The Crimson Echo (uninterred)

Discussion in 'ROLEPLAY GRAVEYARD' started by Daniella_Belli, Sep 7, 2013.

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  1. Shrouded in the silky shadows around her, she waited for an unsuspecting soul to cross her path. The night was her guise, her camoflauge. Her face retreating further into the heavy black hood of her cloak, she licked ruby lips in anticipation. There was only a silvery sliver of moon up above, an eye only partially opened to witness the horror which would take place tonight.The wholly inadequate amount of light couldn't seem to penetrate the inky darkness of the alley she was perched in wait. Who would it be? Some drunken patron stumbling on the route home, or one of the girls who stood in the alley as a consequence of their chosen profession? Hellinka cared not, as long as her dagger could yield pliable flesh, could sunder the beating heart of the victim that appealed to her blade.It was almost like a living extension of her, an entity forged into metal of her most sinister fantasies.It hungered for bloodshed as much as she.

    To her, it was a beautiful tool in which she could wreak the sweet musics of destruction. She would become the conductor of an orchestra alive with the sounds of pain, their screams but a wonderful crescendo to the morbid overture that would be produced of such blood lust. The sharpness, the scent of blade biting the flesh of one's throat, of the threads of the sanguine substance that decorated one's throat like their most cherished baubles, caused ecstasy to well up within her. It was almost too much to bear, and early in her trade she had often succumbed to a lack of self control. Her own screams rang out into the night, causing for whispers of the supersticious townsfolk of some supernatural predator that haunted the alleyways to fall upon the ears of all. She had no unearthly gifts, just an array of knives, small to ridiculously large in size as her arsenal. Hellinka became lost to her thoughts then, just as the tavern let out and easy prey bumbled her way.

    As the lantern shed light upon yet a new horror, a grisly depiction of one's twisted thoughts were alivened upon the walls of her dank imprisonment. Secrets which would never see past the labrinthian mind, were betrayed in the form of a scene of the atrocity one could do with idle hands. The lamplight flickered and then was extinguished, as if the candle wished to spare her of enormity she was about to behold with a cerulean gaze. The shroud of darkness would not allow her to see the ensanguined walls, but but her ears were not deafened to the steady drippage of the fresh splatters all around her. As she stepped cautiously, fingers riding the air current blindly, she felt the sticky splashes of what she could only imagine to be the the end product of a releasing of one's vital fluids upon the floor. The fetid stench of freshly decaying entrails seemed to permeate the stale air,her hearing attuned to the sound of wet plopping upon the earthen carpet she now stood upon. She felt itchy, as if the diseased stench itself was enrobing her. What happened here?

    Without her sight, she could only hear and feel the portrayal of gore which now seemed to be fertilized of the emotions, closing in on her.Walls that were distant were now entombing her. The acrid taste of vomit surged up her delicate throat, screams were like fingers strumming a tune upon her vocal chords like a cacophonic melody on a long forgotten lute. Malignant veins fueled of rancid,clotted blood seemed to slither toward her, as if to bind her feet in place. Then they would start a slow ascent toward her torso and upper extremities, a mass of oozing fetor twisting and wrapping about her like living tendrils. She was now rooted to the middle of the room, the shedding remnants of long decomposed offal falling upon her like shriveled leaves of Autumn. The pulsing mass had reached her mouth, branches of a sinewy substance had begun to stitch her eyes and lips closed.

    The world was shut away, she was alone with her thoughts. She relived the voices, the taunting whispers silkily lapping at her ears. It was like music. Suddenly the vessels of her own plagued inner vision struck her like fanged mouths, congealed liquids of lifeblood seeping down her cheeks and chin as she struggled against the substance that blinded and silenced her. Something in her mind was broken, something that was still repairable. She could simply dispel the thoughts at any time. She didn't wish to. The house, architected of her dark fantasies had done her bidding for a long time. There would be evidence of rotting limbs strewn across the floor like some sort of morbid decoration, fecal aromas of recently loosened intestines falling from divided flesh. The tortured bodies were suspended like marionettes, in a still levitation above the ruddy, blood soaked earth. Some were affixed to the walls in an act of crucifixion, hollowed bodies displayed for the world to view. She was the mother cyst, the living subjects would cease to breathe at her very whim. Listless husks of men were asphyxiated, the wicked tendrils encircling their necks until the sound of broken spines could be heard, constricting air and bloodflow until the permanent severing of life from their bodies.

    Others were drawn and quartered, useless limbs dangling about as if they were forever immortalized as part of her sinister structure. If she bidded so, the anethema of her own design would forge razors of its flesh, and she would orchestrate them to act in sometimes a surgical precision to extract the bodily fluids, or flay flesh from bone. Other times her mind was distracted from the screaming and bubbling of blood from the throats of her playthings, and this would cause her to become enraged. The razor tentacles would react to this, becoming an outlet for her sheer ferocity. Enucleated heads would be discarded to the floor, an eye or two pitched toward the walls with enough force to make them explode on impact. The jelly housed within would leak down the walls like a coat of wet paint. Skulls were crushed and the brain within fed upon, as her horrible imagined doll house would gain the memories of the subjects and become more sentient with each victim.

