Have you see the OVA or read the manga series of Hellsing? If so how far have you gotten? If not please direct your attention to YouTube, and watch OVA 1-4 at least. Warning: If you have watched the anime we require you watch the OVA, or read the manga. The anime is not canon. This is not our opinion. This is the law set down by the creator of Hellsing, Kouta Hirano.Why yes, yes I have.
Name: Almos Lorand
Age: 107 (Appears to be in his mid to late twenties)
Gender: Male
Physical appearance: Almos is a pale man of Hungarian origin with a slender build. By no means weak; his arms and legs carry substantial power and the toned bulges of hard-earned muscle can be seen shifting beneath his pale skin with each motion. However, he lacks the chiseled physique of a man that set out with the intention of cultivating an “ideal” body. His musculature is simply a product of his early life of hard earned manual labor mingled together with whatever diet he could maintain on a meager income. Because of this, he does not possess (and has never had much interest in) bulging biceps or meaty pectorals. Referring back to those years of working difficult tasks, his hands and the soles of his feet are covered in thick callouses and his forearms conditioned against the scrapes and cuts that come from working in a field. His left wrist in particular is slightly larger than his right, the result of a severe break in his arm that forced the bone to heal back stronger than it was before. Because of that, his left wrist is not quite as flexible as his right.
His face is a tad narrow, all his features tapering towards the center to create a slightly fox-like appearance. Though pointed, his jawline his strong, the muscles surrounding it quite strong from a habitual clenching of his teeth. Almos’ cheekbones ride high on his face, lengthening it and giving him an almost regal appearance unfitting for his humble origins as is his high forehead, a common sign of higher than average intelligence. That forehead become visible roughly half the time as Lorand shifts his hair between two distinct styles. The first is an unconcerned “mop head” look, his golden locks hanging down to his eyebrows in think bangs. For the second, the brushes his obedient hair backwards and out of his face where it lays naturally in several streaks save for a single rebellious strand that dares to remain forward.
Like other members of his species, Almos is in possession of an intimidating set of fangs which can become far more pronounced depending upon his emotional state. Along with this are his dark red eyes which never waver back to the hazel ones he possessed in his days as a human. Following the end of his days as a human however, he began a laborious process of altering his bodily form in far more startling ways than a mere set of fangs. Across his body, Almos has paid tribute to his new convictions in the form of occult sigils and pagan marks. Following ancient procedure from the darker corners of humanity, he went so far as to sear the markings onto his flesh before carving into it with a ceremonial knife to outline his brands in extensive scars.
The various brands/scars covering Almos’ torso:- Spoiler:
Clothing of choice: On his feet, Almos wears a very plain pair of black ankle boots with matching laces. Though a knockoff brand, they are well made from tough leather and rubberized soles and water proof. To match the boots, Almos procured a pair of black athletic socks and a well-fitting pair of black slacks. Two pockets in front and two in back, they are not at all special but Almos appreciates them for their comfort above all else. Adding a bit of color, Lorand wears a plain red t-shirt to contrast his otherwise black wardrobe. Though not a “muscle tee” it is a bit form fitting and reveals traces of his healthy physique. Lastly, to hide any glimpses at his self-induced scars, he wears a double-breasted, wool overcoat. Reaching down to just past his waist, it is not so long as to become entangled in anything but long enough to provide proper protection from the elements. Perhaps longing for a bit of the life that he never had, Almos accessorizes with a pair of simple gold earrings as well as a modest gold chain around his neck. Both of which match the tone of his hair quite well.
- Spoiler:
Weaponry of choice: Though he normally relies predominantly upon his vampiric abilities and knowledge of the occult, around Almos’ left forearm there is a long length of chain wrapped up like a sort of vambrace. A momento from long ago, Lorand has kept it on his person for decades and despite having no formal training in using it as such, experience along has allowed him to utilize it as a deadly weapon. Capable of immobilizing, restraining and bludgeoning his prey with the long length of chain or even impaling them with the large spike at the end of it, Lorand’s sadistic side frequently comes to the surface. Over the years, he has put the chain through a number of occult and pagan blood rituals, embedding his hatred and black faith into the iron to transform it into something of a cursed weapon particularly effective against the protections and blessings of divine powers.
Race: Vampire: Category B
Abilities: Regeneration may take short time for major damage (ie: 5 posts), large supernatural strength, agility, stamina, durability, and reflexes, can summon weak familiars*, absorb memories, hypnotize those of low will power, low weakness to silver and blessed weaponry, susceptible to decapitation or stake to the heart (at this point, thats the most effective way to kill them but other severely damaging methods would work, conventional as well), ability to turn virgins into vampires, the need to drink blood once every two weeks.
