<![CDATA[Blood & Bone - Oneshots]]> https://blood-and-bone.silhouette-forums.com/ Tue, 20 Oct 2026 11:36:45 +0000 MyBB <![CDATA[A Winter Night Revelation]]> https://blood-and-bone.silhouette-forums.com/showthread.php?tid=448 Sat, 26 Jun 2021 03:18:44 +0000 Ian Donnaghan]]> https://blood-and-bone.silhouette-forums.com/showthread.php?tid=448
That Winter's night had started off bright enough; a beautiful full moon had crowned the snow-covered abandoned town with its silver light. Measly compensation for that bloody blizzard, thought Ian rather bitterly. Whilst he appreciated the beauty of the sight before him, even he was not safe from the frustrations of Mother Nature's attentions. Three nights prior, during a rare Winter run, the Doctor had become separated from the Solar Eclipse team he had been attached to as a result of a blizzard that tore through the area with its icy embrace; as such, even with his superhuman senses, not even he could pick up a scent or hear nought but the sound of the storm's howling winds. Knowing that his kind was just as vulnerable to it as regular humans, the Vampire had no choice but to hunker down until the blizzard dissipated. It had taken three days for it to pass...thankfully, he didn't need to tear into a blood pack to not succumb to starvation.

Content that he could now safely emerge, Ian climbed out of the house and emerged to the sight of a town buried under piles of snow. With that done, he began to wander around, trying to pick up on the scent of the team upon the lingering winds. The Vampire sniffed the wind, and there, much to his relief, was the trace of them. However, a much stronger smell lingered upon the wind, something that overpowered the scent of his human comrades; blood...and not just any blood, but Infected blood. To the Vampire, it meant there was one of his animalistic cousins around; the constant sanguine aroma indicated a wound that was most likely fatal. Spurred by pity, he felt himself obligated to put down the doomed creature...assuming it didn't expire on its own. Eventually, the scent trail would lead him to a house that seemed to have collapsed from the combined weight of time and the heavy snow. So close to the source, it felt as though the Infected blood was burning his nostrils. Ian would then approach, drawing his kris as he did so; he entered through the door that remained. He would be buffeted by the strong scent as he opened the door. Upon entering, it would be clear that many of the floors had collapsed inwardly, falling as low as the basement; it from there where the bloody smell led him. Once down there, the Vampire was assaulted by the scent of damp and decay...furthermore, he could hear the sound of raspy, heavy breathing.

Soon enough, he would find the source of the smell; stuck under the rubble of the collapsed house, scratching about trying to become free, was an Infected. Clearly female, her black and silver hair had become overgrown, and malnutrition had rendered her skeletal; her snapping jaws revealed pointed teeth, indicating that she was Feral. Knowing that she was near death, Ian readied his kris to strike the blow to put this poor thing out of its misery...but then he noticed something. On her sole free hand, he saw something that stayed his own; a lotus tattoo, worn away by time, would be present on her knuckles. The doctor completely froze; only one person I know has that tattoo...no! It cannot be! The panicked thought came to mind as he gazed upon the trapped, hissing Feral. Suddenly, the kris fell from his hand, clattering to the wet floor, and Ian fell to his knees. He tried speak, but only a single, stuttered weirds came through as his voice broke.

M...M....Mum?"

No sooner had the word left his quivering lips, did the flashes of images once more.
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That Winter's night had started off bright enough; a beautiful full moon had crowned the snow-covered abandoned town with its silver light. Measly compensation for that bloody blizzard, thought Ian rather bitterly. Whilst he appreciated the beauty of the sight before him, even he was not safe from the frustrations of Mother Nature's attentions. Three nights prior, during a rare Winter run, the Doctor had become separated from the Solar Eclipse team he had been attached to as a result of a blizzard that tore through the area with its icy embrace; as such, even with his superhuman senses, not even he could pick up a scent or hear nought but the sound of the storm's howling winds. Knowing that his kind was just as vulnerable to it as regular humans, the Vampire had no choice but to hunker down until the blizzard dissipated. It had taken three days for it to pass...thankfully, he didn't need to tear into a blood pack to not succumb to starvation.

Content that he could now safely emerge, Ian climbed out of the house and emerged to the sight of a town buried under piles of snow. With that done, he began to wander around, trying to pick up on the scent of the team upon the lingering winds. The Vampire sniffed the wind, and there, much to his relief, was the trace of them. However, a much stronger smell lingered upon the wind, something that overpowered the scent of his human comrades; blood...and not just any blood, but Infected blood. To the Vampire, it meant there was one of his animalistic cousins around; the constant sanguine aroma indicated a wound that was most likely fatal. Spurred by pity, he felt himself obligated to put down the doomed creature...assuming it didn't expire on its own. Eventually, the scent trail would lead him to a house that seemed to have collapsed from the combined weight of time and the heavy snow. So close to the source, it felt as though the Infected blood was burning his nostrils. Ian would then approach, drawing his kris as he did so; he entered through the door that remained. He would be buffeted by the strong scent as he opened the door. Upon entering, it would be clear that many of the floors had collapsed inwardly, falling as low as the basement; it from there where the bloody smell led him. Once down there, the Vampire was assaulted by the scent of damp and decay...furthermore, he could hear the sound of raspy, heavy breathing.

