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post #21 of 52 (permalink) Old 07-03-12, 04:23 PM
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Ezekiel strode into the grand room, his eyes sweeping from the ten sprawled fledgelings, to the vampires standing to one side. In a moment, he had stepped up and bowed elegantly to the other vampires. "I am Ezekiel von Carstein, may I ask who is the swordsman is that overcame them?" He made a sweeping gesture towards the fledglings. "You see, I am something of a swordsman myself and would be greatly interested to exchange notes, or blows with a swordsman of this caliber."

He waited until he had recived his reply, thanked the vampire and turned to see none other than the infamous Gaelen von Drakenblood. He strode up to two fledgelings and, using both force and skill, overcame them with seeming ease.

Ezekiel realized his chance in a split second, sweeping towards the highly important vampire. "I am Ezekiel von Carstein," He began. "And you, of course, need no introduction." He prepared himself, wondering how best to convey the request he wished to make.
"Do you know," He began slowly "whether or not Mordred is accepting visitors at this time?" He asked, his voice smooth and casual.

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post #22 of 52 (permalink) Old 07-05-12, 10:37 PM
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With a distasteful tension in the air, Mathias makes for the keep upon dismissal. He walks with a very agitated stride, and ponders on the disrespect he was given. His rage even boils over into a hateful show of fang. Calming himself, Mathias thinks about the wretched lord named Ulric, who confronted him. Ulric would have to be taught a lesson, but further more the other lords weren't very friendly either. Glancing at the night sky gave Mathias a wave of calmness, he felt the slight presence of his beloved. Just the thought of her gave him relief and blissful peace.

This peace was short lived, as Mathias was spoken to by a fellow Blood Dragon. Once he turn, Mathias recognized the lord as Tyreal. Tyreal seemed to be a bit unstable as he constantly was jittery. With a friendly smile, Tyreal said “So then brother of the line of Abhorash, how would a duel of skill be of your taste? You are clearly a fine swordsman yourself but I doubt you could best me or any of my brothers. So what say you?”. In response, Mathias said "Greetings brother, I'd rather not bloody my blade. Though, you seem like one who wouldn't let a decline be accept. So dear brother, I accept your duel and will show you just how worthy Mathias Blackjoy is".
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post #23 of 52 (permalink) Old 07-07-12, 09:22 AM
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As Modred dismisses all but himself and Radu, Viktor makes his way to the great hall were a gathering has occurred. Thinking, who is this Radu that holds so much favor? Viktor would have to get an audience with him at some point.

As he walks into the Great Hall, he notices a large number of vamps, mostly fledglings of little concern. The one Viktor had been looking for was there. As he approached Khalidel he overheard the old von Carstein Ezekiel’s conversation. Viktor thought to himself in disgust, as Ezekiel kissed the ass of the Gaelen. Perhaps he was not the vampire Viktor thought him to be, he thought as he passed.

Viktor reached Khalidel, “Khalidel how are you tonight?” he said. “And who is this you are conversing with?” At that moment he noticed the two were sizing each other up as though they intended to fight. That is the problem with blood dragons Viktor thought to himself, they always need to test themselves and be dominant over others, which ultimately leads them to their doom. Viktor thought all this with a smile on his face as he waited for a reply.

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post #24 of 52 (permalink) Old 07-11-12, 05:53 PM
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The blow stung. His jaw, chin and neck were lanced with pain as his hgead was knocked back. Alexander cursed himself for not reacting faster. Anger welled inside him as he reared up to his full height where he towered over the youngest member of the Von Drakenblood bloodline. Alexander beared his fangs like a primal beast and had to fight back the urge for blood. But through an immense show of self control he managed to stop himself from charging at the vampire before him. His mind raced and from the mad thoughts rushing around Alexander somehow managed to form a plan. In a deep voice that growled with aggression Alexander spoke to the offending son of Lord Mordred.
"A dog! You think off me as a dog. Could a dog rip your throat in an instance? So you see all of my bloodline as fog's. Mayhaps you wish to share that with my bloodbrother, Yakov. Pethaps as my 'master' you feel you could show both of us to 'show you respect'. Watch your back Tyreal Von Drakenblood, for in the heat of battle mistakes are made and lives are lost. And if you ever touch me again then i fear that time i will be unable to stop myself from killing you. No matter what your father thinks. In fact, i think he would celebrate in your passing you foul coward."
With that Alexander turned and set off away from the stunned vampire, a smile playing on his lips.

