Aug 21, 2018 19:01:26 GMT -6
Raoul Bellerose So won't you come with me and taste immortality? general info
appearance Having been turned before reaching full maturity, Raoul still resembles a child. If he had actually had the chance to age he no doubt would have been a late bloomer in puberty. Standing at a measly 5’0” he is more than a little bitter about his short stature. It is difficult to give off an aura of intimidation when you barely reach the average adult’s shoulders. In addition to being vertically challenged, Raoul also possesses a more juvenile face. His features are still soft and padded with baby fat, eye too wide and cheeks too full. It would be difficult to convince anyone he was thirteen rather than ten, much less over one thousand years old. Still, Raoul takes great care in maintaining his appearance. In lightly tousled layers and lengthy bangs, his blue-black hair is well kept without looking too formal. Usually he parts it over his left eye, though for a more professional (and, he hopes, mature) look he will comb the left side back while letting the right fall loosely as usual. Standing in stark contrast to his dark locks is his unnaturally pale skin, typical of most vampires. He has no visible scars tarnishing his skin, with the exception of what he hides beneath his eyepatch. Due to an injury received as a child Raoul had to have his right eye removed to avoid infection. Since this amputation occurred prior to being turned and was fully healed he has been unable to regrow his eye with his vampiric healing factor. The delicate skin of his eyelid is somewhat marred as well, having poorly scarred over. So as not to have a gaping hole in his head, Raoul does have a collection of glass eye, though he still prefers to keep his eyepatch on. His undamaged eye is usually a striking shade of sapphire, drooping somewhat towards the outer corners and framed with this lashes. When he exposes his fangs his eye take on a signature crimson color, almost glowing, and the pupil slits in snake-like fashion. Set shortly beneath his eye is a relatively small nose with a slight upturn. Raoul’s lips are fairly full, pale pink in pigmentation, and typically set in a slight scowl. It is rare to see him smile beyond a mocking smirk. Both of his ears are pierced and he prefers to wear simple studs in them. As Raoul never reached full maturity his figure is extremely slender, almost androgynous, with very little muscle tone. His torso and legs are well balanced in length and he maintains a dignified posture through years of etiquette training. Fashion is certainly one of Raoul’s passions and he prides himself on his somewhat extravagant taste. By contemporary standards his style would be considered “ouji”, or “prince” fashion which is an extension of lolita. While Japan helped fuel the revival of Victorian fashion with gothic flair, Raoul does not associate his “superior” wardrobe with the subculture. Most of his wardrobe is antique, dating back to the Rococo and Victorian eras of the 17th to 20th centuries, if not contemporarily made in accordance to those styles. A typical outfit would be a tailcoat, waistcoat, decorative button down dress shirt, breeches, and boots with a 2-3” heel for ego’s sake. During the warm seasons he will opt for shorts with knee high socks and men’s garters. Raoul spares no expense on fabric, preferring exported silk, brocade, lace, and occasionally velvet. He loves to accessorize with more avantgarde pieces, from brooches to various period hats, silk flowers and ribbons. Raoul even owns a bustle skirt and cage that he likes to wear over breeches on particularly formal occasions and several canes for aesthetic purposes and to conceal daggers. He also has a wide selection of decorative eyepatches, ranging from simple black silk or white linen to ornate flower pieces. While his fashion does tend to stand out, Raoul hardly minds, preferring the elegance of period fashion to today’s style. Only in rare instances will Raoul be seen out of his usual foppish attire. If he is feeling unwell or attempting to keep a low profile he will reach for more semi-casual clothes. Usually this would consist of a simple button down shirt with a waistcoat in a solid color, shorts, and knee high socks. He also owns a number of pageboy hats and would typically wear this with a linen eyepatch. For pajamas he tends to prefer nightshirts as they are the most comfortable. personality
There is a rather bizarre blend of brattish child and disgruntled elder that collectively forms Raoul’s personality. He is simultaneously emotionally immature and far too old for the world. Before being bitten, Raoul was your typical child, naive, yet hard-working and with ambitions for the future. However after turning and the tragic events leading up to his transformation, his personality drastically changed. He grew spiteful towards a world that no longer seemed to care for him with his affliction and spent his first few centuries on his own. Raising himself, Raoul had little discipline and was emotionally unstable from starving himself of blood on countless occasions in rejection for the monster he had become. These years left lasting scars and while Raoul has grown considerably more independent as a result, he still remains somewhat volatile. He is prone to throwing fits of rage if things do not go his way and defaults to apathetic towards most individuals. In his eyes the world is beneath him and undeserving of kindness or respect. With a fiery temper and pompous arrogance, Raoul would sooner snap at someone than smile. He enjoys looking down on others to compensate for his heavily buried insecurities and will meticulously pick a person apart to find their weak point. Few things unsettle him more than sympathy or patronizing words and he is viable to lash out or grow visibly uncomfortable in return. However, while he is not beneath juvenile pranks to annoy others, his words are articulate as he tears people down, and unless he is driven into a blind rage or on the defensive he will rarely sink to vulgar language. Raoul still considers himself to be a gentleman, despite being cruel. He enjoys being in control at all times, manipulating those around him for his own entertainment. Through years of acting as the pitiable orphan boy, Raoul would happily feign kindness to lower someone’s guard and strike (figuratively and literally if he’s thirsty) when they are least expecting. Crocodile tears are what he considers to be one of his many talents. Despite his malicious nature, there is a gentle side beneath it all, though that may be difficult to believe. This is not to say his vicious tendencies are a facade, he is cruel and proud to be so, but it is to suppress the damage from his upbringing. One of his deepest desires is to build a family once more. Not in that Raoul would like children or a parental figure, but to have a companion that is so irrevocably dependent and enamored by him they would not dare leave his side. If he grows fond of a particular individual he grows terribly clingy, bordering on completely possessive. Should that individual be human, his vampiric instincts will be trained on them and he will rarely feed off anyone else. There have a number of poor souls that Raoul has taken a liking to in such a manner over the centuries. Referring to them as “thralls”, they have all thus far suffered tragic endings due to Raoul’s anxiety. He is paranoid about losing loved ones and every thrall he has taken has been a mortal human. Watching them age with each passing year has driven him to take drastic, and sometimes forced, measures. Raoul has attempted to turn all of his thralls and all have resulted in their premature death for a number of reasons. This has happened time and again, leaving lasting scars on Raoul’s heart and hardening him to affection. He views it as childish now, a weakness, and has refused