The Scarlet Arts

The Red

Obviously... this is probably a little NSFW due to the blood. You have now been warned.

“Fine, I'll be an animal then,” Morrigan said, “Tyler, give me your knife.” She found it in her hand within moments. “For my sake,” she began, “and for yours. Hide. Please don't watch.”
Tyler didn't reply. She assumed he nodded, forgetting her blindness again, before rushing to the sedan and diving into the seat through the open door. Morrigan’s finger traced the edge of the blade. She clenched her fist around the handle, bracing herself for the pain. She couldn't wait. She raised it into the air as the footsteps neared, drove the blade through the palm of her hand, and let out a scream of sheer joy. The footsteps stopped. They were unsure of whether they should come any closer.
Morrigan noticed the blood, lathered it between her fingers, and felt a smile stretching across her face. Her screams transformed into a fit of laughter, her thoughts clouded by a drumming sound that filled her head. She could feel the blood pumping through their veins. Their hearts raced. She refused to let them pass, feeling each of her victims frozen in fear. She raised a hand, bent her fingers, and curled them down to her palms as the blood dripped in between. She pulled her hand back, and felt the warm spray on her face as blood spewed from the pores. The man's screams were like a symphony. She called every wasted drop to her, the blood rising into the air and forming an orb above her hand.
Her attention shifted to the woman at his side. She charged at her, her allies not far behind. The blood above rained down, each drop causing the skin to sizzle and blister. The woman cried out in pain and the others backed away. Morrigan pointed at the nearest foe, a woman, from the screams that followed. She fell to the ground with a wail. The blood boiled within her veins, forcing the woman to contort in all directions.
Morrigan felt the vessels burst while turning her attention to the final opponent.
The man chose to flee deeper into the woods, and Morrigan pursued with a casual stroll. She could still feel him, his heart revealing the man’s location with every beat. She closed in without a sound, the man turned, and she drank in the fear in his eyes. She watched the reflection of her smile, still plastered on her face, as she tore him open with the knife.

— From The Scarlet Ashes

Dear readers, take a moment as we discuss this strange topic. It's easy to misunderstand The Scarlet Arts. The Scarlet arts are more commonly known as Arcana Sanguis, the arcane genre that places focus on the arcane use of blood.
There is no quicker way to silence a room, to be given suspicious glances, or bring all attention to you than announcing yourself as a practitioner of this ethically complicated art. Part of that reaction comes from disgust. Drops of blood are commonly used throughout our culture to reveal that something is serious, dangerous, or that something is horribly wrong. Blood is also a bio-hazard, something that is applicable in our modern day. Awareness of this hazard leads many to stop in their tracks at the sight of it. Some even feint.
Another part of this reaction is carnal fascination. The taboo of this forbidden fruit often yields more than disgust. It also brings curiosity. The forbidden desire to lather the blood on your hands after a kill and savor the experience, to relish that metallic taste on the tongue as you lick a busted lip, literally seeing red and lashing out at any who may dare stand in your way are all examples of this desire at play. If it weren't for instinct, it'd be hard to resist.

Fun fact: Censorship

Like all genres, this branch of arcane power comes from The Simplex Arcana, but the book is reluctant to show you. It may take several tries, flipping through the pages and commanding the book many times before it will show you. Arcana Sanguis should never be learned without caution, and The Simplex Arcana seems aware of this fact. The reluctance is usually ignored, but it adds another quality to this bizarre book.

Seeing Red

We, as all living things do, actively avoid blood. The sight of blood, especially our own, always indicates something isn't right. Some may feint, but others may feel a sudden rush of adrenaline, as if preparing to avoid a potential threat. What is essential to understand, however, is the color.
That sanguine tint has a complex symbolism in almost every culture. Red spells danger and can easily mark our last moments in this world, but it also represents life as our first moments in life are drenched in red just as much as our last.
Blood means danger but keeps each of us alive. This dichotomy cannot be overstated. It serves as a fundamental principle of the genre. Those who use The Scarlet Arts are not crazed killers driven by psychotic rage. They are not twisted or sick. They see beyond the disgust and forgo the taboo to experience something few ever do.

