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Post by Judas D'arc on Nov 25, 2012 10:28:49 GMT -5
"Marcus Draven is a complete bastard," Judas thought to himself, and not for the first time that afternoon, as he waited outside Trinsic's Keg and Anchor. Last night's decision to visit the Mazewood Tavern had been a spontaneous one, yielding far more than he could have expected. There were many friendly faces present, and he was glad to reconnect with some of them, if even only briefly. It was a stark reminder of everything that had been abandoned after he departed Yew all those weeks ago. Not that his current circumstances found him lonely; in fact, his small circle always seemed to be expanding. In addition to Paine, Quinn, Alisiea, and Cole, both Jolicia and the newcomer Aingeal had repeatedly called upon their abandoned Trinsic mansion. No one had forced Judas down his current path, but he could not begrudge himself a momentary respite from all his plans and scheming.
Except that moment was suddenly over. Mere minutes after his arrival, he spotted them together, sharing alcohol and pleasantries: Countess Aurelia Bretane and Lord Marcus Draven. Outside the fancies of his imagination, Judas had not gazed upon Aurelia's face since the morning that followed their final night together. Draven was also often in his thoughts, though for far different reasons. They had met only once before -- the time the Vampire Lord stole away his memories and placed the curse that almost destroyed his mind. Although now cleansed of the creature's darkness, the scars of their encounter never seemed to fade. The bard quickly searched for the girl Raven, and drowned himself in two of the three ales that she provided. He then took a deep breath and slowly approached the table in question. However, his liquid courage proved unnecessary when Mairead, a woman he had once assisted in New Haven, invited him to join them.
He struggled to play his part, relying upon his usual tricks to probe while also revealing as little of himself as possible. Nothing else in the room mattered to Judas but the strained exchange that occurred between the three. Aurelia appeared sad and quiet, and he knew he had only himself to blame for that. Draven, in addition to being an evil, powerful, ancient vampire, was apparently an elitist as well. Throughout the discussion, he made numerous references to class and station, and seemed displeased at the bard's more colorful commentary about the nobility of Sosaria. But even more important than taking the measure of his hated enemy, Judas was able to confirm that the vampire was still unaware of his mind's restoration. For if that truth was ever uncovered, then all would be lost.
Later, after most of the patrons had vanished, Judas and Aurelia slipped away to the garden upstairs. It was the first piece of privacy they had shared in weeks, and they --
" 'uck me arse an' call me Bri'ish," a loud voice rudely interrupted his reminiscing outside the Keg and Anchor. It was followed by an equally intrusive hiss of laughter. "If i' ain' Ju'as o' Yew. Ain' 'ead yet, eh?"
Judas had little knowledge of Dwarven race, and was not entirely certain of their existence. But if they were merely creatures of myth and legend, then the short, round, and balding merchant that stood before him was likely the closest they might ever come to be. "Tubbins," he nodded.
"Cubbins," the new arrival corrected with a growl. "S'ill go' tha' smar' mouf, eh?"
"And you still as pleasant as ever," the bard replied, barely comprehending his conversational partner's mangling of the common tongue.
"Enou' o' the small 'alk," Cubbins garbled, before gesturing to the sickly, stunted llama that accompanied him.
"And I finally get to meet your wife," Judas bowed politely to the animal. "A pleasure."
"'unny man. 'ou wan' 'er s'uff or no'?" the merchant asked, not bothering to conceal his irritated tone. "Is all 'ere."
The fat man spoke true. Inside the large bundle fastened securely to the llama's back, the bard found everything he had asked for, and nothing more. A fine silver ankh necklace. A sharply honed silver dagger inside an ornate leather sheath. A pair of shackles, one also pure silver, the other strong Minoc steel. And a matching metal collar with chain attachment that completed each set.
"'ou buil'in' a dun'eon?"
"Something like that," Judas answered with all the nonchalance he could muster, and then carefully removed a small vial that contained a thick, black substance. "Was this prepared as requested?"
Cubbins nodded, his pig eyes flashing something akin to concern. "Tha' ain' fer 'ou I 'ope? I's dang'rous s'uff. Addic'ive. I dun seen wha' it kin do a man a'fore."
"Since when is my well-being your concern?"
The merchant shrugged. "A payin' cus'omer now. We dun 'ere?"
"One more thing," he turned from the llama back to its owner. "I need you to deliver a message to Shelley."
"Shelley's 'ead," Cubbins stated plainly. Neither his expression nor his movements betrayed the lie.
"Perhaps her name is, but I know her mind and body still live. And I need you to bring this to her." The bard then removed a small scroll from within his sleeve and handed it over.
The merchant slowly unraveled the scroll and began to read it over. Judas was almost surprised, he did not figure the man for literate. A few strained minutes later, and he put the parchment down. "I ain' 'ever 'heard o' 'em. 'is fer real?"
