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[Lady Avella]

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Avella lay entwined in the strong, experienced arms of a Paladin Lord of Trinsic. His well appointed, yet modest, estate sat in a wooded area not far from the walls of the great city. A small reflecting pool in the courtyard outside, cast reflected moonlight on the stuccoed ceiling of the bedroom. The gentle gurgle of a fountain lent itself to the atmosphere of quiet solitude along with the steady breathing of the man as he slept. Avella lay on her back watching the silver reflection of water dance across the ceiling and thought of … nothing.

The lovemaking had been intense. She feigned weakness to allow him every opportunity to use his physical strength to subdue her as their bodies battled for control. She used every ounce of self-control to repress her natural instinct to bleed him dry. For all the world the lovemaking had been bloodless and for a time, for the briefest of moments, she was human once more.

Turning on her side she watched the steady rise and fall of the man’s chest and tilted her head as her gaze fell upon the blue, pulsing vein in his neck. His heartbeat slowed as he fell deeper and deeper into sleep. Below them, in the gardens and sitting rooms of the shadowed house, lay the bloodless, soulless bodies of his servants. Their slack-jawed corpses staring at eternity. Their souls firmly in the hands of the Daemon Lord. She had sated her thirst shortly after her arrival and watched as the Dire Wolf took their souls. The great wolf now lay just outside the bedroom door, his body returned to vitality and the stinging horde of flies and maggots gone. Avella too regained her stark, unnatural beauty and youthful appearance that her self-imposed starvation had stolen from her. In all, it had been a good night.

She smiled as the man turned over in his sleep and mumbled something. Running a finger down his spine she grinned as he flinched and moaned softly. Oh, how she envied mortals. Their short lives allowing them to live deeply and feel deeply. Allowing them to taste the intensity of love or battle knowing, full well, this could be their last moment. How long had it been? Three, four hundred years since Draven took her? And he, six-hundred years before her? She was dead to him now and him to her. For the Kindred, there was little room for compromise and no room at all for forgiveness. Now, with their numbers dwindling, most to ash, some to Torpor and others … somehow others found a way to regain their mortality … through Magick or potions, she neither knew nor cared to know. Now after all this time, Avella stood as one of the last of her kind.

“We are what we are and nothing more.” She whispered.

She had, long ago, accepted what she had become. And her recent allegiance to the Daemon Lord only served to enhance that undeniable truth. But she yearned for a taste, if only briefly, of her former life and this yearning drove her, at times, to commit the most heinous crimes imaginable. Not out of hatred for the mortals but out of jealousy and envy. She lay on her stomach and slid one leg over the back of the sleeping Paladin. She could feel the warmth of his body against her inner thigh and ran a finger through his dark, unruly hair.

“Why does your kind fear me so?” she whispered. “Why do they hate me so?”

“Because,” the Daemon Lord answered. “Because you remind them of their own mortality. You, who are immortal, possess that which they long for and often struggle to achieve without success. You are their failure in the flesh. The irony is; they would rather face a shorter life and die in agony than become what you have become even as they would gladly sell their souls for a chance at immortality. Instead they war upon each other and leave destruction in their wake. They murder, enslave, imprison, and leave a legacy of violence for their heirs. Their politics is one of conquest and their idea of compromise comes at the point of a sword or a spear. They place golden crowns upon their heads and proclaim themselves King while all the while cursing the likes of you for being what you are. Pity them. Do not envy them my child. Pity them and take from them what you will, for they are born into the servitude of death.”

Avella rolled onto her back and sighed deeply. She would have to be content to wander through the ages alone. To have these tiny moments of warmth and mortality scattered throughout the endless stretch of time that had become her prison. She lay musing over these thoughts when the Dire Wolf approached. His fire-red eyes peered up at her as he whimpered his hunger. Avella did not need to see him to know what it was he wanted.

“Not this one,” she stated. “This one shall live for he pleases me and I wish to keep him whole. For a little while at least.”

The wolf retreated into the deeper shadows. Avella turned and kissed the sleeping Paladin only once upon his brow then floated from the bed and dressed. Moments later she stood outside the house staring up at the open window. The Dire Wolf tugged at her skirt, wishing to renew the hunt. Reluctantly, she turned and drifted into the night.

[Lady Avella]

---

Oh how the evening sang. A cacophony of sounds, scents and voices. Humans and non-humans gathered together for the sake of companionship and polite conversation. How dreadfully quaint. Yet, at the same time, how exciting, titillating and filled with promise. The Daemon Wolf too felt the pull. The tug and promise of unblemished souls. His tongue lolled lazily from the side of his jaw as she chose a table in a far corner. Service, she was told, was through a man behind the bar. She ordered the finest wine available and returned to her seat.