    Her heaven hued eyes opened to behold a new world, soggy, blonde tendrils clinging to her cheeks in a most uncomfortable fashion. A few people looked her way in disgust, as she slowly traveled the cobblestone path that would lead to the hovel she currently resided in. What sort of wicked things had transpired as she had fallen to somnolence? As she had no control of her body? When she had awoken, the area around her was littered of strewn pences, gifts from those that had mistaken her for a mere beggar. She took them without a second thought, for coin was hard to come by.



    Each small step Hellinka Darknau took upon the path would resound in the stagnant stillness of the night, pebbles stirred up of the vibrations of ambulatory motions were kicked away from her boots. She was rather disoriented, hungered for a warm meal and a strong intoxicant which would dispel those visions for a little while, the acrid bite of whiskey would overpower the tinge of copper on her tongue. Her muddled mind mulling over the gruesome images of a reverie which seemed all too vivid, she suddenly succumbed to a strange feeling, leaving her fallen upon a knee.

    It felt like a pulse, a powerful throbbing shook the visions from her head. Her veins writhed and stung beneath her skin, as if her crimson cruor had turned to wine, a foreign substance flowing throughout her body. Her very life blood seemed to echo, beckoning her kin whom was in her vicinity, unbeknownst to her. She was brought up believing that she was an only child, the remaining members of her family perishing of disease, or other misfortunes which befell the lot. Her parents were purged of their ails with fire, as the ones governing the city did not wish plague to run rampant, to blight the agriculture and livestock, sparing the community of sickness was to be at the bottom of the list.

    She grew up in a relatively rich society, her father spoiling her with toys, clothing, and whatever else she could imagine. Whatever she desired, it would be provided. Her dainty form now prostrated, she clutched the sapphire bauble which adorned her bosom. She would collect herself moments later, her left cheek sootied by streaks of dirt. Her hand snaked out toward the door handle, fingers closing about it hesitantly. It contained imprints of the individual, and she could instantly see through his eyes, and became overly sensitive to his emotions at the moment.

    http://i165.photobucket.com/albums/u66/TrinityDemonia/Helli.jpg
     
    #1 Daniella_Belli, Sep 7, 2013
    Last edited: Oct 19, 2013
  2. Red stains. walls of alabaster stone and marble grey pillars stained with red and brown adn black patterns of dripping viscous ooze. It must've been blood. It smelled cold like Iron and the Stale Air that stuck to your nostrils when first you woke from dreaming. A girl int eh middle of it, no. two girls back to back, on somber and contemplative, the other distantly smirking, her clothes smattered with the same bloody stains as the room. The room was divided in two now that He looked.

    He being one Jorg-Anthony . Private detective, and sworn enemy of scottland Yards finest... until even THEY didn't know what they where doing. That was why as Jorge looked up at the room, he noticed it was divided in two. the side of the honest girl was stain free, only a few stains comeing over from the other side. It was a castle chamber he stood in. One throne at teh far end, and two crowns on the throne. One black and Silver adorned with skulls and Bone motiffs. the Other, covered in cobwebs but made of lustrous red fabric and Gold with a tree and sparrow motif upon it.

    "Yes there is two sides to each story. Every devil was once someones baby. what of it, soul/" he sopke, he knew he was dreaming. always knew it. And he spoke to his dreams as if they where his soul, trying to tell him something. Things he didn't appreciate.

    "Tell me somethign i don't know. Give me a challange. If even my own mind cannot challenge me, I shall Die famous... And Bored." he turned around and stepped out of the castle.



    And into the realm of reality. He Opened his eyes in his not-so-lavish bedroom. His Four poster bed creaked as he shifted his legs aside and stretched to teh heavens, his fingers crackleing gently as he went through his mornig routine. Lavatory, washbasin, shave. Kitchen. Tea, biscuit, and raisins. The butler had ran out of bacon, Jorge didn't care.

    "Fetch some tommorow evening. The butcher sells cheaper sunday evenings." he ordered. The butler wasn't payed much and didn't do all that much. he was maid, cook, and caretaker of the House Jorge Owned. He was a week past due in rent... not because he hadn't the money. but because He hadn't Payed yet. His ceiling had a leak and the landlord was responsible for fixing it. He wouldn't pay until it was fixed, not a red cent.

    "Extree extree read all about it, Murderers rampage continues on dunny street!" Called teh Paperboy across the street.

    Jorge chuckled to himself. Since he was a child news of murder excited him. Life was a gift. and those that took it had the fondest kind of irony about them. In takeing lives, they put their own lives in even more danger. especially these days. Because Jorge was on the case. He understood death. cooperated with horror. In himself he had found a unique understanding for the insane and mad. THey where his opposites.


    They took lives. And JOrge took their freedom.

    "Time to make a trip to the Yard." her grinned with a satisfying chuckle. The idiots needed him. this was murder Seventeen. Same M.O., Same scenario. no witnesses, blodo everywhere, signs of minimal struggle, no bruises on victim. just big ripping cuts of meat torn through the poor husks of flesh.
     
  3. Her systems in overdrive now, the blood flow en route to Hellinka's head pumping fuel to a lurid vision of swirling hues. A shot of whiskey, unencumbered by one's grasp or gravity,levitated before her gaze. Her ocean eyes went wide, her gaze fluttering from hand to hand, from table to table. Many men had ordered the strong beverage, so why was she seeing it in her mind's eye? She placed a palm to her breast as if to soothe her racing heartbeat. Now the vision changed, and she was seeing herself entering the noisy establishment, it mirrored her nervous demeanor.