"When does fiction become fact?" The bard riddled in response. "When is a story no longer a story?"
"Eh?" Cubbins asked blankly.
"When we make it real," Judas offered with a slight smile, and no further explanation.
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Post by Judas D'arc on Nov 26, 2012 12:07:28 GMT -5
It was years ago, and things were different then.
"Come, bard -- tell me a story," he demanded, attempting to focus his alcohol-infused vision on the old man. His black hair barely reached his shoulders, and he was incapable of a growing a beard to cover his youthful features, but this was undeniably Judas. A few hours before dawn, and the Blue Boar of Britain was almost entirely empty, with the exception of the tavern staff and the two patrons seated at the small table.
“Lad, I'm no bard," the other patron replied, strongly emphasizing that last word. "By the look of that lute you carry, you're far more qualified than I." The old man was well past his fortieth year, perhaps even his fiftieth. He had kind blue eyes, a neatly trimmed moustache, and his long, gray hair was tied back in a ponytail. It was probable that he had seen fighting in his day, as he was tall and muscular and moved like a warrior. Despite the below average condition of his clothing and deflated coin purse, he possessed a certain noble quality , in the way he spoke and held himself.
Judas smiled slightly at his elder's courtesy and then lifted his lute. He struck the strings randomly, creating a jarring and uncomfortable sound. After the next try earned an angry glare from the tavern keeper, he lowered the instrument. "As you can see, my current state does not allow me to play properly," the drunken bard explained. He then took another quick swig from his ale bottle. "I think it falls on you to provide the entertainment."
"Aye, I believe then it does," the old man nodded in agreement. "Let me see. You're a young man, stories of war are probably your interest."
Judas shook his head.
"Perhaps a tale of love to inspire your heart. The sun has not yet arrived, and you've still a chance to find a woman to warm your inn bed."
Judas shook his head once more.
"Then what is your preference?" the other asked, nearing impatience.
"Tell me a story," Judas spoke before reaching for another sip. He suddenly smiled again, in reaction to the flicker of what his inebriated mind perceived as clever. "Tell me a story that will sober me up."
"Powerful enough to move men to sobriety," the old man smirked, before pausing to consider the bard's challenge. "Yes, I believe I do have the tale for you."
During the course of the telling, he was interrupted only once, when Judas mistook a gathering of thoughts for an abrupt ending. "Quite the interesting tale," the drunken bard commented. "I must remember it for the next time I seduce a man's wife."
The old man was unamused. "I'm not yet done. There's more to come."
"There is more to come," Judas repeated. "That is good, because I am currently far from sober."
“The impatience of youth,” the old man remarked, before continuing. It was almost dawn when he looked at his audience of one to indicate completion.
"Alright, and then what happened?" The bard inquired curiously. As promised, his interest had been captured, and he had even began to retreat from his drunken state.
“Nothing."
“What do you mean, nothing?!"
“I apologize, lad, but that is how it ends.” The old man plainly stated.
“Then your story needs some work. All stories must have their beginning, middle, and then an ending. Not a difficult concept. Have the son grow to manhood and then return to Trinsic seeking proper vengeance on the villains. Predictable, but at least a conclusion."
"The story has not reached its conclusion,” the old man explained. “It continues as we speak."
********
Years had come and gone, and things were different now. His black hair was well past his shoulders, and a beard covered features no longer quite so youthful. There was a different brand of ale in his hand, and instead of a Britain tavern, Judas stood quietly in the front room of the abandoned Trinsic mansion that he and his friends currently occupied. It was almost strange to him, how he had grown older, yet the old man from the Blue Boar appeared so much younger. The artist had captured his image perfectly, the same noble expression and strong, broad shoulders, but without a touch of gray to his fine black hair and moustache. Still, Judas would never have recognized the face in the hanging portrait, except for those kind blue eyes. No amount of years could ever change them.
All of his suspicions had been right. This was the old man's home...
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Post by Jolicia on Nov 27, 2012 13:05:23 GMT -5
Orcs… Jolicia thought to herself as she waited for the rescue party to get ready. This new breed was nothing like her old friend... Her mind drifting off to the time she spent at Grig’nag’s shak and how she had to swear not to wander outside because of his clan. He warned her repeatedly that not all Orcs were like him and she needed to be careful. Slipping a further into her daydream, she sees the hammock hanging in the corner and her many trials and tribulations with the damn thing.
Her hands begin to shake again, snapping her out of the trance, and she quickly gripped them together under the table. “Jolicia?” Judas called out to her to see if she’d be joining them on their mission. She gave him a small nod and tried to compose herself as the evening brought on more memories than just her old friend… This was not the first time the girl, Alisiea, had gotten herself kidnapped by the Orcs and as the group left for the Orc fort, the words from the past encounter played through Jolicia’s mind.