The Scarlet Rapture

This Scarlet Rapture, as they call it, is a spiritual awakening unlike any other. It brings on the mental state befitting of such strange talents. Practitioners are dangerous, but not unfeeling. Red is dangerous, but it is also the color of love, passion, and most of all... extremes.
The Scarlet Rapture occurs the moment a practitioner's blood is split. To call it "Blood Rage" would be insulting and inaccurate, but none can blame you for thinking so. Most carry a small blade and enter this state of their own volition, burying the blade in their hand and keeling over, smiling in delight as their inner demons are set free.
The action is intoxicating, a high to those who know how to tap into their own cognitive dissonance. It leads many who practice the art to call blood "The Wine of Life." To experience the rapture, you must use your own blood. It's not the same if you're injured from an outside source. This sacrifice is both deliberate and unnecessary. You don't need to use The Scarlet Arts, but dear god... you want to.

The Passion

When one uses Arcana Sanguis, the rapture will evolve. The Passion is what connects a practitioner to the blood surrounding them. It is what allows them to link their veins with allies and foes alike. The Passion comes on a crashing wave as in a single moment, the practitioner enters a state of temporary insanity. They indulge the shadow, their inner darkness. They soar ever higher, their intoxication growing.
If the The Scarlet Rapture is a buzz, The Passion is the high, the rising action plateaued at its peak. The practitioner defends into madness, and they love every moment of it. This is where they get their power and this is how they perform their spells. They find their devotion and masochism can heal even the most lethal of wounds. They also discover their need to show others the joy they've found.

Practitioners lose themselves in The Passion. It's almost unavoidable. The more blood you spill, the closer to that edge they walk until it's too much to resist. It isn't the peak of the high. The Passion is a means to an end. When a practitioner links their veins with another person, the experience is deeply personal. It's intimate in a way nothing else can be. They feel everything their partner does, but The Scarlet Arts negate things like pain and sorrow. The peak of their high comes when they experience the joy of passing on into death... over... and over again.

Arcane Addiction: Dancing With Your Shadow.

The high experienced will cloud the practitioner's mind. Their victims are overcome with fear as the pain deadens and the soul is ripped from the body. The practitioner experiences the same but the negatives are stripped away. Those who use the art are aware of this lie. Their lives are spent on that edge, often trying to avoid it. . They tread a fine line between who they are and this otherness within them. Blood is addictive and every blood mage is an addict. On one hand, they have control. On the other, they become monsters
The otherness takes over when in the throes of passion. Many describe it as a complete loss of control. It's like meeting your shadow face to face. Every dark part of who you are will emerge. Every forbidden desire comes within reach. It is unclear how or why this occurs. The psychological element of blood magic is deeply rooted in the minds of those who practice it.
This is not to say that they become someone else. They do not have multiple personalities or any other mental illness. Their filters get switched off and all social and cultural restraints they have disappeared. This shadow is their darker side, the part of them that lies underneath the masks they wear.

Faith and Ethics

Blood has always had a power, but it wasn't until The Wetworks formed this power could manifest in arcane practice. This led many to worship the color red in all its forms. Some worship divine beings of blood, others simply worship the color itself. The amount of religious connotation in the genre is no coincidence.
According to The Simplex Arcana, the first users of The Scarlet Arts were members of a church. To this day, the religious tone of the genre remains, and many of those who practice it feel a sense of spiritual completion, even by those who have no religious belief. The genre has come to be a morally complex art, especially within the last few millennia.
One of the most divisive subjects in the genre is how one harvests blood. Should it be a specific classification of blood? Must it always be red? What blood type and state of health? Should you take this blood from others forcibly, or for ethical reasons, only use blood freely given to you? Then again, shouldn't you only use your own? The genre is a battlefield of ethics, and each the strains. Each strain teaches various answers to those who wish to learn. Most practitioners use a combination of any or all the strains they learn, setting aside morality for the fix it gives or for dire situations.

The Red Maiden and The Wetworks

The Wetworks act as The Red Maiden's domain. She is the virgin mother of all that is red. All arcane power that resides in blood comes from The Wetworks. Some practitioners know nothing of the domain, or the patroness who grants the gift.
The Wetworks are nothing more than an island of black sand surrounded by an ocean of blood. The sky has no stars, and the beings that populate this place are powerful and horrific. Much like those who use the power of blood, these beings are sympathetic and love those who visit the domain… but they do so in their own special way.
The Maiden maintains a cult in the modern day, though most would claim the cult has fallen from grace. None have journeyed to the black shores in centuries. The Maiden herself has grown silent for some time.

The Fiery Lock

A cult in Europe, referred to as The Fiery Lock, maintains the vast majority of all practitioners who use The Scarlet Arts. Most fear or despise the cold for one reason or another, and many in The Web consider them to be the enemy.
There is one known member of the Oxford cabal who can practice The Scarlet Arts. Morrigan used to be a member of the cult, and was even next in line to take the red mantle, which marks one as the leader of the cult.
Due to other circumstances that she keeps secret, she abandoned the cult and its members. Later, she assisted in the creation of the Oxford Cabal, which she is still considered a member of.

