Necropolis Vampire CivQuest Thread II

The scent of dry bone and old stone fills your heightened senses, with the twinge of fear deep in the dark. You hone in on, hearing the clatter of feet, and then the shuddering, uncertain flight of a terrified man. You feel danger as you stride down the stone stairs, passing by inlets in the walls as you follow the fleeing resident.

>Pursue him alone, as your thralls struggle to keep up?
>Consolidate in the first chamber and allow him to flee?
>Wall him in to the lower chambers. He shall starve or submit.
>Something Else?
>Roll a d100 for all of the actions above.

Rolled 56 (1d100)

>>1572512
>Pursue him alone, as your thralls struggle to keep up?

Thread 1: http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/1558751/
Please vote on the archive!

Rolled 88 (1d100)

>>1572512
We fear nothing
>>Pursue him alone, as your thralls struggle to keep up?

Rolled 69 (1d100)

>>1572512
Leave our thralls to secure the crypt behind us. Move as a group and be careful.

Hunt him in the crypt alone

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You howl and cackle with laughter as your padding feet bear you, pouncing through the darkness like a demon, past what you assume to be the laboratory of this whelp. Arrowroot, Monkshood and Wolfsbane. While you know nothing of alchemy, the pungent scent of ozone in their tells you your quarry is a wizard. You pursue him down the great steps of the crypt, through layer after layer, past generation after generation, turning from bone to dust as you plunge deeper and deeper into the darkness.

The wizard ahead of you is tiring, you smell from the acrid sweat in the air, and the howling laughter of the crypt ghoul resounds behind you, accompanied by the wheezing half-laugh of your thralls, and the clatter of servants clattering newly bare bones on the stone. The world is a haze of adrenaline, and you surge through it, an apex predator. Finally, you corner him. You smell the delectable horror as he is confronted by a solid wall, and revel in the dread in the air as he hears your skittering claws come closer.

He has retreated into a chamber, and you hear him a fair ways off, chattering to himself in a language you do not know. The air hums with power, as your ravening soul tears forward, only moderated by the mighty will of your mind. It may be some desperate wizards trick, and you must be careful... or must you? Perhaps if you rush in, he will not have time to conjure, and you will have his blood the sooner! The ichor will flow down, dripping from your chin to steam on the cold floor, and this wizard will be silenced. But when?

>Rush into the room and barrel him over. Maul him to death.
>Rush into the room and attempt to subdue him? (Risks fatality on narrow success)
>Sneak into the chamber in the darkness?
>Something Else?

>Your thralls make sounds of commotion, but from the howling guffaw of your oldest thrall, ever present in your mind, you are unconcerned. Likely just the followers of this ragged little rat.

Rolled 59 (1d100)

>>1572602
RIP AND TEAR. EAT HIS FUCKING FACE

Rolled 24 (1d100)

>>1572602
>>Rush into the room and attempt to subdue him? (Risks fatality on narrow success)
good roll incoming

>>1572625
nop

Rolled 28 (1d100)

>>1572602
>>Rush into the room and barrel him over. Maul him to death.
Best to take him by speed, who knows what he can cook up...and it's too risky to subdue this one probally

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You burst through a flimsy wooden door as if it were a curtain, the iron binding shattering under one pounce of your massive frame. Within is a small bedchamber, where the wizard sits, surrounded by long dead bodies, piles of bones. He looks up from his book, dazed by the sight of you. It seems his little ritual took too long. You take only a moment to revel the sight of his flashing eyes, as he watches his life flash in a moment, before pouncing forward. The bones crunch and scatter under your weight, and you crush him down into them. He screams and wails, and for once, insulated by the earth, you let him wail, as the sharpened bones grind into him, impaling him slowly upon his own work. You cannot help but begin to laugh, a savage laughter, as your lips curl back to reveal your savage canines, inches from his weeping, pale little eyes.