to become attached and take on another thrall for the last two hundred years. Though he has lost numerous loved ones, not once has Raoul forgotten one. He is extremely sentimental, going so far as to keep all of their cremated remains or odd trinkets of significance to their time together in a sort of private collection. As a personal rule, he does not discuss his past thralls and should the topic of significant others or family arise he is quick to change the subject or go on the defensive. Having experienced so much death around him, Raoul has adopted a somewhat morbid sense of humor. He can happily joke about plague and murder, all the more if someone is made uncomfortable because of it. It is his means of coping with the blood he knows stains his hands. abilities Blood Manipulation: - Master In order to compensate where he lacks in other abilities, Raoul has worked extensively with blood manipulation. Though he is not one to fight unless necessary, Raoul’s first move is typically to cut his right palm open. If he knows he is entering a potentially dangerous situation where he may need to defend himself Raoul always has his cane with a concealed blade in the handle for that reason. He is skilled in controlling blood, enough to wield it as a weapon, though his preferred form is as a whip. Being small in stature and weak in enhanced strength, Raoul expertly controls his blood like a whip from his right hand in order to keep enemies at bay. He is also capable of controlling blood aside from his own, though this typically requires more energy. Any exposed blood from his enemy can be used against them to inflict damage or restrain their movements. Aside from weapons, Raoul can use blood as a shield, solidifying it enough to stop, or at least soften, moderately strong attacks. However, this requires a large amount of blood to be spilled and typically Raoul will not use this unless against several enemies. To a minor degree, Raoul is capable of controlling blood within another’s body. This is only ever used as a last resort method as it requires a huge amount of energy and focus. He cannot puppeteer the person, merely halt their physical movement and only for one to three minutes, depending on distance from the target. This does not impact an enemy’s own abilities, thus psychic and manipulatory abilities are still effective. It is also not an instantaneous hold as Raoul must work through the complexity of the circulatory system and the larger the target, the more difficult they are to control. Obviously, those without blood or the deceased are unaffected by this ability. Regenerative Healing Factor: - Natural A defining skill of the vampire species is their ability to heal severe injuries and even regrow severed limbs if the damage is not fatal. Naturally, Raoul is equipped with this ability, though he has not had to rely on it for a few centuries as he is not one for fighting. As long as the wound is not deadly, he is able to heal it within a week or two. Burns from the sun, holy water, or blessed weapons take significantly longer, two months or more to heal. In all cases, Raoul must have a steady supply of blood to charge his healing factor. He is also unable to utilize his other abilities while healing, leaving him vulnerable. As a vampire, Raoul also has an extremely strong liver and digestive system that is able to neutralize toxins and illness typically carried by blood. This makes him impervious to blood borne illness, as well as poisons found in other foods consumed. However, if Raoul were to ingest the blood of a heavenly or undead species he would be left feeling ill for several hours unless regurgitated. Enhanced Agility: - Advanced Being that Raoul is small and lightweight, speed comes naturally to him. Since strength is one of his weaker abilities he tends to favor speed in dodging and closing in on opponents to strike. If he is aware he is physically no match for an enemy he will lead them on a chase until he finds an opening to strike. This makes Raoul extremely difficult to catch as well as aim for, but it is not without flaws. Excessive use of speed will rapidly bur through energy derived from blood. If Raoul has not fed recently his speed is limited to small bursts. Overuse of his enhanced agility can cause burnout where he will be unable to use other abilities such as wall climbing and blood manipulation as well as generally fatigued. Raoul also has trouble seeing while moving at such a rapid pace. If a target with equal speed were to move out of the way or an obstacle were to fall into his path, Raoul would likely trip or miss his destination. Enhanced Strength: - Beginner Since Raoul was turned at the tender age of thirteen before reaching puberty, his enhanced strength is limited to that of a child with no hope of improvement. This does place him stronger than the average adult human, but far weaker compared to other species with enhanced strength. It would take a large amount of effort and energy on Raoul’s part to, say, crush someone’s skull or bend metal. He would sooner exhaust himself and risk injury than be able to deal much damage. This also means that, if captured or pinned down by an enemy with enhanced strength it is very difficult for him to wriggle free. Thus Raoul tends not to rely on his strength, preferring speed and staying out of harm’s reach. Night Vision: - Natural Raoul is capable of seeing in pitch blackness as well as he can in broad daylight, despite his sight being limited to his left eye. This has been useful in the past for hunting, but today it’s merely helpful for when he is out and about at night. Though, for the most part, Lorsette is well-lit being a city. The only way to actually impair Raoul’s enhanced sight would be smoke or fog as the dense particles are obscuring vision rather than darkness. He also has a sensitivity to particularly bright lights and UV lamps can potentially blind him. With his right eye missing he has a bit of a blind spot to compensate for. Wall Crawling: - Natural Possibly one of Raoul’s least favorite abilities as he sees it as being too animalistic, wall crawling is not an ability he uses often. Though more than capable of using such a skill, Raoul regards himself as a gentleman and finds climbing around like a beast to be distasteful. Not to mention he risks ruining his attire, which he would not tolerate. The only cases where Raoul would utilize such an ability are to escape or hunt for food. He is not quick to run unless he knows the odds are stacked against his favor, and even so he would sooner rely on his speed than crawling away like an animal. Since Raoul rarely goes out hunting anymore, he no longer needs wall climbing in order to stalk his prey. It is also a disgusting reminder of the years he spent starving himself where thirst would drive him to use this ability to its fullest. He would hide in rafters and drop down on unsuspecting prey, feeding and often killing his victim when satiated. It is a distressing part of Raoul’s past that he prefers to avoid relying on methods from. Immortality: - Natural Upon being turned, Raoul ceased the aging process at the age of thirteen. While he does have to consume blood and at least small amounts of food in order to survive, he is no longer at the mercy of the aging process or disease. Illnesses pose no threat to him and unless mortally wounded or left exposed to the sun for several hours, Raoul is incapable of dying from natural causes. vulnerabilities Sunlight: One of the most well-known weaknesses for vampires, Raoul is vulnerable to sun exposure and UV rays. He tends to dress heavily, not exposing much skin, and on sunny days would go so far as to carry a parasol if he had to head outside. Of course, even with this protection he is still weak and can only last about five hours of exposure before needing to seek shelter indoors. Burns received from the sun can take a