The Red Mantle

The red mantle is the most powerful gift of blood and comes directly from The Red Maiden herself. Few have ever possessed the gift, and that's going as far back to the dawn of time. The Red Mantle allows one to become one with the maiden on the physical plane. You are yourself, but you are also an avatar of her. She ravages you as her impossible shapes fold from your body in countless arms, flowing rivers of red, and endless weaves of scarlet locks.
To gain the gift one must make pilgrimage to the black shores in The Wetworks. One must journey to the step pyramid of black stone that lies at the center of the island, and come face to face with The Red Maiden. She will embrace you, and you will emerge into the physical plane, a part of her, and she a part of you.
There are other conditions, of course. You must be a woman, and the journey is much easier if you have red hair (natural or dyed). The beings in The Wetworks are less hostile that way. Being a woman, or having red hair, grants an advantage to a practitioner who uses the art, as well. The art comes more naturally to women, and red hair is a preferred trait to The Red Maiden. The Scarlet Arts are even more potent for one who possesses both traits.

Fun Fact: The Crimson Scripture

All blood mages share another unique talent. While mostly associated with The Strain of The Sacred Rites, Crimson Scripture is a method of scrying that allows a practitioner to gain information from blood. They can analyze bloodstains, peer into a pool of red, or taste blood to determine various details.
Things learned include emotional states, positioning of the one who the blood belongs to when it was spilled, whether the owner of the blood is alive or dead, and the location of the owner as well, with some limitations. If the wound is healed completely, tracking becomes much more complicated and even more so if the person is dead. When the owner's heart beats, the pulse can be felt, allowing the practitioner to follow.
This skill has even more effects to those who understand the sanctity of blood through The Strain of New Moons. Some sources of blood can be used for other forms of divination. These sources may also be used to call forth the ghost of the owner, find people related to the owner of the blood, or should the owner be alive, summon the owner to the practitioner's location.

The Five Strains

The genre is divided in several "Strains" that act as guide lines and philosophical structures for those who practice the genre. They each detail ways to accumulate blood, what kind of blood to harvest, and ways of using blood when you have it. Practitioners often use each of the strains at one point or another, and each represents a distinct mind set that one has while practicing the abilities the strain gives.

The man looked on in shock, unable to comprehend the sensation of Morrigan reaching into him, taking out whatever she pleased. She laughed, tossing viscera to the side like trash. She placed her thumb on his forehead as he neared death, channeling her static to keep him from dying. She heard a sound, something familiar and comforting.
“Morrigan,” Tyler said. She turned to him. His heart raced, she heard how scared he was. She gave a low growl. He hated her good work despite the fact that it saved his life. The smile grew wider as she waved with the blood soaked knife swaying in her hand. The body fell to the ground. Morrigan stepped forward, playfully prancing toward him until she was only a few feet away. He took a quick step back.
She dipped her head low, brandished the knife, and the playful demeanor was gone. She inched forward, unsure if he would flee or face his death with dignity. She reached out, linked her veins with his, and the static filled her. The energy that pulsed through him made her shiver.
Tyler felt his body betray him. He stepped forward, his arms up, making sure to step hard and firm so that the leaves crunch under his weight. Her eyes darted in all directions as her head turned to follow each sound.
She let out a giggle, lunged forward with the knife, and found his wrist around hers. He rushed behind her, brought her arms to her chest, and tried to speak through the lump in his throat. His words came half formed, drowned out by the screams and laughter as Morrigan pushed against him, flailing about in an effort to get free. She kicked back against a tree, and knocked him off balance. He tried to resist, the fall winding him.
She wrestled herself free, flipped herself over and straddled him. His eyes went wide, then slammed shut as she clenched the knife between her fists and raised it high above her head.
She closed her eyes as If in prayer. The smile never faded as the knife came down, but not to kill. It fell from her hands and bounced off his chest, landing in the brush beside them. He opened his eyes, and she stared ahead with her hands clasped over her mouth.
The high-pitched whine that escaped her lips drew out in a long agonizing drone. Her face was sore, twisting to reflect the tears that fell. Her heart dropped, her eyes soft and wide as she fell backward and kicked herself across the ground, distancing herself until hitting a bloodstained tree with enough force to bruise. She refused to look at him, unable to muster an excuse...

— from The Scarlet Ashes