The Silent Lions Chapter

Winter Falls


Give a man a match and he will be warm for a day.
Set a man on fire and he will be warm for the rest of his life.
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post #25 of 52 (permalink) Old 07-13-12, 07:51 PM
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Markus scanned the ground beneath him as he flew, searching for signs of life as he headed towards the forest, where he actually intended to hunt. Straining his wings, the von Carstein raised until he was higher than any of the towers of von Drakenblood’s castle, and then brought them to his side, diving, the euphoric thrill rippling through his inhuman features.

He spread his wings not far from the ground, the membrane filling with air as he regained altitude. The freedom of being out of the confines of stone walls and wooden doors was calming, the brisk, fresh night air pleasant against his skin. Once again at a height which enabled him to see for miles in every direction, he scanned the ground and saw two deer, presumably a doe and her fawn, grazing on bracken on the edge of the dense woodland. He also saw the stealthy movements of a pack of wolves, a dozen of them or so, surrounding them. One especially caught his eye, a huge black brute that stood higher then the others. ‘That one’s mine,’ he thought, fangs extending even further at the thought of it. None of the others were worth his time. He looked about, once more before he planned on diving, and the night-sky vista above him caused him to catch the breath he, in all reality, didn't need to draw in the first place.

The silvery-green light of Morrslieb refracted from the dense cloudscape above and caused a stunning scene, like the roiling waves of the Great Ocean that lapped at the shores of the Old World. The darkness at the centre of each cloud, which the light of Morr’s Beloved could not pierce, seemed to absorb the light around it, and the natural beauty hit Markus like a dwarf’s hammer. Thrice before had he seen a night sky as stunning as the one he gazed upon now - the night he’d left Altdorf, and first set foot upon the road of independence from his father, albeit with some of the family’s money, the night he’d been turned and the time, three nights later, when he’d murdered his father-in-darkness. His mind was drawn back to the second of the three, subconsciously beating his wings as his eyes, akin to lumps of coal, glazed over and become dull and cloudy.

Sylvania, fifteen miles from Drakenhof, which lingered on the horizon, illuminated from behind by flashes of intense lightning, white tears in the night-sky, which roiled like an angry sea, and the rain sheeted down, drenching any stupid enough to be caught outside in seconds. Markus had ducked into the inn two hours earlier, as night fell, and now sat by a grimy window, staring out of it, and his corner was lit by a candle stub. He sighed as the barkeep bought over his broth and mead, knowing he was nearly out of his father’s money. He ate and drank, and then retired to his room, yet the lightning which flashed through his temporary quarters imprinted themselves on his eyes, and seemed unbearably painful in the otherwise deep dark. He found himself downstairs again, and in the corner he’d occupied earlier, a stranger, alone in the crowded inn, now sat, in much the same position he had himself sat. Without knowing why, Markus found himself walking over to the stranger, and introducing himself. And then a strong, grasping hand found his throat. “You do not talk to me,” a gruff voice growled, and Markus’ first instinct was to lash out. The next few minutes were a blur of fists, and then he found himself thrown out into the mire of mud and filth that the town called a road, with his assailant, and the orders of the innkeep that neither were to come back until they’d sorted it out.