slightly longer amount of time to heal than regular injuries, around two to three weeks. They can also cause a sort of sun poisoning in Raoul, weakening him and making it difficult to utilize other abilities and enhancements. Man-made UV rays such as lamps can also cause similar harm. Though they are slightly weaker and take longer exposure to inflict harm. Holy Weapons/Water: Enemies wielding holy water or blessed weapons pose a major threat to Raoul. The burns inflicted by contact with holy water are far more severe than those made by the sun and happen upon contact. They can range from second to third degree, depending on how fast Raoul is able to dry it off. These burns take at least two months to fully heal and require large amounts of blood throughout the process. Similarly, wounds inflicted by blessed weapons also take longer to heal. Raoul risks bleeding out from them as he is no longer able to control the blood within the damaged area. Limbs cut off by holy weapons can take upwards of five months to fully reform. In general, blessings are harmful to Raoul and can cause immediate and often violent illness, from vomiting to loss of consciousness depending on the strength of the blessing. The symptoms will persist until the blessing is removed. Thirst: While Raoul has been a vampire for centuries, he is still very much at the mercy of his thirst. This is due in part to the fact that he painstakingly fought his thirst for the first few centuries of his transformation, driving him nearly mad. Even after his first feeding, escaping the initial hunger of a newling, Raoul remained in denial and would push himself not to feed in rejection of his monstrous nature. This not only left him vulnerable and weak, but a slave to his instincts. He would lash out at the nearest poor soul with a pulse when he reached his limit, often draining them dry. To this day Raoul struggles with his thirst, which he believes is partially a result of being turned prior to reaching full maturity. While he no longer starves himself, having come to terms with vampirism, if he were to be denied access to blood his self control and sanity would quickly wither. Raoul would no longer distinguish friend from foe and would attack the nearest thing that moves without hesitation. He would be weak, easy to fight off, but his thirst would keep driving him to attack until it is satisfied. Garlic: The mere smell of garlic is enough to make Raoul nauseated, much less eating it. He cannot stand the aroma and while consuming large quantities would be required to cause significant damage, he cannot bring himself to eat it. A good way to deter him from biting, or even remaining relatively close by, would be to smell like garlic or have recently eaten it. Raoul swears he is able to taste it in blood if his victim recently ate garlic and has refused to allow his thralls in the past to eat it. As far as he concerned the plant is banned from his house and general presence. backstory There existed no child by the name of “Raoul Bellerose”, much less a vampire during the 9th century. The Raoul of today began his mortal life under a different name: Olivier Durand. Born to peasants Evrard and Éloise Durand in 843, shortly after the Treaty of Verdun divided the Carolingian Empire under the rule of the Germanic Franks. The family resided in a small peasant village located to the north of West Francia, which would not become the well-established European power it is known to be today until the late Middle Ages (15th century). Life was far from easy, being at the bottom of society, struggling with poverty and strict rule. Evrard worked a small bit of land as a farmer in their village in service to the lord residing over the land, as most men typically did. He also was the town’s grave digger, a position that made the family somewhat of an outcast to the remainder to the village. Superstition was rampant in that age, thus working so closely alongside the dead did not bode well. Éloise did her part tomaintain the household, but was also somewhat knowledgeable in medicinal herbs and the use of salves in healing. The practice was passed down through the women in her family and she often used her abilities as a midwife and healer to the village. There were some that found her abilities suspicious, accusing her of witchcraft and furthering their position as outcasts. But most appreciated her efforts, which helped increase the birthrate and survival of the village. Under his mother’s care, Olivier managed to grow up fairly healthy, which was often a rarity of the time. Due to the somewhat negative reputation of the family, the few other kids in the village tended to avoid Olivier, though he did not mind. A gentle-hearted and curious child, Olivier was happy to stay by his mother’s side to learn about herbs or join her in gathering material in the nearby forest. He laughed often, despite the harshness of peasant life, and cherished each day spent with his parents. Upon reaching the age of seven, Olivier would help his father in tending to the land and digging graves. He would clear stones from the field or in plots of land, so that tools would not be damaged in digging. It was never very strenuous work as he was merely a child, but there was little time to play. On occasion he would pause in his work to watch the other children in the village make a game of chasing away birds from crops. Once or twice he attempted to join them in their small frivolity, but was shunned and often mocked with the nickname “corb” or “crow” in Old French for his dark hair and ill-omened blood. Olivier did his best not to hold such behavior against them, knowing well the reputation his family held and how the children were raised to avoid associating with them. However, after the unexpected death of one child’s mother in childbirth while under Éloise’s care, contempt for their family only grew. Evrard’s field would be vandalized and Éloise was blamed for her death, though complications in the birth were the cause. As plans were made for the woman’s burial, the digging of her grave was left to Olivier. While his father was tending to the field, a group of children from the village attacked him by the burial site. Stones were thrown, one of which hit Olivier directly in his right eye. The damage was severe, and after returning home in tears and screaming in pain, Éloise was left with no choice but to remove that damaged eye in order to avoid infection. Recovery was long and several times Éloise feared infection would take her only son’s life, but he managed to pull through. The wound healed over and Olivier took to wearing a bandage over that eye to hide his disfigurement. Even after the violent attack, he refused to hold a grudge knowing well the grief the children bore for the deceased mother. Olivier was far too kind hearted to survive in such an unforgiving world and this would be the catalyst for the eventual destruction of the village. It was autumn of 856 and the summer had posed a particularly dry season. Crops were limited and food was looking scarce. Still the lord residing over the land refused to ease on taxes and the prospects for the winter were grim as a result. The little the village had made them a target for bandits and raiders, raising distrust of outsiders. Even weary travelers were turned away without mercy. Meanwhile, the men who had finished gathering crops for the winter were called away to defend the borders of the village, as was their duty as militia, Evrard included. One late afternoon, just as twilight was beginning to settle over the village, Olivier made his way through the woods down the regular path his mother traveled to find herbs. She had been out most of the day to collect what she could before the coming frost and he saw it best to retrieve her before nightfall. While making his way down the well-worn path he came across a rustling in the