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post #31 of 52 (permalink) Old 07-22-12, 09:43 PM
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Yakov crouched in the corner of the great hall, while absent mindedly chowing on an old bone he had picked up on his travels around the castle. Watching the other vampires square up to each other and issue duels, with mild interest.

He payed special interest to Natasha and Khalidel, this promised to be an extremely interesting fight. The lith and subtle Lamian against the more matial and proud Blood Dragon. He awaited the victor with trepidation, as it would show really how good both the differing bloodlines where.

Suddenly he was aware of someone approaching him, he looked up to see Gaelan Von Drakenblood bearing down on him, fury on his face. Sighing Yakov got to his feet as Gaelan got closer and steped forwar to meet him, attempting to diffuse the anger that was plain to see on Gaelan's countenance, as he had no great quarrel with him and did not want to anger his father.

“Leave this hall Yakov, Or I will make you leave...”

Yakov considered trying to reason with the little fool, but decided that he had as much right to be hear as any other of his fellows here.

"Is that right, little Gaelan ? You , you upstart little brat think that you can force me to leave this hall? You have the audacity to ask me to leave these halls in which I am a guest of your farther. No, i dont think i will leave, and you can try as you might to move me"

All the while throught this rant Yakov was drawing himself up to his full hight, rolling his muscles and extending his wings. And begun to draw the meager magical power he could control ready to imbue his form with the magic of the beats.

40Kprayers and benedictions

see my guard army here

see my Empire army

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post #32 of 52 (permalink) Old 07-23-12, 09:30 AM
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"You call me an upstart Yakov. You, a Strigoi Oldblood. Normally I have respect for those older than me and more experienced but with you whatever respect I had for you vanished when my younger brother Tyreal kicked you into the dungeons with only the slightest effort." I said very calmly, not feeling the slightest bit intimidated as Yakov drew himself up in an attempt to loom over me. "If you were so powerful as to call me a brat then you would have caught his kick before it landed, snapped the bone before hurling him down the stairs. You did not. You took a single kick to the chest that threw you backwards through a doorway to thump down the stairs."

I reached up for Blood Gold's hilt and drew the sword, reaching up with my left hand and drawing my other blade at the same time. I dragged the blades against each other, the screech of metal on metal echoing in the hall. "Do you truly wish to fight me Yakov? You may be an Oldblood but I am a Blood Dragon and you are a Strigoi. Your once great bloodline sacrificed all greatness when it became the animal. The runt of the Vampiric litter. Your kind are nothing more than animals now. You sacrificed all nobility. You are hardly worth the time needed to teach you a lesson. As for being a guest of my father I do not remember him inviting you to join him, you came of your own accord because you lust for power and the only way you can think of having it is to fight in my father's shadow. That makes you the upstart Yakov, the creature trying to make himself look greater by walking in the shadow of those superior to him in every way. It is the same with all your kind. You lust for power but cannot gain it on your own, therefore you hide in the shadow of truly great vampires such as my father. People call my bloodline the most arrogant but it is truly yours. Your kind think themselves great and yet they hide in graveyards and make courts of Ghouls, pathetic flesh eaters."

"How can you call me a little brat? You are a fool as I have come to expect from Strigoi. Though I expected more from an Oldblood of that bloodline I must confess. At least the Necrarchs have some form of power. Your kind are merely a shadow of my own Bloodline, vampires who act like us, talk like us and behave like us but will never match our skill."

I stepped backwards and dropped into a fighting stance.

"Though if you truly wish to learn why Mordred turned me then fight."

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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post #33 of 52 (permalink) Old 07-26-12, 07:35 PM
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A northern, icy-cold wind ruffled his hair, caressing and tossing the long, dark ringlets. Mordred was a living force, a myriad of colours leaking from the joints of his armour - Turning the air greasy shades of green, red and brown. Radu’s lips rolled back over sharpened incisors; a distasteful, unappreciative purr filling the air for a moment.

‘Magic,’ He noted, his voice whisper-soft, though nonetheless filled with venom. ‘Of course. Magic follows our kind like a shadow.’

With a series of clattering footsteps, Mordred’s impressive form was standing atop the rampart, armour shining a baleful green in Morrslieb’s diseased glare. Radu leaned forwards, clenching the ancient stone in his clawed fingertips, scanning the distant mountains. Ragnar Ironhand, the Dwarven thane who had beaten back Mordred’s undead army, inhabited them; in his nigh-on unbreakable fortresses, those which could break armies like the coast broke the tide. Radu shook his head, shrugged apoplectically, and turned his attentions back to von Drakenblood.

He was shockingly handsome - His features sculpted; as if from ice, his skin pale and smooth, his hair long and silken. His eyes, deep, unreflective scarlet seemed to eat at the soul - And behind them, Radu knew that Mordred’s mind was a tempest of emotions - Of rage, of unbridled wisdom, of remarkable intelligence. Radu’s gauntlet extended between the two, fingers closing on Radu’s chin, gently tilting it upwards. Radu was tall - An impressive figure, at anyone’s admission - But Mordred was taller.

When he indulged Radu on the origins of Khalidel’s hate, Radu was enthralled by him. Despite the subject of the conversation, Mordred’s voice was honey-sweet, filling Radu’s ears humbly. When he was finished, there was a moment of peace, as von Drakenblood relinquished his grip on Radu’s chin, gaze wandering back over the mountains. The rage within Mordred’s eyes subsided, fading into a grim determination.