Bloody flecks spittle land upon his face, and for a moment he seems almost distracted, before you strike, your muscular neck rearing forward as your teeth sunk savagely into his wet flesh. This is not the gentle, refined bite of a bat, a flea or a tick. This is a savage, chewing bite, as if ripping gristle from bone, and you revel in it. The thin blood of his body, exhausted and drained from his exertions, quickly drains down your throat, barely a meal to you, but an entire life to him. You rise from the pile, leaving him contorted and twisted as his muscles lie strung out across a dozen piercing points.

His eyes do not cloud over, but remain clear, as he leis still. You breathe for a moment, taking comfort in the flow of warm, copper scented breath of your canine nose. Then he twitches. His body contorts in front of your eyes, and the bones begin to rattle and shake, forming into one body. They flow over one another like layers of muscle, the impaled wizard's body borne aloft, like the cadaver of a hanged man, borne aloft by the gallows. You stare for a moment, before striking out at the thing, you claws hacking into the bone, only to snag, being pulled in and bound in the heart of the creature. A hollow, dusty howl rings out, between clanking rib-cages and roiling skulls. You swipe again, but by then it is almost too late. You are pulled in by the creature, against your sturggling muscle, enveloped in bone, but refusing to die. The points of the bones cannot quite break your skin, and so the suspended corpse roils over you, searching, seeking for a weak point. You resist the searching mass, and send out a call across your mind.

>To what do you call?
>Your Crypt Thrall
>The bones of the Crypt?
>The very bones surrounding you?
>Something Else?

(Roll d100 for all options, +20 to calling the Thrall)

>

Rolled 15 (1d100)

>>1572667
>The very bones surrounding you
Lets put our magic into work!

Rolled 64 (1d100)

>>1572667
>Your Crypt Thrall

Rolled 58 + 20 (1d100 + 20)

>>1572667
>Crypt thrall

SAVE YOUR MASTER MINION.

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>>1572748
>>1572685

>You are Ahen, servant of the master.

Before the master, there was nothing. Your mind was blank, but he brought the light to you. It was his blood that opened your eyes, his hands that brought you back. You were nothing and now, once again, you are something. Someone. Dry blood flows afresh in your veins, and, to serve the master, you have changed yourself. He required a strong servant, and so you ate, shifting yourself to suit his needs. You are his servant forever, and you are glad. You do not ponder your role in the world any longer. You are the master's strongest slave, and so you command the other, duller servants. They are not favoured as you are with wisdom, and so you must guide them as you were guided, teaching them to be loyal. You teach them now, in the crackling dust of stone, how to break bone. A small host of skeletal warriors have clambered up, and you have smashed them down. Your thick bones bludgeoning them to dust. You revel and laugh in glee at your victory on the masters behalf, and are ready to follow his beloved scent when his command rings in your mind.

You take no time to think. At the first syllable, you are sprinting at the fastest speed you can manage, loping like a gigantic beast down stairs and through corridors, the clumsy gait of your bestial hands and feet shattering stone as you barrel down and forward. You feel the pricks of pain against your master's skin, and a fire rises in your breast. This flame soon spirals to an inferno, the trapped rage of a slave and the captive adoration of a loyal serf mingling to provide perfect kindling. You do not stop to think as you sight the creature of bone and sight your master within it. You do not stop to think as you barrel over the wooden scraps of the doorway, bellowing your rage in a piercing, rising cry, steeped in acrid fury. You do not stop to think as you leap, or as you pin the wizard to the floor, the bone construct wavering. You do not stop to think as the bone spikes pierce your flesh. It is for the master. A sharp bone thuds into your face, mangling the rotted muscle of your cheek, but you do not care. You wrestle onward, your howl mingling into laughter and deranged weeping.