Victory. The group was tending to Alisiea, looking over her injuries as Jolicia sat in the dining area. She was unsure if it was the battle, the memories, or her growing inability to keep the hunger at bay but she was on the verge of losing herself. It wasn’t safe for her or the others to be in the house right now, but Judas had insisted. To make matters worse, Cole sat down across the table to make sure she was alright. She peered at him from under the brim of her hat, Is Judas insane? As Cole’s scent hit her, Jolicia clinched her hands even tighter, the shaking picking back up. About to snap, she heard her name and saw Judas standing in the doorway. Slowly she stood up from the table and walked past the boy, hesitating a moment while next to him but then quickly moved on.
Jolicia almost said a small praise as she drank the entire contents of the bottle quickly. She knew more would be needed soon, but this would help for the moment. It would at least make her capable of helping the others get Alisiea to the forest. Being a little more aware now though, it was clear that something was up with Judas. Perhaps just injuries from the battle, she thought, but she would make sure to ask when they returned to house.
As it turned out, Jolicia wasn’t the only one paying attention that evening. Judas had noticed her behavior, the shaking, and began to question her. She tried to relay the feelings that were happening earlier, how close she was to embracing the inner daemon… and why. She even went so far as to point out the similarities with what Alisiea was off doing. Judas continued to push though, wanting to know what happened last time. Jolicia tried to deter him but as always he was persistent and she felt weak, so with a heavy sigh she told him what she had done that night.
As their talk continued, there were moments that she heard a bit of her old friend’s sentiments, but Judas was far pushier. He pushed more until the tension and Jolicia’s hunger escalated beyond what she could handle. Eyeing the silver ankh around his neck, she quickly grabbed it and tore it away. The intense burning in her palm was more than she anticipated. She winced in pain, a small scream escaping her lips, and quickly threw the ankh across the room. The burning lingered still as she held her hand tightly and looked up to see almost a look of amusement on Judas’ face as he spoke, “Are you going to take what you want now?”
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Post by Judas D'arc on Nov 28, 2012 17:01:27 GMT -5
They watched Judas with deep suspicion as he entered their filthy Trinsic alleyway. With the haste in which they each assumed their defensive postures, one might have believed that the three men stood guard over the Royal Treasury, rather than merely protecting their tattered rags and dead-rat supper roasting over the small fire. As he drew closer, the bard had little doubt that these dead-eyed vagrants had been trapped in such circumstances long before the discontent and rioting that currently plagued the kingdom.
"Hail friends," Judas greeted them, as pleasantly as possible.
"We ain't your friends," The shortest of the three attempted a warning. "Leave us be."
"Wait," the one with the severe skin condition suggested. "His clothes look new. And he still has all his teeth. Mayhaps he is a nobleman. Mayhaps he has gold to spare."
"A voluntary donation," the first speaker said in agreement.
"Or an involuntary injury," threatened the third, a tall man with a thick neck.
"Well, I am no nobleman," the bard flashed a smile. "But I might be interested in parting with some gold. That is, if you are willing to help me in return? Think of it as a business proposition."
"What sort of business?" The shortest man skeptically inquired. "What you want us to do?"
"It is quite simple," Judas replied as he reached inside his pack. A few seconds later, he carefully pulled out a small flask filled with thick black liquid. "Drink up ... and make merry."
********
His hands still shaking, Judas carefully opened the doors to Trinsic's Encyclopedia Magicka. He slowly stepped inside, one uncertain step followed by another. It was starting to affect him. The first week had passed without complication, an occasional dryness in his mouth, some loss of appetite, and the uneasy dreams of sleep inconsistent. A minor sacrifice, or so he had told himself, when he had casually dismissed Cubbins' earlier words of warning. But now he could feel it inside him -- crawling beneath his skin, whispering into his ear, the temptation of one small sip for a moment's peace. Yet the day before had ended with the taste of victory, and the long-awaited confirmation of a theory he held about those he hunted. Certainly that could justify the suffering. Both his and hers.
Of course, he was less pleased that Alisiea had been tortured and stolen away by Orcs, or about the bargain he had entered into with the Fae creature Bunny-Man. An unknown favor to be named at a future date in exchange for his assistance. This did not sit well with a man like Judas, but at least his Gypsy Girl was now safe, rescued by a hastily assembled group that had also included Paine and those of Ashencrosse. Alisiea was recuperating in the forests of Malas, which was the bard's next destination once he completed the last of his Trinsic errands. The first had involved paying a visit to Rowland the Tinker to repair his silver ankh amulet. It had been ripped from his neck by Jolicia in the midst of her late night blood lust, and he no longer felt himself without its presence. As for the second task...