Radu regarded his lord whimsically. He was a beacon of life, despite his state of undeath. Radu shuddered subconsciously; his armour making the faintest of rattles as he did so. Mordred was a miasma, to an extent that Radu became perplexed if he studied his new-found master too much.

‘Thank you.’ Radu said, giving the slightest of nods with his handsome head. ‘I have questions, but they are not pressing - I needn’t the answers, yet. I think I shall attend the great hall, care to walk with me?’

Nyctophobia- Fear of the Dark Angel.

"No one ever spoke about of those two absent brothers. Their separate tragedies had seemed like aberrations. Had they, in fact, been warnings that no one had heeded?"

'Killing a man is like fucking, boy, only instead of giving life you take it. You experience the ecstasy of penetration as your warhead enters the enemy's belly and the shaft follows. You see the whites of his eyes roll inside the sockets of his helmet. You feel his knees give way beneath him and the weight of his faltering flesh draw down the point of your spear. Are you picturing this?'
'Yes, lord.'
'Is your dick hard yet?'
'No, lord.'
''What? You've got your spear in a man's guts and your dog isn't stiff? What are you, a woman?'
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post #34 of 52 (permalink) Old 07-29-12, 06:48 PM Thread Starter
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Markus: As you land infront of the alpha wolf it turns its gaze to regard you as the entire pack starts to snarl and growl towards you while baring their fangs. In kindness you reveal your fangs to them aswell with a challenging snarl and when you do all of the wolves start to whimper as their tails curl down between their legs and they lower their heads to the ground obviously recognizing the greater predator and something then flashes through your hunger filled mind: The Von Carstien Bloodline has always had a kinship with wolf-kind. Stalking closer to the alpha male you see that of the entire pack it is the only one not submitting to you and its fangs are still bared as it lets loose a throaty growl and launches itself at you with its jaws spanning at your throat. (I shall leave it to you do describe the fight as you wish and once your done see the second part of your update below)

As you feast upon the blood of the alpha male the other wolves keep their distance as they finish off what is left of their own meal and once you yourself are finished you stand up at your full height and let out a roar into the night sky. Now you have sated your hunger your senses are sharper and you pick out an odd whistling noise coming closer and turning towards its source an iron arrow buries itself into the lower right side of your chest where it finally stops once the haft is a full half way inside of you. Grunting in annoyance you see a group of wood elves coming silently through the tree’s towards you loosing arrows at the wolves as they get closer and taking into the air you see that behind them is an even greater war-host clearly headed towards the castle. You have just enough time to flee from where you are as the elven army approaches, it is up to you to return to the castle and warn the others of the approaching force. I would suggest crashing through one of the windows in the great hall and bellowing that enemies approach but how you warn the others is up to you.

Maithas: Tyreal smiles at you when you accept his offer but then as a Strigoi vampire appears upon the ramparts he shifts his attention towards it before kicking it in the chin which then provokes the Strigoi to start insulting Tyreal which in your mind would be a very bad thing to do. Before you are able to do or say anything Tyreal charges forward and jumps upon the back of the Strigoi and starts to pummel it with his fists before getting knocked onto his back as the Strigoi vampire rites itself and draws its own blades as Tyreal draws his. You stand there and watch the two vampires exchange a flurry of blows with Tyreal gaining a slight upper hand against Alexander and you can’t help but smile at the skill of Tyreal even though he is fueled by nothing but rage though if the Strigoi is able to keep up with a vampire like him then he must have some skill aswell, then again the Blood Dragon line has hunted Strigoi line for centuries in order to test their skills against them. As you continue to watch the fight you realize that it is entirely possible that these two could kill each other which either way could upset the already annoyed Lord Mordred, so you now have the choice of stepping in to try and break up the fight which could result in them both turning on you or sprinting into the great hall to find one of Tyreal’s older brothers to come and stop him, however there is the third option of going to the Lord Von Drakenblood who as you can see is still stood upon the eastern Rampart. The choice of what you do is up to you; also feel free to include some thoughts on what Maithas thinks of the Strigoi bloodline.

Yakov: As Gaelen moves back into a fighting stance with both of his blades drawn from behind him appears Hienrick Von Drakenblood who then proceeds to tell his brother than fighting now on the eve of war would not be worth it in order to remove an old-blood from the great hall. After he is done speaking with his brother Hienrick steps forward to stand between you and Gaelen and looks over you with calculating cold eyes as if picking out all the weak points in your armour with but a single glance before he finally decides to speak. “While my little brother let his anger get the best of him, it does not excuse you in slightest of provoking him into a battle Old-One. You must remember that you are a guest within these walls and my Father will not tolerate in-fighting that has kept our bloodlines from uniting as one and destroying the living since the time of Nagash. Now Old-One I will ask that you ignore my brothers insults and that you also do not insult him as an insult against my brother is an insult against Myself and my entire family something which none of us will allow. Out of respect for being one of the oldest vampires in this castle I shall allow you this one chance in hope that you will learn not to so readily insult my brothers.” With that Hienrick turns away from you and heads off towards his gets leaving you alone with Gaelen to think on what Hienrick has said. Going to leave you the choice of what you wish to do but I would like to see some thoughts on what Hienrick has said from Yakov’s point of view.