The blows fall heavier, and faster. Your nose snaps. A spike embeds itself in your chest. Coagulated blood streams down your chest, before you lay a solid enough blow to send the creature reeling. You fall to the wall, holding a hand over one of your wounds as you realize that the blood flowing from it is not cold, but hot. It is the masters. You cannot lose it. You try desperately with weakening hands to hold the flow back, but it is indelible, trickling through your fingers. You cannot lose it! It is the master's! You are the master's!

You slump, as the last droplets escape, mingling in the cracks in the crypt-stone. You hear a skull crack, through the slowly descending mist of your mind. You smile. You were a good servant.

>That's it for the night folks. See you tomorrow.

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>>1572859
( '-')7 we will rebuild him. Better. Stronger. Faster. Ahen mkII.

Oh no..he was good servant. See you tomorrow

Ahh shit. I just wrote two full paragraphs only for a misclick to permanently delete it all. Fuck.

>>1574970
that's an opportunity to make it evven better!
feeling pretty dumb for being stranded in the last thread

>>1574970
Oh dear god that's the worst feeling ever

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>You are Carthus, lord of the necropolis.

The bones surrounding you shudder in a squeaking cry, and you hear a wet thud from the opposite wall. Your frantic attempts at escape cease to be necessary, as your charnel prison collapses into dust, rot and shards, lying in a pile around the shattered skull of the slain wizard. Ahen lies slumped against the walls, rigor mortis holding his arms tight over hie heart, as if he were some nobleman's casket, his eyes clouded over, staring blankly out at you. You order your thralls and servants to begin surveying the crypt, spreading out through the great chambers and gathering up both the notes of the wizard and the various jewels and fine goods buried with the ancient de Vanders. It becomes plain to you that the wizard had few more surprises in store than those he so clearly displayed to you, at great cost to your forces, asides from a collection of intelligible notes and a primitive alchemical laboratory, consisting of a crucible, alembic, mortar and pestle, and various other trifles of ingredients.

These are collected and moved into the largest hall of the crypt, the second of three, upon the second of four layers of crypt, ending with the almost cave-like chamber of the necromancer's bedchamber. The third major chamber is perhaps as large, but clogged by row after row of alcoved chamber walls, containing hundreds, if not more, half-dust skeletons, with even the most recent decades old. That chamber likely acted as the burial area for the least favoured members of the family, or beloved servants, hence the lack of fine goods and the winding construction. The entrance chamber, a short walk from the doorway down a set of stairs, is a smaller chamber, filled with statues and small stone caskets, likely the resting places of fine sons and daughters of the family, who, from the engravings of cherubim and dragons, you determine to have lived rather fascinating lives.

The finest members of the family, you determine, were interred in the second chamber. The great patriarchs and matrons of the de Vander line, guarded by stone knights, and watched over by stone widows for all time. A pair of massive stone caskets rest in the two inset corners at the back of the room, while caskets set into the walls along the sides of the chamber bear the family insignia, with slight changes over the generations. The chamber holds an air of reverence, and is more than large enough for your purposes. Your finest possessions are brought to the chamber, and the collected de Vander riches, mostly bracelets and faded trinkets, are piled up in one of your old chests. The alchemical equipment is set up in one of the other inset corners, And your servants retire to the caskets, tearing them open and resting within, cradled by the corpses of the ancient de Vanders. With them at rest, you return to full strength.

Cont.

Your new residence is not yet lavishly adorned, but you feel far more comfortable so far underground, away from the seeping heat of the sun. You have a simple bed brought up from the necromancer's chamber, and lounge upon it, admiring the echoing chamber you now inhabit, and looking, with a comfortable sigh, over the vast expanses of engraving adorned the entirety of the chamber. With such a base to operate from, and so many corpses to raise, if only as servants, your power can only swell. Soon, the necropolis will teem with your servants.

>You can now support up to twenty servants without impairing your own strength. The crypt contains a supply of several hundred decayed skeletons for your use, and is sufficient to accommodate as many thralls, servants and aides as you should desire to fill it with. You may now undertake construction actions to expand your home, though you may have to make contact with the criminal underworld for any true trade of more complex materials than those you can scavenge.