Avella had never been fond of pretense or playing at the Masquerade. For this failing she had been severely punished time and time again and then forgiven time and time again by her former master. Let the lesser of her kind play at romance and gamble in the business affairs of mortals. Hers was a more immediate need. Taking out the recently removed heart of a young Trinsic Officer of the Watch, she squeezed its contents into the bottle of vintage wine. She was not above such things; not when the natural flow of sustenance was somewhat slowed or, in this case, overlooked. She had always, up until this night, carried vials of pure Trinsic blood for just such emergencies, but for some reason, she had left Nujel’m without them. Was it not the Island’s Governors duty to remind his guest when she was forgetful? Or was it that little palace servant who packed her bag? Avella huffed as she wrung the remaining droplets from the bloody organ. Smiling, she fed the remains to Cerberus who swallowed it whole, then lovingly licked clean her hands.

“You see?” She whispered. “Life can be so simple at times it almost hurts.”

The gleam in her eyes the only indication of her mocking sarcasm.

Turning back to her drink, she was about to partake of the now sanctified wine, when a woman approached. Ciebrius turned to take in the vision of a fresh soul and lowered his head in anticipation. A touch from the hand of his mistress calmed him and, for the moment, the Daemon was stilled. The woman introduced herself as Deminatza and, of all things, invited Avella to join her and her companions at a table across the room. Glancing in that direction, Avella politely declined, but then snapped her gaze back to the table in question.

There sat Judas deep in conversation and next to him sat the darling Jolicia. Avella frowned slightly. How had she missed seeing them when she first arrived? Judas’s scent, at least, should have stood out immediately for she had, that night in Moonglow, tasted his blood and found it … appealing. Perhaps it was the overlaying scent of Lycan still lingering in the air that masked his own. That, coupled with the stress of her immediate desire, could have contributed to the error. Regardless, as she returned to her drink, the woman remained standing at her table. Avella sipped the newly consecrated Bloodwine and glanced at the woman. Was it foolish curiosity that compelled this woman to remain or was it something more? Draining the goblet, Avella counted to five. The woman remained. Now it was Avella’s turn to feel the twinge of curiosity. Either the woman was insane, in which case her blood would be tainted and unpalatable or; some other game was at play.

“Please, do sit. Join me.” Avella invited. The irony of the invitation struck her as amusing.

The woman sat and Avella, to her surprise, felt suddenly aroused. The woman asked and received Avella’s introduction. Her manner was polite, polished, and well practiced as they chatted of things incidental. The name Deminatza lingered at the back of Avella’s mind like a gnawing memory. Clouded in centuries of blood-lust and Torpor. Long histories hinted at by the Daemon Lord. Things known to the undead and the unborn only to be forgotten with the passage of time. Mortals had no idea of the complexity of immortality and the dangers of remembering too much. Thus the mind clouds itself; more for its own protection than for the knowledge contained therein.

The conversation remained polite. The topics incidental. The night wore on. Then Judas interrupted and offered to escort Deminatza home. Sweet, sweet, Judas. Deemed himself protector of all who fell within his orbit. With subtitles of danger and hints of retribution, he word-sparred with Avella as though he was immune or had somehow been granted special dispensation. She would acquiesce, for now, but her patience with him was wearing thin.

A fond remembrance with Jolicia who spoke without permission. But alas, she was no longer Kindred thus rendering the scolding meaningless. Still, the rosy blush of mortal life having returned to her cheeks by way of Magick or of potions, made her all the more … delightful.

The night now ended, Avella took her leave, but her eyes lingered upon the woman called Deminatza and, even as she stepped upon the portal stone, Avella smiled and ran her tongue across her fangs.

[Lady Avella]

---

Avella’s nails bit deep into the young man’s flesh as she gripped him from behind. She held him close letting her cold body absorb his human heat. Her right arm pressed around his midsection held him in a vice while her left hand gripped his face. She was the predator, the raptor and he; her prey.

“Do not struggle my brave Knight of Trinsic. Relax. Allow yourself this brief moment of pleasure.”

Her voice was silk and she slid it in his ear so to bend his will to hers.

“Relax, my pet,” she soothed and whispered. She could feel his body begin to let go.

“Yessss, that’s it,” she hissed. “Now, tell me where she is.”

The young man coughed and winced as her nails bit deeper into his face. Blood oozed from the wounds and trickled down his neck to disappear beneath his tunic. Avella flexed her hand in response to the warm liquid against her palm and her nails struck bone. The young man jerked from the pain then cried out as a rib cracked. She shifted her voice until he heard his mother’s words of comfort.

“There is no pain, my love. No pain.”

The young knight relaxed and Avella tilted his head to the left as she slid her hand up and over his scalp to dig her nails into his right temple. Her eyes flashed at the pulsing vein.