In addition to the standard abilities associated with a vampire of his station, Almost has spent years bolstering himself with sigils and symbols from various faiths to serve as protections and weapons against the forces of God. Whereas servants of the divine can erect barriers against the unholy and purify locations, Almos is able to do the reverse. He is intimately familiar with a number of rituals and chants which can strip away blessings and consecrations making up spiritual barriers and reinforcements. In addition to these rituals, he has access to other ancient procedures with an assortment of insidious purposes which require strict preparation and attention to detail (strictly non-combat). Along with these, the symbols carved and burned into his body allow him two additional abilities which can be applied in combat and serve as his main means of defense.
The Sphere of Desecration: Angra Mainyu – Almos’ most often used technique allows him to erect an extremely powerful barrier in the shape of a sphere around his body. In much the same way that the faith of the Iscariot champion Alexander Anderson became visible as a spherical representation of the quotations inscribed upon his glove, Lorand’s Sphere of Desecration is visible (though transparent) to the naked eye. Possessing a red ting to it, the words “God is Dead” are present on the front of the sphere during the period of time it is active (the front being the direction that Almos is facing). The ultimate representation of his rejection of all that is holy, the sphere is fed by his rage and prohibits anything divine from entering. This obviously includes objects and weapons that have been manually blessed, but also includes material with an inherently purifying nature against the unholy (i.e. salt, silver, etc.) as well as the immortal soul of the faithful. As all mortals are supposedly children of the Almighty, those that believe in Him fully can be traced back to Him and are thus rejected by Angra Mainyu.
However, as anger is often a short lived emotion comparable to a wavering flame, the Sphere of Desecration cannot be held up indefinitely. Like an explosion, it is fired outward from Almos’ core and then fades away until it can be properly restored and used again (1 post cooldown after a use). In addition to this drawback, there are simply limitation to what Almos is capable of on his own without any sort of additional preparations. Holy Relics, which have a direct connection to God Himself, operate at a level to great for the normal Sphere of Desecration to deflect (though they would be slowed somewhat (similar to wading through thigh deep water). With enough time to prepare a more powerful ritual, Almos can potentially invoke forces strong enough to inhibit the entrance of Relics but those are an entirely separate matter altogether. Ability evolution to come following character approval.
The Bloodied Links: Enkidu – This ability revolves around the use of the chain wrapped around Almos’ left arm. While he is adept at using the chain as a normal weapon, the various satanic and pagan rituals that it has gone through have given it additional properties. Specifically, Almos is able to manipulate the path of the chain with his mind, altering trajectories and binding targets after swinging or flinging the weapon. Referencing the ancient Epic of Gilgamesh, Lorand has dubbed the chain Enkidu for its ability to restrain the forces of god and interfere with their ability to act upon the mortal plane. That is to say, the stronger the faith of the target that the chain binds or the closer that they are to God, the more difficult it is to break the links and free oneself it becomes. That being said, if one can attack Almos himself the chain will instantly release.
Outside of his dark conjurings, Almos has a history of living off the land which makes him a capable farmer and a respectable hunter with a bow (both somewhat moot points as he carries no bow and cannot eat normal food any longer). Years of restraining himself have lessened his presence considerably, allowing him to easily blend in with crowds and essentially disappear from plain sight. He has no ear for music however and is not as up to date on modern technology as he would like to be (he is generally about one fade behind (using a VHS in the era of DVDs would be an example of such behavior). He was once quite good at fishing but certain events have soured him to the activity and he refuses to ever go fishing again. Lastly, he is surprisingly well red for a man of lower standing, a happy result of his time at a monastery, and commands a decent understanding of history, politics and literature but is by no means a scholar by any stretch of the imagination.
Organization:An unaffiliated agent of chaos.
Personality: Rage and loss personified, Almos is a man that was given very little to begin with in life. Through his toil, prevented from ever releasing the daily frustrations that life creates in each and every person, he was eventually blessed with happiness only to have it stripped away and once again prevented from expressing his anger in anything resembling a healthy manner. Many often compare such anger to an explosion in a sealed bottle which grows in strength until it breaks outward. In the case of Almos it is a bit different. His rage did not blast outward but intensified and condensed, eating away at his core until it devoured any hope that he had in happiness or his fellow man. The bottle collapsed inward, eroded from the inside by a virus. Left with nothing, a former man of faith chose to not only despise God, but to invert all that was attached to God. With this in mind his driving motivation is the corruption and perversion of all things holy. He will march onward until all those that love and follow God are destroyed or lay emotionally and spiritually broken at his feet. In his own mind, it is a kindness. He has freed them from a continuous cycle of disappointment found in following the Lord. If his victims are incapable of accepting such a new outlook on life it is of no concern of his. Such pain is but the means to self-discovery and purpose. Strength through rage as it were.
