Arthur Kirkland, Vampire

Name: Arthur Kirkland

Age: He's centuries old, but appears about 23.

Appearance: By any other means, Arthur would appear a normal British twentysomething: rainwashed, moon-pale skin, dusty blond hair, darker eyebrows the size of London with a stubborn streak to match. But there's something in his brilliant green eyes that glows in both sun and moon alike, and something in the way he acts and speaks that suggests he's much older than he looks.

Species: Vampire

Sexuality: Bisexual, but very few know that, thank-you-very-much.

Personality: He can be quite debonair and charming when he wants to be (especially towards his victims; he prefers to trick his prey into becoming willing victims), but if angered or flustered he becomes impulsive, brash, and generally unpleasant. He also curses like a sailor when in this mode. However, he is very dangerous by nature, and can and will fight, whether with swords, guns, or fists (or teeth!). He also suffers very mild arithmomania when nervous, and will count in his head or subtly count taps of his toes. He enjoys his teatime, like any proper British gentleman should, and prefers to keep some semblance of a schedule for his nights awake. As for his preference to prey, Arthur will generally go after anything for sustenance, as his tastebuds have been dulled greatly by age; he'll even eat burnt flesh if the need arises (though thankfully the need for that hasn't arisen often). If he's got a bit of time to play and savour his meal, however, he'll seek humans who interest him or challenge him. In truth he's a very lonely man, so he tries to make up for that by seeking this form of companionship with his more engaging prey.

Background:

Devonshire, England, 1399 C.E.

Sir Arthur Kirkland, honourable knight of His Majesty, was seen conversing with unknown persons in the forests surrounding the shire by a young man, his little brother Peter. Distraught upon seeing such magick, young Peter raced to his family's home and accused his older brother of committing witchcraft, an act which was punishable, in this kingdom, by death if proven true. Arthur's fellow knights raced upon the scene, only to find him "giddy with drink and probably in need of rest," as they had described it. Months passed, and again another incident occurred. The knights came upon their fellow and asked, only to receive a mumbled answer, "Hast thou met my good friend Peaseblossom?" There was no one there. "Hark! He talks to ghosts or speaks in tongues!" They laughed, but this time it was an uneasy laugh. Their friend, it seemed, had been bewitched. The local apothecary bade him only stay inside when the moon was full, and to not imbibe liquor other than what was necessary for a man to drink.

And yet, he still spoke to faeries.

Rumours circulated about him, nasty ones that claimed he had killed a man, or that he was seen practising rituals in twilight. His knighthood was revoked, and Arthur grew bitter. He stayed in his house, conversing only with the fae who had become his only friends. And so, it was with this image in mind that the shire accused him of witchcraft, and the King whom he had once served loyally condemned him to death by burning.

Arthur gazed angrily over the faces of the people he had once called friends as he was led to the lone stake that had been erected in the square for his execution. Blazing green eyes settled on the tearful blue of his younger brother Peter's, though when he spoke it was to everyone, all those humans who had ruined the life he'd had. "Thou knaves!" he spat, "Thou who art all eyes and no sight! Thou knowst not what thou hast done! Thou shall rue the day thou sent me to burn in hell! God will have his revenge on thee, o ignorant as dirt!" For he knew these would be his last words. Even if he were not alive to see them suffer as he had suffered, like hell he wouldn't wish it while he still was. The executioner pushed him along as his blazing green eyes settled to a smolder, and he began to weep. He didn't struggle as he was bound to the stake, nor did he even look up as the timber beneath him, cut from the very forest in which he'd become a Witch, smoked and started to light aflame.

If he had looked up, he might have noticed the faeries. His faeries, his friends whom he had defended literally to the death, whom he had not abandoned for his own life. They watched, hovering nearby, as the flames danced too-merrily over Arthur's skin and the smell of burning linen and flesh filled the air as the former knight screamed in agony. Smoke filled the air and drifted heavenward to mingle with the greys of the overcast sky. All at once, the screaming ceased, and the figure cloaked behind a curtain of flame went limp.

Arthur Kirkland was dead.