They punched and kicked each other, but with each blow Markus’ arms became numb and his punches less powerful, but his adversary wasn’t tiring; indeed, he seemed to be growing
stronger, despite the numbing rain. Eventually, Markus was on his knees, arms bruised and useless by his side, a rose-shaped bloom of purple blossoming on his cheek in the dark. His opponent stood above him, stood with his back to the light so his front was cast into shadows of the deepest black. “You shouldn’t have fought back. It would have been much easier,” the voice informed him, and Markus replied that no son of Wolfgang von Heimlich stood down from a challenge like that. A fist burst out of the shadows and connected with his face; accompanied by a sickening crack. Markus gasped, and then spat a gobbet of blood into the mire he knelt in. No matter how many times he was punched, the merchants son refused to apologise, and kept on spitting blood until he became light-headed. The last he remembered was falling face-down into the muck, feeling the squelching slough soften the blow, and powerful hands underneath his shoulders holding him up and the blurred sky shone through unfocussed eyes. Then all was black.

Markus was dragged back into reality when the howl of a wolf, piercing and shrill, tore through his very soul. He looked back down to the space where the doe and fawn had been nibbling jade grass, only to find a scene of carnage - the wolves had torn them to shreds and fed, and then abandoned the bodies to carrion. A growl ripped through his throat; that alpha male would be his, but he had a feeling something else, far more important, would happen that night.

Malochai von Carstein; Terror of Hunger Wood, Lord of Lichenhof Tower

Roleplay Characters
The Darkness - Conquest: Kerin-Curan
Darkness - Traditional: Glaïmbar Bokkadsson
Age of Dragons: Endras Amlugon

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post #26 of 52 (permalink) Old 07-15-12, 12:19 AM
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Khalidel chuckled quietly at Natasha's reply and bowed slightly as she passed, turning back he sized up the knight across the room while out of the corner of his eye he watched Galean against the mock Sons of Mordred. The very sight of another of Mordreds dread sons filled Khalidel with anger but he ruthlessly suppressed it as he heard someone behind him, He looked over his shoulder slightly to hear.
“Khalidel how are you tonight?” he said. “And who is this you are conversing with?”
"Ah, Viktor" Khalidel remembered the name as he had watched Viktor arrive at the keep but knew little else about the vampire however the look on Viktors face suggested that perhaps he had been looking for Khalidel. "I am well if a bit restless, the crusade is about to start and I am already itching"

He turned back to the knight. "Perhaps, as a fellow Blood Dragon, you could help me with that sir knight?" Khalidel drew his sword and lazily looped it in circles around him. "But first I would ask your name?"

(Damn computer died on me yesterday so soz for the short post)

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The downside to a medium that allows the unlimited exchange of ideas, some people have some really stupid ideas.
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post #27 of 52 (permalink) Old 07-15-12, 04:45 AM
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Listening to her explanation of teaching the young fledgelings about testing themselves against her because they shared the bloodline of Abhorash while she did not brought a slight smile to Nuso's face revealing a fang filled mouth lined by pale lips. Watching as she leaves to inform the fledgelings sires about their arrogance Nuso remained behind silently declining the invitation though by the others non reaction she could hardly care less whether Nuso followed or not. Sorry cousin but seeing what happens here is slightly more interesting than talking to you and your sire as this has the potential to allow me the opportunity to see these True Sons of Mordred in a time of anger before battle as they deal with their wayward children. Also it could turn into something in which I might be able to turn into advantages for myself depending on what happens in the next few hours of darkness. Nuso thinks to herself before curtsying to the two Blood Dragons on the dais and returning to her stone seat she had vacated moments before.

Sitting down Nuso looks again at Khalidel and the other Blood Dragon wondering if they are going to enter into a duel as the Lahmian suggested before she departed. Though the thought of watching yet another fight bores her more completely than an evening with nothing to do Nuso sits patiently waiting for the rest of these "sons of Mordred" to show up. Though with their arrogance I wonder what punishment those who sired them will mete out upon them. Nothing to harsh I should think as the crusade will commence shortly if I am not mistaken. I certainly hope my first get would not be as stupid as any of those ten. Nuso thinks to herself while a look of mild interest spreads across her face at the thoughts, Though coming here may have been a mistake. Not like I had much choice what with all the trouble that happened in Parravin. Those bastard humans nearly found out I was a vampire. Thankfully that noble's son was infatuated with me enough to spirit me away from the hunters. Though his reward wasn't exactly what he wanted.

