Erik undress Althea made her fangs extend on its own. Luckily, she’s in the shadows and Althea can’t see. Erik used one had to rip Althea’s corset and lingerie from her body, causing her to moan from his aggressiveness. Althea has nice big, round breasts with dark chocolate areolas and nipples. Mama Dalma could only imagine how it must feel to sink her teeth into all that flesh. 

“Goddamn, girl,” Erik practically rips his shirt from his body followed by his waistcoat, trousers, and shoes. Althea couldn’t believe the body before her was real. She touched Erik with intriguing eyes filled with so much desire they began to water. 

“What a beautiful man,” Althea expresses, “What are ya?” 

“Ya Master,” Erik gives Althea a wicked smile, “And da one dat plans on making ya cum,” He licks his lips before leaning forward to suck on Althea’s nipples. 

Her heart rate banged in his ears and the constant pulse coming from her veins and arteries was driving him insane. He was extremely hungry and after three years of being a vampire his control became better. His fangs didn’t extend prematurely anymore, now, Erik could control it. Althea’s sweet moans made his fat dick cast iron hard. He quickly drags his lips down Althea’s body while she grabs a fist full of his long, slender dreadlocks. Erik wasted no time while bringing Althea’s legs up and out, causing her to whimper. The smell of her inner folds was what caused his fangs to extend. Althea heard it and lifted to try and see but Erik held her down with a single hand around her throat while he vigorously lapped at her pussy. Pussy. He forgot how amazing it tasted but with his heightened senses he had to be licking grains of sugar. 

“Oh, yes, oh God, yes,” Althea was gripping the sheets while struggling to breath from Erik’s strong hand around her neck, “Yes, Master, eat my pussy like dat.” 

Mama Dalma was rubbing her clit in a circular motion with her razor sharp eyes focused on the way Erik’s tongue would lick Althea’s pussy. That thick, pink tongue would flick Althea’s clit up and down and then he would occasionally move that muscle side to side up and down Althea’s inner folds. She was nice and engorged down there, her hips constantly jerking like she wanted to shower Erik with her liquid. The minute Erik’s full lips wrapped around Althea’s clit and labia, Mama Dalma slips three fingers into her pussy to stroke herself. Althea couldn’t handle it. Mama Dalma however would have taken that sweet torture like a champion. 

“Unh! Unh! I’m cumming! Master, I’m cumming!” 

Althea’s hips levitated off of the bed and Erik followed her movements with his lips still sucking on her clit. 

“Jesus,” Mama Dalma whispers, “Yuh tore deh girl up, Erik...her pussy is nice and wet now.” 

Erik’s lips slowly pulled off of Althea’s clit to place kisses along her inner thighs. He licked with a circular motion to make her shiver before sinking her teeth into her thigh. Althea screams, yanking Erik’s dreadlocks. Her entire body spasms beneath him, soft whimpers escaping her mouth. She didn’t understand what was going on. Erik retracted his fangs before licking her blood up that constantly leaked. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before kneeling between Althea’s legs with his dick in hand. Althea watched him clutch that long pipe before bringing her knees back further. 

“It’s so big,” She says with a stunned voice, her hands holding her pussy lips open now with desperation, “ya fucking me wit dat?” She was nervous and aroused at the same time. 

“All of dat,” he leans over Althea’s body, his dick in one hand and his other hand wrapped around her curly strands. Erik rubbed the wide tip of his dick against her clit before slowly entering Althea. She let out ragged breaths with her mouth unhinged. Erik licked and kissed all over Althea’s neck all while his hips were pistoning in and out of Althea’s pussy. The entire bed would moved, the brass headboard banging against the wall covered in elegant ornate French Victorian wallpaper that is a black and red color. 

“Fuck, dis pussy is so tight,” He whispers. 

“It’s so much dick, Master, so much dick!!!!” Althea pushes at Erik’s chest but he wasn’t going anywhere, “Jesus! it is filling me up!! unh, FUCK!”

“Ya better take all dis dick I’m giving ya girl,” He whispered to her, “Don’t run from me, I’ll hold ya down and fuck ya some more.” 

Mama Dalma moaned from his words before bringing her fingers to her mouth to taste herself. With her spit covered fingers she rubs her clit, bringing one leg up so she could have a better reach. She could only imagine the pleasure Althea was experiencing. The more Erik fucked her the more possessive Mama Dalma became. Althea was taking all that dick, dick that belonged to Mama Dalma. Erik’s stroke was dangerous. The muscles in his back rippled and flexed each time he entered Althea. 

“Ya making me cum again!” Althea twisted her head to the side, tears falling from her eyes, and moaning into the pillow beneath her, “UNH GOD!” 

Erik’s inky black irises dilated when he saw Althea’s jugular vein protrude from her neck. While stroking her, Erik takes a single finger to trace her vein before extending his fangs from simply flexing his jaw, startling her by coming down on her with speed, his teeth sinking right into her vein. Like a pipe bursting, Althea’s blood spilled into Erik’s mouth. His eyes rolled and the grip he had on her hair became painful and uncomfortable. Her screams turned into scared cries as her hands attempted to push him off of her. 

