Hello once more, my fellow readers! This is the tenth chapter of Deeping Dream ( I expect to have 20) and I must say this has been fun. One of the best things I've ever done was sign on to ffnet. Also- about Morrigan's odd accent...
If any of you read Morrigan's Bio in the Darkstalkers 3 videogame manual (or simply find it over the net) it will state that she was born in Scotland. I've tried to recreate a Scottish accent as best as I could. It only appears when she's unsettled- like the last chapter. Think of it as a nervous tick.
Here's Chapter 10 (wow, I'm into double-digits now). Legalities:
I do not own Darkstalkers or any characters thereof. Capcom does (assuming they haven't sold the rights).
()- Indicates thought
Chapter 10
Memories of Blood
Dimitri and Morrigan made their way through the makeshift camp. Dimitri could see how haggard the remaining soldiers looked- and their age. (Not a young man among them,) Dimitri thought. (Their all too young to be fighting or too old.) Some of the soldiers looked to be still in the throes of their youthful hormones (several bad cases of acne pointed this out) and others looked old enough to be Dimitri's grandfather. All in all, not what one would consider prime fighting material.
They reached a small tent, guarded by two young incubi. Bowing to Morrigan, they parted the tent flaps. Inside lay a young human, unconscious, most likely due to the large and obvious blows his face had received. One eye was blackened shut, and his lips were puffy.
" He's the last one," Morrigan said, her accent gone now. Dimitri noted this with some relief; it meant she was feeling better. Another, more cynical part rejoiced because the accent had been getting on his nerves. " The others didn't say anything useful, or they killed themselves before we had a chance. This guy will die of blood loss soon enough anyway, so drink your fill."
Reaching down to right the man, Dimitri remembered his companions. " Morrigan, some friends of mine have been traveling with me. I've much to tell you, and they can tell you their parts as well- I left them about half a mile west of here. Can you send someone to bring them here?"
She nodded. " Sure. I'll send someone now."
She stepped out. When she was gone, Dimitri grabbed the human up and pushed his head back. The unconscious man merely moaned in his semi-coma.
( Relief,) Dimitri thought, as his fangs punctured into the man's neck.
Blood flowed into him from the gaping wound in the man's neck. It washed down his throat, and a special set of blood vessels lining his esophagus delivered this blood into his body, taking it where it was needed. Dimitri did not know this- no vampire knew why blood was needed so much- but he did know that it made him feel so much stronger- he could actually feel the new blood, rushing about his body.
He also knew he would receive the man's emotions when the blood got into his brain. Blood had different textures- one couldn't really call them tastes- depending on a person's makeup and emotions. Good, honorable men have a strong earthy texture, like the smell of the earth before a good rain; fouler men have a sooty texture, like getting the ashes of a fire on one's tongue. This man was close to the ash taste. Dimitri felt in enter his head-
And then a burst of memories poured into him. If it hadn't been busy feeding, his mouth would have pealed into a cry of shock. This had never happened before...
He felt like he was plunging down from a great distance, through eternal blackness. And then, from the dark, came snapshots of time- almost like photographs (which Dimitri had never seen- he thought of them as paintings) of time. But not this man's time- before then, far before then. Even without knowing anything else, Dimitri knew that for a fact- why he couldn't understand, but he knew all the same.
A group of humans, standing before a fire. Blackness.
Another group, robed in black, standing before a lake inside some sort of building- it looked like a shrine. Blackness.
A third group, robed in black as well, atop a mountain peak. Wind was clearly blowing fiercely about them- their robes seemed on the verge of being ripped off. Blackness.
A fourth black-robed group, standing before a great and solemn tree, a mighty wolf standing amidst it's branches. Blackness.
Two groups of men now, one in black, the other in armor, arguing with each other. One man stood out- he was young, but his face was already lined in worry. He seemed to be trying to persuade the black robes of something, but they were shaking their heads. Blackness.
A great stone castle. Inside, a group of humans were kneeling before the black robes. They were clearly some sort of honor guard. One of the black robes removed his hood-
and Dimitri saw his own face. Blackness.
Dimitri came too a minute later, his fangs still latched on the human's throat. He had nearly fallen, and was now kneeling on two legs that didn't feel like they would hold out much longer. He dropped the human and steadied himself with his hand as he rose up.