Ezekiel: Gaelen Von Drakenblood seemingly ignores you before he turns his attention to an old-blood Strigoi that has entered the room, this disregard of proper etiquette makes your back stiffen in annoyance before you look around the room once more as you see that now both Hienrick and Ulric Von Drakenblood have entered the room aswell though it appears Hienrick has gone off to talk with Gaelen and Yakov leaving the only other Von Drakenblood you could talk to being Ulric who is already heading for one of the other doors. Quickly making your way over to him you decide to introduce yourself to him which stops him in his tracks meaning he has to turn and face you giving you the perfect opportunity to ask whether or not the Lord Von Drakenblood is taking any guests at the moment but judging by Ulric’s facial expression it would be wise to engage him in a short conversation between asking him if you could gain a meeting with his ‘father’ Mordred. I would suggest that you work out a conversation with Midge through pm’s before uploading your post.

Ulric: Before you are able to leave the great hall an old-blood vampire comes up to you and introduces himself as Ezekiel Von Carstien which stops you in your tracks as your anger bristles along your spine before you calm yourself enough to be able to talk to this vampire without lashing out like you have done to others so far. Turning to face him you can see that he is clearly shorter than you but while he may be an old-blood he seems to be relatively close to you in age judging by the way he acts and the presence you get when standing next to him. As you look over Ezekiel you see that he is wearing a rather extravagant purple robe with his sword buckled to his waist which meant if it came to a fight at this exact point in time then you would clearly win, perhaps you should suggest to him about going to armour himself as it is likely that the blood crusade will start as soon as Mordred decides that enough of the undead and vampires have gathered and that your Father will not wait for those still gathering up their Wargear. Going to give you pretty much free reign in what you do in this update, also feel free to go and deal with your Gets in your chambers, so if you need to ‘talk’ with them we will work it out over msn.

Natasha: OOC: See previous update.

Gaelan: As you drop into a fighting stance you feel someone place their hand upon your shoulder and in irritate you almost strike out at them but as you turn your head you see a claw like silver gauntlet and your gaze follows it until your blood red eyes settle upon those of your eldest brother, Hienrick Von Drakenblood and as you stare into those chilling red eyes of his something seems to calm you as a voice echo’s out from beneath the scarf that covers the majority of his features. “Peace, little brother. Now is not the time to test your skills against an old-blood such as Yakov and you let your anger get the better of you. Refocus and calm yourself Gaelen or will you let your anger boil to the surface and become like Ulric and Tyreal?” Hienrick removes his hand from your shoulder and shakes his head ignoring any kind of protest you might try to make about the Strigoi not belonging here. “Remember this my brother, our father called all willing vampires to join in this crusade it is not up to you to decide who is can not enter these halls, and it is not down to you to punish those that should not be. Both of those are fathers choices alone, now put away your swords before I put them away for you.” Something has changed Hienrick’s manner since you saw him upon the wall and his usual calm cold detached logical self has finally started to show some of the Von Drakenblood anger though you guess it is only to reinforce his threat as he steps passed you and stands before Yakov. What you do now is up to you but should you wish to talked to Hienrick then you merely need but ask.

Radu: Mordred’s gaze remains focused on the mountains for a moment longer before he turns his attention back to you and starts to make his way towards the great hall with you and with each movement more of the shadow like smoke leaks from the joints in his armour and near it you feel slightly sluggish in his presence, perhaps this is part of the enchantments worked into his armour over the many centuries that Mordred has walked this world in his deathly state. “Speak your questions now, Young One, as in this coming war I foresee there will be little time to speak in private save for a few brief moments after each battle that will come.” Now you have time to ask Mordred all the questions you wish to ask of him as you make your way towards the great hall with this paragon of Undeath and Strength. While you walk with Mordred you hear the clatter of blade upon blade and see that Tyreal Von Drakenblood has engaged a Strigoi vampire in a duel and appears to have the upper hand, looking to the mighty vampire lord to your left you see he is completely disinterested in his ‘sons’ actions obviously knowing that this is what Tyreal does to pass the time. Perhaps one day you could test your strength against Tyreal or one of his brothers or dare you even perhaps ask Mordred himself to tutor you in the skills with a blade as he has atleast four centuries worth of experience on you and will know things that you will not.

Sasha: OOC: See Previous post as you need to reply to that.

Alexander: As you turn away you barely take three steps before Tyreal Von Drakenblood comes barreling into your back and knocking you flat to the ground as a hailstorm of mailed fists smash repeatedly into the back of your skull before you manage to shift your weight and thrown the younger vampire off of your back and onto the rampart with a clatter of armour on stone. Pushing yourself up back onto your feet you turn around to see that Tyreal is already back on his feet and charging full sprint at you with his swords and shield drawn and the white’s of his eyes have become almost completely red due to his blood-shot blood vessels. You manage to draw your blades just in time as Tyreal then unleashes a furious assault of blade strikes upon you with his blood red coloured blade that seems to shimmer in the eerie green light of Morrslieb. Tyreal launches nine sweeping blade strikes towards you with such speed you barely have time to block or dodge any of them yet somehow you manage to parry five of them away with your own blades before four of them connect with your armour. Two of the blade strikes screech harmlessly against your helmet and chestplate but two manage to find their mark and cut open your shoulder armour leaving two bloody gashes leading from your left shoulder towards the center of your chest. (Tyreal did 2 wounds to you, you have 3 left) but now if is your time to defend yourself and retaliate against this up-start vampire. (How you roleplay the following is up to you: You have 9 attacks, 6 hit, 2 wound, Tyreal saves 1 ward save. Total Result: Tyreal takes 1 unsaved wound. Tyreal: 4/5 Wounds left.)