>What will you do now?
>Hunt for live prey to feed to your two weakened thralls, and to devour yourself?
>Raise more servants or thralls/ modify your current thralls. (Four servant zombies on hand, along with two guardsmen thralls and the dead Ahen. Be specific with what you attempt)
>Order your servants to construct additions to the crypt? (4 Servants will not be sufficient for large scale building, and only shovels are available as tools)
>Try to decipher the notes of the necromancer?
>Experiment with your magical abilities? (No souls stockpiled, no thralls can be raised.Be specific)
>Something else? (Please specify)

As usual, d100 for all.

Rolled 46 (1d100)

>>1575043
can we
>assign servant/thralls to body gathering/live prey hunting
>raise the necromancer and try to decipher his notes with his help
?

Rolled 13 (1d100)

>>1575043
RE-RESURRECT AHEN. BEST MINION MUST RETURN TO US.

>>1575055
The Necromancer could be resurrected, in theory, but in order for him to have any of the intelligence you'd need for him to be of use you'd need his soul, which is departed. A thrall crafted using his body would likely have some aptitude at simple necromancy, knitting wounds with incantations, perhaps raising a servant of its own, but without the crucial and now lost soul, he is of little use.

The other idea, the use of servants to gather live prey and bodies is a functional one. You don't have a massive number of servants, and with only the guardsmen thralls to lead them without you, they'd be at risk of being spotted or attacked by the guards. If you plan it properly and roll well, it could work. Remember that the necropolis is very sparsely populated, you won't have much more luck scouring it clean of gravediggers. You'll need to either launch expeditions out into the city, at a great deal of risk, or to entice outsiders in to ambush them.

Rolled 4 (1d100)

>>1575087
then i propose we send out thralls to gather only corpses as stealthily as possible (from our old corpse cart for example) while we ourselves decipher the necromancer's notes and equipment, we can raise him later, even if not as a powerful necromancer

>>1575107
second this

>>1575126
please roll though

Rolled 96 (1d100)

>>1575126

>>1575168
good lad

>>1575168
Well damn.

Your thralls, wrapped in rags, and accompanied by a few zombie thralls, similarly adorned, shuffle out across dank mire of the necropolis, concealed by the driving wind and rain, but unconcerned. No gravedigger would be out in such weather, and the guards could barely see beyond the walls themselves. Your minions are free to act, concealed by fortunate weather, and they take advantage of the chance. The corpse cart is almost overflowing with bodies now, unburied since you have given up on your duties. Perhaps two dozen men and women lie on the pile, in various stages of decay. The thralls lift the cart on their untiring shoulders, and, directed by the thralls, drive it over to the crypt. The corpses recovered are dragged away down into the third level of crypt, the thralls and servants tapping the walls in triumph as they pass through your chamber, where you sit reading over the notes of the necromancer.

As the corpses pass, however, you notice something concerning. Bite marks in the necks. Not your own, or any of your servants. You inspect the bodies, and find two or three of them drained already. Something compels you to reach for your own neck, as you look over these wounds, feeling the two punctures left on yoru own infection. The wounds are almost the same. Worse than just that, the bodies have been savaged by ragged teeth, reminding you of Ahen's kills. Whoever this vampire is, he is not alone, and is clearly within reach of the necropolis. You almost charge out to hunt the impudent fool down for daring to enter your territory, but stop yourself. The sun may be behind the clouds, but it will still burn.

You sigh in resignation, as your thralls skitter away, worried by your anger. The necromancer's notes are a harder task than any hunt. Page after page of grey-brown press-paper, covered in messy notes in an alien language, all comprised of scribbles. At first, you can see nothing of them, but gradually you begin to decipher the strange tongue, with the pictograms. You can tell which items the necromancer refers to by looking carefully at the pictures, and you soon come to realize what he was creating. You find several phials in his laboratory, containing torn skin and rotting flesh, surrounded by a hazy red. After a good while of work, and the use of your own necromantic intuition, you can be fairly sure what you've found. Some kind of noxious disease or rot, to be inflicted on the still living in order to push them to somewhere in between life and death.

