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Judas D'arc · Journeyman Joined: 27 Nov 2011 Posts: 140 Location: Yew

At first, it almost seemed like a game ...

They had followed Cole's trail from the docks of Felucca's Trinsic to the bathhouse of Trammel's Buccaneer's Den, where the sailor-turned-murder-suspect was attempting to find work. Judas was familiar with the reputation of Cole's would-be new employer. His name was Keiran Vane, the former captain of the King's Bounty, and the current captain of the Goblin King. There had been a time when his tale -- of the pirate that had unknowingly smuggled a cargo filled with explosives and destroyed his own ship -- was quite popular in some of Sosaria's less reputable drinking establishments. Five years later, and the story was just as amusing, although Captain Vane seemed no worse for his prison stay. While the bard, later assisted by Alisiea, attempted to distract the pirate in the back room of the baththouse, Jolicia stripped off her clothing and lured Cole into one of the tubs, in order to interrogate him "her way." Unfortunately for the young sailor, "her way" involved powers darker than he ever could have imagined. Judas was fairly confident of Cole's innocence, and hoped that allowing Jolicia to glamour him would finally alleviate the suspicions that she held.

Once they were in the back room, the bard realized that it was unnecessary to deceive Vane. Despite his foolish antics, the pirate was certainly not a fool, and even more importantly, he was not particularly attached to his potential new hire. His primary concern was to avoid arousing the notice of the Britannian officials that had recently been harassing residents of the Den. As a compromise, Judas suggested that the Captain make Cole an offer of employment. If innocent, it would be genuine, and if guilty, the Goblin King would transport him into the custody of Judas and his friends. For payment, Vane was uninterested in coin, and instead received the pleasure of the Gypsy Girl's dance, and a kiss upon the cheek when she had finished. The bargain was then sealed with a drink and a spit-covered hand shake.

When Judas, Alisiea, and Vane returned to the main room of the bathhouse, they found both Jolicia and Cole dressed, and no longer in the tub together.

"I need a moment outside. Cole needs to speak to you," she advised them, before exiting.

They turned to Cole. He stood wet in his clothing as tears streamed down his face. He was difficult to understand with all the sobbing. "I didn't mean it -- "

"What're yeh...sorry...bout...an...why're yeh...Yew know. All...bleeeeeh." Vane asked, in his strangely rhythmic manner.

"What's wrong Cole? Why are you crying?" Alisiea was trying to comfort him.

And that was when they learned the truth of what happened to Isileena.

********

Alisiea was beginning to transform on the street, and there was nothing Judas could do to stop her. Cole's confession had struck them all hard, but they were not burdened with the curse that the Gypsy Girl carried. He had never witnessed her become her wolf form, but he knew that if it occurred at that place and that time, none of them would leave Buccaneer's Den alive. Judas was aware of how Alisiea felt for him, and unsuccessfully attempted a kiss to pacify the beast within.

"Hit me," was her only response.

"Listen to my voice," he urged her.

"Hit me!" She demanded as her control began to depart.

"Alisiea, I -- " Judas tried before he punched his Gypsy Girl in the face with as much force as he could muster, and hoped it would be enough to save them.

It was.

********

Cole left them no choice. One arrow flew. Quickly followed by another. And then it was done.

********

Much later, they had gathered on the coast of Barrier Isle in Trinsic of Felucca. Their positioning and body language said more than words ever could. Judas and Jolicia stood together quietly, their cold expressions difficult to discern, while Alisiea was alone, clearly conflicted over what had occurred. All three watched as Vane dragged the body down into the water. "A sailor's end," the Captain had called it. For a couple of minutes, Cole lingered, before disappearing forever into the sea.

A sailor's end indeed.

Jolicia · Journeyman Joined: 01 Jan 2004 Posts: 288

Jolicia looked from the tub to Judas and whispered, “I’m going to have to get in that damn thing, aren’t I…”

Even in his state, Cole’s sense of truth was so skewed that it angered Jolicia even further. Not to mention the flood of memories it had brought her, bringing her to a point that she wasn’t sure she could handle. She kept her promise though, and besides knocking Cole into the wall of the tub, she controlled herself and did no other harm to him.

As Judas appeared from the back room, Jolicia pulled the front of her hat down, hiding her face. Quietly she spoke a few words to him and then exited the building. She found a fallen log amongst the trees and sat down, placing her face in her hands as she began to sob. Jolicia only allowed herself a few moments before regaining her composure and heading back inside.

*******************

Jolicia’s mind was reeling again. The arguing… the discussion… what was so hard about this? Why was there any discussion at all? This was a guilty man! As the escalation continued it all began to blur and then… it was done and a hint of relief and sorrow washed over her. She moved next to Judas and gently grabbed his arm, whispering, “Thank… you…” He nodded slowly to her as they all stood there in silence.