Soon enough, he would find the source of the smell; stuck under the rubble of the collapsed house, scratching about trying to become free, was an Infected. Clearly female, her black and silver hair had become overgrown, and malnutrition had rendered her skeletal; her snapping jaws revealed pointed teeth, indicating that she was Feral. Knowing that she was near death, Ian readied his kris to strike the blow to put this poor thing out of its misery...but then he noticed something. On her sole free hand, he saw something that stayed his own; a lotus tattoo, worn away by time, would be present on her knuckles. The doctor completely froze; only one person I know has that tattoo...no! It cannot be! The panicked thought came to mind as he gazed upon the trapped, hissing Feral. Suddenly, the kris fell from his hand, clattering to the wet floor, and Ian fell to his knees. He tried speak, but only a single, stuttered weirds came through as his voice broke.

M...M....Mum?"

No sooner had the word left his quivering lips, did the flashes of images once more.
]]> <![CDATA[sweet lovely death]]> https://blood-and-bone.silhouette-forums.com/showthread.php?tid=194 Wed, 28 Apr 2021 03:47:26 +0000 Nils Viklund]]> https://blood-and-bone.silhouette-forums.com/showthread.php?tid=194
A deal is made and a transaction completed between two individuals. One stands six foot four, towering over the much shorter man dressed like he has a better home to go to. Some rich human dabbling in what he thinks is a thrill drug, experiencing the weird side effects of the venom that he's likely never been threatened with in a survivor situation. The man pays well, over the running street price that Nils intentionally overshot to get himself some more cash in hand, as it were. It may be his first time buying the drug, as he's incredibly nervous. His hands are shaky, his face flushed when he hands over the currency. In another lifetime, Nils wouldn't have been able to resist the animalistic urge to grab him by his head and forcibly turn out his neck to feed on him, likely not even bothering to finish him off before he fled the scene and leaving behind another "child", perpetuating the virus.

Even now, it's tempting. He can see the blood rushing to his face and his veins popping out some in his arms since he's obviously so nervous about it. More than anything, he can smell it. It's a thick, satisfying smell that even though he doesn't need much of it these days, he does crave it every so often. He has to feed to survive. Some might be able to stomach human food, but he can't. He's tried, and it's made him ill more times than not and he's chosen to only feed on human blood.

The man lingers there, looking over the little vial and observing it in the fading sunlight, swishing it around and chuckling softly to himself, jokingly posing the question of how diluted it is. The tone he takes is just condescending enough for Nils to have a reaction, scoffing and shoving his hands into his pocket. Despite his returned humanity, it's hard for him to control himself in these situations, where someone gets on his nerves. It's not a perfect system, whatever the mutation is doing to his body. If he gets worked up, his true nature is exposed. In his pockets, his fists are clenching. The man keeps making remarks about the purity. How he's paid less for better quality before, after he's popped the vial open and smelled it. Like he's some expert.

Forcing a laugh, the blond shrugs and spits at the ground, close to the man's nice shoes. "Haven't even tried it yet and already talkin' shit?" His tone is harsh, and he appears annoyed. This seems to confuse the man, who may as well have been talking to himself.

When he turns around, he can barely react before Nils shoves him forcefully into the brick wall behind them, his strength greatly overcoming that of the human man, who's gasping for breath with Nils' hand crushing into his windpipe. His eyes are different now-- not the pale blue that blended in with the human world but fully black. His fangs extend and he nearly breaks the man's neck as he digs in like a wild animal with a meaty bit of carcass. The man is screaming, but it's muffled when Nils shoves his hand in the man's mouth and he takes a few more painful bites into his neck, offering up more blood and getting him soaked in the process, but for him it's exactly what he wants.

A few moments pass by and when he's done, he has to take in a few deep breaths, wiping his mouth and picking out a chunk of skin from between his teeth, flicking it away at the corpse laying on the ground at his feet. Someone will find him, eventually. They're in the city, but only where the patrols are.. well, patrolled more during the nighttime hours. The sun is almost down, but not quite.