From the pictograms on the final page of the wizards notes, you derive that what he was producing was designed to turn humans into something more. Ferocious and hungering for flesh, and utterly loyal to him. Ghouls. Before you are three glass phials of flesh infected with ghoul fever, the cannibals disease.

You have heard tales of ghouls, folk drawn by hunger or depravity to devour the flesh of their fellow men and infected with a horrible plague. Once infected, the ghoul must constantly feed in order to survive, by devouring the flesh of his fellows. If a ghoul is constantly fed, he will mutate and grow stronger, while in a ghoul is left to starve he will deteriorate, his skin sloughing away and his flesh melting from bone, until he rots away completely. In the state of furious hunger starvation places on a ghoul, however, their desperation will lead them to any act, however vile and dangerous, even for the chance of a meal. They are beings utterly dominated by hunger, slinking around graveyards and through slum streets at night to devour the young and the old alike, caring nothing for pain sustained in the hunt, and fearing only starvation, or their abandonment by their masters.

The necromancer has handed you the chance to begin something more than the simple thralls you have produced so far. He has given you the chance to start a ghoul pack to serve you, to stalk the city walls and the streets beyond them in the darkness, passing as humans and devouring the bodies of men with a ravening blood-lust not even you may match. You must have a live subject to infest with the rot, and they will take time to fall into starvation, but once they have done, it will only take feeding them for their loyalty to be assured. You laugh to yourself, grinning down at the three phials, your eyes glittering at their potential.

>You may infect captives with ghoul rot. Once they have been infected for a short while, they may be fed and "tamed". They will be capable of intelligent thought and conversation, if fed sufficiently, but will devolve into ravings and beast-like rage when their hunger rises. They will only be able to eat the flesh of their fellow men. Additionally, you now know another vampire dwells nearby as competition.

>What will you do now?
>Hunt for live prey to feed to your two weakened thralls, and to devour yourself?
>Raise more servants or thralls/ modify your current thralls. (Four servant zombies on hand, along with two guardsmen thralls and the dead Ahen. Be specific with what you attempt)
>Order your servants to construct additions to the crypt? (4 Servants will not be sufficient for large scale building, and only shovels are available as tools)
>Experiment with your magical abilities? (No souls stockpiled, no thralls can be raised. Be specific)
>Something else? (Please specify)

>Stats incoming.

>Stats
>Abilities: Heightened Vampiric Strength, Vampiric Alacrity, Greatly Heightened Senses, Long Bladed Claws, Spiked Flight Capable Wings, Servantcraft, Blood Magic, Terrible Visage
>Residence: de Vander Crypt, Necropolis.
>Appetite: Ravenous
>Possessions: Rags, Shovels, Some Guard Equipment, De Vander Riches, Shovels. 22 Corpses, Drained. Several hundred skeletons.
>Servants/Thralls: 2 Standard Thralls (Armoured), 4 Zombie Thralls.
>Fledglings and Kin: None as yet.
>City Alert Level: Minimal

Rolled 82 (1d100)

>>1575269
RESURRECT AHEN. BEST MINION MUST BE RETURNED TO US.

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>>1575309
Ahen is brought to you. His corpse still rests in the same position, his muscles stiff and his skin punctured by a hundred wounds. He was a good servant, and it would be a shame to have wasted the corpses you fed to him. You need a powerful lieutenant to manage your servants and thralls, and a powerful soldier to avoid dirtying your hands, and so you have him carried and placed on his back on the casket.You have the thralls search through the alchemists lab, ordering them to bring you a torch, and a sewing needle and thread. With no need to worry for infection on the patient, you set to work. You burn the flesh surrounding his wouds, cauterizing the open and yet dry veins, before sewing up the skin with intricate skill. You bind his freshly sewn wounds with cloth to be sure, making him seem to bulge out, pallid-grey flesh barely contained by the bandages.

