Aldemar Von Abendroth

Name: Aldemar Von Abendroth

Date of birth: July 9th 1861

Place of Birth: Vienna, Austria

Visual Age: 19

Real age: 143

Appearance:




Hair: Blue

Standard eyes: Light brown
Dhampir eyes: red

Teeth: Standard
Dhampir teeth: Fangs

Skin tone: Light, Caucasian, somewhat pale

Height: 5’10

Weight: 145 pounds

Category: Hunter


Attitude:

Rain taps against a window… the light sound that ruffles against the glass. The smell of wet stone and light wet dirt fill the air. No sound escapes, no whispers. Nothing but a still silence. Nothing but a lone boy against the rocky walls of a room. A boy of utter sadness. His eyes fight back tears he chooses not to cry, his own personal battle. There he sits, and no sound escapes but the falling of rain…

* * * *

Days pass. The rain falls ever still. The boy holds his own once more alone. Wet rain drenches his modest rags. His hair drapes his face, uncut and untended, hiding his features, the look of utter devastation that marks his face. His eyes fill with rain-drops, not differentiating between tears and rain… but he does not care. He does not care for the feeling of icy cold against his skin. He does not care about his exhaustion, and how he can barely walk against the wet cobble-stones of the public streets. He does not care of all the eyes glaring down at him from warm comfortable windows. All he wants to do is sleep. He stumbles, and falls to the ground, too tired to stand. No one helps him up…

* * * *

Years pass. He has grow. Yet he is the same. His face is pale, and worn. He does not smile. His eyes seem to have died, for no hope shines in them. None has shone there for a long time. He walks among the streets of the village, in the open market. People sneer as he walks by. He feels hated. No one loves him. No one ever has…
A passer by trips the boy, as he lands hard, bruising his face. He tries to rise, but he is stepped on and sneered at. Laughs rise from the crowds nearby. He gazes up at the row of laughing fangs, and fine clothes. He rises to his knees, his rags dirtier then before. He breaths in and tries to stand. Someone kicks him in the ribs. He falls once more…
He remains on the ground hungry and afraid. He gives in, gazing without hope at the dirty stone road… he does not matter….he is only a monster…

* * * *

The night comes. He is tired, and his muscles ache. He can barely walk, but he rises none the less. He can no longer feel anything. Feelings are something of a past far away from memory. A past that fades from existence. He shifts and stumbles, making his way home. He lays down on the small bundle of hay in the ally-way. He was hoping to find some food today, but no such luck. He wheezes and shivers in hunger. He cannot remember when he last ate. He falls back in the hay and pulls an old blanket over himself. He falls asleep, but does not dream. Dreams only make him pity reality…

* * * *

The days pass. It is his birthday today…He has just turned eight. He says nothing, but merely trembles in cold. Winter is approaching, and snow already begins to fall. He draws his rags among him… he needs food, and warm clothing, or he will not survive the cold of the Vienna winter. A bell rings in the distance. It is a town meeting… perhaps ... he could beg… He limps away, at little more then a crawl…

People gather among the hall’s main center. Dozens of well dressed, wealthy patrons. All wonderful, beautiful and magnificent. He crawls though the crowd. His mouth and throat ache… too much for him to talk… he had not drank in as much time as he had eaten… he merely prays that some one will take pity on him… because his voice died the same time his hope did…

No one pays him heed. He is pushed though the crowd, occasionally hit. Remarks of “half blood garbage” and “useless monger” pass though his ears, but he is too hungry and thirsty to hear them. He merely walks on paying no heed to his new found bruises. He has been hit more then enough to learn pain… he merely walks on…

Off in the distance a voice sounds out as a meeting begins among the crowd. The boy glances in the direction of the voice. His eyes widen at a familiar face… blue hair…red eyes… a man from long ago… the one memory that had not died with him all these years…

He pushes though the crowd with what force he has left… and falls to his knees at the feet of the man, gripping tight at his leg. He glares up, barely conscious.

“f-fa-father…”

Is all that he is capable to say. The man glares down at him emotionlessly. A wisp sounds though the air as the back of the hand hits the boy broadly in the jaw, throwing him to the ground against the rocks and cold snow.

“I have never met you before”

Is the only reply that arrives. Laughter rises among the crowd. The boy crawls, barely left with enough energy to survive… he grasp his hands in the direction of the man he had met only once all those years… but he is pulled away… men are dragging him away… but it’s in the wrong direction! He wants his father!

“father!” he calls one last time, glaring at the man, too exhausted, and cold to say anything else. With too many tears in his eyes to think of anything else…

“Send this filthy half-blooded garbage to the jail…he is not my son… I have no son…”

All lights fade out. Cold and hunger overtake the boy. Life fades from him, and he falls back, no longer conscious, dragged away by the men. All he can hear as all sounds fade out are the hooting of the crowd. Their laughter.

“Half blood! Filth! Monster!”

* * * *

* * * *

The gala sounds clearly across the villages. All the vampires gather for the event. The place is an ocean of bright colors, of laughter, and of wealth. The band lets loose waves of classical music, allowing them to flow over the room. The world is perfect, without a flaw, without a worry… without a need for anything or anyone else…

Suddenly the glass shatters. The world fades. The music dies… someone dies… a row of gasps rise from among the crowd as they all fix their gaze upon one spot. The heat of the room seems to die away…

A boy… no more then eight stands in the center of the gazes, his eyes transfixed upon the ground in front of him. Warm blood runs down his face and hands, glistening on a sharp edged knife that he holds in his hands… but he gives no interest to these thing. He merely glares at the ground in front of him… the corpse of his father at his feet… he speaks…

“Useless disgusting filth… I will kill you… I’ll kill every single last once of you…”

His words are but whispers, but they reach every ear. His voice is lacking all tone, yet filled with such pure hatred that it echoes like a judgment. His eyes rise slightly, and for the first time in a long many years, he gazes them all in the eyes.