Refocusing her eyes back to what is happening in the room before her Nuso sees another of Mordred's Sons Gaelen berates his gets before flooring them quickly. Though he attacked his gets Nuso couldn't see any trace of the anger inherit in his bloodline unlike his "brothers". Though watching him move does bring a slight smile to Nuso's pale lips. Though he is a bit beastly for my tastes but it's not like there is much choice here. Though I do wonder if it is time to search for a suitable get of my own? It has been a long time since I have had the pleasure of Lahmian company. Though how would one find a suitable candidate here? Maybe I could ask Elizabeth about that? Maybe that Lahmian Natasha will be there two. Well time to stop gazing around. Finishing her thoughts Nuso stands up and walks towards the hallway Elizabeth disappeared down smiling and waving slightly at Gaelen light footfalls barely echoing on the stone.

"Loyalty is its own reward."
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post #28 of 52 (permalink) Old 07-18-12, 04:53 AM
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Though he tried to get a handle on his seething anger, his hatred, his disappointment, Ulrich found it difficult to concentrate on the task at hand. He knew that his sons must meet punishment. He knew that he would have to deal with their insubordination, but he found the task tiring. He did not want to deal with his sons, their arrogance reminding him forcibily of Gaelan, someone who truly wished to push from his mind. Dwelling on the tension with his hated brother did nothing to help calm his frayed nerves or boiling anger. He stopped, standing in the center of the lavishly appointed hallway that led to the Great Hall, arms rigid at his sides, his armored fists clenching tight enought that he heard the steel squeal and creak under the strain. It was too much, he wanted to howl at the dread moon Moorsleib, scream out his rage to the world. To vent it into the air where he would no longer have to feel it, though he knew that that release would never come. He would never be free of the anger that gripped his undead heart, the blistering rage that consumed the dark center of his blackened soul. His eyes pinched shut, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he wrestled with his daemons, fought the monster within that threatened to overwhelm him.

As his eyes slowly opened, his breathing calmed, it was obvious that this time, he had won out over the berzerk fury that swam within him. This time he had won the battle, but the war was ongoing, an ever present struggle to maintain himself. A never ending trial against the frenzied madness the dwelt within him. Ponderously, he lifted a foot, shuffling to get himself moving, his limbs felt infused with lead. Each step forward, each small movement brought him futher under his own control, the engulfing darkness at the corners of his vision slowly receeding with every inch he covered. For the time being, he was himself. For the time being, he had not fallen into the grips of the fury that consumed his brother Tyreal.

As he moved onward, his pace measured, his movements deliberate, he took in the hallway around him, focusing on the reality of the items displayed on plinths, hanging on walls, and resting in elegant cases. All trophies, all items that held memories of his father's conquests, all things that spoke to the untarnished glory of the Von Drakenblood house. These pieces soothed Ulrich, centered him in a place that felt comfortable, reminded him of his purpose, his position as Mordred's right hand, the callous blade wielded by the master tactician. A flickering of the torches, a moment of shadow, caught his attention. The whisp of a scent, the soft scrape of an armored boot on the thick carpet at his feet the only signs that someone was with him. Ulrich smiled, his body relaxed, the tension held in his sword arm vanishing faster than it had gathered.

He followed the line of the silver guantleted arm that rested on his shoulder and took in the etheral visage of his brother. Heinrick stood, stillness embodied, his crimson eyes boring a hole into Ulrich's mind. A sense that his favorite brother knew what troubled him, caused Ulrich to shake his head, a small fluttering smile twitching at the corners of his mouth as he stood unsurprised by that fact. Heinrick knew him better than anyone, more than likely more than Ulrich understood himself. “You should not blame them for wishing to test their skills against Natasha, Brother. Arrogance is often the undoing of the would-be victor," Heinricks steady baritone voice, soothing to Ulrich's ears, washed over him. Though his brother spoke, Ulrich could not help but get the feeling that the words were someone elses. The ring of his father's wisdom danced within the crisp syllabels of Heinrick's statment, a nugget of truth about not only the circumstance that the statment addressed, but buried within the words a sense of the man who first spoke them. An easy silence, a moment of communion with the other, hung between them, before Heinrick turned, moving toward the Great Hall, beckoning Ulrich to follow, "Walk with me for awhile brother, I get the feeling you wish to talk about the things that have happened, especially with our father."