surrounding underbrush. Despite being thirteen, Olivier was naive and too curious for his own good. It was there that he stumbled across a child who appeared not much older than himself. They were barely conscious where they lay in the dirt, their voice hardly able to rasp out pleas for help. With his limited strength, Olivier leant his shoulder to the malnourished stranger, taking them back to their small hut along the outskirts of the village. A short while later, Éloise returned home to see her son attending to an unfamiliar child in his cot. At first she was cautious, questioning Olivier whereabouts he found the kid. It was clear he knew the risk this placed on their family and if the village became aware of the stranger they would drive child away and possibly the Durand family with them. But his compassionate and empathetic nature was a trait from his mother and she, too, could not bring herself to throw the child out. In secret they cared for the injured youth while Evrard was away. Though their awareness seemed to return with the little food the family could provide, their pale complexion and fatigue persisted. Éloise began to fear the child might have possessed some sort of illness and planned to ask her husband for guidance upon his return. In the brief time after meeting the child, Olivier attempted to befriend them. They did not speak much, only a word here or there to show they were listening, but he was content to regale his new companion with stories or about life in the village. The child spoke little of themselves, not even a name was given, but this did not leave Olivier unsettled as it did his mother. With a few days of rest and nourishment, the child was able to stand once more, though they continued to lean heavily on Olivier and never let the boy out of their reach. Their clinginess to her son greatly disturbed Éloise, knowing full-well they could not let the child stay. Rations had only been made to sustain their small family, and even that was if they were lucky and ate sparingly. But she resolved to leave the matter to her husband. In the meantime she could not shake the feeling that something unnatural resided within the child as they seemed to do everything in their power to hoard Olivier’s attention for themselves. He no longer joined her on her trips through the woods, nor did he go to fetch her before evening. Olivier wasted hours away in the house, sitting by the small fire in the unrelenting company of their newfound friend. Upon his return to the village, Evrard was deeply concerned by the newest edition to the family, temporary though they may be. But he could not hide the joy of safely returning to his wife and child whom he had not seen in what felt like ages, relieved to see they were all in good health. Olivier was thrilled by his father’s return, distracting him from his friend, much to their annoyance. That night, Éloise pulled her husband aside before the family settled in to sleep in order to discuss the future of the strange child. They knew keeping them here would be impossible, but both were reluctant to throw the poor kid out into the cold. It was Evrard who made the hard decision to have the child join him on the next militia outing where they could be left outside the village without upsetting Olivier. The child appeared of age for the militia and the trip could easily be excused as a means to find their family. Little did the couple know that the child in question laid awake at the other end of the hut, listening intently to their plan as Olivier slept curled up beside them. This would not do, not at all. Late that evening after the village was surely asleep, the child crept out of their cot, careful not to disturb Olivier. It was clear this village was cruel and would show not a shred of pity for their plight. All they wanted was safe place to stay for the winter, a family to call their own. But not a soul could be trusted and, therefore, it was for the best to dispose of them one by one. In their mind, the world would be better off without such scum inhabiting it. The first to die at their had was Evrard, sleeping soundly beside his wife. Biting harshly onto his arm, paralyzing venom was injected giving him not even the chance to wake in pain. After draining him dry, they slit Éloise’s throat. Her wet gurgles filled the hut, but were not enough to wake Olivier to the massacre about to claim his village. House by house, life by life, the child cut down each family in their sleep. They did not distinguish between adult, child, or elder, all were equally guilty and worthy of being purged. It was not until they reach the fifth hut that a child woke to see their parents being brutally murdered before their eyes. Screaming, the village was alerted to the monster’s presence, but it was far too late. Having fed on Evrard to their fullest, the small village of remaining peasants was no match for the vampire child, plucking them off one by one. They easily dodged blows from the men, broke the necks of women, and chased down fleeing children as if it were some sort of sick game. All the while, Olivier slept soundly in his hut on the outskirts, completely unaware of the bloodbath as the screams did not reach him. After the last villager was slain only then did the vampire return the Durand’s home. Crouching down by the small cot, Olivier finally stirred as the child tenderly stroked their cheek. At first Olivier was confused, still half asleep, and leaned into the touch. However when his sapphire gaze took the crimson splatters dotting his friend’s fair cheeks and drenching their ratty clothes, only then did he realize something was terribly wrong. In fear he scampered back across the cot, pressing firmly to wall and unable to speak as he took in the bloody visage of the child. Beyond them, he could make out the lifeless forms of his parents in the dying light of the fire. Olivier trembled in fear, whimpering as the vampire closed in, cooing at him to not be afraid. “You are the only one….” It was the most they had spoken at once in all their time hiding within the village, “The only one to look on me without fear, without hatred in such a long time...so many, many years.” Pure terror held Olivier in place as the vampire lingered over him, tears streaming down his soft cheeks. Death was not unfamiliar to him, it was practically a part of daily life being the son of a grave digger and the short life expectancy of the era. But in that moment Olivier knew this was his reaper and he was rigid with fear. “You smell so sweet, do you know how hard it has been to resist all this time?” Olivier let out a choked sob as the vampire nestled their face into the crook of his neck, their voice hardly above a whisper, “But I will not kill you...in fact, consider this a parting gift.” As fangs pierced the tender skin at his throat, Olivier yelped in pain. He attempted to fight off the monster he once considered a friend, but to no avail. The child held fast to the boy, dripping a paralyzing poison into his veins until his struggles ebbed to mere squirms of discomfort. Consciousness quickly began to teeter and Olivier could feel his extremities going cold. Was draining the blood completely from his veins supposed to be some sort of reward in favor of being brutally murdered like the rest of the village? Little did he know of the secondary venom being slipped into his bloodstream as he slowly grew limp in the vampire’s arms. A bizarre numbness began to trickle through his limbs, fogging his mind and killing his will to resist. After seeing the tragedy that had befallen his parents and only able to imagine the state of the rest of his village, perhaps this was a more peaceful death. However this was merely the beginning of his new life as his vision faded to black. Olivier woke once more to the sound of shouts and rummaging in the distance. Judging from the foul odor now filling