With his wounds painstakingly sewn closed and cauterized, you snapped his nose back in place, spitting blood onto the broken bone patches and causing it to boil, fixing the bone back together, until Ahen, his eyes clouded, sits repaired before you. You have no soul to reanimate him, and for a moment you fear that he will have lost his own, but it clings to his body. Even in death, the flickering fire of his soul refuses to abandon you. You reinject him with blood until you begin to tire, and move back, heating the blood in his veins and thinning the coagulated pockets that remain with your own magical ability. He shudders and jolts, gradually, for the next few hours. His veins throb occasionally under his thick, knotted flesh. Gradually, his eyes begin to light up once more, and he slowly regains control of himself.

He stares at you with a new adoration, clambering up to his feet and cackling like a newly treated dog. Soon enough, he is loping around as he always has, and has set to work putting your new residence in order. The servants do not lounge about under his commanding eye, and do not cease to work until your chamber is not just clear of rubble, but entirely pristine. Dust is washed away with fresh water, and you soon discover that Ahen has found a spring in the depths of the crypt, and is using it to fill buckets, and to wash clean your chambers, making the grey marble shimmer once more, the engravings coming to life under the unwearying hands of the servants. The place seems more lively with your chief servant back in a waking state.

>Ahen is once more alive. He is capable of more intelligent thought, and is a skilled combatant. You may choose to view events from his perspective, and will do so when a turn's action contains independent servant actions. He is capable of controlling your raised servants on your behalf, and is capable of commanding them with simple gestures.

>What will you do now?
(Same actions as previous turn)

Rolled 78 (1d100)

>>1575218
Take to the skies, hunt the guards upon the walls and bring their warm flesh to the crypt. They will feed our minions and ourselves.

Rolled 17 (1d100)

>>1575370
Backing this

>>1575370

Rolled 31 (1d100)

>>1575370
>>1575360
This

>>1575370

Alright lads, this action is locked in. I have to run for the night, parents are back from holiday.

>>1575532
Updoot when?

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>>1578290
yo Cursed when is ancient evil quest coming back?
also bump for the bump god

>>1578752
Ancient Evil will return soon. I jumped into that quest before I had my storyline ready and wasnt nearly satisfied with my writing.

>>1579264
That's me on all my quests I make. Haven't had one since February

>>1579549
Yeah I just rushed into it and started fumbling and mixing up ideas and I really just wasnt happy with it. I have Xenomorph quest and Gunslinger Quest right now though. Xeno is active and Gunslinger is on hold until tomorrow when a new thread will be posted.

>>1575370
UPDOOT NAO

You yearn to stretch yourself out after having been stifled away in the crypt. A more fitting home it may be, but it does not allow you the chance to breathe the fresh night air, and to smell the overpowering scent of blood, ale, and life, flowing out from the city. In the darkness of the evening, you march out from your home, and, for the first time, truly take to the skies. You stand on the dank hillock that sits behind the crypt and lean back onto your powerful calves and thighs, as if about to pounce, extending your bat like wings until their barbed, bone-pointed tips extend a good few feed out from your spine, arched and seeming to radiate the same menace you exhume. You take a deep breath, and launch yourself up, all the power in your legs driving you in a pouncing jump towards the sky, with the billowing flap of your wings catching you as you fall back down. A few more experimental flaps, and you are moving higher up into the sky, able to glide through the cool night air and to drift with ultimate freedom through the aether.