"You have returned for more," the Herbalist inside the Encyclopedia Magicka observed as he approached.
"Of course," Judas forced a smile as he concealed his still trembling hands behind his back.
"Does your purpose remains the same?"
"Nothing has changed," the bard assured the woman, before proceeding with a question of his own. "Why is it you hate them so?"
"Is motive necessary to despise that which we know is wrong?" She asked, almost too calmly.
"Yet with you, I get the impression it is personal."
"Then your instincts are keen," the Herbalist stated and then began her tale. "My father was a guardsman here for many years. During this time, our city saw many masters. Lord British, the factions that struggled for control of once we were Felucca, and even the red robes -- "
"The Atalan," Judas commented more than interrupted.
"Yes, the Atalan. My father held his duty above all else, and that always mattered more to him than Trinsic politics. A couple of months ago, a patrol of city guardsmen were attacked, and ..." She paused for a moment to contain her emotions. "My father was among those killed. They were hunted. Butchered like bloody animals." A long silence followed.
"And the ones responsible?"
"None were blamed, none took credit. One of the guardsmen -- "
The bard listened, but said not.
"His throat had been torn. Most of his blood was gone. Parts of his body littered the streets." The Herbalist took a deep breath but held her gaze. "Was it a vampire? Something worse? I do know not, for as I said, none took blame or credit. But I do not distinguish between the forms of evil that exists in this world. And if they are what you seek to destroy, then you shall continue to receive my aid."
Judas nodded in understanding, before reaching for his dagger. The first cut was always the hardest.
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Post by Renthar on Nov 29, 2012 16:39:03 GMT -5
These days, Renthar was more likely to hug a small child than once again pick up a blade. Decades ago, he had developed a taste for the magical arts, and eventually set aside his old weapons and armor for a life of spells and secrets. Of course, there were many who had been surprised by this transformation. During his years of service, he had developed a reputation for his abilities with a sword, as well as his complete and utter lack of discrimination. Man or woman. Young or old. Guilty or innocent. None of these were of any particular consequence to him, he only cared about the manner and speed of his opponent's death. He had never been one for remorse or regret, and the passage of time had only increased his need for cold practicality. Which is why current circumstances vexed him so. Despite all his well-honed indifference, Renthar still wanted, and he was growing impatient with the obstacles that prevented him from fulfilling his plans for the Countess Bretane and her town of Ashencrosse.
Presently, the worst of these impediments was the outstanding matter of Isileena Thorne of Ocllo. Renthar was not entirely unsympathetic, and he even understood why the others believed the crime to be so horrific. On the other hand, it had already been weeks since her unsolved murder, and they were still whining about it. He had found Isileena to be pleasant enough, but what potential did life truly hold for the girl? At best, she might have been a farm wife or something equally insipid. Instead, she had fulfilled a much greater purpose, motivating him to finally leave that isolated island behind. But between Paine's initial meddling and Rosar's incessant need to inform everyone of Renthar's alleged crimes, attention was being unnecessarily diverted, and not to his benefit. Predictably, no one actually possessed the fortitude of character to take the necessary action, they were far too preoccupied with notions of law and proof and fairness. When he was young, men would rely upon their own power and instinct, and Renthar deeply missed the old ways. He had no fondness for the world that British had left them, but without any choice available, it seemed he would be forced to participate.
It was thus up to Renthar to give them justice for Isileena. Or at least a reasonable approximation thereof.
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Post by Judas D'arc on Dec 3, 2012 10:38:36 GMT -5
"Tell me, Judas," Rosar had asked of him, shortly after they had fled Ocllo and arrived in Trinsic. "Is it worth becoming a monster to destroy one?"
"Only if you win," was his unspoken response.
********
She was waiting for him as he entered the front hall of the abandoned Trinsic mansion. He had not anticipated her visit, though it was not particularly surprising either. She was already a constant in his thoughts, so it was not unexpected that her appearance would occasionally be of a more substantial nature. Ordinarily, Judas might be angry at Quinn's breach of confidence, as he had taken great steps to conceal the existence of this location. But this was Aurelia, and Aurelia was a presence he was always glad to have, at least until he allowed himself a reminder of why they must remain apart. But upon learning the purpose of her visit, he immediately understood why she had violated their unspoken agreement by traveling there in person. Lord Draven was asking after Judas once again -- was it possible her Vampire Master had uncovered the truth of what they had done? And suddenly, it was like their recent past, the bard and the Countess scheming together for their very survival.
"Come what may, Judas, these times aren't what I'd 'ave chosen," Aurelia offered him words of consolation. "Nor ye. My faith in ye hasn't changed,and won't. I jus' wish sometimes ye had as much in yerself."
"If you knew half of what I have been up to," he countered, "I wonder if that would hold true."