the hut at least two days had passed since his parents’ murder and the village massacre. The monster behind the deed was nowhere in sight. Olivier, the sole survivor, stood by the bodies of his only family, shock still holding his tears at bay. There was little to be done, thus he grabbed his shabby woolen cloak and stepped out into the chilling autumn air. A short walk to the center of the village solidified his nightmares in reality; the entire village was awash with rusty crimson and death was pungent in the air. Assessing the damage was the lord’s advisors who had originally arrived to collect taxes for the month. Without hesitation, Olivier went to greet them and explain what happened as best he could, leaving out a few key details. He did not let slip that the vampire was allowed into the village thanks to his foolish empathy, nor the encounter he had before losing consciousness. The men recognized Olivier as a member of the village and did not suspect him to be behind the bloodbath, much to the boy’s relief. With a surprising show of mercy they took Olivier with them to be dropped off at the nearby monastery for care on the way back to inform the lord of the attack. Adjusting to life in the monastery proved difficult for Olivier. He was tasked with daily chores of cleaning, washing robes, and maintaining the grounds. When not working, Olivier was required to attend daily prayers which he found utterly boring. If there truly was a God, he wondered, then why did He abandon his village and leave them to die? With each passing day the boy grew more restless, his voice raspy and complexion pallid. He kept his discomfort to himself so as not to disturb the monks residing in the monastery and risk being forced out. But his symptoms only grew more severe, throat burning and head foggy from a tantalizing, sweet aroma that seemed to pervade the old stone walls. He felt almost maddened by the scent, emotions becoming volatile much to the concern of the monks. During a particularly temperamental morning, the head monk ordered Olivier out to collect firewood and clear his head. Eager at the prospect of fresh air, the boy went about his task in the nearby forest. While retrieving stray branches he came across a young woman, alone, by a freshwater stream. Olivier felt himself inexplicably drawn to her and a delightful aroma that wafted from her person. Curious, he drew closer, greeting her and explaining he resided at the monastery nearby. At first she appeared cautious, but quickly warmed up to his gentle nature, sharing she was collecting water for her village beyond the wood. Her words hardly registered to Olivier as he was transfixed by the rosy color splashed across her cheeks, the warmth radiating from her in contrast to the bitter cold surround them. Every fiber of his being urged him to get closer, even as his consciousness attempted to resist closing the distance, aware that something was terribly wrong with him. He should have run, should have hurried back to the monastery and locked himself away in his room until he could regain his senses, but instead found himself huddled to her side, complaining about the cold. Motherly instincts kicking in, the woman welcomed him close to share in warmth before returning home and Olivier could no longer resist the temptation. In an instant he was on her, mouth latched to her throat and inhumanly long canines sinking into her flesh. Blood rushed down his throat, thick and saccharine, quenching a thirst he could not put words to. Pushing her back in the pristine snow that lined the rivers banks, Olivier muffled her screams her screams with his hand. He could not think straight, knew only that he needed this moment and no one would disturb them. The woman attempted to fight him off, but with each passing minute she grew weaker and Olivier, stronger. It was futile, and before long she no longer had the blood necessary to sustain her. The boy did not regain his senses until his thirst was quenched, but upon registering the body that now rested in his arms he fell back, drawing away in shock. Olivier wept for blood he had spilled and the life lost. Leaning over to the river to wash his face of blood, he could see his sapphire eye aglow with crimson and long fangs gradually retracting back behind his lips. This was the “parting gift”, he now realized, the vampire’s words echoing hollowly in his mind. Olivier was now a monster, same as them. He knew that if he had any sense of guilt for his crime he should turn himself in...but Olivier found himself more terrified to die, as he no doubt would be killed to atone for his sin. Rather than return the body to the village he dug a shallow grave not to far from the stream, then waded through the shallows back to the monastery so as to obscure his tracks. For days, Olivier fought with his conscience over what he had done. He hardly spoke a word to the monks, merely going about his tasks in relative silence. No word reached the monastery about the woman, but he was sure it was only a matter of time before the body was found. As winter melted into spring, once more Olivier found himself haunted by his newfound thirst. But he could not bring himself to feed again, he would not allow more blood to be spilled. For days he locked himself in his room, shabby curtains drawn to block out the sun that now seared his fair skin. He refused to allow anyone to enter, insisted his meals be left outside his door due to “illness”. It was enough to keep the monks at bay, though they grew more concerned with time. Rumors of possession and disease were whispered about the grounds, some wishing to perform an exorcism to banish whatever evil had befallen the boy. But now that Olivier had fed on blood, neither medicine, nor an exorcism could cure what had befallen him. It was only a matter of time before the madness of his thirst drove him to kill again. Try as he might, Olivier could only waste away from lack of blood for so long before instinct claimed his morals. One night in early spring, just before the land had fully thawed, Olivier gave in to temptation. After darkness settled over the monastery, he slipped from his room and made his way about the monastery to find the perfect victim. He kept to the shadows, creeping along the walls and within the rafters with his inhuman abilities, focused only on the hunt. A lone monk remained in the study, working on a manuscript by candlelight. But the stealth and patience required to silently stalk his prey was still foreign to Olivier, and his thirst drove him to rush forward and alert the man of his presence. A skirmish broke out, the man screaming for aid and knocking a candle to the ground in his panic to flee. Even in his starved state, the monk was no match of Olivier who quickly overpowered him and drank heartily from his throat. Flames lapped at the old wooden shelves of texts and scrolls, quickly spreading through the study, and Olivier was only able to barely quench his thirst before escaping the growing inferno. Weakened by the attack, the monk was unable to flee the flames. The monastery was thrown into disarray and Olivier, still tormented by his thirst, took the opportunity to attack several more monks before leaving them to burn as well. As the night drove on, the grounds were consumed by flames, several monks fleeing, screaming of the monastery “succumbing to a demon”. Before the first rays of the sun broke the horizon, Olivier ran from the scene, once more far too cowardly to atone for his crime. This scenario was repeated for the first few centuries of Olivier’s life. He would travel from village to village, lingering in the streets or, if he was fortunate, housed by a family or monastery that took pity. Olivier would internally rip himself apart, attempting to stifle his instinct to feed so as not to harm those around him. But each time, the longer he resisted the more harm he