“Yes, feed, mi child!!! take her blood!!!” Mama Dalma felt overwhelming joy and lust instead of a building orgasm since she is the undead. Mama Dalma sucked the lubrication from her fingers before speeding over to the bed. She moves Erik’s dreadlocks out of the way so she could sink her teeth into Althea’s right breast. The fleshy area was like a cushion for Mama Dalma’s lips while she fed off of her. Althea could do nothing but cry. Erik continues to fuck her until his body tingled and the same overwhelming lust that Mama Dalma felt blasted through him. It was strange and intriguing to not ejaculate but still very powerful like an orgasm. It hit him so hard that the hand in Althea’s hair yanked some of her strands out. Blood began to soak the sheets and Althea’s body soon became lifeless. 

“FUCK,” Erik stares at Althea’s dead body. Her blood was so rich and sweet Erik couldn’t help but to lick and suck on his fingers. His dick was standing straight up and pointed out with deep veins and a tight sack. 

“I’m gonna suck and fuck deh sweet dick so good, Erik,” Mama Dalma grabs Erik’s dick, her fingers barely touching, “Oooh, it’s so damn thick.” 

“I bet ya been wanting to suck dis dick for a long time...wut took ya so long? Huh?” He says with a sly smirk. 

“Eva since I first laid eyes on yuh.”

Mama Dalma forces Erik to the bed with her superior strength. Erik’s fangs retracted instantly when Mama Dalma started stroking his dick. Erik hisses while taking his strong hand to rip Mama Dalma’s dress to shreds, revealing her toned body with small breasts. Mama Dalma lowered her head between Erik’s legs and with her superhuman strength and stamina, Mama Dalma tightened her jaws and bobbed her head expertly to fill her entire throat with his dick. She would suck him all the way down to the base and back up. 

“Fuck, kenbe souse m’tankou sa,” Erik closes his eyes, “sa kaka santi li tèlman bon,” He spoke gruffly between moans. He was telling Mama Dalma how good it felt and that she needed to keep sucking on him. Erik felt a pinprick on the side of his shaft that made him bite down on his pouty bottom lip, drawing blood. Mama Dalma was tasting the blood from the throbbing and protruding veins of his meaty length. Erik instantly healed from her bite. 

“Yuh are one sexy man, Erik, and yuh are mine. I always get wuh I want. I will take it by force if I have to. Deh dick is mine, yuh hear me? Alllllllllll Mine.” 

Mama Dalma couldn’t be stopped the more she gave Erik fellatio. Suck long, suck hard, and suck often. That’s exactly what she will do every chance she gets. With Erik’s newfound strength, his dick was practically impenetrable; unyielding; tremendously solidified. That pleasure stick will have Mama Dalma feeling intimacy stronger than she ever did in her early vampire life. It was different at first for Mama Dalma to be sexual but not in a reproductive way. Since discovering Erik, she felt the strongest sexual lust in her 175 years of being a vampire. Mama Dalma mounted Erik speedily, grabbing his dick at the base before lowering herself on him. 

None of the sex is quite as good as vampire sex, though, which can happen at the astonishing rhythm of 120 bpm while simultaneously devouring one’s neck and making your eyes roll back into your head. If they go from a base level, vampires create a hole in the neck where there wasn’t one before. It’s a devirginization—breaking the hymen, creating blood and then drinking the virginal blood. And there’s something sharp, the fang, which is probing and penetrating and moving into it which is pretty sexy. 

As she bounced on his dick Erik fed from her neck, tasting the very blood that heightened the feeling like ecstasy. His strong, powerful hips met hers in sort of a race to see who was in charge. Mama Dalma clawed at Erik’s chest with her sharp nails, creating deep claw marks that healed instantly. Her nimble body moved at a swift speed above Erik causing him to grip her hips to try and keep her in place. They were fucking so hard and fast that the bed banged against the floor loudly. The mind-blowing passion was most exhilarating while feeding. It’s not simply “feeding” but it’s sex, breathing, having the best dinner you’ve ever had, feeling the life force of another filling you and making your flagging essence re-surge with vitality. It bolstered your sense of well-being as well as gave life to your body, mind, and demon spirit. 

The sensation of feeding is akin to an orgasm, but even more powerfully so in some instances, particularly when properly hungry, which is why stopping can be an issue for vampires. That’s what Erik was experiencing. He lets out a guttural rasp, gasping for air until Mama Dalma finally stops. Erik sucked on her nipples and trailed kisses all over her flesh before forcing her head down so he could nibble on her lips with his fangs. Her moans were stuck in her throat the more Erik fed from her lips. She couldn’t get enough of it, and neither could he. 