    "He-"Her vocals faultering as she tried to call out, and her hand snaked out as if she were prepared to grasp something in which to steady herself, but the hand wavered in the air. The shot glass wrapped by large fingers, whomever was imbibing was male. Her vision obscured by the liquidy red vision, the walls of her mind were dripping sanguineous fluid, she looked about her surroundings. She felt nauseous, bile surging up her throat. She clutched the first thing readily available, it was a patron's arm. A particularly foul scent filled her nostrils, perspiration beading upon her brow.

    "You alright, Miss?" Spoke the individual with concern, but she gave a shove, releasing her grasp of him. "I'm quite fine, thank you." Hellinka answered with a note of anger in her voice. She trudged toward the stairs, and in ascending them, she used the railing as a crutch. She hadn't had such visions before the previous night, perhaps she dreamed of things she couldn't quite comprehend, pieces to a puzzle that were lost to the world. Now, the strange hallucinations had overwhelmed her. It was a strong force from within, something her own thoughts couldn't contend. She felt a state of unrest. Her mind surrendered to a multitude of visions, the levitating shot of liquor disappearing in a flash, only to focus upon something new. Surroundings she had never seen before, the scenery to some sort of foreign destination unfurling in her head. A castle, apparently. She heard the commotion of a horrible little paper boy, trying to promote tales of the fantastic. His piping tone was drowned out by a foreboding .."Time to make a trip to the Yard." A strange chuckle seemed to punctuate the words.
     
  4. Jorge walked briskly tot eh first coach he could catch to Scottland yard, and upon entering the black horsedrawn buggy, He produced a pocketwatch from his tailored vest, gazeing at it, he put up hishand, tallying between fingers raceign rapidly, first index to thumb, then pinky to thumb, middle finger to thumb then crossed index finger. the calculations done, he leaned back and snoozed a bit.

    "Scootland yard!" yelled the coachman, wakeing him up a good deal later. It was eleven thirty int eh mornign hen he tipped his Top hat to the driver and walked across teh street to teh Open gates of scottland yard, and beyond the cobblestones into the main building.

    "Officer... morning.. morning.." he said, passing people he knew until he sat at the desk of One Mr. Oliver Tanner.

    "Morning Olly." He said unceremoniously. He crossed his legs and lay his hands on his lap. "Hw goest teh hunt for the hunter of the hunted/" he asked quizically.

    Tanner looked up from his typeing when Jorge sat down, then went right back to what he was doing. until Jorges wordss became part of a report 'hunting of the hunter of the hunt-'

    "DAMN YOU, Jorge!" the portly man flustered, ripping the report paper out of the typewriter. "I was almost done with this report!" he glared. Jorge just looked at him as if everythign was Merry over a cup of earl grey.

    "You know why I'm here." he said politely. Tanner grumbled low in his throat and glared even harder at Jorge. He hated it when jorge came in all full of confidence and simple answers to complicated problems.

    "UNfortunately.. yes. i do. so why are you here instead of at the crime scene?" he said, tossing the paper into the trash and grabbing a new form to type on. "Eighty eight weeks of demise. that is what they are going to say int eh papers tommorow. eighty eighty weeks of deaths, all by the same person, or persons... and scootland yard can't say a damn thing about who done it all, god and her majesty save us all." he scoffed. "balls deep in a hundred murder investigations at once, and Crime rates soaring int eh wake of all the negativity caused by it... London is hell, Jorge. so why isn't the devils bastard cousin out there reaping the rewards of all teh chaos?"

    Jorge laughed loudly, and leaned forward, unfurling his fingers and legs and standing up. "You should have been a journalist, Tanner old boy... You paint such a vivid picture!" he chuckled, crossing his arms. "I'd like to put my hand into the investigation through the usual legal channels. Don't want to be freelance on this one, i like to get paid for my justice dealt." he handed Tanner a Form, ready to be authorized and let him be part of the investigation. "On commision, evidence by evidence, bit by bit, and my usual fee once the murderer is caught, hmm?" he chuckled.

    ------

    Lunchtime came and went, and Jorge was leaning against a streetpost waiting for the busy rush of traffic to ebb so he could cross teh road. he puffed on his tobacco pipe, thick smoke billowing out of his mouth and snakeing up the edge of the sodium lamp pole.

    He was in the grungy side of downtown london Carfax Street. A shady Tavern across teh street was his destination. As eh approached he made note of it's location, proximity to other well-traveled landmarks. IT was a four level building with a Hotel in it's uppper floors and a hellfire club int eh basement.. of course, only a few people knew the latter fact. Jorge especially. He walked intot eh door and looked around, the smell of scothc, whiskey, and warm Beer flooding his senses.

    He sat at the bar and puffed on his pipe oncemore. "Gin Tonic." he muttered, thorwign down a three pence for the drink and a tip. He turned around and hsi eyes went wild.


    RED. stained red. marbel pillars and alabaster stone. Everyone was dead, or dying, or days old rotting. there was no mercy in the place, a baby hung against the ceiling fan by it's entrails, eyes bulged out and mouth oozeing puss and maggots.

    He turned away and covered his mouth.. then he realized somethign. there was no smell, he turned again and the vision was gone. "blasted visions." he gritted his teeth and turned to the bartender as his drink arrived. "Line up two more" he said, gripping the man's collar and lettign go abruptly.
     