would inflict. If he was fortunate, only one or two lives were lost, but more often it was many. Some were for food, others witnesses that needed to be silenced. Still, some were merely the animalistic urge to kill, to see crimson spatter the ground and watch the life leave a victim’s eyes. It was maddening, and Olivier could feel himself wasting away to the point where he could hardly remember a name, blotted out by blood and erased by the unrelenting thirst that drove him to simply survive. He at least had the sense not to linger, traveling about West Francia. The vampire never remained in one place long, a few years, perhaps, or less if townsfolk grew suspicious or bodies were found. Each kill became that much easier, feeding the monster within him and whittling away at his dwindling sense of humanity. Over the years, he attempted to do some good during his moments of sanity, as if it could wash the blood from his hands. When the Black Plague ransacked Paris during the mid-14th century he used his knowledge of herbs to try and care for the sick. But when citizens began to take notice of how the disease was unable to harm him they drove him out. Olivier spent the first six centuries of his life teetering between human and monster, constantly on the run and in a never ending war with his guilt and relentless thirst. It was not until the 15th century that life began to change for the boy. Orphanages were established within France, a place of refuge for children without family and the perfect sanctuary for a lonely vampire. While living on the streets of Paris, filthy and malnourished (not unlike his friend so many years ago), Olivier was taken into an orphanage. No longer willing to share his human name, considering that part of his life essentially dead, the staff dubbed the boy Corbin for his strikingly dark hair and piercing gaze like that of a raven or crow. He reluctantly accepted the new name, reminiscent of his childhood. Life in the orphanage was almost strange to Corbin, the children were friendly and curious about the newest arrival. It was so much more lively than the monastery and for once he was treated as a friend and not a burden. The thirst still clawed at his throat, time and again, but Corbin began to take it upon himself to sneak out every few nights and briefly feed on anyone wandering about. It kept his sanity in check and prevented him from doing the unthinkable and harming the other orphans. He was still reluctant to accept his life as a vampire, but this was preferred to living on the streets and killing with little reason. After a few months living in the orphanage, the establishment was frequented by a particular nobleman. His wife was infertile and unable to provide an heir, but rather than take a mistress he sought to adopt a child. When shown to the available children, he was immediately taken by Corbin, his fair complexion and ebony hair giving him a striking appearance, suitable for a noble child, despite his injured eye. Thus began his life as a noble, receiving the new name Allard. He was taken to the countryside where the nobleman’s estate was established and his education began. Allard was taught to read, write, Latin, dancing, fencing, even how to play the cello. He learned of politics and proper etiquette, all the necessary skill for a future aristocrat. All the while, he did as told without complaint, appearing as the perfect son. His new mother adored him, dressing him up like some sort of doll and his father was impressed with his attention to his education. It was all merely a ruse, anything to keep suspicions at bay regarding his human nature. At night Allard would sneak down the balcony to his mansion and roam the streets, satiating his thirst. It was a lavish life, so far from the one he led as a human. A year passed and nothing changed, yet this in itself was a problem. Allard never grew, never aged or hit a growth spurt. His mother became concerned for his health, calling all sorts of doctors and those skilled in medicine to his aid. The boy tried to brush aside their worries, insisting he was simply an extremely late bloomer, but their worries continued to grow. He could not exactly confess to being a 600 year old vampire, but was at a loss for how to set their minds at ease. Each medical examination became more tedious and only irritated Allard further. This family was overbearing and unspeakably tiresome with their concerns to the point that he could no longer stand it. Running away from home would be pointless as they would only send out a search party for him. But if his “parents” were to inexplicably...disappear, in a tragic accident, then that would certainly solve his problem. Once more relying on his knowledge of medicinal plants, Allard slipped some Aconitum, or Wolfsbane, into the couple’s evening tea. Their bodies were found the next morning and Allard beautifully executed the role of grieving orphan. News of their deaths traveled throughout France, as well as word of the significant fortune left to their only son. Considering he appeared too young to care for himself, many other noble families were eager to adopt him and his inheritance. Yet again, the vampire found himself caught in a cycle for centuries. He would be passed from noble to noble, name changing each and every time. A year or two of blissful ignorance would pass where he would relish the easy life of an aristocrat. But when the family would grow wary of his eternal youth they would meet their demise. On a few occasions he would be caught sneaking out at night or his inhuman nature would be discovered. Each time, the boy would kill off the family to keep his secret safe, or hire someone else to do his dirty work. It was a simple process, and being that he looked like a mere child suspicion never fell upon him. This extravagant lifestyle remained uninterrupted until 1789, three hundred years after he originally became a noble. An uprising in France sparked outrage over the Ancien Régime, the people rising up to fight the hoarding of power and rights for the nobility. Now going by the name Marin, the boy witnessed France become utter chaos in what would later be known as the French Revolution. Marin even attended the meeting of the Estates General with his father at the time, which was formed by King Louis XVI and essentially triggered the start of the uprisings. The uprisings did not pose a true threat to his family, safe in their mansion, until after the First French Republic and the Reign of Terror began. After the death of the king, Marin knew it was time to escape France, and his father felt the same. His current noble family was already making plans and moving their sizeable fortune overseas to England, most of which was Marin’s inheritance from past families. Before the violence spread to their home, they escaped to London. With its bustling economy and rapid industrialization with the arrival of the railways and other technological advancements, it seemed like a relatively safe and profitable place to settle down, away from the threat of the Revolution. However, just as in France, his family began to grow suspicious of his perpetually youthful appearance. It was only a matter of time before he saw fit to dispose of them as well. Only, unlike the past centuries where he allowed himself to be adopted by yet another noble family, the vampire saw fit to establish himself as independent in high society. Adopting the name Raoul Bellerose, he took his extensive inheritance and secured a share in an architecture company that oversaw the development of a number of major buildings, churches, and concert halls throughout the United Kingdom. At first, few took the apparent child seriously, but with his considerable wealth and vast knowledge through years of education, Raoul quickly secured his position in high society. He had a name of his own choosing, a life he now settled for