_____________________

After three months of torture, kill, and sex, Erik became concerned for his family’s welfare when a pox epidemic broke out. Just when he was finally accepting his vampire life, Erik was soon reminded of his mortal family and how they must be struggling to survive. Maybe the faith of the Vodou Religion kept them stable but this epidemic was killing hundreds of people. After Mama Dalma and Erik had sex at their home in the shack, Mama Dalma went to ground earlier and that gave Erik an opportunity to check in on his family. He speeds over to his forest home, peeking through the trees to see how things were. It was dark inside, almost lifeless. Erik became afraid and made the risky choice to approach the home. Out in the clearing now, Erik walked towards the home, nervous and afraid for his family to see him like this. 

“Ricardo?! Ricardo se ke ou?!” 

It was Justine, standing on the porch wearing a poor Victorian style dress made from cotton with her hair wrapped in a tigon. She looked exhausted with dark circles under her eyes. She was 30-years-old now, and his daughters would be 8-years-old. Fabiola’s birthday had just passed in August, she turned 56-years-old. All of the time had slipped away. Living as a vampire, time wasn’t important with the exception of when dawn was approaching. Justine had lost weight, her fullness that Erik loved no longer there. 

“Kote ou te ye?!!” She yells while running down the front steps to their home. She wrapped her arms around Erik’s neck, pulling him down into a tight, suffocating hug. Erik’s nose landed in her hair and it smelled earthy, floral, sweet, and relaxing. This was the scent he remembered. It took all of his will power not to sink his teeth into her neck. They stayed like that for some time while she weeped into his cotton shirt. 

“Ti fi Yo? Manman m?” Erik asks, pulling Justine away by her upper arms so that he could look at her. He asked where the girls and his mother were. Justine broke down crying again, her knees buckling. Erik held her tightly while a crease formed in his brow. 

“Ricardo, ou ta dwe retounen!!!! Poukisa ou kite nou!!!!” Justine attempted to push Erik over and over but he wasn’t moving. 

Hearing Justine refer to him as Ricardo felt strange. He almost forgot that was his birth name. 

“I had to leave...for ya safety...dem white men would have killed all of ya.” Erik squeezed her tightly to calm her down.

“Fabiola...li mouri.” Justine’s voice was barely audible when she told him the news. Erik felt like he was dying all over again. Fabiola was dead. 

“How?” He asks, holding back his tears. 

“Fever... a year ago... couldn’t save her...she died in her sleep,” Justine’s words halted as she began to cry again, “Her last dyin’ wish was to see ya again but ya never came back!” Justine looked at him like she was looking at a stranger, “Ya look so different, Ricardo.” 

“Da girls, Justine, I want to see dem,” Erik says. 

“Ya too late,” Justine fought for oxygen in his arms. 

Erik’s eyes grew wide and he stormed past Justine and into the house. There, lying in a coffin, was Rose Fabiola Dupoux and Felicie Ines Dupoux. They are dressed in cotton gowns, one purple and one pink with floral crowns and white dress shoes. Their coily hair is long and luscious, even in death. The last time he saw them they were five years old, running through the little garden in their yard, playing hide-n-seek. They were covered in pox that left nasty scars on their beautiful melanin skin. Erik couldn’t stop the bloody tears that began to flow. He walked up to their wooden coffins, his hands reaching out to touch them. Erik dropped to his knees, loud, uncontrollable sobs filling the room as his body shook. 

“I tried, Ricardo...dere was nothin’ I could do,” Justine kneeled by his side, resting her head against his shoulder, “Dese precious girls…I prayed to Papa Ghede for help but nothing worked. I’ve exhausted all of my tears…I accept dat dem girls have to go...Marie is dead, ya mother is dead...I had no one to turn to.”

Erik stands, walking up to each of his daughters to place a final kiss to their heads. He felt disgusting. If he wouldn’t have chosen this life, he would have been here for his daughters, he would have been here for mother, and he would have been here to comfort his grieving wife. He couldn’t begin to understand what Justine was going through. She assumed that Erik had perished when he left their home to go with Augusto. Justine clings to Erik so tightly she was afraid he would slip through her fingers. Erik tried to hide his face from her but Justine’s delicate fingers smoothed his dreads from his face so that she could give him a kiss. It’s been three years. 

“Ricardo, ya so cold,” She says before her eyes fell upon the bloody tears spilling from his eyes. Frightened, Justine practically leaps away from him before grabbing a shotgun that used to be Erik’s. She pointed it at Erik’s back with her shaky hands before cocking the gun.

“Who are ya?! Wut did ya do with my husband? Ya not Ricardo, ya are a demon!!!! A zombie!!!” Ricardo turns, his hands up in surrender. The blood tears made him look like a monster. 

“Justine, it’s me...it’s Ricardo,” Erik walks towards her, “I won’t hurt ya. I just wanted to check on ya to make sure everything was fine. I can’t stay, not like dis-

“DON’T COME ANY CLOSER!!!” Justine yells, “I WILL SHOOT YA!!!”

“Justine-

Pop! 

Justine shoots Erik in the chest. He stumbles back with disbelief that she just shot him before his eyes went down to stare at his wound. The bullet wound healed immediately causing the bullet fragments to fall on the floor. Justine drops the gun, screaming at the top of her lungs while running towards the door. 