Viktor: You take a few steps back as Klaus and Khalidel engage in their duel which you watch with great interest as the younger blood dragons seems to be roughly equal to the older blood dragon, something which you should remember for a later time should you end up having to duel with either of them. As you watch the fight you look around the great hall briefly to see that three other of Mordred’s gets have entered: Hienrick, Ulric and Gaelen Von Drakenblood. Each one of these vampires is a paragon of might and strength judging them their outwards appearance with Hienrick walking with the grace of someone who has spent his entire life wielding a blade, Ulric who has monstrous proportions that match his equally monstrous bat-like wings, and Gaelen who appears he could outrun a bolt loosed from a crossbow even while wearing that heavy armour of his. There only two blood dragon Von Drakenblood’s not in the great hall are the Lord Von Drakenblood himself and Tyreal who obviously has something more interesting to fight else wear. Now that Hienrick has moved over to his own gets you have a chance to talk with him and find out more about this crusade that is to take place. Free reign in this update for you, if you want to work out a conversation with Hienrick then pm me or add me msn: [email protected]

Nuso: You silently make your way down the corridor that the Lady Elizabeth Von Drakenblood left down and as you make your way along the cold corridors lit only by witch-light touches you begin to wonder why a paragon of the Lahmian line such as Lady Elizabeth would end up becoming the wife of one of Abhorash’s bloodline as the two lines are as different from each other as blood and water with one wishing only to fight and slaughter with the other secretly taking a hand in human affairs disguised as noble ladies and queens. While semi-lost in your thoughts you end up coming to a stair case leading up into a tower and judging from the scent of perfume in the air it must belong to Elizabeth. Gracefully ascending the stairs you come to Elizabeth’s inner sanctum and see that the Lahmian Lady is in conversation with a child though you do not know who this child is he reeks of Undeath and is steeped heavily in a magical aura suggesting that perhaps he is one of the Necrachs…but for one to be turned so young you begin to wonder what kind of vampire would do that. Looking around the room you see Natasha and her two ‘sisters’ sat on the edge of a king-sized bed watching their mistress intently though Natasha seems to focus her attention on you. You should politely bow to Elizabeth before waiting to speak to her or if you choose to then you can go and talk with Natasha. I would like to see your thoughts on the multiple blood lines that you have met so far: The Lahmians, Blood Dragons and now the Necrachs, for the most part what you do is up to you.

Klaus: and Khalidel: OOC: As the two of you will be sparing against each other you two will need to talk to each other and work out your respective posts. But here is the result of your round 1 of your spar: Khalidel: 6 Attacks, 5 Hit, 3 Wounds. Klaus saves 2 armour saves, failed ward save: 1 Unsaved Wound Dealt.
Klaus: 6 Attacks, 4 Hit, 4 Wound. Khalidel Saves 2 Ward Saves: 2 Unsaved Wounds dealt.

Wounds Left: Khalidel 2/4, Klaus 4/5. If either of you two have questions then feel free to ask in Recruitment or through a PM.
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post #35 of 52 (permalink) Old 07-29-12, 08:56 PM
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The roar ripped through Markus’ throat, the pure animalistic urges flooding through his undead body, and he drew his wings to his side, tucking them in as he took a steep dive. The ground rushed up to meet him with ferocious speed, and the stench of the dead deers filled his nostrils, which flared with delight at the bloody carnage. He executed a front flip as he came close to the ground, landing on his feet, legs crouched. He returned the murderous gaze of the alpha wolf, the black eyes only distinguishable by the jet-black fur because of the tell-tale glistening. Growls rippled around the small clearing, and blood-slick fangs glistened in the combined light of the twin moons, which shone in a dappled pattern, onto the ground. They drew his attention for but a second, as he growled back, the sound dominating their attempts, deep and low, clearly a threat. His fangs grew longer, tearing ruts in his teeth, and black blood trickled down his chin. The taste almost clouded his mind, but he held the bloodlust in check. Markus realised that the only wolf still growling at him was the alpha, which continued to try and stare him down, poised ready to launch and hackles raised in fury, barely constrained as muscles rippled beneath the thick skin and wiry fur. The others had slunk back into the shadows of the trees, heads lowered in subservience and tails curled beneath their legs. He’d heard rumours of a kinship between wolves and the undead, but had never put it to the test before.

With a dismissive snap of his teeth he focussed his attention back on the alpha, who’d crawled forwards whilst he’d distracted himself. A snarl ripped past his showing teeth, fangs tipped with his own blood, and he launched at the exact same time as the wolf did. His wings propelled him faster and further, and they collided with a colossal force. The other wolves still didn’t interfere, merely watching with a surprising intelligence in their eyes. The wolf, forced onto it’s back by Markus’ momentum, managed to get it’s jaw around Markus’ neck, but the vampire backed off before it managed to crush his throat. The pair broke apart, and circled each other, neither attacking or standing down.

After a minute of tense circling, the wolf tensed again, using it’s powerful hind-legs to push itself straight towards the vampire. Markus saw the signs, and spun out of the way, and used the claw on the end of his right wing to tear a jagged wound in the beasts size as it passed. He hissed in delight, a smile playing about his face, as he saw the wolf crumple as it landed, howling in pain. He stalked closer, not entirely sure the wolf was beaten yet, but confident in his abilities. The creature stood, but it was weak - blood poured out of the huge wound on its side, matting in the fur and dripping a trail onto the ground. It growled again, but the wolf was losing it’s fighting spirit, clearly limping and in mind-consuming pain. It fell onto it’s stomach, legs finally failing, and then rolled over, presenting it’s neck to Markus. The vampire fell onto it, tearing with reckless abandon, letting the blood pump into his mouth. It was earthy and heavy, but spiced with adrenalin and anger, and Markus forced it down his throat. The wolves kept their distance, finally finishing the remnants of their own meal.