Ayana Willowsong · Adventurer Joined: 19 Jun 2011 Posts: 23

Another over-zealous lightbringer. Death lingers in the strangest of visages.

“I'm Everett Whitethorn, of Britain!” His enthusiasm was endless. Ayana sighed as the young man rattled on and on about virtue and his need to take the high road. He would protect her, he said. Ayana had traveled the road from Vesper to Minoc hundreds of times. There was no danger there that she couldn't handle.

“I can't let a lady travel that road alone. With the recent riots and violence, there could be danger!” Everett's deep blue eyes were wide and concerned. “Please, Lady Ayana, allow me to escort you to the camps in Minoc safely!”

His enthusiasm knew no bounds.

Ayana shook her head. There was nothing in her basket that would interest a highwayman. But she supposed there was no way for cutpurses to know that until they saw for themselves. “All right, Everett Whitethorn of Britain.” She checked her waistpouch and basket to make sure she had everything she needed. “Lead the way. They're expecting me.”

The boy practically bounded toward the door. As he opened it, a woman in the corner arose to join them. “This is my companion, the Lady Blackwell. She will be traveling with us.”

Ayana looked the woman over quietly. She had the look of anything but a “Lady.” But Ayana wasn't there to judge. She just wanted to get to the camp and retrieve her medicines so she could return and treat Eclyse.

Not more than half an hour outside of Vesper, Everett had returned for at least the third time to report that the way was clear ahead. Ayana nodded again and replied. “Excellent...”

Then, he stopped in her path, still mounted. Lady Blackwell joined him, standing by his side. The two faced her, their expressions stolid. “There is one thing you should keep in mind, Lady Ayana.” Everett smiled broadly. “Out here, danger could strike from anywhere.”

Ayana flinched, and instinct told her to run. She tried to immerse herself in the shadows alongside the path, and escape. But it was too late. Everett's blade was drawn, and he was upon her. He ran her down – then, there was a sickening thud, and the world went black, and peaceful.

When she awoke, the two stood over her. Everett's boyish smile was now sardonic and mocking. “I am the Hero, and you are the damsel in distress! Why did you run?!”

Everett pulled her up by the arm, crushing it in his grasp. Ayana cried out and pulled away desperately, but he held her fast. “You're hurting me...Please...”

“No, now you're coming back to Vesper. We have to treat your wounds.” Everett dragged her what seemed an eternity, until he reached the signpost for Minoc, just across the bridge from Vesper. There, he pulled out a dagger and lifted Ayana's hand to the post, impaling her hand with the dagger and pinning it securely to the wooden post.

Ayana screamed and pulled in futility, trying to release her hand. Everett's hand clasped her throat. His massive boot crushed her foot as he slammed her head against the post. Everett pulled her hair aside, tilting her head to expose her throat.

“Tell me again, why I cannot drink every last drop.” He examined Ayana's flesh intently.

“We're too close to town, Everett,” Lady Blackwell hissed. “And I told you why already. Drinking too much will kill you.”

“Drinking is bad for you, Everett...” Ayana began. A blow across her face crushed her nose and silenced her.

Everett was unmoved. “Then tell me again, while I drain her.” Without fanfare, he sank his fangs into her throat and tore at the flesh until her blood flowed. He drank with abandon, and without restraint. Ayana struggled weakly to push him off her, but there was scarcely any chance of her escape now. Lady Blackwell's words faded into the rush of blood in her ears.

Quietly, Ayana began to realize that this was her death. Memories flooded her mind – the camp awash in flames, and Rosar pulled from the inferno on willpower alone. Funeral pyre after funeral pyre as the plague's dead were consumed, their spirits released to hasten skyward. Visions from the Goddess. Songs in shades of fire and light.

And as darkness settled into her eyes, only one memory remained. A darkened willow upon the edge of the world – her leaves spent, branches bare. The tides of the universe had taken them all, and they took her song as well, as it faded, until all was left....

was silence.

Alisiea · Adventurer Joined: 14 Dec 2011 Posts: 36

Things used to be simple; not so anymore. Before, there was only survival. To eat, sleep and find her way as best she could. Yes, at times it had been difficult and sometimes even painful, but at least she knew what to expect when she entered a town or village and she knew what areas to avoid. She had been able to make her way thus far by dancing. It was, in fact, the only thing of value she had. But then there was the curse. A two edged sword to be sure. With control, it offered her a freedom that came close to the euphoria she felt when she was lost in the dance. Without control, it was unbearably painful and violently dangerous to anyone within reach. Thus she kept to herself, living off the few coins she could gather by dancing in town squares, for a curious or bored Lord or Lady, or in dark, filthy taverns where the patron’s purses would loosen with drink. It did not matter that she could neither read nor write; she could dance and for the longest time … that had been enough.