His gaze ahead, Ulrich walked at Heinrick's side for some time before speaking. Finally, the issue at the very front of his mind, the one that weighed on his thoughts demanded to be discussed. "It does not sit well with me that they have defied my wishes, brother," Ulrich began, returning to the statement Heinrick had made aout his gets. "Regardless of their intent, they should know their place and keep to it. You see what arrogance has wrought in our dear brother Gaelan." The spark of anger that flared at his brother's name, caused Ulrich to wince, he must learn to control that anger. He must learn to suppress the reaction that inevitably followed discussion of his brother.

"That is true brother yet you need to remember when you and Gaelen were that young you were rash and believed you knew best," Heinrick said in counter-point. Ulrich wished he could deny it. He wished he could snap out at Heinrick, assert that he was mistaken, but he knew better. There had once been a time that Ulrich had not acted much different than the gets he know went to chastise.

Sighing, pinching the bridge of his nose with an armored hand, Ulrich relented the point, "I suppose, there is truth in that. What would he have me do, let this incident go with out notice? Should I turn away, the defeat at Natasha's hand serving as punishment enough?" He left the question hang, his desire for advice evident despite the fact that his pride would not let him ask for it directly.

"They are your sons, Brother," Heinrick said with a shrug, "It is your choice in how you deal with them, but I would suggest you deal with them. Our brother Gaelen will no doubt take the physical route to punish them." As he spoke, Heinrick stopped in mid-stride, and turned ot his left. Reaching out fondly, he re-adjust the picture of mother and father that hung there, straigtening the edge and brushing some of the fine dust from a top its frame.

"Of that I have no doubt Heinrick and he calls me the brute," Ulrich scoffed. "Perhaps their ordeal is punishment enough. Despite the fact that I respect Natasha's skill, they must be brooding that not only were they beaten by a Lahmain, they could not best her even when they stacked the odds in their favor."A poorly concealed smile and a flash of pride flashed across Ulrich's brooding face. His pride in his sister's accomplishments, a strong contrast to the disappointment that welled at the thought of his own children's actions.

As Hienrick finished adjusting the painting, he stepped back, admiration and adoration clear in his expression as he gazed upon the Lord and Lady Von Drakenblood, before he stepped back into stride with Ulrich and continued on down the hall. "You seem to forget who it was that trained that Lahmian, Ulric. Her skill with a blade surpasses even yours and Gaelens," he said, the non-challance in his voice a sudden irration to Ulrich.

"I do remember," Ulrich snapped, before quickly regainin his composure, "But it seems it was a fact that my children neglected to take into account."

"There are other things on your mind than just your children not knowing their limits," Heinrick probed, his gaze locked on the side of Ulrich's head, his own head cocked to the side, a searching, expectant expression dominating his aqualine features.

"Am I that transparent?" Ulrich chuckled, the question rhetorical though he knew it was one that Heinrick, out of habit, would answer.

"Are you getting forgetful in your old age brother? I have spent the over three hundred years by yourside so to me your every thought is etched on your face for the world to see."

Ulrich waved his hand with a resigned sigh, "You had known me less than a year before you could read me like a book. The passage of time has only served to prove you right time and time again."

Ulrich did not know where to begin. Discomfort, a feeling of dismay creeping into his mind. He did not know how to address his concerns without raising others.

"Speak brother," Heinrick said, a quiet command, though one Ulrich knew he could refuse if he had desired to. "You know what is said between us always stays between us unless our father asks."

"I know. But I have asked him before, and I have received no answer." Ulrich paused, his mind weighed down by the question he was about to ask. "Why did he leave us behind Heinrick? Why would he endeavor to root the Dwarfs from their mountain with out the strength of his entire army behind him?"