You fly higher, and higher, and higher, until the air begins to thin, and look down over the city of Cered, the stars seeming now ever closer behind your head. The Necropolis below you sits as a black scar against the brightness of the city proper, the various districts seeming vibrant and colorful by comparison to the pallid dirt. The artisans district sprawls out, and the stink of it burns in your nose, even at this distance, the mingled smell of fresh blood, a day's sweat, and sawdust. Rows and webs of spiraling slums and townhouses, dotted by pillars of smoke from more prosperous houses, and by a mass of marketplaces, all connected by wandering paths and streets. Eventually, the artisan's district feeds into the great marketplace near the center of Cered. The great white-enameled stone of the marketplace stands out even in the darkness, hundreds of market-stalls, all of crimson red and billowing green.

Surrounding the great market, five thoroughfares fed out to the various districts of the city. The sacred enclosures of the gods, the great hall of the Kerechtag, home to the council that governs the city, the dockyard upon the river Lycis and the warehouses radiating out from it, and the great towers of Guildstreet, the district containing the various universities, academies and guild halls of the city. As you look out over the sleeping city, you find yourself yet more ravenous.

>Where shall you hunt?
>Choose a location or district mentioned above, or the walls of the necropolis. Since Carthus spent much of his life in the necropolis, he does not actually know many specific locations other than by reputation, and so will be unable to locate specific buildings other than the most notable ones (Those mentioned above). Roll a d100 for the hunt, the further from the necropolis you stray, the more risky the hunt is.

Rolled 22 (1d100)

>>1582861
Carry away isolated guards upon the necropolis walls. Drain them and bring their corpses to the Crypt

Rolled 75 (1d100)

>>1582861
>walls of the necropolis
for now stay safe

>>1582861
>the slums, full of cheap and weak life that will not be missed

Rolled 33 (1d100)

>>1582923
Stupid phone

Rolled 26 (1d100)

>>1582923
my support

Rolled 95 (1d100)

>>1582923
Rolling for this

>>1583212
Nice salvage
Speaking of which QM, would a sub-50 roll be a fail here? I can't imagine us having a 50/50 (well more with theBo3 mechanic) of failing such tasks

(Just for you, That guy in Civ)

>>1583212
The slums wind and turn endlessly below you, bare roofs spreading like a brown and winding sea, surveyed from your high seat in the air. You slowly descend, leaning forward and folding your wings up by your back, your pallid skin and the darkness of the evening mist allowing you to fall unnoticed, like an assasin's arrow, through the night air. The scent of the slums is pungent and intense, open sewers flowing in the streets intermingling in your slit-nose with the smells of innumerable brothels, little markets, dens of thieves and the faint coppery scent of throats slit in darker neighborhoods. You fall towards an alleyway between two aged and ancient slum houses, gently extending your wings at the last moment to land, almost soundlessly, upon the mud-covered cobbles.

You notice quickly the drunkard lieing a few feet before you, and almost grin at your good luck, to have come upon a sitting target so easily. You needn't even pounce upon him, striding on powerful legs to where he lies stooped before grasping hold of his weak, pulsing neck in your clawed hand, and raising him up to eye level with you. His eyes drift open for a moment as you stare into them, before surging awake in a panic at the sight of your sneering fangs. He tries to scream for a moment, and is silenced with a dull thud as you toss him with all the force in your arm into the cobbles. A sickening crunch, and a wet gurgle all that remains of his life. You lift him again, turning his shattered face away, and drink deeply of the mead-scented blood still coursing in his arteries.

Your own muscles surge as his fall silent, and you realize, to your immense pleasure, that you can hear through the thin wooden walls on either side of you. In one, a pair of men laugh, drunkards too, muttering in a tongue you do not understand, while in the other, a man says to a child that it is best to ignore noises of struggle in the night, for fear of brigands in the darkness. Your eyes shine in the dark at the sweetness of these words. You have been offered a king's feast, and the king himself has turned away to watch a hounds.