“Tell me where she is, my pet, and I will grant you such sublime pleasure as to forget all the loves your heart has ever found.”

The young man’s voice cracked as he spoke. Tears filled his eyes as he suddenly became aware of his fate. The Daemon Wolf, sitting before him, licked its muzzle and lowered its head in anticipation. Its fire-red eyes flashed as it sensed the man's fear.

“I swear to you Milady, I saw her in Magincia this very night. I know not where she traveled after, but she left with a man. The man appeared to be drunk.”

Avella hissed and the Wolf growled.

“I expected more from you, my pet.” She whispered in the young man’s ear. “But, alas, I find only disappointment and failure.”

Her eyes met the wolves and the Daemon Lord writhed in pleasure at the thought of another soul filling his belly; adding to his power.

For the briefest of moments Avella’s face softened and her beauty stunned the Wolf causing him to blink. But only for the briefest of moments, for when the Wolf looked again, Avella had sunk her fangs deep into the young knight’s neck. The mans body jerked and flailed as his artery erupted in a spray of thick red liquid that flooded her mouth only to seep out and drip from her lips and chin. The Daemon Wolf stepped towards the dying man whose struggling body slowed. The odd sucking sound stopped as Avella withdrew her fangs and began licking the blood from the mans neck in long, slow laps. She shivered with delight and her eyes rolled back white. She tilted her head back and ran her hands over her face and chest pulling the errant blood towards her mouth where she licked her fingers clean.

The body of the young Knight of Trinsic fell in a quivering heap at her feet. Only seconds from death his body jerked as his muscles released their pent up energy. The Wolf stood over him gazing into the dying man’s eyes.

**********

In the dimension known to some as Hell and to others as the Pit and to others still as the Abyss, the Daemon Lord sat upon his throne grinning with delight as the Wolf appeared before him holding the limp skin of the young man’s soul in its teeth. The voice of the Lord of the Abyss echoed across the empty spaces of time and hopelessness.

“You have done well my pet. But there is much yet to do before I can rise from this chair. Go, return to your Mistress and guide her on the I path set down for her when I took her from her long slumber and made her into something stronger than she was. Obey me in all these things and your reward shall be great indeed.”

The Wolf bowed its head and vanished into smoke.

[Lady Avella]

---

“When an animal is terrified it rears back its head and you can see the whites of its eyes. It does not have to speak for one to understand it plea. Humans are much the same…their eyes get very wide and they lean away from their captor as if pleading for mercy while, at the same time, recognizing their doom. I find it very fascinating.”

Avella gripped the girl by the throat as she leaned close explaining this observation. The girl, pinned against the wall of the Abby, struggled for words.

“You …” she coughed, “You are hated and ….”

“Yes, yes.” Avella interrupted. “We know all that. ‘Hated.’ ‘Despised.’ ‘Evil incarnate.’ It’s all the same to you isn’t it. So simple. So neatly arranged in an easy to understand format. Your mortal lives all laid out before you like new clothes. Birth, adolescence, love, marriage, children, old age; Death.”

She released the girl who crumpled to the floor and quickly scurried into a corner where she pressed herself against the stones.

Avella paced the small chamber. The Dire Wolf, sitting against the only door that offered a way out, followed his mistress’s movements with his eyes.

“Death.” Avella stated as she came to a stop. “Now there’s something I truly understand.” She spun on the girl and pointed a black-nailed finger at her.

“Do you have any idea how difficult it is for me to have even the most basic conversation with anyone? Do you? I cannot even enter a tavern without someone getting on their high and mighty and cursing my name or calling me out. For as long as morals have walked the earth you would think they might just be able to pay a tiny bit of attention to things around them. You would think they understood … I only hunt in Trinisc…I am very selective and rather meticulous in my choices. But do they? No. No, they have to organize noble quests to eradicate evil from the land while never once realizing that its they who are the real evil.”

Avella straightened and glared down a the girl.

“Death is not forever, girl. I would advise you keep that close to your heart as you stumble through what is left of your mortal life.”

The Dire Wolf lowered its gaze and growled as it took in the girl’s features.

“SILENCE DOG!” Avella spat. “I may yet decide to let this one live.”

The Wolf settled back against the door, clearly unhappy. Avella turned back to the girl.

“Now then,” she said as she hoisted the girl by the hair and dragged her towards the door. “Now then, you are free to go … but … I want you to remember this night as the night Lady Avella let you live. Let this serve as a reminder of …”

Avella sliced a fingernail across the girl’s cheek drawing a thin line of dark red blood that she licked clean with single, slow lap of her tongue. Her eyes faded to white and rolled back in her head. The Trinsic girl winced. A moment later Avella’s countenance returned to its former appearance.

