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FREE TO COLOR Castlevania Hunter D WIP 2

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If you color this , please link back so I can see it

Finished the lines for this old art. Castle doesn't look great but with a bit of back lighting and shadow it'd be fine. If anyone wants to color it, go right ahead. I don't think I'll get to it anytime soon.

Setting is a cross over for Castlevania and Vampire Hunter D I was brainstorming awhile back. The boy from the first film, Dan Lang, discovers he's a Belmont and becomes a hunter to rival his hero, D. Lots of original characters.

Characters left to right:
Top row: D, Alucard
Bottom row: Victor Greenwood, Bill Waytree, Doris Lang, Daniel Lang, Lucia DiNesti

And hey, the first chapter of the story if you're interested

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Chapter 1- Farm Boy

There are two basic types of men who don't talk much: Those who are too busy plotting something wrong to have much to say; and good men who believe actions speak louder than words and only speak when they have something of value to say.

The setting sun cast a long, scarlet veil around the exaggerated angled shadows of an expansive frontier farm. Wrapping the plot of land was an improvised wooden fence built out of varying girth and straightness of timber nailed and roped together at random intervals. Woven in with the rustic fencing were wires and pipes, spiring along with the fence's posts into box-shaped gadgets and antennae, appearing to be some bizarre sort of electric barrier equipment. Cattle and bizarre orange tiger-striped flocks of sheep were penned within and grazing the tall grass.

Adjacent to the cattle fencing was what appeared to be the main crop fields for the farm. Vines holding unnaturally sized pumpkins and melons grew next to corn stalks taller than most men and patches of a variety of green herbs and leaved vegetables. An old, dirty wooden wheelbarrow appearing to have been around for an unspoken number of harvests lay next to the stalks and completed the country atmosphere alongside a vigilant scarecrow towering high above the soil.

The farm house was no less rustic, though it's weathered appearance belied the well-lit, clean, inviting appearance within. On the front porch, silhouetted against the sinking orange sphere falling behind the line of trees littered against the horizon stood an slender female figure.

The woman, dressed in a mix of typically American Western styled- cloth blended with a somewhat gothic flair, clutched a curled whip held at her hip by a thick leather belt. She gritted her teeth for a moment behind small, pillowy pink lips as a light evening breeze caught her strawberry blond locks. Her eyebrow raised in annoyance which seemed to increase the more the sun set.

"Dan..." she uttered exasperated.

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The Frontier was a wild place. There were farms, settlements, and villages scattered throughout, but in between was the hostile land accented by harsh rocks and the appearance of crumbling ruins of some long lost civilization. There really was no safe time to move about, but only the brave and foolish set out after sunset. All that waited for them was the dark unknown, and in that darkness, evil seemed to thrive. Creatures of all imagining, from all lost myths of man, dwelt in the forests and shadows of the Frontier. The greatest of these horrors was the Nobility, the vampire lords of humanity, though in the past centuries, their numbers were either hidden or dying out. Aside from the lingering concern regarding the Nobles, the worst threat a pioneer might have would be a werewolf.

Small farms were few in the Frontier, as most people preferred the relative safety a town or village could provide. There was only so much security one could buy, but even then it cost a small fortune. The best thing to have was an electric barrier or force field generator, but even that didn't keep everything out.

Because of this, over time, special classes of hunters emerged. Typically, these hunters had specific specialities. For example, a Snakeman Hunter would be the wrong one to ask regarding a Warlock Hunter. Only the most skilled and exceptional humans ever reached the Werewolf Hunter class. And above that even were the rarest of the rare: Vampire Hunters. Any human claiming to be a Vampire Hunter was either boasting ignorantly, cybernetically enhanced, or a mutant. No pure human, it seemed, could ever battle the Nobility.

The nearest town to the farm was a few miles away. The respectfully-sized town reflected the rustic frontier with buildings built like those out of an old Mexican village, complete with Spanish tiles adorning the roofs. However, the hint of technology remained, littering the faces of the architecture with lights and various unspecified gadgetry.