"Matters not what ye been up to, on'y why," she explained. "I gave up mortality an' became a monster. To atone, an' protect. I'd gladly trade again, an' find some other way."
"Well, I guess we both make sh*t decisions then," Judas half-joked.
"I still seek ways t' undo mine, an' pray that yours come t' a justifiable end."
And then, his conscience twinging, he attempted to shift the topic of conversation to Jolicia's current circumstances.
********
He slapped her across the face, the sound of skin against flesh echoing across the emptiness of the Court of Truth. Not too hard and not too gentle, but just a slap enough. As the black haired woman's face twisted from surprise to anger, an animal-like hiss emerging from within, Judas suddenly grabbed and kissed her, until resistance gave way to acquiescence.
"Now listen," he demanded.
"Do you know..." She began in dark-eyed disbelief, "...how long it has been ... since anyone has dared to do what you have just done? And lived?"
"My guess would be never," he smiled.
"Aye, never," she spoke, before kissing him again. "Tell me, and I will listen."
"Do you want to be a queen?"
"Aye," she nodded, her interest obviously aroused.
"Follow me," he said as he led her away, no longer certain which of them was the monster.
********
Early afternoon, and the three were again gathered outside of Trinsic's Keg & Anchor: The bard, the fat merchant, and his sickly, stunted-looking pack llama.
"Where is Shelley?" Judas questioned, more rude than impatient. "I want ... Shelley."
"Yer 'equest is un'er consi'eratin', " Cubbins stated as he affectionately stroked the back of his pet animal's neck. "Yer goin' 'aveta wait."
"Damn it," the bard cursed quietly, picking at the scratches that covered his wrist.
"Yer lookin' 'orrible," the fat man noted, his pig eyes widening.
"I have a rash." It had three days since Judas last treated himself to the thick, black substance.
"Don' lie a' me," Cubbins chided, revealing matching rows of poorly structured teeth. "Yer usin'. Tha's wha' 'appens, I trie' ta warn ye. An'ow yer wan'in' more?"
"I think, I -- I made a mistake," the bard put voice to his small confession. "I was trying to -- addict -- another, but now I..."
The merchant hissed his horrid laughter. "Ye poison 'self ta poison a'other. Mus'a really 'ate 'em, who'er."
"No, I never hated her, I was just..."
"An' 'ow's yer 'avenge feelin' now?"
"Hollow." The reply escaped his irritably dry throat before he could prevent it. "Is there ... a cure?"
An amused Cubbins held up two fingers. "Ei'er y'get done wi' it, or y'get 'ead wi' it."
Judas shamefully lowered his head, his gaze fixed upon the ground. His entire body started to tremble, his flesh burning with unbearable irritation. "Is this what winning is supposed to feel like?" He wondered.
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Post by Jolicia on Dec 4, 2012 12:13:11 GMT -5
“Empty…” Jolicia muttered to herself as she desperately searched her room for a bottle that still contained some of the sweet nectar she had come to depend on. It hadn’t been that long since she last ate, but it had done nothing to satisfy her hunger.
Upon reaching the last place she could think of to look, she fumbled with the lock as her hands were shaking uncontrollably now. She screamed in frustration as she clinched her hands into fists before trying again. Just as she was about to give up, the lock freed and she heard a timid knock at the door as she was rummaging in the chest. She called out to the door, “I’m fine Alana. I just need left alone for awhile.” She knew there was no way she could allow the rest of the house to see her like this and the potential of losing control further was too great.
Jolicia flopped onto the couch, nervously twitching her foot as she looked around the room. Pulling her feet up onto the couch she curled into a tight ball, holding her knees against her chest in an effort to control the shaking and the unusual chill biting at her. So focused, it didn’t even register in her mind when the bedroom door opened and closed. Then, there was the hooded figure of Balam kneeling in front of her, a worrisome look on his face, “Jo?”
She couldn’t bear to look at him, instead she hugged her knees tighter to her chest, “I can’t stop shaking... and I’m out of my wine…”
He sighed heavily as he looked her over, “You need to feed.”
Her voice caught a little as she shot back in defense, “I did…”
Balam slid his arms under Jolicia and tenderly picked her up off of the couch. Seating himself where she had been curled up, he gently set her on his lap and removed his hood and spoke quietly, “Not from me yet.”
She couldn’t contain herself and she knew that with him, she didn’t have to. The beast within released, Jolicia drank quickly and heavily as his arms were tightly wrapped around her. Several moments floated by before she felt his hand grab the back of her neck, but instead of letting up she tore into the flesh more. Balam tightened his grip and attempted to pull her away from his neck but she resisted and bit down even harder, not wanting to stop. Without a word, he gripped her neck tighter still and yanked her head away. Jolicia gasped from the force and looked him in the eyes, as blood dripped from the corner of her mouth. He grinned, brushing a strand of her hair away from her face, “Feel better?”