“Justine! Wait!” Erik was right on her tail but his maker, Mama Dalma unexpectedly appeared at the door. She grabs Justine, pulling her towards her and holding her hostage with her hands, yanking the tigon from her head and grabbing her by her hair, pushing her down to her knees. Erik’s fangs extended, ready to attack Mama Dalma. Justine gawked at the sight of his fangs. She was ready to scream but Mama Dalma brought her to her feet speedily, wrapping a single hand around her neck. 

“If yuh so much as scream, I will rip yuh throat out,” She spoke between clenched teeth before showing Justine her fangs, “I don’t care if yuh are Ricardo’s wife or not, I will FUCKIN’ kill yuh.” Mama Dalma snarled in Justine’s face, scaring her half to death. Justine was paralyzed with fear. 

“Tia, let her go...now,” Erik says as anger stirred within him. 

“Yuh planned on leaving mi? Erik?” 

Panic surged through Justine, “Erik?! Who is Erik?!” 

“Yuh hear deh? She wants to know who Erik is…tell her, Erik, tell her who deh is,” The corners of her mouth quirked up into an evil smile, “TELL HER!!!!” 

“I’m Erik, Justine,” Erik spoke to Justine but his eyes were focused on Mama Dalma. 

“So, if yuh Erik, why would Yuh come back after I told Yuh not to? Dis isn’t yuh life anymore. When yuh left yuh home that night, yuh left Ricardo behind.”

“I-I don’t understand,” Justine’s stomach clenched. 

“Of course yuh wouldn’t understand, child, it’s alright, yuh won’t see Erik anymore after dis...Erik, yuh know wuh yuh have to do, right?”

“Tia-

“DO IT. It’s either deh, or I kill her.” 

“I can’t do dat to her-

“So killin’ her is better? Fine,” Tia was on Justine fast, Feeding on her viciously from her neck. Justine’s throat tightened and she could no longer scream. 

“STOP!” Erik speeds over to Mama Dalma only for her to push him off of the porch. Erik fell painfully against the ground. 

“AS YUH MAKER-

“ENOUGH!!!” Erik yelled so loud his voice could probably be heard a mile away, “Awrite, I’ll do it...I’ll glamor her.” 

Tia drops Justine carelessly, “See? Wasn’t so hard, was it?” 

Justine’s body felt numb and the blood froze in her veins. Erik approached her, his eyes locking with hers, holding her gaze before finally connecting with her brain. Justine was transfixed under Erik’s spell. He tried to hold back his tears but they disobeyed him. 

“Justine,” Erik strokes her face with his fingertips, “Ya never saw me, ya never saw her, I am dead, have been for da past three years. Ya will move on with ya life, start a new one hopefully because ya deserve it.”

“Yes,” Justine’s pensive eyed saddened Erik. 

“Now, I want ya to go on upstairs and get some rest. Rose and Felicie will be buried in da St. Louis Cemetery. Ya can go visit dem anytime ya want.” 

“I’d like that,” Justine says. 

“I know, baby,” Erik kisses her forehead. He brings his fingertip to one of his fangs, pricking it before bringing it down to the bite mark on her neck, rubbing his blood into the wound to heal it, “Everything will be just fine.” 

Erik stared at Justine one final time before she stood up, walking into the house and up the stairs. Erik’s temper sparked again when he noticed Mama Dalma smiling like the entire thing was a joke.

“If you would have killed her, I would have ripped ya fucking head off,” Erik says.

“With what strength more than mine? Yuh can be angry all yuh please but dis needed to be done. Now, yuh have no reason to come back here.” 

“Ya evil, ya have no remorse, I’m exactly like ya. Didn’t care to check on my family, I let my manman die, my babies die, Nothin’ will change dat.” Erik was defeated. 

“Like I told Yuh, yuh are a vampire now. Deh won’t EVER understand deh. Keep this up, and yuh will end up dead. If anotha vampire catches yuh acting weak deh will make an example out of yuh. It’s okay...I have a lot more to teach yuh. Now, let’s bury deh babies and leave for good. Deh is deh last time I’m telling yuh.” 

“Erik Stevens,” A single bloody tear fell from Erik’s eye. 

“When yuh bury deh babies, yuh burying Ricardo Dupoux. As yuh maker, I command yuh to never come back here, and never go back to deh cemetery. Do yuh hear mi, child?” 

Erik simply nods his head before walking into his old home to grab the coffins that held his deceased daughters. What this vampire life has in store for him Erik could only hope it would get better. 

[bittybattybunny]

Hmm in that instance of people been immortal but still age, what happens? Do they end up been a skeleton at some point?

Depending on their magic they can try to hold their bodies up but they'll eventually turn to dust and be stuck as an intangible spirit

Conscious

Unable to move

to speak

can't even enter the underworld as they arent 'dead'

Some take up necromancy to 'repair' the body and keep it from fully decaying.

Most Necromancers are cases of "immortal but decaying"

Like Tacks/Bridgette Holmes (Horseman of Pestilence) She can remove her own head and limbs and stay 'alive' how ever her body is always being eaten alive by illness and she has to replace her organs with new ones, restitching fresh skin.