The town had seen an increase in travelers in the past decade, ever since the castle of the infamous Noble, Count Magnus Lee, had been literally swallowed up by the earth upon his death. The Count's love of young maidens had resulted in one of his victims hiring a Vampire Hunter who unexpectedly saw his demise through to the end. Thus, with rumors of the Nobility's presence lifted, people were more than happy to visit. Commerce bloomed.

One of the more prominently lit outer areas a visitor couldn't help but happen upon was the town's watering hole: the Hunter's Tavern. Any hour of the day, a hearty rustle could be heard coming from the inner workings of the tavern. Business was always apparent by the warm glow peering over the old swinging saloon-style entrance. This evening was no different.

In the far corner of the pub, with full view of all the activity within and line of sight to all patrons coming and going, was the booth for the usuals. A weary looking man sat, nursing a drink as he talked business with three rough-looking young men.

"So you'll do it?" the man inquired.

"You've got a deal, Mr. Williams," the young man in the middle answered cooly. He gave a warm smile, enhanced by chocolate brown eyes that glowed with a blend of excitement, tenacity and warmth. He stood along with the man and gave a hearty handshake across the table.

The young man's stature was tall, around 6 feet and strapping. He looked about nineteen. His oval face held a classic handsomeness, was slightly angular and topped off by a frock of short, bushy brown hair that fell toward his eyes. His hands were rough, obviously from farm work. His frame was covered by an odd mix of armor, leather, and denim. He wore a dingy old white sleeveless shirt and an auburn burnt hard leather breastplate over it that worked as a second ribcage. Over that he wore what appeared to be a faded gray denim cargo vest. It could have been a jacket at one time, as the sleeves seemed to have been cut and hemmed long ago and flared over his deltoids. Adorning the shoulders of the vest were a pair of hard leather pauldrons. He had a conspicuous necklace draped around his neck that glimmered in the warm tavern light. The pendant on it was like an X tilted forty-five degrees. He wore a thick leather belt around his waist and faded red/orange pants. Soft leather seemed to be in deliberate patches along the length of his trousers, first at both sides of his hips and then at the knees. The trousers were then bloused by old brown leather riding boots, cuffed over at the top, revealing the ruffeted tan suede lining beneath and framed by blue-gray spats. Leather straps holding spurs to heels finished the look.

"T-thank you very much. I'll be seeing you later then."

The older man placed his hat on his peppered gray hair and took the last sip of his drink before turning towards the exit, giving the bartender a smile and wave. The young man sat back down among his fellows and sipped from his glass as well. A large blue translucent jewel resembling an oval brooch on his right wrist gave a glimmer in the tavern lighting as his hand moved the drink to his mouth. The jewel was conspicuous, no doubt, and was securely attached on the outside of a wide leather wristband. Sitting next to him was an enormous broadsword around four and a half feet in length and six inches across the blade. The hilt was decorated with various jewels similar to the one he wore on his wrist. The sword itself didn't look like anything practical a man could wield.

"Guess my night is busy tomorrow after all," the fellow to his left uttered. The suave looking man casually observed a large, bulky, high tech looking pistol's round chamber with a sarcastic grin. He brushed a lock of rich, slate hair from his face, reuniting it with the rest of his shoulder length tresses and looked to his friend across the table with his ice blue eyes. He resembled a leather-armored swashbuckler. Beneath his light chestplating was a white, large collared shirt one would imagine worn by a pirate or aristocrat. He wore long black dueling gloves with the index fingers cut off. He had a thick, polished looking leather belt which held several large daggers along his waist and was the anchor point for two respective holsters on either hip for his sizable pistols. He wore loose fitting red cotton trousers and tall black leather riding boots with brown spats that had seen a noticeable amount of wear. His entire look seemed meant for comfort and freedom of movement.

"We already knew you didn't have a date or anything, Billy."

"Get bent, Vic," the youth across the table retorted. He irritatedly mussed his shaggy head of dirty blond hair and wiped his mouth before sipping from his own glass. Billy Waytree was the son of the General Store owner in town and had just broken up with his girlfriend, who had left him for one of the other guys in town. Victor had dated his girlfriend before Billy, and had warned him about her behavior before their involvement. Billy had chosen to ignore him at his own risk.