She simply shrugged a little as she licked her lips, the beast still in control, “Some.”
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Post by Judas D'arc on Dec 6, 2012 9:29:05 GMT -5
Ordinarily, he would have appreciated the thought of being trapped for a week with a beautiful woman chained to a bed. However, present circumstances were far from normal, and it was a mutual suffering, rather than any potential coupling, that brought them to that place. Only time would tell if they would survive the poison that afflicted them, but he had already decided against ever leaving there without her. For he was the one responsible for their plight. He had tainted his own blood in order to addict her to it, both to inform his curiosity and to satisfy his own twisted need for revenge. Yet despite the evil inside of her justifying such treatment, by his actions he had already proven himself the bigger monster ...
The first day was the hardest because she remained unaware of his manipulations. A month ago, it would have been impossible for him to lure her to that small cabin in Yew of Felucca. But this night, it was accomplished with nothing more than a suggestion and a smile. She had even trusted him enough to accept her chains and shackles without question. When he first confessed the depths of his deception, her reaction to his betrayal was almost palpable. Yet it was not her hurt troubled him the most, it was the awareness of what she was about to experience. His body still struggled days after his last taste, and she had ingested far more of the poison than he ever had.
The second day, he traveled to the Empath Abbey of Trammel, where the people of Yew had organized a charitable event for the poverty-stricken of Britannia. He hoped to partake, but his appetite had all but vanished. The pain made it difficult for him to linger for long, and vampires appeared to be everywhere. One of them pushed him up against the Abbey wall and kissed him, and in his weakness he considered surrendering himself forever. Eventually, he was able to return to the woman inside the cabin. It was feeding time, but he did not dare move within reach, so he cut himself and filled her a goblet with his blood. As she eagerly drank from it, they shared words, but it went as poorly as could be expected. "We always hurt the ones who loves us."
The third day, they did not speak at all. He could barely stand, and it was a struggle to swallow even a few sips of water. He briefly checked to make certain she had not expired, and then shared enough of his blood to sustain her until the following day.
The fourth day, he desired nothing but death. His throat was dry and his skin was burning and his stomach was turning inside out and he knew in his heart it would never get any better. They talked some and he fed her, though he had no idea how he was able to accomplish this. He was sincere in his repeated requests for her to end his life, but she continued to refuse no matter how much he begged.
The fifth day was nothing but agony. His mind retained no memory of what occurred, whether they spoke or she fed or even if he moved from that spot on the floor.
The sixth day was an improvement in every way. His thoughts were clear and his appetite had returned and he no longer wished to peel off his own skin with his fingernails. That was the moment that he first realized that they would likely survive all of this. He permitted her to feed off of him directly, sinking her fangs into his hand, and drinking deep until some of the color and warmth returned to that pale, cold flesh. She demonstrated remarkable restraint, and their topic of conversation turned to better things, even the possibility of an understanding between them. Then he unshackled her hands, and promised to release her soon.
The seventh day finally arrived, and Judas knew it was time for Jolicia to return home.
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Post by Renthar on Dec 8, 2012 11:18:19 GMT -5
The thought of it alone nearly brought Renthar to orgasm. The Countess of Ashencrosse had led a group of her knights and her Rosar and some otherwise concerned citizens into the depths of Beldam beneath the City of Umbra. From within the library of this abandoned necromancer training academy, they had successfully retrieved a handful of lost texts, which Aurelia had then personally delivered to Renthar. Furthermore, the Countess had not only taken his request for a prostitute seriously, but she had even arranged for one on his behalf. All of this was simply because he had asked for it. During his years of exile in Ocllo, or those darker times prior, he had become accustomed to not receiving the proper recognition and gratitude that he deserved. It appeared his new home would be different.
"Yummy," he smiled, before briefly licking his lips. "A prostitute. And young and blonde at that." It amused him that he would be gifted such a girl after so recently being accused of murdering one.
Of course, the strange-eyed wanderer could not be accused of being idle while others did his work for him. Shortly after the Countess and her followers had departed Ashencrosse for Bedlam, he had made his own secret journey to Umbra. He waited and he watched, and once the others had descended into the abandoned academy, he sought out a young sorceress whose acquaintance he had recently made.
"Was it not as I foretold" Renthar asked, his creepy gaze fixed upon the woman.
She nodded uncomfortably. "I saw them enter Bedlam. Does this truly mean ...?"
"Yes. All of Ashencrosse is mine now," he stated more than bragged. "If I command it, the entire town will hunt you down and bring about your end. Give me what I've asked for. And now."
The sorceress nervously reached into her pack and removed an object concealed within a bundle of white cloth. "Not exactly what you wanted, but -- "
Renthar quickly snatched it away from her. He impatiently unwrapped the item, and carefully examined what he held within his hands. "It's skull enough for now," he noted. "And the book?"