The people of the town cheered as the flames were left to burn out, hurrying off to their homes as the angry sky roiled and flashed, and the first drops of a storm started to fall to earth. Like a comforting mother the rain stamped out the last of the flames, leaving only wisps of smoke and a body that fell, binding ropes burnt away, onto the pile of dead and cooling charcoal. Carefully a multitudinous swarm of faeries lifted the body and carried it into their forest, to a bubbling stream that seemed to glow from within its shallow depths. It was here they washed the corpse of their friend, cleaned away ash and soot and blood... cleaned away soon even burnt flesh and hair, until the mangled mess they had brought here looked only like a young man, asleep in the stream. The fae themselves, though they could mend physical injury to faint scars, did not have the power to restore life, and so the body remained limp and pallid. To restore life, or something like it, would require something... darker. Something from which the fae would have to wait till night to beseech help.

The vampire had laughed as the fae revealed to him the body he was to save. "This small boy?" He asked, lips curling in a smile. "He is weak, surely he won't even survive, yes~?" Violet-red eyes drifted over the figure, over deceptively toned muscles and the faintest of scars that were invisible unless struck by light at the correct angle. How interesting that the creatures would want to restore this young man. They had said he was a knight, and a friend. And a witch. That made the vampire smile, lips curling back to reveal sharp, elegantly elongated canine teeth. A cool-skinned hand snaked under the body's back, lifting it into some semblance of a sitting position, and the vampire leaned down to the bare neck, tasting the magick waters on its skin as he bit down, fangs easily sliding into the relaxed flesh. He drank of the blood the fae had kept flowing within this body, and knew how this young man, Arthur Kirkland, had come to be here. The small creatures hovering about had taken great risk to themselves, revealing themselves to him in order to ask for help, but this young man was important to them in life, and so would he be in death. The vampire pulled back and licked his lips, savouring the taste and the memories. A small reciprocation, a puncture in his own wrist and two bloods mingling on the lips of the pale body he held, and colour began slowly to spread to cheeks which had not held it for several nights. Arthur Kirkland stirred, groaned softly, and brilliant green eyes opened once more.

The first thing he realized was that he felt no pain, and his eyes met deep violet above him. He knew not what had transpired after he had felt searing pain and blacked out, but he certainly hadn't expected to be in such a pretty place, surrounded by strange light and held up by strong arms, cool against the bare skin of his back. "Prithee... Have I come to Heaven?" were his first words, and the violet eyes above him chuckled.

"No, little one. You are in Hell."

Arthur has lived now for centuries, has seen the destruction of the shire that murdered him, and many changes to the land he had known. He lives in a small house within his forest, close to the stream that gave him life. He has seen the lives and deaths of many fae, for though their lifespans are much longer than those of humans, they do not live forever. He is friends with the descendants of his faeries, the ones who saved him from eternal death. Arthur prefers to stay in his forest during the day, as the sunlight does not reach through the thick canopy above his green abode, though he goes out at night to buy supplies and, occasionally, to hunt. Rumours have circulated (started by the vampire himself, of course) that the forest in which he lives is haunted, which suits Arthur just fine. His memory of his Sire is foggy, and all he can remember is the strange violet-red eyes and the voice that sounded much too young for its owner. He doesn't think about it much, however, preferring to shove thoughts of his past away, so much that he barely even remembers how he came to be.


[[Notes:

Arithmomania is a mental condition in the obsessive-compulsion spectrum wherein the sufferer must count, whether it's in their head or counting physical objects, etc. Old vampire folklore often depicts vampires suffering this disorder, and was thought to be a weakness; the victim simply had to pour loose grains of rice, sand or something similar around a grave-site thought to belong to a vampire, and they could get away safely whilst the "vampire" was distracted counting the grains. (Would have just linked to wiki, but the forum won't let me post links 'till this account is at least seven days old XD)

Witchcraft: Many vampires in the middle ages were thought to have been witches or fallen angels in life.]]

(Remind me and I'll fix that setting...x.x)

Oh, it's on, vampire~! (RP...must...happen sometime!)