Difference between revisions of "Báthory Erzsébet (Elizabeth Báthory)"

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The following details are about a player-created storyline, or is information currently unrevealed about a character.
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In order to improve my complexion and also to maintain my failing grasp on my youth and vitality, I slaughtered six hundred innocent young women from my tiny mountain principality...

The Early Years (1560-1578)

Unusual for one of my social status, I was a fit and active child. Raised as Magyar royalty, as a young maid I was quite beautiful; delicate in my features, slender of build, tall for the time, but my personality did not attain the same measure of fortuitous development. In my opinion my most outstanding feature was my often commented upon gloriously creamy complexion. Although others were not really so equally impressed with the quality of my rather ordinary skin, they offered copious praise if they knew what was good for them, as I did not accept unenthusiastic half-measures of adulation; and I was vindictive.

I was only 15 when I was 'married off' for political gain and position to a rough soldier of (nevertheless) aristocratic stock and manner.

By reason of the marriage, I became the lady of the Castle of Csejthe, his home, situated deep in the Carpathian mountains of what is now central Romania, but which then was known only as Transylvania. Located near no exciting urban center, the castle was surrounded by a village of simple peasants and rolling agricultural lands, interspersed with the jagged outcroppings of the frozen Carpathians.

While the picturesque setting embraced a bucolic tapestry of ideal small fields, meandering stone walls, quaint cottages, a few satisfied brown cows, and goats with tinkling bells about their necks scampering among st the chickens, life here was uneventful. The castle was typical for its day and place: cold, dun, gloomy, damp, dark; unlike the cozy thatched houses of the peasants below.

While my husband was pursuing his passion, the soldier business, and off on various campaigns, for me -- who did not wish to amuse myself in the out-of-doors where those loutish peons were grubbing in the mud -- life became pounding boring in very short order. Being an energetic teenager, although one with a view and experience of life which was 'special,' I set about finding novel amusements to occupy my days.

My tastes were of a certain slant, and consequently I began to gather about myself (as my ample financial resources readily accommodated) persons of peculiar and sinister arts. These I welcomed into my presence, affording them commodious lodging and lavish attention to each of their most singular needs and interests. Among them were those who claimed to be witches, sorcerers, seers, wizards, alchemists, and others who practiced the most depraved deeds in league with the Devil and too painful to mention even in a story such as this. They taught me their crafts in intimate detail and I was enthralled. But learning such unspeakable things was not enough.

Twilight Years (1578-1614)

In 1578, my husband Nádasdy became the chief commander of Hungarian troops, leading them to war against the Ottomans. With him away at war, I managed business affairs and the estates. As such I travelled to the capital of the Holy Roman Empire... Venice. During those days I became much enamoured by my close neighbor Vladislav Ţepeş Drăculea. Especially when I learned that he should have been dead almost a century before. He showed incredible physical powers and was young and beautiful. Seemingly immortal... When I asked about how he came to such power, he answered... 'The blood is the life!'. It will still be some years in the future before I would learn what he meant by that strange remark.

War in the 16th century was a brutal affair. While fashionably fighting the Turks and attempting to gain information from prisoners captured, my husband employed a horrid device of torture: clever articulated claw-like pincers, fashioned of hardened silver; which, when fastened to a stout whip would tear and rip the flesh to such an obscene degree that even he, a cruel man, abandoned the apparatus in disgust and left it at the castle as he departed on yet another heroic foray.

I was not alone in my 'unusual' interests. Aware of my complex preoccupations, and amused by them, my aunt had introduced me also to the pleasures of flagellation (enacted upon desolate others of course), a taste I quickly acquired. Equipped with my husband's heinous silver claws, I generously indulged myself, whiling away many lonely hours at the expense of forlorn Slav debtors from my own dungeons. The more shrill their screams and the more copious the blood, the more exquisite and orgasmic my amusement. I preferred to whip my 'subjects' on the front of their nude bodies rather than their backs, not only for the increased damage potential, but so that I could gleefully watch their faces contort in horror at their most grim and burning fate.

My husband died in 1604 of stab wounds imposed on him by a harlot in Bucharest whom he had not paid, and I immediately dreamed of a lover to replace him, since I never cared for him in the first place -- so much for my mourning. However, the mirror showed me that my prurient indulgences, as well as time, had taken their toll on my appearance. My 'angelic' complexion had long since faded to something less than perfection; I had reached 43. My desire for a lover did not fade; I raged deep within, cursing time.

Such a simple interest as a new husband was not to rule the day, it was merely a detail. With the demise of my husband, prowling highly placed men began to smell a ripe opportunity to seize the power and influence encapsulated in my name; likely by acquiring me and then eliminating me. As well, I was next in line to become King of Poland, and I wanted the job. This seeming anomaly was possible within the governing constructs of the time, and the office of queen held no political weight. At the same time, I was educated beyond all those around me, reading and writing four languages while the prince of Transylvania was an illiterate boor (who bathed regularly -- every year on his birthday).

Maintaining my youth and vitality became central to this developing plot; the absolute divine right to power I understood was mine to keep and protect would be essential to the attainment of all that I sought. Vanity, sexual desire, drive for political power all were seamlessly blended into a central primordial passion. If I lost my youth, I could forfeit all.

My mood deteriorated markedly and one day, as I viciously struck a servant girl for a minor oversight, I drew blood when my pointed nails raked the girl's cheek. The wound was serious enough that some of the blood got onto my skin. Later, I was quite sure that that part of my own body - where the girl's blood had dropped - looked fresher somehow; younger, brighter and more pliant.

Immediately I consulted my alchemists for their opinion on the phenomenon. They, of course, were enjoying my hospitality and did not wish to disappoint, so, fortunately, they did recall a case many many years before and in a distant place where the blood of a young virgin had caused a similar effect on an aged (but generous) personage of nobility and good grace.