Another case is Morte/Jessica Moore, she is a bit sturdier than Tacks due to the fact she's not being torn apart by illness. she doesn't rot as much as Tacks does but she does need to practice maintenance on her body and consumes large amounts of flesh to repair damages. She was made immortal through sheer hatred and anger.

Then you have cases like Marcus and Morgan; both are immortal in a sense but you can kill them in certain special cases. Morgan a Lich just needs to be burned by a stronger blessed magic, Marcus would need to have his body destroyed (at least before he's a twilight demon. As a twilight demon if he's bound he can weakened until he turns to stardust)

Morgan's body has been reduced to a skeleton, in fact. all he has left is his skull which Vanessa has encased in ice to protect it. if it fully went away he'd fade eventually as well but unable to be reborn due to his 'undead' status

If they wind up a skeleton and the soul stays in the bones, they'd need to do maintenance on them to keep from turning to dust, also setting up ligaments to move. just cuz immortal doesn't mean you get all the perks. Like I mentioned, Tacks and Morte often have to do upkeep on their bodies.

Not all undead are immortal however, but there are more cases of Undead being Immortals than non undead immortals like Millie (fallen) and Canda (alchemist)

[monstersdownthepath]

Spiritual Spotlight: Charon the Boatman

(and featuring the arm of Dispater, in the upper right!)

Neutral Evil Horseman of Death

Domains: Death, Evil, Knowledge, Water Subdomains: Daemon, Ice, Memory, Undead

The Complete Book of the Damned, pg. 36~37

Obedience: Meditate upon your infirmities and the slow, inevitable progression of physical and mental decay inherent to the ravages of time. Mimic this progression by immersing yourself or a victim in icy water until nearly unconscious, or by consuming alcohol or drugs that dull memory and mental faculties. Benefit: Gain a +4 profane bonus on saving throws against necromancy and negative energy effects.

I greatly prefer the shrouded figure in a nice hat from the Bestiary, but I’ll be damned if the crotchety, coin-covered old man from the cover of the Complete Book of the Damned hasn’t won me over a little. Too bad the illustration inside the book is so... eugh.

Anyway, it’s odd to me that the most powerful of all the Horsemen has the simplest of all the Obediences. Simple doesn’t mean safe or easy, though. Icy water is difficult to come by without magic, especially not water cold enough to deal damage to you--note that it says you have to be rendered nearly unconscious by this submersion, implying nonlethal damage must be dealt by the freezing temperatures. A stickler DM may demand the water be at -0F or below, which deals nonlethal damage each minute, and may force you to bathe in it longer depending on how much HP you have, meaning this Obedience becomes more difficult as you level up.

Of course, that’s just a mechanical perspective. You can achieve the same result by meditating under the water until you nearly pass out from oxygen deprivation, in that case. A looser DM may also allow you to chill (badum-tish) in the water for an hour and consider it said and done... But beware, because you can’t just dunk yourself in ice-cold water over and over again without some longer-reaching side effects, such as frostbite or hypothermia. ... Both of which can be cured via magic, but y’know. It’s real hard to explain to any do-gooders in your party why you keep needing frostbite healed while in the middle of summer. It’s a very hard Obedience to keep a secret, is what I’m saying, especially since it requires a bathing vessel, a whole lot of water, and some method to chill it. The latter two can be done with magic, but the former is still pretty attention-grabbing.

Unless you cut out the danger to yourself and just use a Sack Of Rats and nearly drown one in freezing water every day, I mean. You save on water and on bathing vessels! It makes you look like a sociopath if you get caught, though. I mean, you are if you’re worshiping Charon, but it’s also real hard to explain why you’re dunking rats in ice water.

The potential alternative is no less deleterious to your character, either. Drugs which dull memory and mental faculties tend to do so by dealing Intelligence or Wisdom damage, and dealing damage to your own ability scores is never something you want to do just in case the DM has a monster in the wings that’s ready to do it for you. There’s also the danger of addiction, which itself can be cured by Cure Disease... but if you can’t cast it yourself, then there’s the whole “explaining things to your party” thing again. While carrying around drugs is a lot more subtle than hauling around a bathtub, it’s also more expensive and is likely to raise more questions and garner more attention if you’re caught in the act, ESPECIALLY if you’re in a majorly Good- or Neutral-aligned civilization at the moment. Not to mention it’s harder to maintain; what are you gonna do, stock up on a hundred days’ worth of Hazy Brain Juice in one city? And don’t forget that it’s ability score damage. Taking those kinds of drugs day after day is going to render you invalid quickly unless you have a method of repairing the damage.

And if you don’t, party shaking disapproving head etc etc you know the drill.

And, no, getting sloshed first thing in the morning isn’t any better, even if you can cure it right away. Being the Funny Drunken Party Guy is good fun once in a while, but not every single day at the crack of dawn. It DOES make it easier to disguise your true nature, though, because Cayden Cailean exists. You’d just have to put up with looking like a really, really terrible follower of good ol’ CC who misunderstood their own god.