Billy set his glass down and looked at his friend who sat between Victor and himself. Billy wore a soft leather open vest over a relaxed, faded light blue button up shirt that loosely had the sleeves rolled up just below his elbow. The top three buttons of his shirt were loose, revealing a grizzly looking cord necklace made of various sized fangs against his collarbone. He had two criss-crossed holsters around his waist, each sporting pistols, one large and one a traditional-looking six-shooter which he kept because he thought it looked cool. He wore relaxed, comfortable tan pants accented by loose brown leather chaps and boots topping off the look. Overall, he resembled the more traditional cowboy of the three.

"So we're actually taking this job?" Billy asked.

"You don't think we should?" the middle man replied.

"Oh, c'mon, Dan, you don't think this is a little above our heads? It's a friggin' werewolf!"

"I don't see the problem, Bill. It was only a matter of time. It's been building up to this."

Billy's eye twitched out of irritation. It was that simple to Dan. Most everything seemed to be so cut-and-dry with him, in fact. Sometimes he wondered why he ran with this group. Dan was such an oddball. He was like comparing night and day against Victor and himself. They could barely pick up women with Dan around. If Dan wasn't so good at everything he did, they probably wouldn't have even been friends.

"Don't gimme that. This isn't like us just going around bull-shitting with mutants or snake men or even witches. This isn't exploring ruins or treasure hunting. This is some heavy shit here and we're just a bunch of punks looking for a thrill!"

Dan glanced over with an incredulous eyebrow knitted over sincere, straightforward eyes.

"Is that why you're doing all this?" Dan asked.

Billy scoffed. "Why else? It's not like any of us actually need these jobs. My dad makes more than enough with the store, Vic does fine working for my pop, and your sister and brother-in-law have your back with the farm."

"And what's Mr. Williams supposed to do if the werewolf kills one of his daughters, or even more of his horses? Just move on? Take the hit?" Dan asked rigidly.

"Hire a professional!" Billy answered simply.

"We're readily available and we charge a lot less than the hunters out there. If we're able, shouldn't we help where we can?" Dan answered.

"I'm gonna get another drink while you two hens bicker," Victor remarked as he rose from the booth.

"Don't try to turn this into some moral crusade, Dan," Billy snapped. "This is, and has always been, about fun, and you're turning it into this big super-serious mission and I'm tired of it."

"The only thing necessary for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing..."

"Here we go...," Billy interrupted, rolling his eyes and sipping his drink.

"...And if we can make a difference- really help people- isn't that worth fighting for?"

Billy didn't answer. He'd heard this before. He just stared off angrily and nursed his liquor. Dan went on though.

"We have these gifts... what good are we doing with them? I dunno what you want, but I have these abilities, and it feels like I've barely tapped into them. I want more."

"Delusions of grandeur? Drunk with power?" Billy rhetorically threw out.

"I want to find my purpose," Dan resolutely affirmed.

Billy turned to Dan solemnly. "If you ask me, you're just trying to live up to your old man."

Dan got quiet which Billy couldn't help but notice. He glanced over as his glass left his lips and sighed at himself. Dan wasn't that talkative, but when he'd actually begin speaking and then stop, it bothered Billy.

"I...ah look, I shouldn't have said that. We all know your old man was this famed Werewolf Hunter and all that... And we all know you're ridiculously gifted but jeez, man..." Billy seemed to lose the words and joined Dan in his silence.

Victor returned to the booth, drink in hand and sat back down. He looked sarcastically over at Billy.

"So, what stupid thing did you say this time?"

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Dan set for home on horseback late that night. The trail leading from the village toward his farm was unforgivingly dark. The only light came from high above the treetops, in the midnight blue sky. Everything else was pitch black. In that, Dan's trip home, as well as his thoughts, were blanketed by the warm orange glow of his lamplight.

Dan wasn't worried about the night or the horrors that crept unseen past his lamp's reach. It wasn't because of his astounding physical skills and numerous victories over such beasts that gave him such peace either. It had been nine years before.