"His pride," Heinrick said simply before continuing, "his arrogance and his bloodline. What you need to remember Ulric is that while our father is a great leader he is a son of Abhorash the Dark Father, first and foremost. He must always strive to prove himself and overcome the hunger." "It is why he did not take us along, dwarves are hardy opponents and even us vampires have trouble against their runed weapons and armour. Did you not see our fathers wounds when he returned? Do you really think we would of survived them? Though it does not seem like him he did not want to risk us against the dwarves."

"Who is to say we would have perished. Had we been by his side, had his sons been with him he may have proved victorious." Ulrich's frustration quickly boiling him up to anger "This crusade, this errand of vengence would have been unnecessary. We would not have needed these outsiders, these fawning wretches that have invaded our home. We would have gained the prizes that our father desired and without gaining allies that think of nothing save their own advancement."

Heinrick shook his head, exasperation at his younger brother's stubbornness clear, but as always he addressed Ulrich with patience. "You must also think of the consquences of all of us leaving this castle Ulric. If we had all gone and been defeated it would of taking longer to rebuild our strength for another attack and in that time the brettonians would of attacked and destroyed this castle. This castle must always remain protected so we have a home to return to."

Excuses, seemingly harmless needs that would have been addressed by others should Mordred had proceeded as he should have. "Pah, trivialities. If that is the case then who is to remain behind this time brother?"

"That will be for our father to decide when we leave. Though if I were to hazard a guess I will be the one to remain behind when you march to war." Heinrick said matter of factly, as if the choice had but one simple answer, an answer that he was comfortable with.

A derisive grunt escaped Ulrich's lips before he could stop it. However once it was out he decided he would not have wished to stop his expression of disdain for the idea. "You should stand by his side. There are no others that are more worthy. Being the home guard does not suit you brother."

"In that you are wrong," Heinrick said in the air of one about to lecture a student in something that the pupil should already understand, " it suits me more than the rest of you. Would you trust Tyreal to put up a competant defense of this castle while gathering troops? You and Gaelen would disreguard our fathers orders and follow him, as for Khalidel our father would sooner trust this castle to an orc than to him."

Resignation flooded through him. He knew that Heinrick's logic was infallible. " Of course you are right. I apologize for allowing my anger to get the better of me. I would obey father in this, I would he stay in defense of the castle should he but ask. It may rankle me, put fire to the anger that boils in my belly, but I know my duty brother. Still, if you are elected to remain behind, I will miss you at my side."

Dismissing Ulrich's sentiment with a wave of his hand, Heinrick continued, "We will have to wait and see what our father decides. He has surprised us before in the past with some of his decisions. For all we know mother could be the one to stay behind but I doubt that she would stay behind after what happened against the dwarves."

Ulrich will raise an eyebrow in queston, "Mother has said nothing to me about desiring to accompany us."

"Do you really think she will leave father alone after the dwarves almost killed him? She will barely leave his side as it is even within this castle. You also need to consider the fact fathers magical prowess has diminished since his encounter with the dwarves rune priest so it will be mother than holds most of the dead together." The feeling of wrongess that he had experienced earlier, the feeling of dread that he was unaccostomed to began to creep in at the edges of his mind. A trepidation that caused him to test the draw of his blade in its scabbard.

"That thought had not occured to me, to be honest," Ulrich admitted, "but He has been very closed to me since his return and I did not know that his abilities had been so diminished."

"Only his skills with the winds of magic have diminished," Heinrick corrected, "his skill with his blade remains the same better than all of us put together."

"I know full well his skill with a blade remains as good as it ever has been. Does anyone else know of this?" Ulrich suddenly concerned, "If this became common knowledge brother, things could become tense."

"Only you, myself, Mother and Father know of this so it is best it remains between us. But knowing our father with his current anger he will be taking his blade to more enemies then he will be with spells."

"I agree," Ulrich replied, concern evident in his voice, "I would not put it past many of the new comers to have eyes for things that are not theirs. Despite the fact that it would be unlikely that such a coup would succeed, father's plans would be disrupted dealing with it."

"I believe we can trust Radu Von Carstien as father seems to have taken a liking to him and he acts more like a son to him than Khalidel does."