  5. Upon the feeling of fingers curling about her slender arm, Hellinka whirled about, the sanguine waters in her head gathered into a massive tidal wave which crashed upon the front of her skull, and she collided with the floor, which loosened his grip upon her as she tumbled down the stairs. She felt like a castaway, riding the turbulent current of red with nothing to help support her in keeping afloat. She tried to scream, to plea to the masses for assistance, but her mouth was frozen open in agony, the words dying upon tightened throat muscles. She felt as though she were she were suffocating, the blood within her body somehow congealing in her lungs to drown her.

    Her panicked movements finally brought her upright onto all fours, and she made a break for the door, forcibly making her way past person or object which hindered her. The portal which led out into the world flew open, and she stumbled over the threshold, falling to her knees in a fit of coughing. Whatever had conjured these visions which plagued her was in her vicinity. She had to get away, sever the link of the mind which was intrusive to her thoughts. Gathering her skirts she ran then, mustering all of her remaining energy to propel herself forward, her footsteps striking the dirt path.

    It seemed as if she were running forever, until she doubled over, gasping for breath. "What is causing this?" The inquiry erupted from her, upon the power of a hasty expulsion of breath. Then, she heard the dreaded footsteps behind her. "I see that you are quite alone upon these streets, Ma'am. Women shouldn't be walking about at night, unfettered by a man's company. Don't you know a murderer is on the loose?" A dry chuckle emitted from him, his very voice made her shudder. Her roiling blood subsided and the horrible throbbing in her head alleviated for the moment, her features adopting a bitter look as she rose and brushed herself free of pebbles pitting the skin of her knees. Her brow quirked, she slowly observed her surroundings. He spoke the truth. The air current was unmoving as if it had been touched by the hands of time, the scene seemed frozen. There was nobody about, a door hadn't opened or closed. They seemed unaffected, the two could freely interact. But what had the rest of the town in its reigns?

    It was early enough that most wouldn't have succumbed to sleep, that the realm of night would bring its visitors. Usually people up to no good anyways. Terror. It stalked the streets incognito, its faceless identity unknown to most. She wouldn't realize it at this time, but she was looking into the dark eyes of one which had similar motives as she. His stove pipe hat and black cloak would keep his secrets, the latter garment billowed slightly in the breeze as is the shadows had unfurled upon his back.

    He must've assumed her to be a working girl by her painted up countenance, and the dress she wore, which was snug upon her form that drew a peekaboo glance to her bosom. "I suppose that could be remedied, my dear, for you shall be in the companionship of angels or devils very soon." The wind picked up, blowing lightweight debris across their boots. The very breath of the Gods had enveloped her in a tomb of cold, but she didn't seem to react to it. Her cerulean gaze was fixated upon the man whom was shrouded in mystery, she dare not look away. Suddenly, a pained howl would escape her lips, as if she had already been struck with the weapon he was slowly unsheathing.

    The man looked upon her odd fascination, while she lay at his feet, writhing in agony to yet another bout of premonitions which surfaced in an eruption of blood. (You shall be in the companionship of angels or devils very soon.) The words reverberated against the walls of her mind, overlapping each other until it was all just reduced to noise. It seemed as if pure kerosene was coursing through her veins, the realization that he was nearby sparked something within her that ignited her vital fluids, making her burn from the inside out.

    She wailed and thrashed about, causing the would be-killer to fumble with his dagger. Soon, he parted from her, knowing that whatever was occurring with this woman, wasn't staged. "Who -are- you?" She spat from between clenched teeth, rolling to and fro as if to extinguish the flames, to no avail. She could -feel- his presence, no matter how distant they were from one another. She could see herself as if she were looking into a mirror. It was -him.- His image was painted within the cascading waterfall of cruor, his chisled visage captured in the bastille that was her memory. "You..have..visions?" Each word spoken with cautiously, as if she biting her tongue from being thrown suddenly into another violent fit. She continued to interact with the unseen. "You..see...me, don't..you?" Hellinka rose, her pupils dilated by fear. The man's mind fueled her own, and she saw the grisly image of a disemboweled infant hung for display by a noose of its own viscera. She would look about quickly, as if in hopes that her thoughts would settle enough so she could plan an escape route.

    She felt like a trapped animal, his stare seemed to bind her to the very spot she stood. She could not bid movement of her legs. "I...am..Hellinka."She introduced herself rather calmly, attempting to breech his mental facilities. The man intent on her demise was a short distance away, hiding beneath the bridge and attuning his ear to their conversation. (Hellinka.) Upon hearing her name, a twisted smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "Hellinka." He whispered, his reflection upon the surface glass like, tranquil water. "Tis a delectable treat in knowing the identity of those I seek to witness the life force diming from their eyes. -Her- eyes."
     
  6. "I'm just me. That's all , Just Jorge." he said outloud, drinkign another Gin adn Tonic as fast as he could, the bubbles burning all the way down. "You don't want inside MY head, Hellinka. Heh.. it's.. HELL." he chuckled visciously. He shook his head, looking at the Fan above. nothign there. nothign anywhere, just people. plain people. wait, A man in a tophat with a knife. A familair voice, the smell of blood, flashing steel.