Now, however, things were not so simple. Now she found herself caught up in plots and schemes, rivalries and jealousies. Jealousy. Now there was a word she had never pondered before. Yes she had often wished to have the same fancy clothes as the Ladies she danced for. Yes, she had often wished for a solid roof over her head and a clean bed in which to lie, but she had never been jealous of those who were her betters. She knew her place and she kept to it as life demanded. But now … now she felt desire and a yearning in her womb that was more like a fever. A fever that could only be broken by the sound of his voice or the sight of his face or the touch … of his hand.

Where the simple clarity of survival and dance once stood, now confusion and jealousy took its place. Confusion over these people who had befriended her. People for whom she felt both love and fear. They guarded her, protected her and even risked their lives to rescue her. Yet she felt they could, at any moment, destroy her and enjoy every second of it. Jealousy towards the women who pushed her aside so they could spend time with Judas. And jealousy when he went off alone with one of them. Then there were … the others. She had been forced to serve them once when they lived under a different banner. When their dark purpose had no value other than the spread of terror and death. Now they formed a strange and confusing alliance with, not only each other, but with men and women who would have once hunted them, or even her, for the sheer pleasure of utterly destroying them.

These thoughts and feelings washed over her as she pulled herself out of the Haven harbor to sit naked on the docks. She had needed a bath and this was where she always came when there was no coin for a proper hot bath at the local inn. This desire to be clean was something else that never seemed important either; until now. Was it because the fever she felt pushed her to be clean for Judas or was it because she was now in the company of Ladies who perfumed themselves to mask that subtle scent of death that no one else seemed to notice? Or was it because being clean simply felt good?

She was changing; she could feel it. And she looked at herself differently. Her hair, her clothes. The way she sat, ate, or spoke, how she smiled; everything was changing. For some odd reason or perhaps out of the changes that were occurring within her, she wished no longer to be alone. She wished no longer to simply “survive.” She wished, now, to be a part of something, belong somewhere or to someone. Now she wished to be a person not a “thing.”

Ashencrosse. She had seen the Inn and Tavern. The warm fires that crackled endlessly in the stone fireplaces. The well appointed tables with their fine settings and fancy candles. And the stage. A place to dance where the rain would not soak her or drive her from the streets, or muddy her feet. A place where people with good coin came willingly and would pay well to watch her dance. And there were cookies, lots and lots of sweet raisin cookies. Quinn had shown her how to get at them when the bartender was not looking.

Quinn. Of all the members of this strange alliance and of all the things Alisiea felt most confused about, this odd woman named Quinn was the most confusing of all. She knew the woman wanted desperately to kill her once. Would have happily put one of those mechanical silver arrows in her brain and gone to sleep that night without a second thought. But Quinn too had changed. Somehow, this odd woman with the painted face had aided her when the Orcs beat her. Watched over her when she went to the forest to heal. Sat nearby when the “others” were present. The apprehension Alisiea once felt towards this woman was slowly being replaced by an odd attraction. She liked how Quinn spoke her mind without regard to how others might react. And she liked how Quinn acted towards Judas. Were they friends? Lovers?

Somehow the jealousy Alisiea felt towards other women did not seem to apply to Quinn when it came to Judas. Alisiea loved them both, differently of course, but love was the proper word. Alisiea knew she could go to battle alongside either one of them and die if need be to protect them. This loyalty towards another was also new and confusing and these feelings often sprang up without warning. Twinges of hope. Aches of desire. Tears of contentment. To be held in his arms. To be shown the secret of the cookie jar. To be given a clean room with a soft bed. To have a wayward finger freed from the clutches of an ale bottle or to have silverware pushed out of reach for her own good. These things mattered. These things counted for something. These things demanded that she change.

Alisiea sighed deeply and dressed herself. She cared little that a sailor aboard one of the moored ships leaned over the rail to leer at her. She was clean again and it felt … proper. As she walked back toward the outdoor tavern and her friends, Alisiea smiled. Somehow, the City of New Haven seems much smaller than it had before her bath. Somehow, in some small way, she had outgrown it.

Everett Whitethorn · Visitor Joined: 05 Mar 2012 Posts: 10

Everett Whitethorn was quite pleased with himself. It had been nearly two days since his first hunt, and he was still savoring the sweet taste of Ayana of Ashencrosse. There was something far more fulfilling about her blood than that of the other Dezera had fed to him. Perhaps it was because he had stalked her all on his own, with little to no assistance from his lady love. After all, hard work was its own reward, or so his father taught him. Or maybe it was the opportunity to silence Ayana's self-righteous tongue forever and ever. Even dying, her sole concern had been the supplies she needed to cure some sick friend. Not even considerate enough to demonstrate the proper amount of fear as she expired. And where was Ayana, or all the others like her, when Celestia was violated by that mad man in Serpent's Hold? Or when his mother and sister were murdered by a brigand? Or when his father was slain during the Britain riots? He was not certain which he had enjoyed more, draining her or putting his blade through her pathetic little heart.