The little vial that'd been the catalyst for his trigger temper is nearby the dead man's body and he goes to pick it up, pocketing it for the next sale before rummaging through the man's pockets, finding a few more items he can make use of. While food doesn't do it for him, water doesn't seem to harm him at least and he has a bottle of it handy, using it just to clean off the bottom portion of his face and hands, zipping up his coat and tossing the bottle aside as he whistles, heading up a pretty worn flight of stairs and off into the distance, where the sun can't quite reach.
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A deal is made and a transaction completed between two individuals. One stands six foot four, towering over the much shorter man dressed like he has a better home to go to. Some rich human dabbling in what he thinks is a thrill drug, experiencing the weird side effects of the venom that he's likely never been threatened with in a survivor situation. The man pays well, over the running street price that Nils intentionally overshot to get himself some more cash in hand, as it were. It may be his first time buying the drug, as he's incredibly nervous. His hands are shaky, his face flushed when he hands over the currency. In another lifetime, Nils wouldn't have been able to resist the animalistic urge to grab him by his head and forcibly turn out his neck to feed on him, likely not even bothering to finish him off before he fled the scene and leaving behind another "child", perpetuating the virus.

Even now, it's tempting. He can see the blood rushing to his face and his veins popping out some in his arms since he's obviously so nervous about it. More than anything, he can smell it. It's a thick, satisfying smell that even though he doesn't need much of it these days, he does crave it every so often. He has to feed to survive. Some might be able to stomach human food, but he can't. He's tried, and it's made him ill more times than not and he's chosen to only feed on human blood.

The man lingers there, looking over the little vial and observing it in the fading sunlight, swishing it around and chuckling softly to himself, jokingly posing the question of how diluted it is. The tone he takes is just condescending enough for Nils to have a reaction, scoffing and shoving his hands into his pocket. Despite his returned humanity, it's hard for him to control himself in these situations, where someone gets on his nerves. It's not a perfect system, whatever the mutation is doing to his body. If he gets worked up, his true nature is exposed. In his pockets, his fists are clenching. The man keeps making remarks about the purity. How he's paid less for better quality before, after he's popped the vial open and smelled it. Like he's some expert.

Forcing a laugh, the blond shrugs and spits at the ground, close to the man's nice shoes. "Haven't even tried it yet and already talkin' shit?" His tone is harsh, and he appears annoyed. This seems to confuse the man, who may as well have been talking to himself.

When he turns around, he can barely react before Nils shoves him forcefully into the brick wall behind them, his strength greatly overcoming that of the human man, who's gasping for breath with Nils' hand crushing into his windpipe. His eyes are different now-- not the pale blue that blended in with the human world but fully black. His fangs extend and he nearly breaks the man's neck as he digs in like a wild animal with a meaty bit of carcass. The man is screaming, but it's muffled when Nils shoves his hand in the man's mouth and he takes a few more painful bites into his neck, offering up more blood and getting him soaked in the process, but for him it's exactly what he wants.

A few moments pass by and when he's done, he has to take in a few deep breaths, wiping his mouth and picking out a chunk of skin from between his teeth, flicking it away at the corpse laying on the ground at his feet. Someone will find him, eventually. They're in the city, but only where the patrols are.. well, patrolled more during the nighttime hours. The sun is almost down, but not quite.

The little vial that'd been the catalyst for his trigger temper is nearby the dead man's body and he goes to pick it up, pocketing it for the next sale before rummaging through the man's pockets, finding a few more items he can make use of. While food doesn't do it for him, water doesn't seem to harm him at least and he has a bottle of it handy, using it just to clean off the bottom portion of his face and hands, zipping up his coat and tossing the bottle aside as he whistles, heading up a pretty worn flight of stairs and off into the distance, where the sun can't quite reach.
]]> <![CDATA[The Penitent Dreaming]]> https://blood-and-bone.silhouette-forums.com/showthread.php?tid=192 Tue, 27 Apr 2021 23:47:47 +0000 Ian Donnaghan]]> https://blood-and-bone.silhouette-forums.com/showthread.php?tid=192

The splash of blood, the echoes of screams, the look of terror in their eyes...these sensations tore at Ian, who felt himself clawing at the red veil trying to stop the events before him. Yet they unfolded, they always did in the end; he knew this all too well, but his nature compelled him to do so...even if the result, gutwrenching as it is, was always the same for him. The scene of animalistic bloodshed raged on before him like a horror movie; only, he wasn't the viewer here. In fact, the monster performing this atrocity was him, an animalistic monstrosity driven by the plague within his veins that buried his humanity deep for over a lifetime.


"No!" He begged his old self, "Don't do it! Please don't...please...



That last word came out just as his voice began to break, he could no longer bear to watch the act unfold...yet he was anchored to the spot, watching as the nightmare reached its dreadful conclusion; the screams fell to a choked gasp, until the silence was all that remained. The scene then followed to a partially-broken mirror, catching what was left of the lamp's light. Reflecting back it Ian was his own face; his eyes near-black from the dilation of his pupils, and his face caked in freshly-spilled blood. He could right there, clinging to his beard, still warm and fresh from the body. For a moment, his monstrous self seemed to be mesmerised by the mirror; for a moment, it seemed to reach for it. At the same time, his own was reaching for it, until both hands seem to press on both sides of the mental glass. Hours seemed to pass as the two Ians seemed to stare at each other; the animalistic one seemed to recognise his humane self for but a moment, before his lips bared themselves into a snarl; the glass crashed around them as the monster leapt for the man, eager to sample its own blood.