    "If you were HALF as dangerous as me... You'de Kill for the right to keep living." he said in almost a whisper. "I am The Judge of Mankind. I am the Deterent of evil. But it TAKES viscious devils to track down the evil in mens souls and root it out." he grumbled, drinkign the next one just as fast and paying with a goldpiece, takeing the bottle of whiskey from teh bartenders hadn as he poured the last of a line of eight shots, and walking out the door into the streets. Streets made of skulls, not cobblestones, lamp posts made of fillets of animal carcasses, the smell of fermaldehyde and iron-blood filled his nose.

    "I-it's not real.. it's just my eyes.. my devils eyes!" he yelled tot eh sky, painted teh deepest ost black-hole black he had ever witnessed, Skeletal horses charged through the skies, rainign debris of embers that stung the ground before the wet blood flowign between the skull-cobblestones extinguished it, a putrid smell pullign out of it like vomit and decay.

    It smelled now, not just seeing the evils.. he coudl smell them now too. "too real.. but still.. jsut a trick... too sick, but still just a trick... it's just... too real." he mumbled, swigging fromt eh whiskey and wobbleing towards the bridge. He had to get himself home, and walkign it all off was the best way to forget a fruitless day at the Yard.
     
  7. The man that wore the camouflage of shadows, released his phallic stem once his feverish passions were spent. He thought his soul was a stained as his hands felt sticky, his gaze drooping as if he committed an sin which would not escape judgement. He loathed himself for letting his lusts get the better of him, but his hatred for Hellinka was greater. How -dare- she tempt him, degrading him this way? As far as he could see, she was filth just like any other woman which resided here. Jack would soon leave, his steps soft upon the trail which led him home.

    An imaginary, concussive blast shook her to her core, but she withstood it enough to keep her stance. "Jorge."She would hesitate a moment, blinking a few times. "Where do you hail from, Jorge?"She felt a warmth of her cheeks, a rosy tinct upon them. She could see herself fidget under the weight of his stare. Her blonde curls tousled by the breeze, framed the contours of her face. She giggled girlishly, batting the luxurious lashes that curtained each eye. She would chuckle inwardly, smiling sweetly all the while.(Almost no effort at all. My prey was drawn to me.Soon, he'll come...) She turned to behold the Clock Tower, a sneer would marr her delicate features.The hideous twist of her lips waned as she turned her head in another direction, her lips birthed a more amicable smile.

    "Many things would bring one to London, but I'm sure you know that already. Although, I dream of traveling abroad one day. Presently, some prior engagements keep me here."The Crimson Echo had caused her much discomfort, but she persisted, not wishing to break the link of their telepathic communication."How does the city fare thee? The palace is just a stones throw away. Perhaps your travels would bring you here, and we could venture into town? I'll show you the sights."

    He spoke her name, in an attempt to ward her further intrusion into the depths of his mind. "I see...the same...the visions, they haunt me in my waking hours, just as they do in sleep."She saw a great skeletal horse rearing back, its rubious eyes aglow as if normal weren't housed within the hollow, occupital chasms of its skull, but coals from the very fiery pits of Hell. She saw them multiply, and they overtook the skies. Their hoofbeats echoed across the heavens, causing for a revolt with a thunderous clamoring. The pitch colored firmament would become scarrified with lightning.
     
  8. Jorge stopped, his bottle of whiskey, once warm in his hand turned cold as it slipped from his hand and broke, scatterign cockroaches came from it as his eyes went wideer and wider with every heartbeat that pulsed so arduously within his ribcage. "I'm in hell." he murmured, suddenly aware the flesh of his windpipe was VERY dry. he was stuck int eh vision of the morbid london he couldn't shake, and now, it felt VERY much real. the sky crackled with thunder and flared with lightning. He grabbed his head in his hands, and gripped harshly his hair.

    "I-it won't go away. i-i've always been abel to logistify it all away.. w-what have you done t-to my logic, why won't it go away!" he yelled to the hoof-danceing sky above, fear ran through Jorge... perhaps for the first time in his life. all he coudl see and smell and hear was teh dead london of heel from his visions, and the streets where littered with bodies now, stinking and rotting in piles, oozing puss and maggots, roaches and centipedes marching between the carcasses of the fresh, rottign gooey dead.
     
  9. "Know what -I've- done? How can you possibly know what I've done? I am still but a stranger to you." She decided to treat this with a facetious approach, finding humor in his words and throwing her head back in an almost tear jerking laughter. Some stranger was quite mistaken, having thought he was familiarized with her misdeeds. Then, she saw it. He appeared to be outfitted like that of a detective, and he took a forcible hold upon her upper arm. Suddenly, she saw a viscous, sanguineous liquid had begun to pump freely to coat her skin, and she beheld the evidence of her secret, her bloodied hide was but a consequence of her guilt. She stepped back, attempting to jerk herself free of his grasp, her nervous behavior would prove some truth to his theories of her criminal past time.

    Hellinka sunk to her knees, horrified by the sight of blood pooling in her palms. The strange mirage which struck a chord in her. She needed to run, to absolve herself in a churchly ritual wash away the burden she felt of her terrible crimes. If he became loose lipped, whether in spreading rumor or merely in jest, this would result in a scarce amount of people roaming about at night, and they would become more cautious about locking windows and doors. She saw the red hue painted upon her ghostly complexion in the dim light, black laquered fingernails dripping with blood. "No." She cried softly, mustering enough energy to rise to her feet, and she turned frantically in the direction of the Clock Tower. This -Jorge- seemed to share the same morbid visions as she. Perhaps she could find some strange solace in him. She began to flee blindly, making her way along the meandering alleyway in an effort to escape whom she assumed to be a member of Law Enforcement. Her abrupt altercation with the man would briefly cure her of needing to shed the blood of someone, but wouldn't staunch it entirely.
     