Unfortunately, Dezera had not been entirely supportive of his endeavor. She called him reckless and even threatened to kill him if he did not quickly finish the deed. She worried that the killing was committed too close to Vesper. She scolded him for not using his glamour. But Everett failed to understand her concerns. Why must creatures of such power hide in the shadows? Why was he not permitted to take what he wanted as he desired? What was the point of becoming vampire if there were all these rules and limitations? However, Everett also realized the fun would never resume until his lady love turned sire was satisfied that he had learned his lessons. So he vowed to listen better in the future. Of course, a promise was a promise for a virtuous man ...

... and the new Everett Whitethorn was neither virtuous nor a man.

Everett Whitethorn · Visitor Joined: 05 Mar 2012 Posts: 10

Everett Whitethorn had never expected a death such as this.

During his old life, he had always believed he would find himself a worthy death. He was dedicated to the virtues, including that of Humility, but he knew in his heart that his accomplishments would earn him a grand finale. Many adventures were waiting in his future, and it was more than likely he would fall battling evil or sacrificing himself for innocents. In the brief week since his change had occurred, Everett had come to believe his path would never end at all. And certainly not like this.

When the hunters came, Everett found only potential amusement. They were seeking vengeance for the murder of Ayana of Ashencrosse, an act he considered less a crime and more a generosity. She would always have the honor of being his first true kill. Dezera instantly scolded him for his recklessness, but his lady love was always cross with him these days. He wanted her for a lover, not a mother, and was he desperate to see the pleasure in her eyes restored. Besides, there was no need to worry, how could this collection of fools possibly harm two vampires? Everett knew some of the faces, and they had barely impressed him back when he was a real boy.

It was only after they took Dezera's head that Everett first understood defeat. The hunters had stormed the house and had confronted them in the bedroom and had actually ... won. The ways of the vampire were still new to him, and it was only after a few minutes that he realized the act of decapitation had harmed his lady love. Permanently and forever. Her death struck him, but not in the same manner that Celestia's or his family's had. When they died, he knew the pain of loss, with Dezera, it was only more emptiness. The hunters demonstrate one act of kindness, allowing him a moment to say farewell to his lady love's head, before leading him to his own execution.

Everett had to concede that killing him at the very same spot he slew Ayana was an inspired choice. However, as soon as they had arrived at sign post north of Vesper, a sixth hunter suddenly appeared. This one was angrier, and there was a brief confrontation before this newcomer turned to Everett and punched him in the face.

"You know, I always thought I'd die to a dragon." These were the final coherent words of Everett Whitethorn, boy adventurer from Britain and last of his line. A flurry of blows. Blood everywhere. It was his own. Then there was the axe ...

And one final thought. "Bartholomew would be so disappointed with how my story ended."

Averi Coldgrove · Visitor Joined: 21 Mar 2012 Posts: 4

A guttural roar tore through the commons of Vesper.

“Mia Dezera!”

Who would dare to lay one useless and miserable finger upon her? How could I have trusted your judgement, Mia Dezera? You, who are little older than a child...I should never have left you to your plaything.

Everett Whitethorn, Averi spat. A waste of flesh as a human, and a disgrace to our kind as Kindred. My only consolation is knowing that he watched you die. Knowing that it ripped his soul from his body to watch your demise.

Averi splayed his hand against the center of the poster, shredding it with his nails as he ripped it from the wall. A woman approached him from behind – a short and pudgy lady with thick-rimmed spectacles and a cloud of blondish hair that spilled down from a carefully twisted bun. Had he been paying attention, he would have realized she was the first to happen along since his roar sent patrons scurrying in all different directions.

“There there, Lad.” She touched his arm and smiled warmly. “Friend of Miss Willowsong? They're good folk, you know - this Order, I mean. They certainly avenged her death in short order. It always hurts to lose someone, but she's in a better place now.” She hesitated, looking over his wild demeanour, then spoke tentatively. “Can I do anything to help ye? It's never easy to—“

Her words were cut short as skull, flesh, and brain splattered against the brick wall where the poster had hung. Averi released her throat and left the body convulsing and twitching on the cobblestones at his feet.

“I have no patience for searching out children with swords who play such games.” Averi crumpled the poster and tossed it into a barrel fire where protesters burned handbills to stay warm. “Therefore, I will bring them to me. And then I will slaughter them one by one, each in front of the other. Now they will know the meaning of pain and loss.”

Judas D'arc · Journeyman Joined: 27 Nov 2011 Posts: 140 Location: Yew

It was an ordinary weapon for an uncommon death. As Judas prepared to bring the large axe down upon the neck of his very willing victim, he paused to consider this intended as an act of compassion. He was at war with her kind, yet he hesitated to strike. Despite all the various outcomes he had imagined, this was one vampire he had never planned to harm ...