Spending the vast majority of life holding back his emotions, Lorand is extremely expressive, allowing emotional extremes to come forth freely and rarely does he censor his thoughts on any subject manner. Perhaps due to that uncensored tone, he despises liars of all sorts. The concept of trying to deceive and control another is deplorable to him. One must either completely force open another’s eyes to the truth of a situation or remove themselves from the situation entirely. Along with his, referencing his adherence to the Left Hand Path of inverting social and religious norms, he applies his expansive horizons to all facets of life, actively trying to subvert societal norms whether in regards to etiquette, faith, or even sexuality. Admittedly, he can become a bit perverse at times, occasionally growing overly infatuated with members of the opposite sex to the point of obsession in an attempt to replace the sensation of companionship that he lost long ago. Despite this, he is well aware that he is seeking the impossible and is quick to grow frustrated when his potential companions are found wanting. Because of this, he makes it a point to be particularly vicious when dealing with women. Though he will not go out of his way to add additional harm or terror to children, he is not at all fond of them.
Rank: None.
Biography: Born in Austria-Hungary in 1896, Almos Lorand was the only child of a very poor farming family. The latest in a long line of impoverished workmen, Almos’ father had been tilling the soil for his entire life while his mother worked hard to craft some form of comfortable life for her small family. Firmly religious in her faith, Almos’ mother attempted to replicate her views in the young man from a young age. To her, the greatest expression of one’s faith was found within the restraining of one’s emotions. Following this logic, Almos was harshly disciplined in more ways than one whenever his temper flared. With the “instruction” in faith reaching the level of physical abuse on numerous occasions, the young man eventually internalized his mother’s lesson and began to swallow the daily anger and frustrations that came with a difficult life in a struggling country. All the while his father, a terribly emotionally distant man, never once stepped in to assist or guide his son. To him, it was a father’s place to educate his child in how to feed a family, it was the mother’s job to teach the boy how to nourish his soul.
Skittish to an uncanny degree, Almos lived his life under the rule of his parents like any other boy his age until disease finally claimed the only family that he ever knew. Despite the hardships that his parents had put him through, the young Lorand truly did love his family and was deeply hurt by their untimely deaths. Not even old enough to truly be called a man himself, he was left with no one to turn to for help and guidance. Questions raced about within his mind, asking why the God that his mother loved so much…much more than she ever loved him...had chosen to isolate a faithful boy like himself so soon. However, his parents had apparently died at peace, ready to be taken by the Almighty and live in his fields forever. It was a final repetition of his mother’s old lesson, depriving him of any emotional outlet even in death. He would not be alone for long though as comfort came in the form of the undertaker’s daughter, a kind hearted girl just a bit younger than himself. Perhaps sensing a kindred spirit, little Aranka befriended Almos and sought to help alleviate his loss as best she could. Before long, it was love.
Whereas his mother had sought to beat down his emotions, Aranka had a soothing effect on the rapidly developing Almos. Together with her, the pain of suppression in his stomach faded away, his anger and worries faded away. Despite his hard work, Almos was convinced that he would never be wealthy and eventually began to worry that he would not be able to make Aranka his bride. Much to his surprise, her father was a far more considerate man than he had imagined and happily gave his consent for an honest, if a bit shy, man to propose to his daughter. Aranka accepted the proposal and with joy in his heart, Almos moved his burgeoning family deep into the country where he was able to find a slightly run down home at the edge of a mighty lake with a small dock standing alongside it. It would take work to renovate the old home but the Lorands were willing and their small fields would be enough to provide for years to come. After only a few months at their new home, the happy couple rejoiced at the news that Almos would soon become a father. Aranka was pregnant with a baby girl.