" What just happened?" he whispered to the empty room. " What was that?"
If any of you read Morrigan's Bio in the Darkstalkers 3 videogame manual (or simply find it over the net) it will state that she was born in Scotland. I've tried to recreate a Scottish accent as best as I could. It only appears when she's unsettled- like the last chapter. Think of it as a nervous tick.
Here's Chapter 10 (wow, I'm into double-digits now). Legalities:
I do not own Darkstalkers or any characters thereof. Capcom does (assuming they haven't sold the rights).
()- Indicates thought
Chapter 10
Memories of Blood
Dimitri and Morrigan made their way through the makeshift camp. Dimitri could see how haggard the remaining soldiers looked- and their age. (Not a young man among them,) Dimitri thought. (Their all too young to be fighting or too old.) Some of the soldiers looked to be still in the throes of their youthful hormones (several bad cases of acne pointed this out) and others looked old enough to be Dimitri's grandfather. All in all, not what one would consider prime fighting material.
They reached a small tent, guarded by two young incubi. Bowing to Morrigan, they parted the tent flaps. Inside lay a young human, unconscious, most likely due to the large and obvious blows his face had received. One eye was blackened shut, and his lips were puffy.
" He's the last one," Morrigan said, her accent gone now. Dimitri noted this with some relief; it meant she was feeling better. Another, more cynical part rejoiced because the accent had been getting on his nerves. " The others didn't say anything useful, or they killed themselves before we had a chance. This guy will die of blood loss soon enough anyway, so drink your fill."
Reaching down to right the man, Dimitri remembered his companions. " Morrigan, some friends of mine have been traveling with me. I've much to tell you, and they can tell you their parts as well- I left them about half a mile west of here. Can you send someone to bring them here?"
She nodded. " Sure. I'll send someone now."
She stepped out. When she was gone, Dimitri grabbed the human up and pushed his head back. The unconscious man merely moaned in his semi-coma.
( Relief,) Dimitri thought, as his fangs punctured into the man's neck.
Blood flowed into him from the gaping wound in the man's neck. It washed down his throat, and a special set of blood vessels lining his esophagus delivered this blood into his body, taking it where it was needed. Dimitri did not know this- no vampire knew why blood was needed so much- but he did know that it made him feel so much stronger- he could actually feel the new blood, rushing about his body.
He also knew he would receive the man's emotions when the blood got into his brain. Blood had different textures- one couldn't really call them tastes- depending on a person's makeup and emotions. Good, honorable men have a strong earthy texture, like the smell of the earth before a good rain; fouler men have a sooty texture, like getting the ashes of a fire on one's tongue. This man was close to the ash taste. Dimitri felt in enter his head-
And then a burst of memories poured into him. If it hadn't been busy feeding, his mouth would have pealed into a cry of shock. This had never happened before...
He felt like he was plunging down from a great distance, through eternal blackness. And then, from the dark, came snapshots of time- almost like photographs (which Dimitri had never seen- he thought of them as paintings) of time. But not this man's time- before then, far before then. Even without knowing anything else, Dimitri knew that for a fact- why he couldn't understand, but he knew all the same.
A group of humans, standing before a fire. Blackness.
Another group, robed in black, standing before a lake inside some sort of building- it looked like a shrine. Blackness.
A third group, robed in black as well, atop a mountain peak. Wind was clearly blowing fiercely about them- their robes seemed on the verge of being ripped off. Blackness.
A fourth black-robed group, standing before a great and solemn tree, a mighty wolf standing amidst it's branches. Blackness.
Two groups of men now, one in black, the other in armor, arguing with each other. One man stood out- he was young, but his face was already lined in worry. He seemed to be trying to persuade the black robes of something, but they were shaking their heads. Blackness.
A great stone castle. Inside, a group of humans were kneeling before the black robes. They were clearly some sort of honor guard. One of the black robes removed his hood-
and Dimitri saw his own face. Blackness.
Dimitri came too a minute later, his fangs still latched on the human's throat. He had nearly fallen, and was now kneeling on two legs that didn't feel like they would hold out much longer. He dropped the human and steadied himself with his hand as he rose up.
" What just happened?" he whispered to the empty room. " What was that?"