himself, and an overwhelming sense of pride in his accomplishment. Gone were the days of hunting in the streets after nightfall, now money secured his meals with ease. Anyone could be bought for the right price, as he quickly realized. Monster? No longer, Raoul proved one could be a gentleman and a vampire. At this time inhuman species were also becoming more well-known to high society. He was not the only immortal looking to rise above the masses. Naturally, not all accepted that these ageless beings were holding power, writing fantastical tales intending to feed off Victorian anxieties. But those that met Raoul, and many other species for that matter, had their fears assuaged, charmed by etiquette and otherworldly appeal. Finally, Raoul was able to be true to himself, accept the side of him he was previously repulsed by, and use it to his advantage. Yet, there was still something missing in his life. An ache resided deep within his chest, a void longing to be filled. Raoul soon realized he was painfully lonely. Nevering having been on his own before, he quickly realized that the world could be terribly quiet on one’s own. He would spend hours lounging about his estate, not even finding appeal in the company of his servants. Something had to change, amuse him, numb that emptiness plaguing him. That change came in the form of a young urchin boy during the social season in London. Raoul was in the city, residing in his somewhat smaller estate in order to attend the various balls and charity parties held by aristocrats. With the hustle and bustle about the city, there were numerous events being held to entertain the visiting nobility, one of which was the circus. Having never attend one prior to moving to London, Raoul was intrigued by the idea and made plans to observe the festivity. There he encountered Nevan a young human boy who was a skilled knife thrower. The moment Raoul lay eyes on his impossibly pale, unruly hair and doe-like eyes he knew he wanted him. It was a simple matter, finding the right price to appease the ringleader that owned the circus after the show and it was not as if the vampire lacked money to spare. Once a price was met, the boy was relinquished to Raoul’s care. He almost found it amusing, taking on an orphan just as he had been centuries ago. Though understandably cautious at first, Nevan quickly adjusted to life with Raoul. It was difficult to resist the appeal of the aristocracy, and Raoul happily showered his new companion with gifts to win his favor. But when asked as to why the noble saw fit to buy him, Raoul merely stated he saw him, wanted him, and, thus, he was his. Raoul was not about to explain his loneliness, though it was apparent in the way he clung to Nevan, even going so far as to educated him for social events so that he might attend as well as his butler. To Raoul, he was so much more than a servant. Perhaps he was like a pet to which he could dote upon, or merely a passing amusement. Neither seemed to suit the affection Raoul had for the boy. Was it his fair appearance? His chiming laughter? Or the way his blood smelled so undeniably sweet? The latter sent Raoul’s vampiric instincts into a frenzy, but the thought of frightening Nevan kept his fangs at bay. Surely the boy would run if he knew Raoul was fighting back the urge to marre that pristine skin. However, one night Nevan inadvertently stumbled upon Raoul drinking upon a maid in the parlor, having assumed the boy was off to bed. While his vampiric nature was not unknown, Raoul had made a point to avoid feeding in front of Nevan. It was distasteful, unsightly, and Raoul quickly pushed the maid aside. He was ready to appease Nevan by any means necessary, unable to bear the thought of him leaving. What the vampire did not anticipate was Nevan offering his blood instead. While Raoul showered him with attention he had not imagined the feeling to be mutual, but was delighted beyond words. He readily accepted Nevan’s offer, going so far as to swear he would only feed off him. Finally, Raoul found what he was missing: someone so desperately and irrevocably attached to him that they would go so far as to offer their very lifeblood to him alone. Nevan was dubbed the vampire’s thrall and never left his side, becoming something like his shadow. The two would pass the day, simply enjoying each other’s company. Raoul would entertain his thrall with his cello, they would hunt for sport side by side, and even share the same bed at night. It was a platonic relationship that went beyond friendship, but not lovers. A mutual dependency of sorts, though Raoul would never admit to being thoroughly whipped by the whims of a mere human. Year after year, the two remained together sharing each little moment and forming countless happy memories. Of course, all pleasant times tend to be pursued by tragedy, such is the way of the world and while Raoul managed to escape so much misfortune over the centuries, his thrall was not so lucky. During the winter of 1852 such hardships befell the Bellerose estate. Sweeping through London was a wretched disease, its victims drowning in their own lungs. Consumption, later known as tuberculosis, was becoming a serious epidemic throughout Europe and North America and while Raoul was immune to it, Nevan was not. Bedridden and coughing up precious amounts of blood, Raoul was at a loss for what to do for his thrall. Never in his life as a vampire had Raoul found himself so attached to someone and never had he felt so powerless to protect them. Nevan tried to ease his master’s worries, assure him he would recover even as grew worse with each passing day. The aroma of his blood polluted the house, his hacking coughs echoing down the corridors. Raoul quickly found himself growing desperate and knew a difficult decision had to be made. If a mere bite could grant him immortality, then could Raoul not provide the same for Nevan? Nevan was understandably surprised when Raoul expressed his desire to feed off him, having abstained from doing so since his health plummeted. The vampire had resorted back to feeding on his servants so as not to drain Nevan of more blood than he was already expelling. But his thrall happily offered up his remaining blood, if only as one last gesture of affection before his disease claimed him. Raoul did not waste any time, sinking his fangs into Nevan and letting his secondary venom slip into his veins. This was the first human Raoul ever saw fit to turn, the only one he deemed worthy and the only one he could not bear living without. The transformation was unexpectedly fast and painless. Having lost consciousness from blood loss during his own transformation, he had little idea it took mere moments to take effect. Though in his time among fellow inhuman aristocrats, Raoul did learn that in this state Nevan was merely a “newling” and would not be a full-fledged vampire until his first feeding. Nevan quickly noticed the change, his coughing ceasing and the blood easily wretched over the bedside from his now healed lungs. He was bewildered, wondering what exactly Raoul had done to him. But before explaining Raoul sunk his own fangs into his wrist, offering the quickly welling blood to the newling. Without hesitation, Nevan grasped his master’s wrist and drank deeply, instinct driving him just as it had Raoul when he was first turned. Though, unlike his master, Nevan was not starved half to death and, thus, his thirst was satisfied in a few moments and his senses returned. Realizing what Raoul had done, Nevan questioned why he would go to such lengths for him, to which his master could not find the words to explain. But “why”, in Raoul’s opinion, hardly mattered. Nevan was alive, consumption no longer sunk its claws into his lungs and they would be together forever. Or so Raoul thought. Two years after Nevan’s turning, the pair were once more in London for the social