With such clear evidence at hand, I was convinced that here was a brilliant discovery; a method to restore and preserve my youthful glow forever, or at least until I got what I wanted. The advice of my 'beauty consultant,' a woman named Katarina, concurred that my clever realization was most surely sound.

I reasoned that if a little was good, then a lot would be better: I firmly believed that if I bathed in the blood of young virgins -- and in the case of especially pretty ones, drank it -- I would be gloriously beautiful and strong once again.

For years, I trusted helper in my various secret pleasures had been Dorotta Szentes. Now with her, and other 'witches' to help carry the load, I roamed the countryside by night, hunting for suitable virginal girls as raw material for my difficult quest.

When back in the castle, each batch of young girls would be hung, alive and naked, upside-down by chains wrapped around their ankles. Their throats would be slit and all of their blood drained for my bath, to be taken while the heat of their young bodies still remained in the thickening and sticky crimson pool.

And every now and then, a really lovely young girl would be obtained. As a special treat, I would drink the child's blood: at first from a golden flask, but later, as her taste for it increased, directly from the stream, as the writhing and whimpering body hung from the rafters, turning pale.

Although I had held off her political foes, after five years of this enterprise I at last began to realize that the blood of peasant girls was having little effect on the quality of her skin. Obviously such blood was defective and better blood was required.

In early 17th century Transylvania, parents of substantial position wished their daughters to be educated in the appropriate social graces and etiquettes, so that they might gain the 'right' connections when ripe. Here was an opportunity.

In 1609, I established an academy in the castle, offering to take 25 girls at a time from proper families, and to correctly finish their educations. Indeed, their educations were finished.

Assisted by Dorotta Szentes (known also by the graceful diminutive "Dorka") these poor students were consumed in exactly the same beastly fashion as the anguished peasant girls who preceded them. This was too easy, and I became careless in my actions for the first time in my dreadful career. During a frenzy of lust, four drained bodies were thrown off the walls of the castle.

The error was realized too late, for villagers had already seen, collected, and begun to identify the girls. The disappearance of all those young women began to be solved; the secret was finished.

I needed an edge as soon I would be discovered. And so I turned on dark rituals found within a dark tome. A tome that was hidden in my very own castle for such a long time it was almost forgotten. So while the net closed in on me I performed a ritual in my bloody dungeons summoning an emissary of the Dark Lords themselves. Offering them the massive amounts of blood shed within my castle walls the dark lords would grand me my wish... power and youth for eternity.

Word of this horror spread rapidly and soon reached the Hungarian Emperor, Matthias II, who immediately ordered that I be placed on public trial. But, my aristocratic status did not allow that I be arrested. Parliament at once passed a new Act to reverse this privilege of station (lest I slip from their hands) and I was brought before a formal hearing in 1610. Interestingly, no authority seemed inclined to offer any form of attention to these matters when merely peasant girls had been the subject of my blood-letting for five years previous.

By the final count, 600 girls had vanished; I admitted nothing. Dorka and her witches were burned alive, but I, by reason of my noble birth, could not be executed. Katarina was somehow seen as another victim, and was set free.

I did not ever utter even a single word of regret, or remorse and was damned to a death while alive. Sealed into a tiny closet of my castle -- and never let out -- I died four years later.

Life after Death (1614-1889)

Three days later I awoke, reborn as a creature of blood and night... a vampire. It was then I truly came to understand the words Vladislav told me... so many years ago in Venice... 'The blood is the life!'. And powerful I had become indeed... knowing how to combine my vampiric powers with my witchcraft and necromancy.

I fled my homeland and used my old estates in Venice as safe-houses. Lurking around in the highest ranks of the Venetian society. It was there that I had a time of luxe and leisure... of party and delight. But my having fun resulted in the local authorities looking into me a little too much.

That was also my sign to leave Venice. Moving from the court of Venice to the Royal City of Paris where I met the king Louis XVI and befriended Marie Antionette. During the revolution (in which both lost their heads) I was contacted by a secret organization of vampires who were, like me, never been turned or born from another vampire. They were the blood sources of the vampiric race, and I was to be one of them. Their name... the Council of X! Every year we would gather and decide the future of the vampire. I was surprised to find Vladislav between their ranks... but not as much as he was to see me as powerful as him. Maybe even more so.

I spend some time in London after that... at one point seducing a learned man in such a way he went on a murder spree for me. He called himself 'Jack the Ripper'. But the idiot drew too much attention and in the heat of the search I had to leave London.

The Americans (1889-2005)

I traveled to wards New England, the name attracted me as I had rather a good time in England itself. The people there, in particularly in Rhode Island and Eastern Connecticut, were soon extremely afraid of the dead coming to life, even though none dare to mention even the word 'vampire'. Off course I was behind that, but nobody could catch me.

But then my records where released in my homeland, now the country named Slovakia. Never in my wildest dreams could I have imagined that my name would become worldwide known. That there would be modern men both horrified and admiring of the Báthory.

Craving servants and blood, I came in contact with the likes of Organised Military criminal might and their warlord himself. I guess it was only a few months after he gained his fabulous powers. I even shared the bed with him. But he wanted me to obey his every wish and I'm used to answering to no-one but myself. Betrayed by his ex-lover who I had a love/hate relation with, I eventually was taken by surprise and placed in a maximum security wing for special powered criminals in the local prison.

During the great breakout the seals holding me in place broke and I found myself back in control of my own fate. This time I will not follow others... this time it will be my will to pass the chaos I longed for the past 300 plus years. This is where my base of operations will come... I will paint the streets red with blood while building up an empire of my own. Let the world tremble.

Báthory Erzsébet
So written, 15th May of 2006