Hoo man. That was a lot of writing! Anyway, the benefit is great. Necromancers and death Clerics are a very common enemy type, so it’s good to have the extra protection against them! .... Unless you’re in an Evil campaign, in which case you’re unlikely to run into as many negative energy effects or necromancers. That puts a pretty big dampener on its usefulness.

Boons usually come at levels 12, 16, and 20 if you merely take the Fiendish Obedience feat, but having levels in the Evangelist, Exalted, or Sentinel prestige classes allow you to unlock the respective bonuses much faster. The trio of prestige classes can be entered as early as level 7; taken as early as possible, you unlock the Boons at levels 10, 13, and 16 instead.

Daemon worshipers may elect to class into the Souldrinker prestige class instead of the Evangelist, Exalted, or Sentinel class, and may choose any of the three Boon lists they wish to have.

———-

EVANGELIST

———-

Boon 1: Death’s Blessing. Gain Memory Lapse 3/day, Catatonia 2/day, or Create Soul Gem 1/day

I’ve discussed the general usefulness of Memory Lapse previously in Tex Mex Ian’s article, so check that out under Evangelist!

Catatonia is a spell whose usefulness is SO cripplingly limited that the situations in which it’s useful are basically nil. For those who don’t know what the spell does--and I don’t blame you--it’s a touch spell that knocks the target into a deathlike state for 1hr/level. Their body is treated like a corpse in all respects until the spell ends or is ended by an outside effect. Can you think of a practical use for this spell that couldn’t be replicated by a different spell? I bet! What if I told you it offered no saving throw? That’d be AMAZING!

Except that it can only be used on a willing target.

Yeah.

I suppose you could use mind-control magic to make someone willingly accept the spell, but at that point you have someone mind controlled so there’s no real need to knock them out, unless you VERY SPECIFICALLY need to bring their corpse somewhere and have them regain consciousness to wreak havoc.

Create Soul Gem, however, is a... strange spell. Because it’s a spell-like, you don’t actually need the focus component (a crystal lens worth 500gp), but the spell itself transforms the crystal lens into a soul gem. I would discuss the exact way this manifests with your DM before it comes up, because in my opinion, you should be allowed to just use any old glass or crystal lens you have on you as the focus regardless of its worth. A player character will likely have little reason to actually create a soul gem unless they’re bargaining with fiends, or holding the soul of some unfortunate victim captive... But the spell wears off 1 day/level later, the gemstone crumbling and releasing the soul to the Boneyard for judgment. Some fiends likely won’t recognize the temporary soul gem, but most devils will, and a daemon definitely will.

Thankfully, though this ability may seem less than spectacular at first, it combos well with the next Boon...

Boon 2: Soul Crush. As a standard action, you can crush a soul gem (such as one you create via Create Soul Gem or one created by a Cacodaemon) to gain Fast Healing 15 for a number of rounds equal to your Hit Dice. This action condemns the crushed soul to Abaddon; resurrecting this victim requires a successful DC 28 caster level check.

... Oh boy does it combo well. Suddenly, Create Soul Gem reads as ‘once per day, fully heal your character over the course of a minute.’ Regenerating 15 damage every round you remain conscious is game-breakingly powerful, saving your party hundreds on spell slots, wand charges, and health potions as you gnaw on a delicious soul-filled rock rather than take up valuable resources. By the time you get this ability, it lets you restore over 190 HP to yourself per soul gem used, and that will rise as you level up.

This is one of the rare Evangelist Boons that can fit on any character archetype equally well. A frontline tank will adore the extra HP, and between their AC and Fast Healing, will likely outheal any damage the enemy can do. The midliners who can slip out of combat can dodge and roll as their entire HP bar grows back, and the backliners who get potshot by enemy attacks can bide their time in cover until they regain enough HP to peek out again.

The best part about this ability, though? The quality of the soul gem doesn’t matter, and there’s no daily limit on how many times you can use this power, only however many soul gems you have on your person. Stock up, and become the invincible soul-eater you always dreamed of being!

... Oh yeah, everyone you crush gets sent to Abaddon, too. That’s pretty neat! And also a horrible fate to inflict on someone! You bastard!

Boon 3: Death’s Clutches. You can use Soul Bind as a spell-like ability 1/day.

Hrm. Soul Bind is... A step up, I suppose, from Create Soul Gem. It’s basically Create Soul Gem, except the gemstone is permanent. That’s actually all there is to it; they even have the same range as one another.

Along with the same complication that results from the spell itself requiring a gemstone focus to bind the soul, but spell-like abilities typically ignore focus requirements. Whatever solution you and your DM came up with for Create Soul Gem will have to work with Soul Bind as well. Whatever the case may be, though, this ability might end up giving you a nice pocket filled to the brim with soul gems to fuel your immortality.

———-

EXALTED

———-

Boon 1: Death’s Grace. Gain Ray of Enfeeblement 3/day, Death Knell 2/day, or Sands of Time 1/day.