season. As was custom, balls were held, one of which by a prominent demon aristocrat. The noble in question was rumored to be the target of several anti-hell species organizations that saw their kind as unfit to be in high society. It was an insult to God to have such creatures holding power on earth. Yet, unafraid, the demon held a ball in London for all aristocrats to attend and, naturally, Raoul and Nevan were present. During the third and final night of the soiree, just as the celebration was well underway, multiple gunshots were fired within the crowd of attendees, all aiming for known nobilities bearing hellish blood. Vampires, having aligned with hell during the War of Traitors, were considered equal game, Raoul included. The hall was thrown into chaos, guests fleeing for their lives as fallen angels, demons, and vampires fell at the hand of their enemies who more organized and skilled at counter their abilities than what was anticipated. Raoul was about to flee with Nevan as a gunman took aim for him, directly for his heart. A fatal shot would be impossible even for his healing factor to recover. The shot rang and Raoul, too concerned for Nevan’s safety, braced for the impact. The pain never reached him and Raoul opened his eye to see Nevan crumpled in a lifeless heap at his feet, blood already pooling around his shoes. For a moment the world seemed to stand still as Raoul registered the loss of his thrall, but numbness faded to blind rage. Crimson gaze landing on the man that shot Nevan, Raoul charged and, with inhuman speed, took the man down and tore out his throat with his fangs. Though it felt like hours the massacre lasted mere minutes, and only a few hell species were left standing. Once the last enemy had fallen, Raoul returned to Nevan’s body, heart already aching over the loss. He transported the body back home, not allowing another soul to touch him. For days, Raoul mourned over his body residing within his home in London, refusing to eat or see to guests. It was not until he could no longer find the energy to cry that he allowed the body to be cremated. Raoul kept the urn in his possession, safely stored in his private study. Once more, the vampire was alone and years passed before the pain became unbearable, just as it had before meeting Nevan. The loss still felt like a fresh wound, but Raoul could not stand to be alone anymore. He sought out another thrall, a woman this time from a noble family that share his passion for music. The two would spend hours playing duets, her the piano and Raoul with his cello. They would even grace social gatherings with a taste of their talent. But as years passed, the woman aged, and once more Raoul could not stand to see life slipping away. Just as he had for Nevan, Raoul turned her one night under the guise of his usual feeding. But unlike Nevan, she did not take the change so easily. Refusing to drink and demanding to return to her family, Raoul urged her to stay with him. He knew full well that the thirst of a newling could drive one to harm even those considered close. But she rejected him, fleeing home one night. When he discovered her disappearance, it was not difficult to imagine where she had run off to. Raoul hurried to her family home, only to find he was far too late. The mansion was awash with blood and the woman sobbed among the bodies of her family. Seeking to atone for her sins she drove a knife through her heart before Raoul was able to stop her. Another thrall was left to die in his arms, beyond his saving. It became another pattern for Raoul. He would mourn his thrall for years, then take another out of pure loneliness. But the results were always the same, ending in tragedy. The next woman left him for a mortal man, but before she could escape, Raoul mercilessly slaughter them both. If he could not have her, no one could. Another thrall, a young man, went on a terror spree of London, feasting on anyone foolish enough to wander the streets at night. Raoul drained his blood one night to put him out of his misery as his thirst tormented him. Yet another died before he even had the chance to turn them in a tragic train crash. It seemed as if Raoul was destined to be alone. This left him bitter, spiteful and bored with the world. If he had to suffer alone, then why not the rest of civilization along with him? During his years in London he heard rumors, whispers of an organization known as the Assembly of Phantoms who were seeking a sort of new world order. At first Raoul scoffed at the idea, too preoccupied with his thralls to care, but now the idea intrigued him. The idea of a utopia where all races were segregated seemed absurd, but why not entertain it for a bit? It was not as if he had anything better to do. Learning of the organization’s activity in Canada, specifically a small city known as Lorsette, Raoul set to move his estate to the area. The group was surprisingly difficult to contact, though the vampire had acquired some more...unsavory connections while in England. But once contact was made, Raoul made arrangements to be a benefactor for the Assembly of Phantoms, feigning support for their cause. In reality he simply had too much money and far too much time on his hands. At least this way he could watch the organization go at it with another residing in the city, the Terror Response Syndicate. It was amusing to him, like a game of chess to observe that, ultimately, had little impact on him. He could support the chaos, all the while maintaining his position CEO position of his architecture company, and find some meager entertainment in the end. At this point, Raoul Bellerose would take anything to pass the lonely hours of immortality. misc - Likes: sweets, lace, plushies, antiques, velvet, satin, theatre, classical music, gothic literature, museums, playing pranks, cello, jewel tones, cats - Dislikes: spicy food, mornings, plain clothing, contemporary fashion, inherently kind people, naivety, ignorance, being underestimated, tall people, being treated as a child - Fears: death, solitude, rejection, abandonment, bloodlust - Raoul is an accomplished cello player. While playing he is actually able to relax and he finds it to be a stress reliever. However, he refuses to play in front of others anymore as he does not like to expose his more sensitive, vulnerable side. Outside of his lessons when he was a beginner, Raoul has only willingly played for his thralls. Thus he has not performed to an audience in a few decades, but still enjoys playing privately for himself. - There is one room in his mansion that even his attendants are not allowed to enter. Within are shelves displaying the ornate urns of his past thralls. Raoul cherishes their remains and refuses to let anyone else so much as view them, nevermind touch them. Also within this room is his cello as he prefers to play in the company of the only souls he truly cared about since being turned. - Due to the injury that maimed his eye as a child being fully healed, upon turning into a vampire he was unable to regenerate a new eye. Thus Raoul is still unable to see, making the eyepatches necessary. - Raoul has not taken on another thrall since the 1940s. - His architecture company is name Lupin Architecture Inc., tying into his name Raoul, which means "wolf counsel". - Raoul has a fondness for plush material, enjoying soft blankets and stuffed animals. He has quite the collection taking up the majority of his bed. He also has quite the sweet tooth as well. - Raoul is fluent in French (including Old French), being his first language, as well as English, Latin, and German from his education as a noble. | roleplayer info ☆ NAME Frost ☆ RP EXPERIENCE On/off 15+ years ☆ TIMEZONE US EST ☆ GENDER Female ☆ AGE 23 ☆ OTHER CHARACTERS @takumisatou @jaki ☆ FACE CLAIM BLACK BUTLER, Ciel Phantomhive ---------------------- THIS CHARACTER BELONGS TO FROST. DO NOT STEAL. |
MADE BY ★MEULK