  10. Jorge Leaned agaisnt a light-pole and steadied his breatheing with a light chuckle. "I can feel your presence getting weaker....Why are you running Hellinka?" He whispered, his voice raucious and scratchy, caught in his throat and mangled by dryness. he took a step forward and ground to a halt. Something was biting his leg, he looked down. a skeletal dog was atempting to Maime his calf, but he felt no pain and looking down at it made him EXTREMELY violent, a sudden burst of strength hit him and he reached down, grasping the top of the dogs jaw and wrenchign it free of his leg. for just a moment, his vision returned to normal.

    He was holding a wild dog in his arm, its upper jaw crushed and mangled in his fist. he was disgusted with himself... but only for a moment before hsi grin returned, and so did the vision of the skeletal dog in his grasp. He gripped the dogs neck in both hands and lugged it over his shoulder, breaking what was left of it's life force over his shoulder and leavign the dead thing there where he was once standing, beneath the light pole.

    "You see through the Eyes of madness... tell me, how deep have YOU plunged into the Tide of it?" he grumbled loudly, Runnign for all his worth towards a feeling. an instinct... anything he could grasp at.
     
  11. Hellinka Darknau tried desperately to suck in spurts of air, her cerulean eyes darting about. She heard the overwhelming call of her blade, its tainted thoughts poisoning her mind. She would unsheathe it then, where it shone like a beacon in the moonlight. Her visage captured upon the polished steel, the quick, upward twist of her lips. The weapon sought to be driven to its hilt into the heart of someone, -anyone.- It must be obeyed, her urge satiated. She imagined her victim, his facial features adapting to that of a mask of surprise, the rhythm of his heartbeat increasing and slowing as his lifeblood was loosened upon the ground. The warmth and elasticity leaving one's flesh, synapses overwrought with impulses of pain would soon subside as one would become cold and rigid in death.

    Screams tore through the thick wall of fog that descended upon London, as frumpy housewives poured out into the streets. "Summon the Bobbies!" Women would exclaim through their tears, their young offspring clutching at their skirts. Murder seemed to be especially fruitful during the wee hours, an almost equalized ratio of woman to men slain. It appeared to be a stalemate at this time, but who knew how many more succumbed to demise? Secrets were nestled in the bosom of the great City, but the whispers of such would remain unheard, as morning stirred the souls from slumber and the cobbled paths gave way to the cadence of movement, the steady clopping of hooves and rotation of carriage wheels upon the streets. The evidence would be staggering, men dead in pools of stagnated blood, the reproductive organs of women stripped from the bodies that housed them with surgical precision. Multitudes of rigored forms strewn about, discarded like they were ragdolls. Yes, murder seemed quite a productive vocation for some. Hellinka would find Jorge's words, her lips forming a broad smile. "As Nightfall once again falls dormant, the streets glisten with blood. I am but a mere castaway, adrift upon the tumultuous tides of death and destruction. I fear I may indeed succumb to the roiling waves of my conscious." She paused, her eyes widening some as she was overcome with a sense of exhilaration. "I -must- see you soon."
     
  12. Jorge was sitting in a pub. One of the many men helpign the police take care of the dead. with his limited knowledge of anatomy, he helped make the dead ready for transport. stuffign organs back in bodies when he could, chopping them out when he couldn't. he was covered in viscera and blood. SO much blood. Acidic bile and the likes. One of the men he had tended was still alive, Dying, his sight taken byt he gates of death, telling Jorge his name. his address. his family. His lifes story int eh moments before death.

    Jorge Didn't Care. He stared at his whiskey. Only the light of morning had taken away his visions of that other world. and when he awoke, he was stareing at piles of bodies. FOurty seven Dead in one Pile, eghty strewn about the rest of the block. what in GODS NAME had happened? Jorge was sarchign his memory. searching his tattered thoughts for some sort of comfort.

    ' i must see you-soon.'


    The words rang in his ears.

    "There is a peach colored house on the edge of Carfax and Witburry, North london...Come alone to the Alleyway behind it at midnight..." he whispered, clearing his throat of flegm, he choked alittle, only then noticing how bad his clothes smelled.

    "Come alone. It's a busy part of town, You won't be noticed." he spoke more clearly.

    The men in teh pub where all helpers and police. Jorge anthony took his morning shot of whiskey and reveled at the comfort it's warmth provided him. He'd head home for a large brunch and get some sleep. It was then that he heard familiar steps. Hamhock legs carriedOne Mr. Tanner to his position at the Bar.

    "Well, imagine how suprised i was to hear YOU where in the thick of this godforsaken mess, Jorge." he mumbled, coverign hsi nose with a handerchief and almost gaggign when Jorge turned around, blodo and gore strewn over his entire front. marring the tweed adn fine clothe clothes he wore.

    "What do YOU wnat Tanner. I am neither drunk enough, nore sober enough to Deal with you right now. Whats that?" he said, looking at Tanners big ugly fist. He held a rolled up paper with a seal on it.