Of all the females of Draven's brood that the bard could claim acquaintance with, Raquel Blackrose of Trinsic had been the last to make a significant impression. Although a creature of darkness, she did not seem as comfortable amongst the shadows as her Lady Avella Isilian. He found her angelic features appealing, almost deceptively so, but she did not stir his loins to folly the way that Countess Isabella de Mor had. Her company was always quite pleasant, yet they had never formed the sort of instant friendship he had with Jolicia. And while she still sometimes grasped at her humanity, she failed to do so with the tragic nobility of Aurelia Bretane. It was not until moments before her death that Judas came to understand that defining quality which had previously escaped his notice. Raquel Blackrose excelled at something else entirely -- she possessed a certain courage unsurpassed by any mortal or vampire he had ever encountered.

Mere minutes prior, the two were plotting their upcoming journey to Ocllo to search for Lady Avella. Raquel had unresolved business with the one that had re-sired her, and she desired resolution no matter the cost. This purpose had motivated many of their recent discussions, and it was an objective that served the bard's plans quite well. Then, without any warning, the conversation, along with the demeanor of that angelic face, suddenly shifted.

"Would you change it, if you could?" The bard had asked her curiously. "And be what you were?

"I would be happy and normal," she revealed, almost sadly. "Enjoy a piece of pie. The touch of another. But not now."

Watching her, he thought he caught a glimpse of what once was. "So you would rather be like me than what you are? If so -- why do you plan to join with Avella, and cause such havoc?"

"To embrace what I am. No one can love a monster, so no need to be anything but that. Her blood makes me what I am. If it were different, then ..."

"Then what?"

"Judas," she said quietly, before surprising him with the request. "Kill me?"

It had certainly not been expected, but with the knowledge of what she was and everything that it entailed, it was something he could not refuse her. As much as he often hoped otherwise, death was a vampire's only guaranteed release, and enough of Raquel's soul remained for her to embrace that truth. She had defeated the monster inside of her.

"Don't forget about Ali," she reminded him, as he held her in his arms. She needed him to apologize to Alisiea on her behalf. Once, the two had been friends, until Raquel had betrayed the Gypsy Girl to torture at the hands of Avella.

"Of course not," he promised her. "Whenever you are ready."

"Now," she told him. The touch of his lips against her forehead brought a smile to her face. "I could have fallen in love with you, Judas."

"If I ever fall in love again, I hope whoever she is possesses half your courage."

"Even unto death you still flatter me," she smiled her final smile. "Do it now."

"Can you close your eyes?" He could not proceed with her gaze still upon him.

She did as he told her. "Thank you," she whispered softly.

Weapon in hand, the bard started to sing to her. He hoped to provide at least some small measure of comfort. It was not love, nor the touch she longed for, or even a piece of pie, but it was all that his mind was able to conjure. And once her song was over, he swung that damn axe as hard as he knew how ...

Averi Coldgrove · Visitor Joined: 21 Mar 2012 Posts: 4

All that remained was hunger. In three hundred years upon this soil, Averi Boschetto had not known such loss. Over one hundred years with a mate who would betray him with Averi's own sire. A coven of nearly thirty slain – executed along with his mate and his sire. And Averi bathed in the blood of the whole. Memories both fleeting and faded ran beneath his consciousness. None of them compared to this. Above the surface, only one thought.

Hunger.

Hunger for blood. Hunger for revenge. Hunger to find this Order who claimed responsibility for the death of his Dezera. Hunger to fill the jagged hole – this abyss of loss that existed within him. And above all, hunger for her – she who would never again walk this soil. She who had paid the final price for her transgressions against humanity.

He cared nothing for the boy whose body rotted to dust beside her. That waste of flesh was the reason for the loss which Averi now carried like a token, a favour given him by she for whom his soul had burned, and burned still.

“You have nice eyes.” Lara smiled, the compliment stirring him from his brooding reverie. She was beautiful. Young, and pure. Even now, she blushed. He traced his thumb along her jawline as his gaze penetrated hers.

“Grazie, Bella.” Averi smiled darkly, allowing his gaze to consume her. The tavern was busy. Voices ebbed and flowed, a constant variable that he pointedly ignored. The only other thing that held his attention in this forsaken human wasteland was the young lycan who sat against the wall. His mind scorched at the very thought of the things he would do to her, if not for the light brigade of self-appointed guardians around her. Not the least of his ideas ended in her entrails being strewn for the carrion birds of the forest. But not before he enjoyed every second of her dark and beautiful death.

The rush of fire in his mind consumed him. Averi grabbed up Lara by the throat and dragged her into the center of the room. He roared with bestial bloodlust and screamed a final demand.

“Bring me the Order of the Silver Sword!”