Finally sated, Markus stood, blood drying on his chin and a half-mad grin on his face. He turned his face to the sky and howled, the sound shredding and burying all other noise in the nearby woodlands, asserting his dominance over the area. He stood watching over his new pack, listening to the final echoes of his howl dying in the distance, and then he heard a whistle, unnatural in the near-silence. He turned, and then felt pain explode in his side unlike any he’d felt in over two centuries. He cried out and his mind turned red with blood. He looked down and saw the shaft of an arrow, fully half inside him. More whistles followed, and whines and howls erupted from the pack as more arrows hit them. Focusing on where he thought they were originating, he picked out a group of people, crouching and using the woodland to their advantage. He growled, and then saw the ear of one of them, flashing in a minute pool of moon-light. ‘Elves.’ The thought ran through his mind and he was paralysed for a second. Another arrow sailed past his ear and he jerked back to reality. He realised he couldn’t fight them; there were too many for even one of the undead lords, and so turned and ran, another arrow slicing his side and causing a wince on his face, before he managed to build enough momentum to launch himself into the sky. Yet more arrows followed him, but he was too far away by now, his unnatural speed aiding him, allowing him escape where any mortal would have been slaughtered. He spared a glance back over his shoulder and a horrible realisation washed over him like a pail of cold water - more and more Asrai were following, an army powerful enough to attack the castle.

Pumping his wings more forcefully than he ever had before, the vampire flew until the pain in his side became unbearable and glided for a couple of hundred metres, allowing the throbbing to slow and the pain to dissipate before he began again, pushing himself further and further. The castle grew in his vision until it obscured all else, and one of the windows into the main hall became his target as he grew increasingly tired, expending the energy he had garnered from the wolf’s blood.

He propelled himself with one last thrust of his wings and shattered the window explosively, allowing himself to fall to the ground, wings already returning to their human form. He landed heavily on his feet, much less graceful than his earlier landing in the woods, and immediately tore the arrow from his side, leaving wooden splinters inside the wound, roaring at the pain flooding through his body. He must have drawn the attention of the entire hall with his entrance, and held the shaft aloft.

“We are attacked!” he bellowed, loud enough for the hall to echo and the sound to flood throughout the castle. “The elves move against us! We are attacked!” He threw the arrow to the floor, the wood and elven steel clattering as it skittered across the stone floor. He fell to his knees and gritted his teeth as he felt his skin start to knit itself together, the necrotic energies flowing through his dead veins, and the black blood began to slow.

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

Last edited by Malochai; 07-30-12 at 12:58 PM.
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post #36 of 52 (permalink) Old 07-30-12, 07:31 PM
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Alexander turned, his blood was pumping and his rage was almost overflowing. But after only a few steps a force contacted hard into Alexander’s back. Fists came raining down upon him as he raised his arms to protect his head. Alexander roared and threw the thing, which Alexander soon worked out was Tyreal Von Drakenblood. Tyreal landed against the ramparts with a loud clatter of armour and Alexander pushed himself back onto his feet. Alexander turned to see that Tyreal was already back on his feet. Not just that but Mordred’s son has drawn his sword and is charging straight at him with his shield held forward. Tyreal’s eyes were blood red and Alexander knew this would be a fight to the death. In the second’s he had before the raging Von Drakenblood reached him Alexander drew his own blades and roared back at the vampire. Alexander drew himself up to the full height just as Tyreal reached him.

The first strike of the blood red sword that Tyreal wielded glanced off Alexander’s own blade and went wide. Tyreal’s blade began to move in a blur and it took all of Alexander’s superhuman strength and speed to stop the blows. The next blow came at Alexander’s head only to impact with Alexander’s helmet and glance away. Another blow was knocked away by Alexander’s sword. The fourth blow cut through Alexander’s defence and made impact with Alexander’s breastplate. But though it dented it did not break. The next came at Alexander’s head again but Alexander brought up both of his own blades to stop the hissing sword. But this left Alexander open to the sixth strike. The sword cut through Alexander’s breastplate and slashed his flesh from his left shoulder to his chest. Alexander grimaced and roared even as another blow struck his helmet. The eighth strike cut into the breastplate again but made no mark upon Alexander’s flesh. But the breastplate could not halt the vicious swipe that followed and Alexander was cut deep again.

Alexander roared defiance even as pain threatened to cloud his mind. But this vampire, Von Drakenblood or not, deserved to pay. Alexander moved like a man truly possessed, which in a way he was. His first blow smashed into Tyreal’s breastplate but did not break through. The second came at Tyreal’s head but could not cut its way through Tyreal’s helmet. The third finally made a mark upon Tyreal himself, but the blade did not cut deep and did no damage to the undead lord. The fourth strike glanced off Tyreal’s breastplate, again not marking Tyreal’s flesh. The fifth and sixth blows contacted hammered into Tyreal almost in unison but the armour withstood. But with a roar Alexander’s blade found it’s mark and slid into Tyreal’s flesh. The young vampire roared in pain but with supernatural effort managed to block the hissing blade coming at his head. Alexander roared and threw himself at Tyreal. This vampire had no right to continue his undead life.



The Silent Lions Chapter

Winter Falls

Darkness

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 #37 of 52 (permalink) Old 08-08-12, 07:14 PM
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Ezekiel strode towards the powerful vampire, stepping directly in the path of the Von Drakenblood, hoping to stop him in his tracks. He assumed a wide, open smile. He greeted Ulrich with a courteous bow.
"Greetings, Ezekiel von Carstein, at you're service."