I’ve talked about Ray of Enfeeblement and Death Knell before, so the quick versions are:

RoE: Good spell to fall back on. Negated by a save, but 3/day makes it better.

DK: Decent. Extremely narrow use, but very good at what it does. A mediocre choice, but powerful if you can actually get the killing blow with it.

So. That leaves us with Sands of Time, a spell with no saving throw that instantly ages someone one age category up without granting them the age bonuses that usually come with an age-up. That is, at the very least, a -1 to Str, Con, and Dex which... Is not spectacular, really. But say someone is already middle aged? That means Sands of Time takes them to old age, and suddenly that’s a -3 to each of their physical ability scores. If you manage to swat an old enemy with it? They become venerable, and suddenly they’re buckling under the weight of a -6 penalty to Str/Con/Dex that lasts for 10 minutes per level.

Now, granted, Sands of Time loses a lot of its potency if you’re up against people in their 20s... or 120s, as ridiculous as it is, because the longer-lived races live really long and their age categories advance at a glacial pace. Unless the DM puts you up against exclusively human foes, it can be difficult to figure out how badly your Sands of TIme will affect someone; you may just end up giving them a meaningless -1 penalty which will get you killed instantly because I just saw that Sands of Time is a touch spell. Oops.

At the very least, you can also dump it on an object to accelerate its decay, dealing 3d6+1/lvl damage to it. It also works on Constructs and Undead in this way, dealing a decent chunk of damage with no save allowed. But, again, it’s a touch spell, and Exalted are fragile casters. That’s a pretty big damper on its usefulness.

Boon 2: Hunger of the Styx. 3/day upon successfully striking an enemy with a melee weapon, you may force them to make a Will save (DC 10 + 1/2 your Hit Dice + Cha mod) or be stunned for 1 round and staggered for 1d4+1 rounds. On a successful save, they are still staggered for 1 round. This is a mind-affecting effect.

Not entirely sure why the Exalted, the caster class, gets a melee ability. On the other hand, it’s a very handy Get Out Of Jail Free card, since it automatically staggers whoever it hits regardless of whether or not they make their save, preventing the attacked enemy from taking full-attack (or full retreat) actions. If they actually FAIL their save, the encounter is more or less decided right there. This ability is an amazing Save-or-Suck that’s unfortunately stapled onto--wait a second when did Clerics and Oracles get 3/4ths BAB?

Nevermind! This ability’s amazing!! Provided you somehow have enough accuracy to strike an important enemy’s full AC (unless you have some weird melee weapon that hits touch AC), something that gets less and less likely as enemy CR rises.

Boon 3: Grasp of the Styx. 1/day, you may cast Grasping Hand as a spell-like ability. This hand is made up of the bubbling, black water of the Styx. Any creature grappled by the hand must succeed on a Fortitude save (DC 17+Cha mod) or gain 1 negative level.

Couldn’t spring for Crushing Hand, eh Charon? I suppose the negative level makes it good enough, despite the unfortunately low save needed to negate it, and the fact that foes you’d actually want to grapple are likely immune to negative levels.

Then again, even if you get it as early as possible, it still has a +28 to grapple checks (+17 caster level, +10 Str modifier, +1 size modifier) that only rises as you level. Even without the negative level, being able to partially paralyze a single opponent from medium range (100ft + 10ft/lvl) for 1 round/level is amazing if they don’t have allies capable of breaking the spell. A tall order, to be certain, but grappling an enemy caster for even one round can make a fight much easier.

The biggest weakness of any grappler, though, is Freedom of Movement, which most classes get around level 10 (except Cleric, which gets it at level 7). Now, since it has somatic components it can’t be cast while grappled, but with a 10min/level duration, if an enemy with the spell in their repertoire knows you’re coming they’ll slap it on themselves the instant you breach their fortress. Even against enemies immune to being grappled, the spell still finds some use by interposing itself between you and a chosen enemy, granting you +4 AC versus more or less everything it tries. So I suppose, in that case, it’s never completely useless.

----------

SENTINEL

----------

Boon 1: Death’s Crusader. Gain Mount 3/day, Wartrain Mount 2/day, or Phantom Steed 1/day

Please direct your eyeballs and/or other visual sensory organs to Trelmarixian’s page, because every Horseman gives the same Sentinel spell-likes.

Boon 2: On A Pale Horse. As a swift action, you may call upon the phantasmal image of the Pale Horse of Death, which takes up a 10ft square adjacent to you. As a move action which requires concentration, you may direct the Pale Horse to move up to 120ft in any direction or path you desire. It is unaffected by difficult terrain and may move over surfaces that would otherwise not bear its weight (water, ice, snow, glass, etc). Any creature the Pale Horse passes through must make a Fortitude save (DC 10 + 1/2 hit dice + Cha mod) or be struck with a -6 penalty to Constitution, Strength, and Dexterity, as though they had been suddenly struck venerable. Creatures who normally gain power as they age, such as dragons, gain the penalties instead. A creature may only be affected by the Pale Horse’s power once per round, no matter how many times it passes through their space. This is an aging, curse effect. The Pale Horse vanishes at the end of the round

Lets get one very, very important detail out of the way, one I think has to be a misprint: There’s no limit to how often you can use this power, so long as you give up your swift and move actions to do it. Harsh for the martial Sentinel, not so much for the spell-slinging Souldrinker.