Their child, Iren, was born healthy and strong in 1916. Though the countries of the world threw bullets and bomb and lives at one another, in their small hideaway Almos and Aranka could live in peace, for a time. Soon after her birth, Iren began to display strange symptoms of disease. Beyond fussy, she seemed almost purposefully violent. Her condition grew worse and worse. She wouldn’t eat, she wouldn’t sleep, the house itself shook when she cried. The country doctors that Almos was able to bring in were left dumbfounded. Left with no other alternatives, the Lorands turned to the Church. The Benedictine monks had a well-established monastery in the area and they were quick to send a specialist to determine the cause of Iren’s strange behavior. To say the introduction went poorly would be an understatement. In a single night baby Iren’s baby teeth were forced down from her gums and she promptly used them to bite off the monk’s left ear. Almos, the good natured and faithful man, was told his daughter was possessed and an exorcism was in order.
Under Aranka’s insistence, Almos consented and the monk arranged for the exorcism immediately to take place in the small boat dock next to the house. The ceremony began as normal, the monk faithfully chanting the proper latin verses as Almos and Aranka desperately held their baby in place. As the priest finished his chanting, Iren lay still, apparently calmed. As hopeful optimism entered Almos’ heart, the monk collapsed, grasping his chest in pain. In ragged breaths he explained that he had erred terribly. Unable to simply banish the spirit residing with Almos’ daughter, the monk had unknowingly moved it to a new vessel, the monk himself. As always, the poor farmer was powerless to do more than simply stand and watch the Benedictine struggle with the terror inside him until the man of the cloth was eventually forced to make drastic decision; death before damnation. Instructing Aranka to take the baby to safety, the monk asked Almos to help bind a heavy chain and anchor around his leg. At the monk’s urging, Almos shoved the large anchor off the end of the dock and into the freezing water. The monk would sacrifice himself to make amends for his carelessness and die with the demon beneath the waters.
Had the monk’s will held out only a moment longer, that plan may have worked as intended, but the spirit of man can only stand so long against the powers of hell. Control of his body robbed from him, the monk became a vessel for the demon’s dark powers, ripping chaos across the dock to grab hold of Aranka as the sinking anchor dragged him down. Knocked against the far wall in the pandemonium of the monk’s spiritual defeat, Almos rushed to his wife’s aid, diving to snatch her hand and entangling his arm in another length of chain. With the weight of the anchor and raging monk beneath the water dragging her down, Aranka’s grip on Almos’ hand slipped and she desperately held onto the chain linked around his wrist. Unable to heave the weight to the surface as the possessed monk refused to let go of his wife, Almos shouted for his wife to hold on lest she sink beneath the water’s surface. Putting another valiant attempt into rescuing his wife, Almos’ heave did nothing but break his own wrist under the strain, how own footing on the dock rapidly slipping away. In the end, it was Aranka who finally gave in. Despite Almos’ cried, his loving wife released her hold on the chain and plummeted to the bottom of the lake with the priest and his unearthly passenger leaving a wounded Almos and crying Iren alone on the dock.
What does one do when faced with such an event? At first, Almos truly did not know. He simply sat on the dock with his daughter held close, staring at the calm surface of the water. His mother’s teachings had prevented him release in life and at her own death. With Aranka, he’d believed he needed no such release and with her death he had no means to it anyway. It was a man of God that had caused this, a representative of the divine that had failed him. What did that mean? Why did he deserve this? What in the name of God was he supposed to do? Eventually, he settled upon his memory of the exorcism ritual itself to find his answer. This was a sign. He’d been shown this monk’s failure for a reason. God didn’t want him to become angry over the monk’s failure. He wanted Almos to take up the same mission as the monk and succeed where the other man had failed. That was all that it could be in a just world. It was all he could rationalize doing.
With his daughter in his arms, Almos made his way to a Benedictine monastery to inform them of their brother’s sacrifice and his own intentions to join their ranks. Though unfamiliar with the monks on a personal level, they were the servants of God on earth. Almos put his trust in them knowing that they often sheltered and found homes for young children. If he could not care for his daughter himself, he knew that these holy men would find her a better home than he could ever provide. They consented and took Almos in, assuring him that they would do what was necessary for his daughter. Taking interest in the concept of exorcism, Almos committed himself to the study of exorcism and consecration techniques to defend against the threat of possession and the unholy. He devoured piles of texts upon various subjects, becoming far better educated than he’d ever believed possible for someone of such low standing as himself. Cut off from the outside world, Almos could contentedly focus on his training, free from the daily frustrations and anger that plagued everyday life.