Ulrich stopped short, his gaze locked on Ezekiel, behind his eyes Ezekiel saw the red flash of violent rage.
Suddenly acutely aware of the danger he was in, Ezekiel silently tensed, preparing himself to leap into action should Ulrich attack.
Slowly Ulrich's eyes flitted around Ezekiel's person, taking in his finery. Ezekiel allowed himself a small feeling of satisfaction, knowing that his name must be worth something in the eyes of the Von Drakenblood to keep himself under so much control. Even in the remote reaches of Ezekiel's home, Ulrich's temper was legendary.

"Get to the point.... Quickly," Ulrich growled, his gaze flicking behind Ezekiel, where he knew that the fledgeling Vampires were pulling themselves to their feet.
"I have business of my own to attend to and the fleeting fancies of a Von Carstein are none of my concern."

Ezekiel ignored the slight on his bloodline and smiled graciously.
"Of course, any business of one of Mordred's most favored sons is naturally important and benificial to all who are present." He placed his words with a practiced presicion, careful flattery woven into the words. Ezekiel knew that a vampire as old and seasoned as Ulrich would most likely see through this immediately, but there was no harm in trying and the comments were not without truth.

"Speaking of which, I was wondering of Mordred would be willing to receive guests at the present time and where he could be found, I have some matters of business to discuss with him."

Ulrich quietly chuckled at some inward giver of mirth.
"Keep your honeyed words for someone who cares for such things. My business does not concern you and unless I miss my guess, you don't really care. I find myself as a your means to an end."

Ezekiel bowed his head in assent.
"You're astuteness, though not unexpected, is applaudable. I simply wish not to come upon ill terms with an individual as, renowned as yourself."

Ulrich sighed, gesturing half-heartedly in the direction from whence he had come,
"My Lord Von Drakenblood." The emphasis he placed on his 'father's' title obviously displayed Ulrich's disdain for the casualness with which Ezekiel used name,
"is on the northern battlements, deep in conversation with Radu Von Carstein. I am neither servant, nor messenger." The Von Drakenblood's words becoming clipped with poorly masked annoyance. "Send word with one of the thralls that you desire a meeting and his response will give you the answer you seek."

Arching an eyebrow, his jaw clenched, Ulrich began to turn, "unless there is anything else I will take my leave." He challenged.

"I wish merely to add my thanks and apologies for delaying you're important business." Ezekiel finished, refusing to be cowed by Ulrich.
"And now I must too make my leave. I have, fleeting fancies, to attend to." He said, smiling as he swept past the other vampire, heading in the direction that Ulrich gestured.

On reflection, he had enjoyed the simple verbal sparring. He had not conversed with an equal in a long time. It was a refreshing feeling.

He left the room, considering his options. Mordred would not wish to be disturbed if in conversation with Radu, to attempt would be foolish to say the least.

Ezekiel decided to bide his time, his questions could wait. He returned to the library, seating himself and drawing a book from the wall of books. He opened the ancient tome, His eyes sliding across the rows of words, drawing the information from it's pages. The room was now almost silent. Meerly the sound of the crackling fire and the faintest sounds of the castle's other inhabitants.

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Khalidel slipped his shield down off of his back onto his left arm, he smiled in anticipation of the coming fight and widened his stance. Klaus looked confident and would no doubt be skilled but Khalidel would show him, would show all in this castle that he too was a vampire worthy of the title Son of Mordred.
He danced forwards and slashed his sword downwards aiming to slice Klaus from left shoulder to right hip, when Klaus dodged back as Khalidel had anticipated he did not stop his sword but used the momentum to turn on his forward foot and slam his shield into Klaus. Their shields clashed and they strained against each other for a moment their faces inches apart, the exhilaration of finally fighting after so long cooped up in this castle brought a smile to Khalidels face showing his fangs as they seperated.
They dueled across the hall with blades clashing faster than the human eye could see and Khalidel began to enjoy himself immensely despite his flamboyant fighting style leaving him only a small margin for error. As they came together again Khalidel slammed his shield at an angle into Klaus' shield and held it above them both simultaneously blocking his sword arm and shield as he lent back dangerously far while lunging forwards with his blade.

Khalidel licked his lips in vicous satisfaction as blood dripped from the deep side wound that he had inflicted but he then grunted in annoyance as he realised that it had not been deep enough and that he couldn't hold Klaus' shield for much longer at this angle. Before the shield could come crashing down and crush his ribs Khalidel pivoted away from harm to stand a short distance away.
"First blood to me sir knight" He said in a polite tone as he dropped into his guard position "It is so good to finally be able to fight something after all this time spent caged in this castle don't you agree?"

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chill out?...CHILL OUT!!!!!!!, THIS IS WARHAMMER, THERE IS NO TIME FOR "CHILLING OUT", WHAT DO YOU THINK THIS IS?, SOME KIND OF GAME?, THIS ARE SERIOUS BUSINESS!!!!
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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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Natasha smiled as she parted from Ulrich, patting him on the arm as she walked away. She enjoyed her brothers company, and seemed to be able to help calm him down a little. Natasha moved towards her own chambers, located near to her mistresses, allowing her to be able to serve her lady at any time.

