<a class="link link--external" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=https%3A%2F%2Fyoutu.be%2F1OJNzXxNLbk&amp;hash=878d7a34a17c0ed13ad808f6a860b149" href="https://youtu.be/1OJNzXxNLbk" rel="nofollow ugc noopener" target="_blank">There is a special kind of peace in the void... After all, existence is pain.</a><br/><br/><br/>An otherwise dead cold alley way suddenly stirred with motion from unseen winds. Closer inspection would have yielded a literal hurricane of gray dust particulate that was spewing into existence from ports that seemed to situate in space itself. Various slip streams coalesced and painted out a large nebula of various intersecting pathways. The dark of night cast little light upon the swirling chaos in the alley way. Somewhere in the darkness a light changed that. Illumination ignited in the form of two smoldering red orbs that articulated all too poignantly. Within the flurry of motion the rough outline of a humanoid figure took shape. From a sickly thin bony form, layer by layer a specter came to stand alone in the alley way. At a measly five foot five, the gentleman was nothing special to behold. Nearly paper white skin stretched taught over a thin almost frail form. Even so, thick black rings lined otherwise unnatural blood like pools that replaced where eyes would have been. A few soft yet dry coughs would yield gray dust while simultaneously revealing rows of interlocking dangerous teeth. The wraith would slowly procure a soft pack of cigarettes from the breast pocket of the long sleeved white dress shirt he was wearing. Nothing more than simple black dress pants, over black shiny dress shoes for his lower persons. The most flare he wore currently was a simple red tie. A soft drag would ignite the chesterfield unnaturally from between those thin dry lips.<br/><br/><div style="text-align: center"><div class="bbImageWrapper lazyload js-lbImage" data-lb-caption-extra-html="" data-lb-sidebar-href="" data-single-image="1" data-src="/proxy.php?image=https%3A%2F%2Fi.imgur.com%2FIrPkgN3.jpg&amp;hash=484512cac0a0efb90854e6c7003c87ca" title="IrPkgN3.jpg">
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</div></div><br/>The musty smell of old war would flood the alley way while Theobaud stood there staring blankly at the sidewalk just outside of the shadows reach. An odd sensation swept through the specter currently. It was a disturbing familiarity. As if he'd been here before, yet he didn't belong here now... If he still had a stomach with enough humanity to vomit, it may have turned at the sensation. As he was, double dead- this was just a mild inconvenience... As were most things to Count Graves. The ghost of a blood sucker exhaled a sharp sound kin to a sigh while almost blue smoke flooded out into the poorly lit street. Soft little taps accented what must have been the lightest feet to ever touch concrete while he strolled. Then again, the little bastards size seemed to fit the bill just right, even if his 'physical substance' was shall we say; 'Lacking'. Mediums, and supernatural entities alike would feel it all too suddenly. Like a black hole violently opening in their third eye's path. A nebulas darkness would reach out with tendrils that obscured supernatural senses. Rather, the influence of a rather intense ancient evil was providing what one might refer to as; 'Psychic Static'. To the mundane it might sweep past them as little more than an unsettling chill. All the same, Theo sauntered down the worn path of condemned buildings in search of his senses. His memory was a pan fresh out of the oven. Too painful to touch. His senses were distorted as if he were peering through virtually simulated perception. His purpose seemed right on the tip of his tongue, yet he couldn't quite put his finger on it...<br/><br/><div style="text-align: center">"What was I... Doing..."​</div><br/>The statement was oddly quiet. His voice was low yet scratchy. Almost as if it belonged to a young man. A young man who sounded as if he'd lived far too long to be anything but tired. There was a strange rigidity to his persons despite such poor slouched posture. Robotic yet rhythm-less steps that spoke worlds to the kind of predator he was. Methodical if not emotionless. The further he walked the more he seemed to recall. Even as his memories cooled and he managed to wrap his mind around the past, more questions flourished about the present. By the time he reached the front door of the only establishment on the block, a migraine coursed through a part of his skull he had long since thought was dead and numb.<br/><br/><div style="text-align: center">"If I'm a vampire, why does my head hurt like this?... And if I'm a ghost I couldn't have been a vampire... Not unless I had a -murmur-..."<br/>​</div>Something dramatic had happened. 'Something that still burned to try and re-call. Luckily the door near him beckoned. Whatever this establishment was, there was something recognizable etched into the various markings that called out in all sorts of language. A single particular rune that glowed a sickly green to Theo. To mortals it was a warning. To monsters it meant sanctuary. It was a bastardized writing of the symbol to a degree, since Ancient Sumer was fairly detached from this world at this point. Even those who carried it by memory and word of mouth had butchered a good portion of the language and culture. With a defiant huff and a single hand pressed to the surface, Theo would shove open the door of The One Night Stand. Even with two hundred questions swirling about his barely corporeal brain, the wraith was more keen to feed some of his old creature comforts in lieu of trying to figure out the burning mystery on his mind. 'What am I, and how did I get here?'. The measly little blood sucker would find his way over to the bar and wait for service. When prompted he would order a rum no ice, and take a steady controlled drought of the glass once it was left in his possession.<br/><br/>It was there at the counter that a spikey white haired vampire could be found smoking and drinking. Even though he had no lungs, and couldn't really get drunk as best he could tell. All he could really do was try to piece together what had drawn him here if he was in fact... Double Dead. Ironically enough; it was just another mystery for the worlds strangest spirit detective. The Ghost of Count Theobaud Graves.<br/><br/><br/><div style="text-align: center"><div class="bbImageWrapper lazyload js-lbImage" data-lb-caption-extra-html="" data-lb-sidebar-href="" data-single-image="1" data-src="/proxy.php?image=https%3A%2F%2Fi.imgur.com%2FGOn96jv.jpg&amp;hash=d89c7b7b1b57ea459ed06980a46c7c0e" title="GOn96jv.jpg">
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