A section of his training, involved assisting in the care for sick members of the order at the monastery. In particular, Almos was asked to assist the elderly Father Marshall, a foreign man who had been at the monastery for years now who had oddly grown ill soon after Almos first arrived. Complaining of terrible stomach pains and unable to properly keep down food, Lorand had a full plate trying to keep the old man comfortable. As the end approached him, Father Marshall became more and more open with his caretaker, gradually revealing stories of past missions and the terrors he’d faced on them. Lorand absorbed as much as he could, growing close to the old monk as time stretched on. Turning to him for advice, Almos confessed that the one regret he truly felt was that the path that God has laid out for him could not allow him to raise his child though he hoped she was happy in her new home. Father Marshall was taken aback by the statement and corrected Almos by saying that the girl he had brought to the monastery was not with an adopting family. She was long dead.
Marshall explained that as the resident expert on demonic possession, he had instructed the monks on the dangers of tainted souls. A child possessed at so young an age was at a far greater risk to more severe possession in the future. She could not be allowed to leave the monastery for any reason. The very day that Almos has given his baby girl to the monks under the belief they would find her a family, they drowned her in holy water and burned the body to ash. To that very day, Marshall, assuming that Almos was aware of the girl’s fate, believed that his condition was being caused by Iren’s vengeful spirit itself. For the first time in years, for the first time he could remember in his life, Almos screamed. He roared til his voice was hoarse and his throat sore, tears of emotion streaming down his face. Marshall lay at his feet, strangled to death with the rosary around his neck. Unlike so many others who fell to the same path Lorand would eventually find, he was intimately aware of his actions over the rest of the day. He was quite conscious as he beat in skulls with stones. He screamed with anger and explicit knowledge as he set clergymen on fire, battered them with sticks, and stabbed at them with kitchen knives. By the end of the day, they were all gone. Their blood pooling across the monastery floor, Almos sank to his knees in sorrow. No matter what choice he made, his faith brought him harm, denied him any form of peace or release. And for what? He had never chosen this religion. It had been forced upon him like a ball and chain. Slowly, the blood flowed towards him. Forming arrows across the stone the red substance offered itself to the broken man. He had lost everything that he’d ever been given and all he’d ever wanted. All he had left was his own anger and whatever gifts these dark forces were offering him. Almos drank. He drank every last drop that was offered to him.
The transformation was not merely physical. To his very core, Almos accepted the change that came with the power of the blood wholeheartedly. Why hold anything back now? What purpose was there in the restraint his parents had preached? No, his family and even Aranka had been as wrong as him. Even if it did exist, the love offered by God simply wasn’t worth it. He no longer wanted any part of it. Almos was consumed by a hunger for release, to set free all the instincts and desires that he’d kept tightly bound in the pursuit of being a good Christian boy. He would reject God in all His forms, he would become an inversion of those that still held fast to their blinding ideology. They talked on and on about the evils of sin and pagans, well Almos would embrace them all and become the vessel of all that opposed God. If the good Lord truly cared for anything in His domain, then Almos would happily welcome His eventual arrival to put an end to the atrocities that he would commit in defiance of His Name.
Turning to the libraries of the monastery for guidance, Father Marshall’s private collection proved to be incredibly enlightening. A lifelong collection of confiscated, “forbidden” texts that had been deemed dangerous and unfit to be read. Tomes and journals outlining the ancient practices and rituals to counteract the acts of consecration and purification. Combined with his own knowledge gained in the art of erecting those holy barriers and the like, the books were a gateway into a brand new world. Almos wanted more. He lusted for the practices of other faiths, other systems of belief from which he could draw power and protection. Leaving the monastery long behind, the vampire travelled the world in search of such groups. Cultists welcomed him or were forced into submission. Pagan groups shared their knowledge or he simply took it. Even Satanists were fair game to the fallen monk as he amassed his own compendium of tricks and curses to aid in his own journey along the Left Hand Path to invert and oppose the accepted norms of social morality and religion. Combining the many forces at his command, he carved and seared their symbols into his own body, an impenetrable shield against the touch of God. Using it, he would rip and tear at the lives of many. He had no interest in transforming the world, all that drove him was the simple grudge of a man robbed of happiness. And he would take that happiness back, even if it cost a million other their own happiness. Now THAT was the way of the world.
RP sample: The table was set, the preparations had been completed and his guests were seated patiently. They could now begin the festivities. Rising from his chair, Almos circled the small wooden table's rounded perimeter, stopping behind the larger of the two individuals seated there. A middle aged man with rugged features, he had a good build and strong jaw. A man who had seen a fair share of the world and embraced the challenges it contained. A self made hunter of the beasts that went bump in the night.