She moved through the empty corridors quickly, not wanting to keep her mistress waiting. As she entered her quarters she moved quickly to place her swords on a plush red chair, closing the door firmly behind her. Her chambers were Spartan like, Natasha having no need for belongings and other items like that. She quickly slipped out of her blood red dress, folding it carefully before placing it over a chair. Whilst Natasha didn’t normally like to wear dresses, being much fonder of her armour, she knew her mistress enjoyed having her gets appear lady like sometimes.

She quickly moved over to her armour, resting on a mannequin when she wasn’t wearing it. She traced a hand over her chest piece for a moment, lost in her own thoughts of when she was first presented with the armour by her lady. It had been decades since then, and Natasha kept her armour in perfect condition, not willing to spoil the gift she had been given.

She quickly pulled her armour off of the mannequin, placing it on her body and tightening it to her with buckles and straps. She placed a black leather belt around her waist before slipping into her leather boots, replacing the ladylike shoes she had fought in against the foolish fledglings. Grabbing her cloak from the mannequin she placed it on her shoulders, tying it so that it wouldn’t fall off before grabbing her swords and leaving her chambers, attaching them to her waist as she walked to her lady’s chambers.

She knocked lightly on her mistress door before entering, seeing her lady staring into a scrying pool while her “sister” handmaidens sat on the bed near to her. Natasha noticed her lady had a visiter, a necarch in the form of a young child. He was eerily repulsive Natasha thought, wondering what made a vampire turn something so young.

She moved to her lady’s side, curtseying to her and waiting for a command from her lady. Elizabeth looked up at Natasha, smiled and waved her to join her sisters on the bed, Natasha moving lightly before seating herself on the edge of the bed, hands cupped in her lap as she looked upon her beautiful lady and her visitor.

Her sisters moved without saying a word to kneel either side of Natasha and started to braid her hair, Natasha staying as still as a statue as they did that. Natasha watched her lady and her visitor, waiting for any signs of disrespect like a hawk watches prey. Even though she knew that the young looking child wasn’t what it appeared to be, in actuality a powerful old blood she still wondered if she had the time to draw her blades and cross the short distance before his powerful magic kicked in. It was an interesting thought.

"Milady, pardon my intrusion. I was asked by my brother Ulrich on your thoughts of his fledging gets in the fight. He hopes that they have not embarrassed him in anyway."

Elizabeth's crimson eyes remain fixed on the scying pool for a moment before her head shifts to stare at Natasha, her cold enchanting eyes now focused on her young get.

"They are of the line of Abhorash, they are arrogant and rush head long into things. They are no different from their father, uncles and even their 'grandfather'." The dark lady raises her shoulders slightly in a small shrug. "You get used to it after five hundred years."

Natasha nodded thoughtfully at her lady words before continuing hesitantly, "Yes milady, though I would say that Heinrich does not do that anymore. If you don't mind my asking, why did Lord Mordred not take you with him to combat the dwarves? I hope I am not overstepping myself my lady."
Lady Elizabeth looked around her sanctum and back at her other two hand maidens, both continuing to platt and braid Natasha’s hair before returning her attention back to Natasha. "I decided to remain behind, there was no need for both of us to go and I didn't trust leaving this castle in the hands of any of your brothers. In the event my dear husband was defeated then I would need to nurse him back to full strength, but tell me what would of happened if I had gone and been slain? What do you think your brothers and my husband would of done?"

Natasha looked taken aback at Elizabeths comment. She knew that her mistress was strong in magic and would be able to handle herself. "My lady, I meant no offence. Without you around though I think that my brothers and my Lord would have probably gone into a Blood Rage and would of attacked the dwarves until either they lay dead or all of us Vampires were. I was just wondering my lady, I apologize."

"I have only ever once seen my husband give himself over to his anger in its entirity and I do not wish to see him do so again. He cut his way through three-hundred black orcs, two giants, a wyvren and an arachnarok before he calmed down enough to order his undead minions back into the battle."

Elizabeth seems to stare into nothingness as she recalls this incident from the past. Natasha did not speak, she knew of some of the wrath that her Lord possessed and never wished to see it again. She just nodded thoughtfully before resuming her watchman like position. Soon the door opened again, and Natasha watched as the other Lahmian entered the chambers, waiting for her lady to finish with the Necarch before she announced herself.

At least she showed a little respect, unlike the fools braying for Mordreds affection, though all of them would be sorely disappointed. Natasha stood and walked over to her, a smile played across her face. “Well cousin, you seem to have found my lady’s chambers by yourself with little difficulty. Please tell me, what do you think of my lady’s chamber and what brings you here? The entertainment I set up in the great hall not enough for you?” She joked at the end, wishing only to get to know her own kind better.

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Ulrich had turned, truly intent on returning to his chambers, the words he would speak to his Gets rolling through his mind. He believed that he would take the approach of derision and scorn, letting the experience of losing to a single vampire teach the lesson that his fists and rage would simply cloud. Natasha had learned some humility at Mordred's hand, her crushing defeat, decades past, still a memory fresh in her mind, an experience that shaped her everyday life. Perhaps it would be the same with his children. One could only hope, he could only expend so much energy beating sense into them, Lancelot especially.

Ulrich had nearly made the door out of the entrance hall when a vampire stepped in his way, a flourishing bow in his direction halting his purpose filled footsteps. Ulrich felt the beginnings of a rage filled growl rumbling in the depths of his lungs, his fists clenching involuntarily, his eyes flashing a dangerous shade of scarlet.