Dan's sister, Doris, has been the one bitten by Count Magnus Lee. It was that Vampire Hunter that had saved them all.

D.

When D killed the Count, much of the evil in the local land had left with him. Anything remaining seemed to be nothing more than a nuisance. It was only in the past several months that reports of the larger, more dangerous creatures seemed to pop up.

Dan bore all this in mind as his old horse plodded along the dirt trail, letting the cool night air fill his nostrils and offer clarity to his veins. D had been like an inspiring older brother for him and Dan still echoed D's advice within his mind through everything he encountered. It all seemed far more relevant now that he had become an adult, moreso now that he had been hunting.

Dan genuinely felt he was meant for more. He wasn't afraid at all. He knew he could handle whatever was out hiding in the darkness. He felt above all of this, not out of pride, but by some unidentified calling. Just thinking about it all surged his soul through with a consuming fire. D had unwittingly set him on this path by example.

Good men speak with their actions.

-------------------------------------------------------

Dan's horse entered the stable late that night. He'd be sure to get a scolding from his sister for staying out past sunset, he thought as he penned in the horse. At least his brother-in-law didn't seem to mind.

Dan's sister, Doris Lang, had married Graham Archer three years before. In all honesty, Dan was surprised. That Doris had fallen in love with her savior, D, was no mystery, even to one as young as Dan had been. He thought she would carry a torch for him forever.

Graham was a lean, rugged-looking bearded gentleman. Graham had moved into the area five years ago, looking to start a Hunter's Guild in town. In honesty, he was more a businessman, mountain man and a farmer than a Hunter, though he was good with a rifle. He established a small network of various Hunters in town but that was the extent of it. He purchased a plot of land adjacent to the Lang Farm and established a neighborly relationship with them. A few years later, he decided to court Doris and she accepted.

Dan liked Graham well enough, and Graham appreciated having another male around the house as a sounding board. Dan was also an amiable and exceptionally capable hand around the farm, which was all the more reason to keep him around. Dan's youthful restlessness of late was to be expected, however his choice of exercising it was not. Doris made almost no effort to hide her disapproval, noting the danger of the profession as well as their father's labored history as the only Hunter in the area with no support in any form from the villages. Graham however didn't see Dan's aspirations as a bad thing. He brought home a sizable income with successful jobs and overall it seemed to be the boy's calling. Even Doris couldn't deny her brother's uncanny hunting and fighting ability.

Hunting and fighting had always run strong in the Lang family, as far back as anyone knew. Even Doris herself was stronger, faster, and more agile than most strong men. But Dan's coming of age had brought with it even more exceptional skills than these. For all she could recall, Dan could have been even stronger than their father. That their father was a Werewolf Hunter, a rank that only the presumed pinnacle of humanity could reach, made Dan's abilities all the more mysterious and extraordinary. To look at him, or watch him work on the farm, one wouldn't think anything particularly special about him. It was only when Dan fought that it became completely apparent he was different.

Dan lifted his broadsword from the stall post after he secured the latch. It was a heavy thing, no doubt, but Dan had grown accustomed to it. He had discovered it during one of his treasure hunts and found it to be a reliable armament. More important though, he didn't want to have to take his father's old sword out Hunting any more. If it were to break, Dan would never forgive himself. Dan's hard farm work conditioning paired with his mysterious gifts made wielding the massive broadsword almost effortless.

Dan crept into the dark house, cursing to himself silently for not oiling the latches on the front screen door as they creaked. He noted the dim kitchen light almost immediately, but peered around in the darkness as his eyes adjusted, looking for any waiting parties. He darted over to the refrigerator without a sound and opened the door looking for a lite snack before bed. He was interrupted by the sound of a soft, albeit annoyed woman's voice clearing her throat.

Dan peered over the refrigerator door, the inner light bulb illuminating him completely to anyone standing in the dark. It was obvious his sister was standing right there. As she came fully into the light, with that same worried and frustrated look in her eyes, Dan knew he was in trouble.
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MDTartist83's avatar
D and Alucard together? They'd be shocked to know they share the same father.