Forcefully, he kissed the girl, then he opened his maw and clenched it again, his fangs sinking into her throat as he ripped half of it away. The torrent of blood that filled his mouth intoxicated his senses. He let go of Lara's body, and it fell to the floor of the tavern, her crimson blood spilling around her like wine. What happened from that point forward was a blur of explosions and darkness, until he found himself kneeling in the grass, surrounded by a small group made up of faces he recognized – Judas, Paine, Jolicia – along with a human known only to him as Rosar. And, of course, the lycan.

The last time he had faced off with Judas, it had been to help him. A detail which had apparently not been missed by Judas, either. Averi's fate, it seemed, had been decided as the world spun darkly around him. Judas had little to offer him besides his choice of executioner, and one question.

“Why?”

Averi grimaced as he looked over the group. They did not deserve his answer. They could not fathom what had been taken from him. He spilled his words, both deceitful and pleading. For that was his question as well. Why? What purpose was served by her death? Why had the Order taken her from him? And in the end, he knew all the reasons why. In the end, none of them mattered.

Therefore, Averi arched a brow and leveled his gaze upon Alisiea. “I have chosen.”

Judas balked. The lycan hid behind Paine.

Averi cut his gaze darkly to Judas. “You gave me my choice. And I have chosen.”

He would soil her yet.

After far too much debate, the lycan hesitantly took up the axe, and Averi smiled.

“Swing for the fences!” Paine yelled, and backed away with the others to give her room. And to save themselves, should the axe go errantly awry.

But there was no saving himself. Not this time. As the axe began to fall, a relief befell him, unlike any he had ever known. The struggle was over.

Three hundred years was long enough.

Alisiea · Adventurer Joined: 14 Dec 2011 Posts: 36

Cookies are good. All cookies. Sugar cookies. Lemon Drops, Orange Wedges and Raspberry Swirls. But the best cookie of all, in my opinion - the “Queen” of all cookiedom, besides the Ginger Snap, which is like the Princess of cookiedom, has to be, hands down, in my opinion - the Oatmeal Raisin. Not too crunchy, not too soft. It fills my mouth with sweetness and makes me laugh. Makes me want to dance.

**********

When I cut off his head I didn’t know what to think. Actually I didn’t think at all. I didn’t even know the man, but they said he was a monster. He didn’t look like a monster, but then … neither do I. And some people might easily think I am a monster. It is right for one monster to kill another monster? I have killed monsters before and they did not look anything like this man. But he had killed a girl in front of everyone. Right there in the tavern. Tore her throat out with his teeth. Perhaps he really was a monster. He smiled at me earlier that night. Spoke to me … like She used to. He made me feel … funny.

“Choose.” They told him. “Choose the one who will destroy you.”

He chose me. Why me? They handed me the axe. A battle axe. I am not used to such a heavy weapon. Knives and Krisses fit my hands better and Fencing is like a dance anyway, so it suits me. But I took the axe, heavy as it was, and swung it at him. I would have done better with a knife or a kriss, but they insisted on the battle axe. I could have done better in my other body, could have torn him to pieces with my hands and teeth, but that would have put my friends in danger too. And that would have made me the monster. So I hacked at him …, hacked at him …, and hacked at him. And he did not fight back. He just stood there. When it was over I dropped the battle axe on the damp grass and walked away. I pushed it from my mind.

Later, when we returned to the tavern, I tried to talk to people. A pretty girl in a beautiful gown wanted to talk to me about things, pretty things, but all I heard was ringing in my ears. A great blood stain on the wood floor and the smell of death was everywhere. The room started to spin and I could feel my blood start to burn. I had to leave before it was too late.

I ran. I ran through the forest until my legs burned and my lungs could take no more. I fell to the ground next to a winding river of stars and would have plunged in to cool my raging blood but the curse took me before I could move.

The rest is a dark blur of smells and tastes I cannot identify. Did I kill? Did I destroy? Did I too, become a monster?

When I came back to Ashencrosse, whether it had been a day or two days I don’t know. But when I came back to Ashencrosse, to the Bramble Rose, they were there waiting for me. Waiting to make me laugh. Waiting to make me dance.

Those wonderful Oatmeal Raisin cookies.

Jolicia · Journeyman Joined: 01 Jan 2004 Posts: 288

Jolicia unfolded the poster and laid it out on the table in front of Judas, “I need a favor.”

He agreed to anything before she could even make the request. She knew this was partially from some guilt that he was still harboring and partially from their realization that they were two peas from the same pod in most aspects. Jolicia gave him a look of concern but still mustered up a smile, “Can we call them off Wolfwood?”

Judas glanced at her, “Why? And if you wish. It is more of an attempt at misdirection.”

Sighing heavily, “I've been informed that there might be something more than a friendship between him and Alana.”

Judas frowned, “Is she alright?”

Jolicia nods to him, “She's fine."

"It is done." Judas stated.

She looked to him with a small smile, "I just don't want her in any danger if it's avoidable.”