"I leave such judgements to you Heinrick, I know almost nothing of Radu save the rumors that preceed him. But what you say about Khalidel is actually my chief concern. He would be stupid enough to turn against father if the right opportunity presents itself, if he was able to coax others to his cause, we would have a serious problem." The thought was almost more than he wanted to think on at the moment, but necessity forced his mind to consider the possibility.

"That depends on who joins his cause," Heinrick said. "Myself, Natasha and Mother are a match for any 'warlock' they can gather while yourself, Gaelen and Tyreal will match any warrior in combat. But do you really think any one within this keep could best father with a blade? If Khalidel did betray our father then I would doubt anyone would wish to get between Khalidel and fathers blade."

"As I said, it is not the fear of a coup's success that worries me. But the loss of resources and time that it would cause. Perhaps it is just paranoia that grips my mind. There is something about our current path that does not sit right with me. I mean for the first time in centuires loathesome Strigoi walk the halls of the keep openly, Necrarchs practice their craft in the dungeons that have been our private realms for eons, Von Carstein's strut around as if this castle belonged to them and their clan. I am just on edge Heinrick.... anxious, as if we stand on the precipice and I know not if the next step will be for good or ill." His gaze shifted his brother, but Ulrich did not know whether he sought confirmation of his fears, or a statement that would waylay them.

"If we were on a precipice im pretty sure you'd more then likely push Gaelen in to see how deep it is." It is a rare day indeed that Hienrick would joke. Heinrick's sudden jest, his humor rarely shown openly and only in private moments like this one, caught Ulrich off guard. Again the stone work halls rang out with the sound of Ulrich's barking laughter, " Your point is well taken brother." Clasping a hand to Heinrick's shoulder, "I will try not to brood on these things again."

"We must trust in our father's decision, Ulric. He did not get to his age through being careless he knows what he is doing, and should anything arise that might interfere with his plans then it is our duty as his sons to deal with it."

Ulrich will end with, "Aye brother, that it is, a duty that I would thouroughly enjoy should the occasion arise."

He passed into the Great Hall, taking in the scene that lay before him, before he raised his voice, its bass timbre carrying across the room, heavy with malice. "Caldecor, Gaudain, Melis, and Lancelot. I require you in my chambers immediately." Turning to Heinrick he mumbled, "We will continue this conversation later brother, I have matters to attend to."

He swept through the hall, barely stopping to register if his gets obeyed his commands, for he knew that they would, and continued on through the entrance hall up the stairs. His rooms awaited him, his private sanctuary, perhaps there he could decide the best manner to approach the myriad problems that required his attention.

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post #29 of 52 (permalink) Old 07-18-12, 05:02 AM
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Natasha's casual disregard and disengagment from the situtation irritated Klaus instantly. He had waged war for over a century and knew all too well what it was meant to be -- a postponing of a fight he now knew would one day come. She was intending for him to prove himself against other foes. He growled quietly, very quietly, as if this woman had any right to suspect his skills were anything less than absolute. Though his annoyance towards her vanished as he the Blood Dragon next to him attempted to make light of the situtation, as he spoke with another guest, this one named Viktor, before turning back to him.

He barley registered the other guest, this Viktor's, words as he sized upon the vampire that had just challenged him casually as if he were but another fledgling. His cold, dead eyes scanned the opponent up and down. Not in disgust or contempt, he'd long ago cast such capriicous noble sensations behind him in favor of pure anger and bitterness. These two twin emotions, one feeding off the other constantly as become his companions and had kept him defeat too many times to count. They now dueled within him as he looked at this fellow vampire -- named Khalidel. He had become instantly annoyed with him several minutes ago when he had blunderingly came forth to challenge Natasha as well. In that singular move he had embarassed both of them and elevated Natasha above them -- that two Blood Dragons were vying for her 'affection' in a certain sense had grated against his tattered and archiac sense of honor.

He could feel his bitterness rising within him attempting to overcome his rage in a fail-safe type clash to stop him from trying to rip the other vampire's throat out. How dare this crestfallen fool stumble his way forward for his own agenda embarassing him in front of his new-found allies. He could not shake the need for blood which was also now slowly growing within him. His slowly barred his fangs at the other Blood Dragon.