"I still don't know why you're so interested in this," the woman commented as she handed over a small journal in poor condition. "It's practically gibberish, written two centuries ago by some mage of absolutely no significance. The history books don't even contain any mention of its author, this Renthar fellow -- "
Before she could react, his fist had struck her squarely in the face, breaking her nose and knocking her much smaller form to the ground. As she instinctively cradled the wound, Renthar looked down upon her, his strange eyes filled with anger. "Beware my displeasure."
A blood soaked groan was the only response.
"Beware my Ashencrosse."
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Post by Judas D'arc on Dec 8, 2012 18:32:34 GMT -5
"What is it you wish to become then, Judas of Yew?" The creature of darkness inquired.
Judas stopped for a moment to fully consider the answer to this question. During the past few weeks, his attention had been focused only on his encounters with Jolicia, and then his subsequent attempts to cure the addiction he had so recklessly exposed them to. Until last night, when the bard had led a small group to Ashencrosse to hunt down Wolfwood, the elder vampire responsible for their friend Paine's predicament. Judas was not entirely clear what had occurred prior to his own involvement, but somehow Wolfwood had stolen the magical gem that made Paine immortal, which in turn caused the vampire hunter to transform into a lycan. Fortunately, Wolfwood was not interested in conflict or resistance, and they were able to retrieve the gem and save Paine, who was now no longer lycan nor immortal. Still, the bard was disappointed that he had been deprived of watching Quinn explode the elder vampire's skull with a silver arrow.
"What I wish? Or what I expect?" He finally responded.
"What do you expect?"
"I expect a horrible death," he offered a slight smile. "And hope that at least I accomplish a few things before that happens."
Yet much had been accomplished already. Despite his own misgivings, Judas could not deny the potential of what his betrayal of Jolicia had yielded. He was equally confident in the success of the ritual that the witch Aingeal was preparing on his behalf. The bard had identified all of his targets and devised plans for them. Once he struck this final bargain, all that remained was to await Shelley's arrival in Trinsic.
"I want to be better," he struggled to explain. "I want the world to be ... better. I want to look around the world and not see shadows everywhere. In others. In myself."
While Judas was beginning to doubt some of his allies, he was still convinced that they were capable of performing the roles he had carefully prepared for them. All, that is, except for Alisiea. She had already been injured by orcs, and his thoughts could not escape the image of the tarot cards that she had drawn the previous evening. The Queen. The Fool. Death. He was no expert on such things, but if her cards represented what he believed them to, then it was imperative that he spare her any further risk. His Gypsy Girl deserved better than that.
"Very well, I will help you on one condition," she spoke before pausing, her eyes testing him. "If you fail in this plan of yours -- you are mine."
"We are agreed then," Judas acquiesced without hesitation. Because if he did not succeed ...
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Post by Paine Drakul on Dec 10, 2012 10:19:00 GMT -5
Paine laid on the bed silently in the Theatre..
"Well....I can't move still....And I really have to pee..." He looked to the door with a groan.
Using all his strength he rolled off the bed with a dull thud as he hit the floor. Using what little strength he had in his arms he crawled towards the door. He made it to the door triumphantly.
"Ha ha!! ........Oh damnit" Paine spoke as he looked up and realized how far from the door handle he was. he glances around the room till he saw his sash laying on the bed, and hatched a plan. Struggling across the floor he grabbed it off the bed, still crawling.
Paine slid back to the base of the door and glanced up at the handle.
"I will not lose to a wooden fixture!" Paine spoke as he began swinging the sash, attempting to loop it on the handle. After a few tries he finally got it, In one tug he popped the latch and swung the door open.
"Yes! I knew I could d- When did this hallway get this long....Crap" Paine spoke as he crawled out into the hallway, making his way to the stairs. as he crawled to the edge he looked down them.
"This isn't so bad....if I just inch my way down Carefu- LLY!!" Paine stopped short as his slow inching went too far. sending him toppling down the stairs like a slinky. The momentum sent him rolling out the door and onto the front lawn.
Paine groaned a bit as he rolled onto his back.
"Well...at least I made it outside....wait where is the nearest Forest......Oh for frak's sake...." Paine began his long crawl out the front gateway of Ashencrosse to the treeline. Finally arriving he used a tree trunk to help himself up to his feet. He wobbled a moment getting his pants open and finally relieved himself.
"Ahhhh.. it's so much better when you work for it." Paine said to himself as he finished up. As he fixed his pants the realization that he no longer was steadying himself hit him. He suddenly fell over onto his back with a thud. He actually cried for a few minutes in helplessness.
After a bit a dark figure strolled up to him as he lay.