And it was that moment that Ian finally tore himself from the dream, gasping for the air of reality and caked in sweat. Much to his relief, he was in his 'apartment', for lack of a better term for former containment units. Looking around, he found himself once more greeted by the welcome oily and pungent scent of the Junkyard, and the sound of rain falling upon the metal. The Infected sat up, cradling his head for a moment as though he had a huge headache for the glimmer of a second. Blearily, he glanced around; there was his wardrobe, and then his desk, which had a good bit of paper on it. Hmm, I suppose I better get to work on that for the Boss soon. He thought to himself, before reaching for a small box. Turning the dial-in code, which he had tuned to the year of his birth, he would open its refrigerated innards to reveal a multitude of blood packs. All of these had been declared unviable for human usage, either due to being out of date or being contaminated with minor infections. These were things Ian could easily consume. As such, he reached for one of bags and, with an extention of his fangs, tore it open and gulped the contents down; it wasn't as pleasant as blood harvested from surgical procedures, but it at least sated his appetite. After a few minutes, the Vampire would discard the empty bag in his own fire. After that was done, he would put on his leather greatcoat, unlock the door to his cubicle and then went out on the balcony. Resting himself upon the rail, he looked up at the sky, allowing the rain to fall onto his face; it was quite the invigorating sensation for Ian, it felt as though it could cleanse him the blood on his hands. Yet the stains always remain came the guilt-laden thought. At this moment in time, he simply allowed himself to savour the sensation of the dawnlit rain upon him.


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The splash of blood, the echoes of screams, the look of terror in their eyes...these sensations tore at Ian, who felt himself clawing at the red veil trying to stop the events before him. Yet they unfolded, they always did in the end; he knew this all too well, but his nature compelled him to do so...even if the result, gutwrenching as it is, was always the same for him. The scene of animalistic bloodshed raged on before him like a horror movie; only, he wasn't the viewer here. In fact, the monster performing this atrocity was him, an animalistic monstrosity driven by the plague within his veins that buried his humanity deep for over a lifetime.


"No!" He begged his old self, "Don't do it! Please don't...please...



That last word came out just as his voice began to break, he could no longer bear to watch the act unfold...yet he was anchored to the spot, watching as the nightmare reached its dreadful conclusion; the screams fell to a choked gasp, until the silence was all that remained. The scene then followed to a partially-broken mirror, catching what was left of the lamp's light. Reflecting back it Ian was his own face; his eyes near-black from the dilation of his pupils, and his face caked in freshly-spilled blood. He could right there, clinging to his beard, still warm and fresh from the body. For a moment, his monstrous self seemed to be mesmerised by the mirror; for a moment, it seemed to reach for it. At the same time, his own was reaching for it, until both hands seem to press on both sides of the mental glass. Hours seemed to pass as the two Ians seemed to stare at each other; the animalistic one seemed to recognise his humane self for but a moment, before his lips bared themselves into a snarl; the glass crashed around them as the monster leapt for the man, eager to sample its own blood.


And it was that moment that Ian finally tore himself from the dream, gasping for the air of reality and caked in sweat. Much to his relief, he was in his 'apartment', for lack of a better term for former containment units. Looking around, he found himself once more greeted by the welcome oily and pungent scent of the Junkyard, and the sound of rain falling upon the metal. The Infected sat up, cradling his head for a moment as though he had a huge headache for the glimmer of a second. Blearily, he glanced around; there was his wardrobe, and then his desk, which had a good bit of paper on it. Hmm, I suppose I better get to work on that for the Boss soon. He thought to himself, before reaching for a small box. Turning the dial-in code, which he had tuned to the year of his birth, he would open its refrigerated innards to reveal a multitude of blood packs. All of these had been declared unviable for human usage, either due to being out of date or being contaminated with minor infections. These were things Ian could easily consume. As such, he reached for one of bags and, with an extention of his fangs, tore it open and gulped the contents down; it wasn't as pleasant as blood harvested from surgical procedures, but it at least sated his appetite. After a few minutes, the Vampire would discard the empty bag in his own fire. After that was done, he would put on his leather greatcoat, unlock the door to his cubicle and then went out on the balcony. Resting himself upon the rail, he looked up at the sky, allowing the rain to fall onto his face; it was quite the invigorating sensation for Ian, it felt as though it could cleanse him the blood on his hands. Yet the stains always remain came the guilt-laden thought. At this moment in time, he simply allowed himself to savour the sensation of the dawnlit rain upon him.


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