A hunter with a daughter. Fascinating. The old vampire thought, setting his hands on the bloodied and battered man currently tied to a wooden chair. Sitting across from the man, was his young daughter, appearing to be about ten years old. Amos hated children.
Olivia was it? I want you to listen very carefully to me. Your father here is a nervous wreck. Look him in the eye and tell him everything will be alright. Lorand commanded in a measured tone. The girl looked to her father for guidance but the grizzled hunter merely glared at the vampire standing over his shoulder. Quirking a brow, Almos leaned in close to the father and spoke in a hushed whisper to keep the girl from hearing.
I can twist your mind until you pick up the fork on the table and eat your daughter's eyes out of her head. Look at the girl and smile before I decide to get creative. The father immediately relented and smiled at his daughter, encouraging her to go ahead and follow the orders. The child sniffled a bit but finally began with a stutter.
D-daddy, it's going to be fine. We're going to be just fine. Almos nodded approvingly and offered the girl a smile.
That's very good Olivia. Since you followed my instructions so well you're going to be just fine. You should be sure and thank God for keeping you safe through all this. Hope slowly filling her heart, Olivia nodded rapidly, eager to be gone from the terrible man and this dark scary room with it's mean looking tools and strange books. Almos brushed a bit of dirt off the father's shoulder before using his hand like a gardening hoe, tearing open the man's chest cavity, giving his daughter a front row seat to the organs within. Though shock and pain prevented the father from speaking more than a tortured gurgling sound, the girl immediately began to scream hyterically only to be silenced with a vengeful glare from the vampire.
Pray. Pray to God and ask Him for something. One simple favor. Now! The vampire snarled, causing Olivia to shut her eyes tightly and begin muttering to herself, evidently complying with Lorand's request. When she had finished, she sat in silence, whimpering as Almos circled the table again and knelt down next to her.
What did you ask Him for? he asked coldly. Not able to look the terrible man in the eyes anymore, Olivia stared dully at the table.
I asked God to please let me die peacefully so I can be with my daddy. His composure cracking for just a moment, Almos audibly scoffed and rose to his feet. He reclaimed his overcoat from here it hung on the back of his chair and made for the door.
And how did that work out for you? the century old vampire asked the girl as he reached the door. He never waited long enough to hear her answer if she did indeed have one. His point had been made. She could have asked for a thousand different things, chief among them revenge, and all she wanted was to be put down so the pain would stop. Yet He wouldn't even give her that. Some divine being alright. Leaving the girl and the lump of meat that was her father in the darkened room, Almos never looked back.
-Combat Post-Tap, tap, tap. His foot steps down the alleyway joined the scratching of rodents in the nearby dumpsters where a bundle of old rebar had been deposited. Hands in his pockets he continued on his way out of the city. He'd had his full of enjoyment here so a change was in order. This narrow alleyway would allow him to circumvent the obnoxious main street but the smell was terrible. Up ahead, the side alley made a right hand turn but before he could reach it a figure stepped out into view, a long black coat warping his silhouette and nearly touching the pavement. Cocking his head to the side at the sight of the cross hanging around the figure's neck, Almos made a mental note of the increasing frequency of his run ins with these would be exorcists. Perhaps he needed to keep a low profile for a while. Taking initiative, the black clothed clergyman drew a weapon, a chrome plated pistol, and let loose with holy gunfire.
The vampire frowned, focusing in on achieving the proper timing to evade the shots. Turning to the side, the first of three bullets passed by harmlessly. A swift crouch ducked the second but the third silver round caught him squarely in the right shoulder, forcing out a pained grunt as blood flowed down right arm. The pain was annoying but there was something else. Something felt very wrong here. He did not have long to question it before a second clergyman leaped from the dumpster, trash scattering about as he came bearing down on the vampire with a silvered broadsword held aloft.
Oh. Unable to simply avoid the surprise attack in his current state, Almos turned to his occult knowledge to deflect the blow. His crimson eyes flared and his red Sphere of Desecration burst into existance, causing the holy swordsman to be flung off violently. Launched back the way he had come, the priest's back impacted sharply with the pieces of rebarr sticking out of the dumpster, three of them piercing the man clean through.
At the other end of the alley, the first of the clergyman drew another pistol, hoping the vampire had not noticed the sweat forming on his brow. What witchcraft did this abomination possess anyway? Rising to his full height, Lorand allowed several links of the chain on his left arm enough slack to hang down from his sleeve, just scraping the pavement.
My turn. 
Subject: Almos Lorand - The Fallen Monk 