"You...are absolutely pathetic...you know that right?" Wolfwood looked down at Paine without an emotion on his face.
"What now...here to kick me while I am down..?" Paine spoke in return.
Wolfwood knelt down and lifted Paine up, putting one of his arms over his shoulder.
"I have nothing to gain from harming you Drakul, Now shut up and let me help you..." Wolfwood snapped as he helped Paine back to the Theatre and back into his bed.
"What was that.....You confuse the hell out of me... " Paine looked up from the bed at him as he spoke.
"Do not think much of it... I just don't like seeing men cry like a pathetic little child...Good Day Drakul.." Wolfwood spoke as he shut the door and left.
Paine sighed deeply and looked up at the ceiling.
"Great...grass in the back of my shirt.....Now my back itches..."
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Post by Judas D'arc on Dec 13, 2012 11:04:23 GMT -5
Judas awoke with murder on his mind. Not his own, thankfully, nor one he had any intention of committing, but that of poor Isileena. Weeks had passed and her killing remained unsolved, with no evidence to implicate their only suspects. Renthar, the strange-eyed hermit, had fled Ocllo shortly after the incident. He had relocated to Ashencrosse, and was presently assisting the Countess Bretane in a very personal matter. For Aurelia's sake, the bard hoped that Renthar was not the murderer, but that would leave Cole responsible for the crime. The young sailor had been Isileena's lover, and ever since Judas and his friends had rescued him from a watery execution, he had been staying with them at the abandoned Trinsic mansion. Which was equally troubling, if he was indeed the killer.
Last night, at Jolicia's behest, they attempted an interrogation of Cole. Judas was not entirely convinced of his guilt, but due to his own recent transgressions, he could deny her nothing. As the bard, Paine, and Quinn mostly watched, Aingeal and Jolicia tried to loosen the sailor's tongue with clever words and potent herbs. Unfortunately, all that was accomplished was reinforcing Cole's appearance of innocence. Later, Judas promised Jolicia he would allow her to try things "her way." He truly believed it unnecessary but he also knew why Isileena's death troubled her so, and was in no position to refuse.
When the bard finally returned that morning to the abandoned mansion, the letter was waiting there on the front room table, for everyone to read:
Sorry I left and didn't say bye. I like you all and I'm thankful for your help but Trinsis isn't for me. I should be at sea not sitting around an empty house all day. Paine I can't ever repay you for risking your skin to save me. You too Judas, Quinn, Alisiea for getting me off that damn island. Jolicia and Aingeal, you're both nice and real cute but you made me a bit uncomfortable last night. Plus you won't find husbands you keep trying so hard. Just be yourselves.
Good luck with all your weird stuff you do that I don't really understand.
Your friend,
Cole
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Post by Judas D'arc on Dec 15, 2012 9:01:44 GMT -5
Faery Dust. Seeds of Renewal. Lodestones. Gathered inside of a golden bag.
Things easier said than done. Judas found it almost amusing to search for hope inside the Stygian Abyss, but those depths were ideal for the items Aingeal required for her spell of protection. The bard and the witch were joined by others, including Countess Aurelia Bretane, Rosar, and Sir Caleb of Ashencrosse, and a surprisingly almost/nearly sober Aulbrey. The makeshift group encountered a number of obstacles, primarily hordes of vicious rat-men, but they managed to survive the journey mostly intact. Although the quest was not entirely successful, they were able to cobble together the remaining ingredients once they returned to the Bramble Rose Theatre. After a quick departure to make the necessary preparations, Aingeal returned to tell Judas that she was ready to proceed.
"Do you trust me, Judas?" The dark skinned witch asked as she guided him through the strange construct located within the isolated Ilshenar forest.
"I..." These days, he was not entirely certain he was capable of such. "Yes, I do. I mean -- to a degree."
At her command, the bard removed his boots, hoping the smell was not too awful after their earlier excursion into the Abyss. He was surprised when Aingeal started to wash his feet, pouring water over the tops and bottoms of both. Brief moments of comfort. When she finished, she took one final cup of the fragrant water in her hands and poured it on his head.
"This is my very special place," she explained once she led him inside. "Um, some people could equate it to a church. This place is more home to me than anywhere else."
Judas glanced around in an attempt to understand the connection she spoke of. When they had first met weeks ago, after she had trespassed into the abandoned Trinsic mansion that he and his friends occupied, he had not been particularly impressed by Aingeal. A simple wanderer hungry for food.
"I made offering in your name Judas, asking the gods to be like warriors at your ready." As her hazel eyes flashed with something ... more, it was became clear that sometimes first impressions were mistaken.
And then it was time to begin the ritual.
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Post by Judas D'arc on Dec 17, 2012 11:01:49 GMT -5
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.
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Post by Jolicia on Dec 19, 2012 10:31:07 GMT -5
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.
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