You leap up to the second level of the house containing the drunkards, clambering into a small half-lost within. You look down upon the two men, bearded and armed with crude clubs. You can tell from the coinpurses strewn over the table that these men are exactly the sort you have been mistaken for, and you cannot help but smile at the self assured confidence streaming from them, even as you stride, silently through the dark upper level. It takes a mere moment to dive down and dispatch them both. The first man is mauled to death, your claws turning him into a paste upon his chair, while the other, before he has time to rise, has the wind kicked out of him by your powerful talons

>Cont.

>>1583562
Little kids? Hell yeah! Do we get a bonus for virgin blood?

(Also thanks man)

He stumbles back, and you decide it best to pounce upon him, shattering the back of his skull by your weight upon him, before draining the pair of them dry. You bundle their corpses into the loft, along with the vagrants, and set to work on the next meal that comes before you. You stalk houses in the darkness before dawn, spending hour after hour diving down upon unsuspecting food, before bundling their corpses back to the first loft a few hours before sunrise. Your bloodlust has been sated. Seven corpses lie upon the floor of the loft, emaciated and drained. The drowsy weight of a full meal weighs upon you, but you must return home.

Pouncing up from the roof of the slum house, your great wings carry you away into the dawning aether, swiftly returning home, safe in the knowledge that your exploits have brought about no suspicion among the scant few watchmen who fearfully wander the dark streets of the slums. Your minions greet you reverential as you arrive home, hulking and bulging with the fresh blood you have taken. You must grow, you think as you come to rest for the day. But how?

>Mutation time! You can go for a pretty expansive one this time, since you have taken such a large meal. Just ask, and I'll see what I can do.

>>1583255
No. It would not be a fail, it would just be less of a success

>>1583592
There can be a bonus to virgin blood. I may skip over the whole "Dashing the children against the rocks" bit of any rampages.

>>1583638
I say we improve our mind control magic as well as our stealth (physically and magically if need be)

>>1583662
>if need be
More like if possible*
And by mind control I also mean things such as blurring the vision of people around, altering their memory so they forget having seen us, etc

>>1583638
improve our stealth

>>1583638
I say we should try for a mutation if our eyes. To see heat through walls would be a great addition to our other abilities.

>>1583801
>heat
The classic for vampires is blood vision

>>1583801
this is good
but if possible we must be more stealth

>>1583881
We're not really the stealthy looking type of vampire. If anything for stealth we should try for illusion magic/shapeshifting

>>1583903
well so fucked, just more power then

>>1583638
Our Skin would be a excellent idea. Stealth isn't our Forté. Were more of a "walk straight up to you and maul you to death after taking your sword away" vampire

>>1584302
Which is why our priority right now is not being detected since we can easily handle average people and even guards, hence focusing on mind control so we don't become notorious and have a detachment of elite vampire hunters sent to our doorstep
We can become better at fighting later should the need arise

How about we get a mutation that includes closing the bite marks so it's less noticable?

>>1584591
Were already a hulking monstrosity with bat wings, claws that can cut through wood and talons, I think someone noticing our bite marks is the least of our problems

>>1584613
hahaahah.

no,, I meant our kills.

>>1584591
Usually we bring the bodies to the zombies so I do not think it makes much difference

>>1584620
Ah
But yeah, what he said, we either recover the bodies or we can just tear them apart
Besides I think a desiccated corpse would be proof enough

>>1584632
Exactly, they would need to actually FIND the bodies of our victims.

Well right now we need to just agree. We can choose something else later but right now I say illusion magic.

Then I say mind-control

Though illusions and mind control are the same thing depending on how you think about it
I should stop posting before fully forming my ideas

>>1583638
i will change my vote to this>>1583857

>>1583857
Blood vision. Hear their heartbeats. Smell their blood. See their souls.

>>1585762
I support this

>Doots sadly in abandonment

>>1588615
Such is the way of the civ.

>>1584860
Joining up but I agree with the illusion magic or some form of shadow magic thing to be a little more stealth