He gave her a reassuring squeeze, "Of course not."

Jolicia nods to him, "Thank you."

"How are you otherwise?"

Little did Judas know, the favor was actually the easy part of their conversation as Jolicia began to catch him up on recent events. While he didn’t have the smell, tusks, or broken language, Judas had taken the role of friend, confidant, and supporter over the last several weeks that was once handled by Grig’nag.

He listened to her quietly, looking like he was deep in thought as she went over the conversation she had with Balam and what her feelings about it where. Solemnly Judas offered to release her from her promise but she refused. Jolicia has broken the first promise she made to Judas and couldn’t help but feel that it was the moment when she broke it that led them to where they were now. No… She would keep her word and not do that again, for it meant too much to her. Besides, as she explained to him, it would not fix the situation that easily. There were other complications and things for her to think about.

Marcus Draven · Seasoned Veteran Joined: 21 Feb 2011 Posts: 324

The calls of birds in the night could be heard far off. Elsewhere in the world was full of those fast asleep as it was deep into the night. Yet in this room there was one whom was awake. It was easy enough to find the one before me. And as I moved towards the bedroom, only sleeping drunks in brown robes were near. I stood there for some time merely staring in silent rage at the one sleeping before me. It was them I blamed and this one shall suffer first. Looking over the room I see nothing but one of humble origins, there was little of note or value save from a strange looking pendant upon a table next to the bed. Family heirloom perhaps or just some trinket bought after saving a few gold coins. My eyes dart back to my target... I wanted so badly to tear this one apart and lay waste to this town after what they have done but no. Something far worse shall befall him this night...

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The sun finally began to creep over the crest of the seas edge. Slowly it rose into the sky just as it had many times before, yet this morning those who awoke with it would find another sight. As fast as I was, I could not cover the lands of Sosaria by myself. So with the help of those in my Coven our task has begun. Yet I was not about to sit aside and had taken 12 for myself. In every established city within Sosaria, were 4 dead bodies... Britain, Minoc, Skara Brae, Yew, Serpents Hold... all of them. 1 for each of my children whom were killed. Yet, if they were merely a few dead bodies they could easily be misunderstood for victims of rioters. No, this was to send a message. As per my instructions, those in my Coven conducted the same murders. In each city, 3 women and 1 man would be found near the brink of death and beyond hope of saving. Slowly, in each city around this world of humans the same site would be seen...

In a row the victims would be strung up. Some lay upon the battlements of the city, others outside their precious landmarks. Each victim had their arms outstretched, tied above them. Each of their legs also secured below them. There they would wait to be found by various mortals. Stripped naked and outstretched, they would be bled to near death. Not by the markings of fangs but by what rested upon their chest. Carved into the chest of each victim was a sword, stretching from a few inches below their neck all the way down to just below the navel. Blood would soak the ground by morning and just as the sunlight reached the various cities, the cries of the victims would slowly wake others just before their death. Below each set of victims, in each city would be the following in the blood of the victims...

For the MURDER of our kind, rest well Order of the Silver Sword

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

And now, for the second part... a lesson in obedience.

Marcus Draven · Seasoned Veteran Joined: 21 Feb 2011 Posts: 324

Dawn was mere hours away when I finally reached the outskirts of Ashencrosse. My journey from Umbra to this small Malas town of no real consequence was largely uneventful, although it seemed to take longer than my recollection had indicated. Perhaps this was because I had restricted my movements to the shadows, as those of my kind were wont to do, and avoided any unplanned encounters or unwanted witnesses. More likely, however, it was the overwhelming appetite for my chosen task that affected my perception of time. The hunger that raged inside was never completely quelled, but I knew that on this night of all nights, I would find myself as close to pure satisfaction as inhumanly possible. There were particular pleasures inherent to a random taste, yet I found the thrill of blood shed with purpose to be unrivaled. Tonight, my hunting grounds were within these wooden palisades, and every drop of precious crimson was contributed towards a lesson well earned. For this Ashencrosse provided safe haven to my fellow kindred, but the ones whose betrayal had remained unpunished for too long. They had turned their backs on our traditions, and shared secrets with those who should be considered our lessers. The old ways were essential for our very survival, and there must always be repercussions for such defiance.

Emerging from the darkness, I ventured forth into Ashencrosse, and began my hunt ...

********

It was much later, and I had yet to encounter any inhabitants of Ashencrosse. My patience was wearing thin, and it was increasingly difficult to disregard the hunger. Then suddenly, as I neared the northwest watchtower, I noticed a lone figure standing guard. If not for the illumination of his torch, I might not have spotted the man at all, but fortunately, he was too focused on what transpired outside, rather than inside, the fortress. I quickly returned to concealment, and a slight smile appeared upon my face as I crossed the distance between myself and the guardsman. A few minutes later, I was beneath the platform, and slowly and steadily, rung by rung, I ascended the wooden ladder. Still unnoticed, my head slowly emerged from below, and I took the full measure of my chosen target. He was olive skinned, with hair both long and dark, and also shirtless. His height was slightly above average, he possessed a thin, athletic build, and his stance reflected prior combat experience. While mortals might call him handsome, I was more inclined to call him an appetizer.