The fact that there’s no limit to the horses you can conjure means you can try, try again if your opponent saves against the first round. Though age penalties cannot take an ability score below 1, a -6 to all of their physical ability scores still means that, among other things: they do 3 less damage with their attacks and have a -3 penalty to all attack rolls, they have a -3 penalty to Fortitude and Reflex saves, they gain 3 less HP per hit dice, have 3 less AC. Plus, if any of their scores are brought down to 1, any amount of ability damage beyond that will likely kill them (or render them helpless, which is the same thing). 120ft of movement is a HUGE range, and provided all of your enemies are lined up in a nice little row for you, it means you can potentially hit up to 24 people with a single use of this power!

And by the by, the penalties are permanent until cured by magic.

The fact that it’s both a curse and an aging effect means that some enemies are immune to it, but the potential in the Pale Horse to instantly debuff a whole crowd of enemies at the same time outweighs that fact. And besides, you still have your standard action to take even after you send the steed into the fray!

Boon 3: Death’s Call. 1/day, you may cast Wail of the Banshee as a spell-like ability, except it lacks a sonic component. Creatures affected seem to crumble to dust.

With the snap of your fingers and a whisper into the air, you can will people around you to just die. Wail of the Banshee is a very, very powerful spell, capable of hitting a 40ft burst of people within close range (25ft + 5ft/lvl) and weaving its power between allies and people you want to spare, dealing a flat 10 damage per level to everyone affected. Because Death’s Call is not audible, it may look to all the world like a crowd opposing you simply crumbled to dust with nothing more than a glance. You don’t actually HAVE to perform any motions, but come on! Who wouldn’t gently sweep their hand over a group of hapless fools, each one your hand passes over turning to a burst of dust as their allies look on in horror?

Who wouldn’t want to be Thanos snapping his fingers and ending half an enemy’s group?

Of course, there is the small, annoying fact that it’s a 1/day ability completely negated by a successful Fortitude save (DC 19 + Cha mod). Unlike with Implosion, though, the damage is sent out all at once and is launched at a range. However, it’s also a death effect, meaning that most high-end enemies will be outright immune to it.

It’ll kill or severely injure everyone with them, though. Plus, there’s always the delightful thought of walking into a crowded street with this and clearing yourself a path through them. It’s what Charon would have wanted.

You can read more about him here.

[elinorsmuses]

Vincent’s Abilities (Main/WoD Crossover Verse)

I’ve been meaning to write this down forever, so here it is. Also adding it to my About page.

Note: If any of these powers seem OP or god-moddy, first of all, these are things Vincent knows how to do, but, like jumping rope, that doesn’t mean he’s always going to succeed at them, or to succeed at doing them well. Second, if he’s using magic on your muse directly, it’s going to be 100% planned beforehand whether the magic is going to work.

General:

-Sixth sense: Ability to sense the presence of nearby supernatural/magical beings and item. Ability to detect the “flavor” of nearby magic; he only gets a general idea, but he can tell the difference between nature magics, death magics, infernal magics, etc.

-Magical shield: Able to create a shield that makes physical attacks less likely to connect, and to hit with less power if they do connect.

Death/Necromancy

-Necromancy: Various abilities concerning ghosts, including detection, speech, and command (if your muse is a ghost, whether Vincent is powerful enough for his command to work is 100% up to you). Ability to interact physically with ghosts that would ordinarily be incorporeal. Ability to create ghosts, zombies and revenants. Some ability to influence other undead creatures such as vampires, etc. (once again, up to you if his powers work) Ability to pass into the twilight realm of ghosts and spirits (if this fits in with your verse). Ability to create ectoplasm, which an incorporeal ghost can use to create a physical form.

-Decay/Entropy: Ability to cause physical objects to decay, whether they rust, rot, or disintegrate. Ability to degrade the physical form of a living being (basically causes flesh to become necrotic, super gross). Ability to steal and consume the life force of a living being or ghost.

-Shadow: Ability to manipulate and sculpt shadows as if they were physical matter rather than an absence of light.

-Bonus: Creation of soul jars and soul-stealing.

Matter/Alchemy

-Transmutation: Ability to turn most substances into most other substances. The more organic a substance is, the harder it is to transmute. He could probably turn water into wine, but it won’t be very good wine. Probably couldn’t turn maple syrup into olive oil (yes I’ve thought about this.) Ability to change the properties of matter, such as hardness vs. plasticity. Ability to detect the composition of substances, and to detect specific substances at a distance.

-Mechanics: Ability to discern the function of mechanical objects just by looking at them. Ability to improve or degrade the function and integrity of mechanical objects. Ability to instantly break or repair mechanical objects. Ability to jury rig parts together to produce a function they wouldn’t normally have had, and that may or may not obey the laws of physics.