"Greetings, Ezekiel von Carstein, at you're service," the vampire intoned, his words clipped and sure, his deference and approach appropriate for one of his station. Ulrich inhaled deeply through his nose, drinking in the scent of the vampire before him. The aroma of age and experience clung to the Vampire, the weight of experience and innate power evident in his movements and speech. The purple finery he wore suited him and the blade at his side smelled of fresh oil and bits of whetstone, almost entirely covering the sickly sweet smell of blood. A blade that saw use, a warriors stance, a fighters grace. An old blood, like himself, this Ezekiel seemed to purport himself with decorum.

Stuffing his anger at the interruption down and with great effort he unclenched his fists. He could tell that his immediate response, his body language, and his scent radiated fury and danger, as evidenced by Ezekiel's slight change in stance, readiness seeping from him. It was clear that Ulrich's temper was well known even in the far away lands of the Von Carstein holdings.

"Get to the point.... Quickly," Ulrich growled, his gaze flicking behind Ezekiel, where his sons were pulling themselves to their feet. "I have business of my own to attend to and the fleeting fancies of a Von Carstein are none of my concern."

To his credit, Ezekiel continued, unphased by the venom in Ulrich's words. He must really try and get a handle on his temper. If he continued in the manner that he had been approaching these new vampires, he would have to start worrying about blades behind him, danger from supposed allies, as much as the blades of the enemy they went to face.
"Of course, any business of one of Mordred's most favored sons is naturally important and benificial to all who are present." Ulrich couldn't help but grin inwardly. This Ezekiel knew his craft. Deception and flattery, a slight push to the ego, prompting a more favorable response. Perhaps this one, this Ezekiel could be one that had promise. If his father wanted allies, it was this sort, the likes of Radu and Ezekiel that Ulrich wished to retain. They knew their place. They worked with the realms of protocol and mutual respect. The trivial niceties observed. Ulrich cared little for his words, but the fact that Ezekiel approached him with deference, despite his near equality in station, said something about his intelligence. "Speaking of which, I was wondering of Mordred would be willing to receive guests at the present time and where he could be found, I have some matters of business to discuss with him."

"At last," he thought, "one of these newcomers shows the respect for father as they all should." He could keep the smile from his face, or a chuckle from breathing over his lips. It seemed that they were not all brutish morons, trying to suckle at the teat of greatness without thought for their station. However, despite his appreciation for Ezekiel's respect, he cared little for his desires. He had matters of his own to attend to.

"Keep your honeyed words for someone who cares for such things. My business does not concern you and unless I miss my guess, you don't really care. I find myself as a your means to an end," Ulrich said, the slightest inclination of his head showing slight respect for the vampires attempt at stoking his ego. Most thought because of his temper and his martial prowess that he was a simpleton. A rage driven beast in the same vein as his brother. Most learned, to their downfall, that he had a keen mind, and was well versed in the verbal wordplay and intrigue that permeated the Vampiric Nobility.

"You're astuteness, though not unexpected, is applaudable. I simply wish not to come upon ill terms with an individual as, renowned as yourself."

Ulrich sighed, gesturing half-heartedly in the direction from whence he had come,
"My Lord Von Drakenblood." The emphasis he placed on his 'father's' title obviously displayed Ulrich's disdain for the casualness with which Ezekiel used the name, bristling slightly at Ezekiel's mistep."is on the northern battlements, deep in conversation with Radu Von Carstein. I am neither servant, nor messenger." his words becoming clipped with poorly masked annoyance. "Send word with one of the thralls that you desire a meeting and his response will give you the answer you seek."

Arching an eyebrow, his jaw clenched, Ulrich began to turn, "unless there is anything else I will take my leave." He challenged.

"I wish merely to add my thanks and apologies for delaying you're important business." Ezekiel finished, he had spine this one. Others would have been cowed by the look on Ulrich's face. "And now I must too make my leave. I have, fleeting fancies, to attend to." He said, smiling as he swept past , heading in the direction that Ulrich indicated. His back turned, Ulrich returned the smile. In the midst of these hangers on, Strigoi abomonations, and witless morons, he was pleased to find one that showed respect and demanded it in turn. Ezekiel was not a feckless idiot like the rest. He was one that Ulrich would need to watch until his loyalties could be assessed. He could make a powerful ally for house Von Drakenblood, or he would need to be dealt with if his designs proved devious and detrimental to his father's house.

A tremendous crash, an explosion of glass and iron, caused him to spin on the spot. Gazing up to the hole in his father's castle that had once contained a 600 year old stained glass window. A masterpiece forged by entralled artisans of Kislev, shattered into a thousand pieces. Rage boiled, the fury of his namesake coursing through his blackened blood, put him in motion, streaking to the being that now kneeled in reckage of the priceless work. He almost lost control, his blade in his hand in a motion so swift that he became a blur of ebony and crimson, he stood over the witless vampire. He smiled as he recognized the same beast that he had tossed from the ramparts. This filth would die for his slights to the Von Drakenbloods. First his total disrespect for his father, now damaging the castle, Ulrich's home. He would bathe in this vampires blood, the scent of it already cloying at his nostrils, its blood flowing onto the stone floor of the great hall. It was then that the beast roared, “We are attacked!” he bellowed, loud enough for the hall to echo and the sound to flood throughout the castle. “The elves move against us! We are attacked!” Ulrich paused, disbelieving, until the beast pulled an elven shaft from its side.

Leaning down, whispering in the beast's ear, "You and I will have words when this threat is dealt with."

"To arms!" Ulrich roared, the gathered vampires still processing the words the beast had spoken. "It is time for you to fulfill the call you have come to answer. Defend this castle! To Arms! We feast on the blood of the Asrai!"

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