* * * *

Clothes ruffle as the boy juts down the long winding corridors. Behind him arguments and screams can be heard. He turns the corner and continues to run. His eyes gaze ahead of him, not looking back to see if his pursuers are gaining.

Behind him, several meters, a score of men follow him in pursuit. They will catch him, and they will kill him. That is all that fills their minds.

They turn right, then left, turning down the corridors. As they pass, a dead patron marks the ground, cut at the neck or head. The number of bodies grows ever still as they run on, but barely see the boy among all the turns he is taking.

A wisp of ruffled rags sounds. A trail of dirtied white and brown right around the next corner. They run as fast as they can. They turn the corner to catch the child, and make him amend for his crimes.

An open window… the ruffle of silk curtains… and dawn rises… he is never seen again…

Dhampirs are born with both vampiric and natural human senses. This hybrid sense gave birth to the dhampir specie’s “6th sense”. Dhampirs are able to sense vampires over large distances, and make the difference between a human and a vampire in split seconds. They are able to pick them out among crowds, regardless of clothing, appearance, or cover. This ability has ultimately lead to the hunting of vampires by dhampirs for centuries. However, the uncommon species does not necessarily feels obligated to do so.
Regardless, Aldemar posses the ability to track any and all vampires within a two mile radius, sensing their movement and position at all times. This is due to his vampire-based altercations to sense, sight and hearing, which can make him distinguish scent of vampires, and their lighter sounding movement, as well as pick up subtle appearance differences between humans and vampires.

Dhampirs, though not as powerful as their full counterparts, posses the ability to access their vampiric abilities, including greater speed, strength, and reflexes.
Certain vampires however, do not posses full control over these powers. In certain situations, such as Aldemar’s case, the blood of the vampire, and that of the human do not full mix, separating and forming a mixed double existence.
Not mixed, the vampire blood remains primal, giving the user brutally great strength, endurance and speed. This downfalls however to the fact that it loses a great deal of their rationality, their strategic thinking, and their general grace and subtlety.
This power can be access and controlled to some degree. However, as it is pure raw power, it cannot be utterly with-held.
The most common access to the vampire blood is upon the brink of death. When Aldemar is mortally wounded he loses consciousness. His vampire mentality, however, can function without the need of organs (To some extent. Unlike pure vampires, half blood vampires do fall after several wounds). The vampire is animalistic and basic, and attacks and kills at leisure to preserve itself. Once the wound heals over a period of time, the vampire blood loses it’s control, and the original user regains control.

Being of a somewhat unstable half vampire and half human physiological mix, his body (on occasions) suffers certain mutations. Generally when he activates his vampire blood (or it activates on his own), his strength, endurance become inhumanly increased. His speed and reflexes are affected likewise, though not as intensely. Physical changes include blood red eyes, large fangs, increased nail length, increased muscle size, and a sever white-grey coloring of the skin.

Not as powerful as that of a pure blood vampire, Aledemar’s body has increased physical healing rates. No where near that or pure bloods or higher ranked vampires, he can however regenerate minor wounds at fast rate. Large wounds, such as bones, organs and muscles can take several hours to several days depending on size. However, he can regenerate most wounds given the time.
When unconscious and in his vampire conscience, he remains in that form and state of mind until his wound heal to a certain point. Once he can function and live normally, the vampire conscience slowly fades.

Aldemar strutted gallantly into the hunters’ association building, his footsteps heralding he had finished his last objective. Still present was the waft of blood upon his clothes and skin, a smell Aldemar did not utterly dislike. It was the smell of vampire blood, and his utter lust for their slaughter filled him with ecstasy upon breathing it in.

Making his way across the hall, many a prying eye turned and gazed at him. Mixed expressions of scorn, disapproval, and discomfort filled many. Once or twice, people glanced away, not willing, or hoping for that matter, to catch his gaze. It was known well that before and after battle, Aldemar was nothing short of a butcher. Lean, cold and defiant to anything that stood in his way. It would be many hours before he would calm himself down to his regular self. Many hours until the vampire blood in him weakened.

He merely shrugged to himself and smiled at the thought. He did not care much for the contempt of others. Why should be bother when humans were such weak creatures to begin with? His hand reflexively rested upon the handle of Das rote Feuer des Himmels, his trusty pistol; but he soon relaxed and left his hand limp at his side. His mind then wandered off to other thoughts.
His assignment was to kill a group of 7 D-class vampires that had been spotted in Rural areas around a village some 70 miles away. He, however, proceeded to kill an additional 4 b-ranks, and 3 c-ranks. More out of spit and disgust then anything else. He had sensed them nearby, and killed them before the time limit of his assignment was over. A present to himself in it’s own way. Regardless he was still to be scolded.

He sighed lightly, and moved on in the direction of report area, moving at his usual calm and calm pace. He was not worried, but he disliked having his time wasted with being talked to and scolded. All he could do however, was run his hands though his light silky blue hair, shine his usual white smiles and whistle a light German folk-song.

“Oh vell. May as well get this over with…”

His light accent and velvety voice echoed though the hall, making the few people that heard him stop to wonder what he had done now.