“… As a reminder of just how close you came to death. Now go, and be quick about it for my thirst has yet to be sated.”

Throwing open the door the girl ran down the corridor and out into the torch-lit hallways of the Abby. Avella stood in the open doorway and watched the girl run; her black eyes shining in the dim light. She smiled as the Dire Wolf nudged her hand with its snout.

“Yes, yes, my pet. I know. There is much work yet to be done and we have a long way to go before it is finished.”

[Lady Avella]

---

Mountains rise.
Shoved up by the violent earth
They form the walls that divide nations.

Mountains fall.
Worn down by wind and rain they become sand
To fill the hourglasses that count down
The minutes of our lives; the centuries of our desires.

The hell-fire screech of Daemons fills these halls with rancor and despise.
The sound of battle rages beyond these walls.
Beyond this coffin that has become my prison.

They have come for me.
They have driven out the Daemons that defile my House
They come for me. They will release me.
I can smell their blood, sweet, rich.

Michael, my beloved Paladin. What bargain have you struck to sever these bonds
That hold me fast to this, my sacred earth?

Judas, my pet. My breasts still rise at the thought of your
Hands upon them. How my tongue tingles from the memory of your blood.
That night when the monks of the Lyceum lay sleeping
Did you find my kiss too cold or my lust too hot?

The girl, once Kindred, now human. How young she was when first we met.
How innocent of the means by which we live. How strong she has become.
Does she know my pet? Does she suspect?

A Drow. What more can be said on that account? Your blood is poison to my kind
And yet you stand with this most unlikely crew
To drive away a common enemy.

I will find the means to forge a pact with these most unlikely heroes.
My House will set aside its blood-lust on their behalf
For they have come to break the shackles this Daemon
Placed upon this House when I failed his one request.

There. The wards removed.
Now release me my Beloved Paladin
And let us finish the task at hand and drive these Daemons
Forever from these halls.

But wait. What treachery is this?
The final ward that holds me remains in place.
No release. No alliance.

I am lifted up, carried aloft on the shoulders of my own beloved
Taken from my home to a distant land.
I hear the waves of ocean lap against the shore
The cry of Wyverns and the lonely
Moan of the longboat lost.

Down beneath the earth where all is silent
All is still. What remains is obvious to those who
Can see beyond their own convictions.

There, the final ward removed.
The lid released and lifted off. But still
No freedom yet, for in that instant when the light of day
Floods the entrance to the soul; a silver dagger takes its place.

Driven true it finds the heart and I am forced to laugh for
Behind the dagger’s hilt stands the girl who once was mine, sneering her contempt.
How fitting that any child or childer should rise against their maker
As I rose against my own. The poetry of justice finds its mark.

How fitting that it is she who wields the blade. How fitting that it is he
Who carried me to this dark and silent place. How thankful I am it is a silver blade
And not the wood of Yew that pierces this vacant heart.

The mountains rise. The mountains fall.
My vengeance sleeps in quiet solitude, but not forever, not for long,
For even as the winds and rains howl against the solid earth
And grind away to sand that which fills the hourglass
I wait,
For I am not the last,
For I am not …

Alone.

[Hawk]

---

As Michael Hawk makes his way down to his Mistresses’ resting place, his thoughts are on the rioters. The riots have been going on far too long, and the prison has become far too unstable. Nine attacks thus far have occurred to free their fellow rioters. If our kind ruled, this would have ended long ago and peace returned to the land. But the humans plead, bargain, negotiate, counter propose and fight resolving nothing.

There marshal law is weak as the flimsy parchment it is inked on. It would only take ten to twelve of our kind to end this in a day.

Michael stops suddenly in his tracks, sensing something wrong. The air is different, the smell has changed. The smell of death lingers in the air, resent death.

Michael quickens his pace faster than any human could move; he makes his way through the passages he knows all too well, making this trek every six hours to check on his queen. As his moves down the passage he finds bodies of men littering the way. He can tell by their faces how they meet their demise, sill and haggard looking, drained of all blood, the fear clearly on their face.

Michael reaches the final turn and stops dead. There are four bodies lying where once his queen’s casket had been. Scattered on the floor are pickaxes and shovels and a hole above where they had dug out of the prison. Looking for tracks, his eyes spots two things of interest, the first is the silver dagger that once called his queen’s heart its home. The second is two set of women’s foot prints in the dirt.

Michael removes a bag from one of the dead men and scoops up the dagger, making sure he himself does not touch the vile thing. He turns and makes his way back the way he came. He mutters to himself on the way out; “Judas is not going to like this bit of news!” He smiles and works his way back to the surface, once there; he makes his way towards Britain.