He did speak but instead turned to face him calmly ... well as calmly as he could as his arms twitched ever so often with anticipation. 'Very well, Khalidel, I shall take up this challenge.' Even as he spoke his eyes flickered over to Gaelen as his instincts told him of the greater threat or, rather, challenge posed by this vampire. He grunted in dismay, he should have kept a little tighter reign over his anger and allowed his bitterness to keep it from boiling point long enough to challenge him. It was going to happen now, he had accepted the challenge. He raised both Bloodmourne and the Bulwark of Terror and prepared for the inevitable clash that would follow.

Originally Posted by Oldman78 View Post
The chaos gods abandoned Horus most likely because they saw the can of whoop ass coming their way and wanted out of the way so as not to get fucked up!
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post #30 of 52 (permalink) Old 07-18-12, 07:40 PM
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I sent a boot in Felix’s jaw and there was a satisfying crunch of bone cracking as his head was lifted and then slammed against the floor. Dietrich snarled up at me but rolled away, rose and stormed off to brood in another corner of the castle. I let him go, knowing that he needed the punishment, as I had needed it when Mordred first turned me.

Ulrich’s gets had fled the chamber earlier while Felix and Dietrich still lay on the floor, trembling with terror at my swords at their throats.

They were his to punish, even if their colossal arrogance had me wanting to behead them. Heinrich’s also fled. I heard Ulrich booming that his were to go to his chambers immediately. His bestial tones had me frustrated. He was an animal. But even so, I found it easier to tolerate him than the bestial Strigoi that infested the castle like rats. This fortress had held host to my bloodline for centuries and now animals like the Strigoi could be found in every dark corner. And in this castle that held host to the Lords of Undeath there were an awful lot of dark corners.

I looked up from my contemplation to see another of Elizabeth’s handmaidens smile faintly in my direction. She was beautiful... Gah, what am I saying. Every Lahmian is beautiful. But this one was truly something. Long auburn hair falling in a cascade to the middle of her back, deep hazel eyes and a slight, small stature. Appeared weak and helpless. I was not so foolish. Such a physically weak vampire would have powerful talismans, maybe even magic at her disposal. But still, a true beauty if I ever saw one.

As she left the Great Hall with a slight wave in my direction and a smile, her light footfalls seemed to echo in my mind.

I tore my gaze away and back to Khalidel and the Bretonnian Knight, Klaus. Khalidel it seemed had shown his desire to be viewed as the equal of Vampires such as myself, Heinrich, Ulrich, hell even Tyreal was more of a son to Mordred than Khalidel would ever be. I had watched Tyreal turn from a fine, cultured swordsman into the animal he now was. I had liked the swordsman, the animal I regarded with scorn but not hatred simply because I had liked the swordsman. Maybe that was why I hated Ulrich so. I had never known him before the animal. Had I known the man maybe I wouldn’t have hated him so much then...

Of course, being Khalidel, he had done it by shaming Klaus and I watched as the bitterness and anger of the fallen Bretonnian brimmed over and he accepted the challenge of Khalidel. He then glanced in my direction, as if sensing that I would be a better challenge. Maybe I would. Then I was certain. Now I am not so sure. Khalidel was a well trained swordsman, if over eager when he thought he was winning. But then, which of us wasn’t at that age?

Then a revolting smell hit me like a battering ram. I turned, faster than a striking snake and my hand reached up to the hilt of Blood Gold as I saw the Strigoi in the Hall. Anger rose in my soul. How dare this animal squat and defecate over my father’s hall?

I approached it, my stride sure and certain.

“Leave this hall Yakov,” I said, recognizing the beast for a Strigoi Oldblood that Tyreal had recently kicked down a flight of stairs. “Or I will make you leave...”

We stand upon the precipice of change. The world fears the inevitable plummet into the abyss. Watch for that moment - and when it comes, do not hesitate to leap. It is only when you fall that you learn whether you can fly.
— Flemeth

The greatest trick the Devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn't exist.
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