Licking my lips, I readied myself for the attack ...

********

I had first noticed them from the vantage point of the northwest guard tower. Maybe it had been their presence that had distracted the attention of the gypsy man that lay unmoving at my feet. After he was safely secured, I hastily departed Ashencrosse proper after the two that had so caught my eye. I waited hidden behind a tree until they passed, and then began to trail their patrol around the perimeter of the palisades. From a safe distance, I was able to make out their features -- one male, the other female. The auburn haired man carried himself a warrior, perhaps a knight or a mercenary, and I watched with amusement as his auburn pony tail bounced in rhythm with his steps. The dark haired woman was of a similar profession, although her movements were stiffened, as if inhibited by illness or injury. I could tell there was familiarity between the two, and the male's body language indicated clearly that he was interested in more than friendship. Mortals and their foolish desires. As I started to approach, I realized that unlike the guard at the watchtower, I recognized the faces of these two victims-to-be. This caused me brief hesitation, but only because it increased the anticipated enjoyment of holding their lives in my hands ...

********

I stood at the place where I had hidden the three that had fallen to me. The taste of their blood still lingered upon my lips, but my intentions were more than simple nourishment. I briefly toyed with adding to their number, but sunrise was near, and these three seemed quite sufficient for my purposes. Although this Order of the Silver Sword had managed to slay four kindred, only three of them had actually belonged to the Coven. Furthermore, the rebellious ones that dwelled within this place also numbered three. Most of Sosaria would ignore such distinctions or signs, but not the wayward children of Ashencrosse, or so I hoped. All that remained was determining the proper way in which to deliver the message I intended.

This was a town of virtue. Of knights and gypsies and unwanted strays. But what defined them, and bound such an eclectic citizenry together? Where could I hurt them most? The most significant landmark was the Bramble Rose Theatre. Ashencrosse was not content with a mere tavern or a pub, even a simple drink required potential exposure to high culture. And if it was drama they craved ...

... then perhaps it was time I staged a show of my own?

Cezanne Abella · Seasoned Veteran Joined: 24 Apr 2009 Posts: 475

Death had come to Ashencrosse.

There was no question – no denial strong enough to convince her otherwise. The scent hung thick in the air at the entrance of the Bramble Rose. Visceral scents - blood and bile – so thick that Cezanne could nearly taste them. If not for her panic and haste to discover what had been done, she would have retched and emptied her gut the moment she crossed the threshold.

The theatre was darkened, and the new-heralded sun had yet to rise far enough above the mountains to illuminate the room. With trembling hands, Cezanne lit a candle, then swiftly moved the flame from candle to candle, spreading light throughout the room.

Cezanne gasped, horror-stricken as the scene unfolded before her. Swiftly she knelt to light the lamps at the foot of the stage, and she lifted her gaze. Three bodies hung in front of the curtains, arms stretched above them, and feet fastened securely below. All three were stripped naked, and painted crimson with the blood that had gushed from the carvings down each torso: a sword each, carved deep into their flesh. The bodies seemed to be bled out, their vitae covering the stage beneath them. Two men, and a woman.

Tentatively, she lifted her candle and stood, her skirts soaked in blood from where she had knelt. She recognized the faces of the fallen. On the left, the knight Malidian. On the right, Agostino the gypsy. And hanging in the center, Eclyse Christian, Lady Knight of Ashencrosse.

Paine Drakul · Visitor Joined: 02 May 2012 Posts: 3

Paine strolled casually around the bloodstained wall of the Rose. Though the bodies had been removed the stench still filled the air. There was no fear nor anger that filled The Slayer, Just the lingering aura of something abnormal. To him the targets were indeed random, But it was the markings that intrigued him the most.

It would seem The Silver Sword was working out, However more so than expected. The bite marks on the bodies were a rather blatant calling card in his eyes. Not many Vampires would be arrogant enough to reinforce the truth of their existence in such a public way. He had come across similar stories of this in other cities over the past few days.

But this was where the killer had messed up. Logic always trumped Emotion and Drama in Paine's mind. Out of all the victims taken by The "Sword", Only one of them had an actual connection. Unlike Averi and Dezera. The lingering sensation reinforced his suspicion.

"Arrogance and Vengeance have finally brought you out of hiding....It's a shame it happened this way. However now I have reason for your head....." Paine slowly strolled out of The Rose. He had little time to waste... Judas had to be informed of what transpired...

The veil of The masquerade had been pulled down violently. It wouldn't take long now, The End was near....