    "Your returned contract. same as always. seven hundred pounds to start, twice that upon capture of the criminal, plus the reward. THey're calling this a Cult killing. Just like all the others, it's surgically perfect and VERY public. whoever it is is sendign a message. Figure it out, Jorge-Anthony D." he laughed a bit then. "Are you ever going to tell anyone your ACTUAL last name, Jorge?"

    "Never." he scowled, returning to his next shot of whiskey.
     
  13. The tow headed female nodded, the subtle breezes tousling her thick, curly mane. "I will come...at midnight." She repeated with a note of yearning. Receiving the unwarranted attention of four men, she would cast a glare towards their backs as they continued in the direction of the church. "Did you partake in the festivities?" She let out a girlish giggle, referring to the massacre which shook London to its core. Hellinka slowly ambled past the tavern, her footsteps halting momentarily as she tossed a surreptitious glance in the direction of the door. "Blood and bowel spilling out upon the streets, much like the contents of one's chamberpot."

    She heard a gasp from behind her, a rather robust woman attempting to subdue her with a stern stare. "You shouldn't make light of the situation..." In response she would roll her eyes, grumbling softly. (Carfax and Witburry.) Her body was stricken immobile, surrendering to a sudden sense of dread. It had been years since since she thought of North London, the vicissitudes of life that robbed her of her past, and almost forfeited her future. She could recall her father bumbling down the alleyway, his sorrows lifted by the heavy intoxicant he imbibed. He would make his way home as the influx of drunkards took to the streets, the scent of whiskey proceeding his arrival across the threshold. Little Hellinka, with a mop of blonde curls crowning her scalp bit back the taste of bile as she ran to him, her arms seeking refuge about his clammy form. It was quite obvious that he had fallen ill, his hankerchief dotted with blood. His frail body harbored a dark secret, his respiratory system suffering the devastation of Tuberculosis. He drank himself into a state of delirium, in an attempt to combat the pain of the disease in perforating his lungs. Just as much as it would steal his breath, his inability to keep employment stole away the comfortable lifestyle his family enjoyed.

    His death estranged the surviving members, and Hellinka learned the facts of life from a young age. Her eyes were opened to the brutality of society, the poverties of the populace. She was reared in a state of blissful ignorance, the luxurious silks of her attire covering the swelling of a well-fed stomach. Just beyond the reaches of a gaze obscured by rose-colored glasses, people hungered, thirsted, and fell prey to ailments that ravaged their bodies. Her discovery of the real world would forever change her, as she was engaged what seemed an eternal fight for survival, having to resort the ways and wants of a seedy life in order to obtain a grasp upon even a few pences. She became a beggar, a thief. Pilfering food and currency, the streets of North London were cold and cruel. (Carfax and Witburry.) She thought, a frown contorting her lips.
     
    #13 Daniella_Belli, Sep 9, 2013
    Last edited: Feb 7, 2014
  14. His butler showed no emotion when Jorge pulled off all but his undergarments right after entering the front door. "Save what you can. but burn the rest at 11:45 on the dot in teh fireplace. theres someone who i want to see the smoke." he said cvisciously, not drunk, but weary enough to be as such.

    "Wake me at eight thirty tonight. Send a letter to Scottland Yard Care Officer Tanner. I am takeing tommorrow off of the case I've been given to recuperate." he wheezed, coughing out the last of th disgustign flavor in his mouth, he went to shower, and to bed.
     
  15. The day went by rather uneventfully, save for Police units scouring the streets as to search for clues in furthering their investigation. Hellinka bided her time at the tavern, wearily observing the unenlightened masses tossing back liquor and engaged in slurred, mindless chatter. Who is this Officer Tanner that Jorge spoke of? Were they the best of friends, or bitter rivals? She pondered his affiliation with the man, then her thoughts diverted to that of a darker path, and she imagined the man cast into the endless echo of oblivion. How unassuming these people were, that in their midst sat a woman whom often succumbed to her depraved desires. It sickened her, how unintelligent they were, rattling on about their lives and swilling the drinks they could barely afford. How easy it would be to contaminate the ever- flowing ales, and Hellinka would watch eagerly as they gasped their last breath, their complexions paling, bodies convulsing. She was knowledgible of a large array of toxins and their effects within the human body, but she didn't favor the use of them in her work. It seemed wasteful somehow, even though the addition of poison into London's water supply could fell the lot of them. She preferred a more intimate approach, being up close and personal, breeching one's privacy as they suffered at her hand. The expulsion of breath upon her face, the sickly sweet scent of blood released from a gaping wound. Jorge became audience for a man's dying words. She wished for the same of herself. Soon, the purple colored curtains of twilight would surrender the setting sun and she would find herself once again out in the world, starting her journey toward North London. What sort of interaction awaited her? Would he smile, would his heart grow fond of her upon first sights?
     
  16. The butler tossed teh icky, still slightly damn clothes covered in blood, gore, and bile ontot he fire and let the smoke billow up out of the chimney of the house ont eh corner of whitburry and carfax. Jorge sat in his chair drinking tea as the luscous smell of roast duck and broiling vegetables wafted in fromt eh kitchen, the slaty sour smell of bloody smokerising out of the house was overcome by that smell inside.. but not outside.

    Jorge pressed a damp rag to his forehead, wippign sweat away. he was chatterign teeth he was so nervous. would the vision coem even in his own home when hellinka came closer? he had tried to track her down last night, but to no avail. If proximity made the crimson visions echo through his brain allt he stronger, than surely to meet her....

    He put the thought out of his mind and went tot eh kitchen. "Is all rpepared, dunstad?" he asked.

    "Yes, mi'lord." he nodded, holding a large tray of freshly prepared food,a big shining silver cover ont eh tray. Jorge pocketed some silverware and took teh tray from him.

    "Stand just inside the back door with those flintlocks laoded. i won't be takeing any chances." he added. He wlaked out intot he alleyway and sat ont eh abck step, sitting down the hot tray of food.


    And he waited.
     
  17. The intersection of Carfax and Witburry lay a short distance from her now, her pace quickening. A figure stepped out of the shadows, she felt the weight of its stare beneath the thick hood of its cloak. "Would you like to peruse my wares?" The woman inquired, her rasping voice a stark contrast against the stillness of night around them. "Aye, peruse my wares. What harm would it do to lend to me a moment of your time? I may possess that rare item or object that you desperately seek." The concealment upon her wrinkled exterior erred then, a swift gust of icy wind revealing her face. Hellinka eyed the crone's sagging flesh, her mottled canvas. Her countenance resembled a map of her past, the woes and pain this woman had endured in her lifetime.

    The murderess would oblige after several moments of hesitation, after having spied something which mildly interested her. "How much for this?" She pointed to a small, mahogany box, assuming it to be a musical trinket. "Aye." The woman started after her, each step of her incredibly slow gait invoking twinges of pain of impaired limbs. "For this, I shall take your soul..."Hellinka blinked several times, turning to regard the woman in a state of disbelief. "Not your actual immortal soul, of course. Only the Gods or Devils could lay stake to such a claim. Something precious you own, something that holds great meaning for you."The following words were poised upon her tongue, in tow to a bout of unproductive coughs. "Your...pendant, perhaps?" Her bony forefinger extending in a rigid point in the direction of Hellinka's throat. "The stone looks quite genuine. I want for the sapphire that bedecks your bosom."

    Hellinka sighed, wondering if the woman realized that her comment shied away a potential sale. She allowed for the music box to fall, the impeccable wood splintering upon the street. The dagger was then brandished in haste, and before her victim could react in such a way to fend off the oncoming attack, it found her wrist, flaying the flesh from bone. Hellinka continued to wield the bloodied weapon, landing swift strikes upon the frail woman. "You may have wished for my soul in jest, but you shall relinquish yours in death." Streaks of blood would paint the termite-riddled, wooden frame of her cart, the tattered flesh of her face would waver as a banner in the breeze. The scent of death would permeate the air, attracting rats and carrion to devour the evidence of her crime.

    Her shadow would shrink as she retreated from the light, and enlongate into a hulking mass upon the sides of the buildings she passed as she ventured into the heart of darkness. "I am here.." Hellinka announced softly, stepping into view.
     
  18. Jorge wore moth eaten informal clotheing. He did not want to betray his money. he knew nothign abotu Hellinka.

    "Very Timely of you." he spoke with a cruel, clever voice. It was clearer and chimed like ancient Bells compared tot eh voice he had over whatever link they had.

    "I'm glad you showed... I must admit i was a little worried you where just a figment of my imagination. that i was talking to myself." he chuckled, and patted the large metal container next to him.

    "Hungry?" he asked her without smileing. he hadn't betrayed his face to the light of the kerosene lamp hanging over the back doorway to the peach house.
     
  19. She felt a sudden ache in her brain, pulsations resounding throughout her mind via the channels of writhing, malignant veins. Her cranium began to swell, she heard the wails of the damned reverberating to the tympanic beat of her own heart, the increased output of her shallow breaths. The scene became lurid with the crimson hue of blood, Jorge's form only a black stain behind a ruddy waterfall. "I've...found..you..at last!" She landed hard upon a knee, a jolt of pain vibrating up her thigh. Her hands were thrust upwards in an attempt to alleviate her throbbing head. Her fingertips tenderly found her temples, her vision blearied from tears. She could not even begin to fathom the complexities of the Crimson Echo, she had nowhere to flee from the intensity of it. "What causes this?" A growl surged up her throat, almost animal-like in nature. She would rise after several moments, taking two deliberate steps toward the individual. He offered her to partake in what she presumed to be his dinner, was it a valid offer? Or did he have a sinister agenda in asking her to sup with him?
     
  20. "If i knew.. I wouldn't need YOU now would I?" he said, looking at her face. she was feeling it right now. why wasn't he? was this thing they shared completely Random? It infuriated him, he looked to the skies. nothing. tot he garbage can across the way with teh rats moveing around it. while it did sort of resemble a corpse.. nothing. He blinked adn struck himself int eh head Gently a few times. Nothing. The visions where abandoning him right now, and Helllinka was the only one suffering.

    He turned and stood up, then looked up and down at her figure. he smelled blood, then he placeing his hands on her shoulders. she was Real. He knew it now. There was no denying it anymore, Hellinka was Real.

    "HOld yourself together, Woman, THere has to be a way to the bottom of this!" he hissed at her, liftign her chin to look straight in her eyes. His own face was a iron facade holding back the madness of the visions. he ahd long ago cast of the physical pain of the crimson echo. Now it was only the visions that interupted his life. He cast them aside when he could, but often went through full days at a time stuck bouncing between worlds of sight.

    "Hellinka...." he said her name.
     
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