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Post by Everett Whitethorn on Dec 20, 2012 16:04:19 GMT -5
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.
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Post by Everett Whitethorn on Dec 24, 2012 11:39:53 GMT -5
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 he was 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."
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Post by Judas D'arc on Dec 27, 2012 11:12:13 GMT -5
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 ...
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Post by Alana Wisperwind on Dec 29, 2012 15:53:34 GMT -5
Everything had become a blur to Alana from the moment that Sir Woody of the Order of the Silver Sword started attacking Dominic until now. She was attempting to keep him propped up against the table when she heard him cough out, “One of you… needs… to stab me through the heart…” Renthar jumped at the opportunity while Alana tried to wrap her head around what was going on. Before she knew it Renthar had drawn a dagger and Alana couldn’t get a word of protest out fast enough as she saw him stab it through Dominic’s heart.
She was kneeling next to his body, tears rolling down her cheeks, when suddenly he coughed, “Di… did it … work?” Alana watched quietly as both of them, and her confusion grew as they spoke of rituals, torpor, spirits, and cures. A few times she started to ask question but they went unanswered. Then Renthar stopped and motioned to her first, giving Dominic a questioning look and he shook his head, “She does not know…”
The news was terrifying and she couldn’t scoot away fast enough, the hurt and confusion welling up within her. Dominic answered her questions quietly, calmly… “I understand that it scares you… I was keeping others safe… We’re not all monsters… Some of us just want to live… I have no desire to harm you…” Part of Alana told her to run, run as far and as fast as she could. The other part however, reminded her of the conversations they had shared… the kindness she saw in him, even in the beginning. It was this part that was further reinforced when Miss Aurelia showed up. Alana knew only “good” from Miss Aurelia, so how could her judgment on allowing Dominic to live here be wrong. Aurelia extended her usual good graces, offering to help however she could as she got ready to leave. There was only one “minor” request from Alana, “Miss Aurelia… Can… Can we not tell Miss Jo?”
Aurelia was steadfast in her answer, “O’course not.” Alana acknowledge with a small nod and a sigh of relief as they said their goodnights and she helped Dominic upstairs.
Dominic did his best to try and reassure Alana that he was the same man, just a little different, and apologized for not telling her earlier. The curiosity increased as she tilted her head to watch as he showed her his fangs and did her best to control the fear. Her barrage of questions began and Dominic answered the best that he could to most of them. As their evening came to a close Alana made a command decision that he needed to be kept safe, “I’m… leaving Nyoka outside your front door. No one’s going to try and get in with her standing there.” He chuckled softly at her, her sentiment, and they bid each other good night.
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Post by Alisiea on Jan 1, 2013 10:06:07 GMT -5
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.
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Post by Jolicia on Jan 3, 2013 12:08:41 GMT -5
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.
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Post by Judas D'arc on Jan 6, 2013 9:30:58 GMT -5
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?
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Post by Paine Drakul on Feb 13, 2013 10:48:53 GMT -5
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....
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Post by Alisiea on Feb 19, 2013 14:16:00 GMT -5
Her young body transformed violently and she endured the pain. She went to the forest so they would not hear her screams or witness the breaking of her bones, the overstretched muscles, the expanding ribs and the loss of self. She did this, not out of anger. Not out of fear. But rather from a sense of duty. A sense of responsibility.
These words were new to her. Duty. Responsibility. She had always been free. Free to choose her own direction. Choose where to sleep. Choose whether to bathe or not bathe. To dance or not dance. Now she had a different kind of freedom. The freedom to stay in one place. The freedom to help those who had helped her. The freedom to belong.
The Lady Knight who had helped rescue her from the Orcs, lay dying. Two others dead. Viciously attacked by someone or something from outside. Something that came into the very place they considered most safe. The danger was certain. The response; simple. Kill that which threatened them the most.
These people were her clan now. This place was her home now. She transformed her body, not out of fear, not out of anger, but from a need to protect her clan. And this she would do regardless of the danger. This she would do even to the death. There was nothing more important. Nothing more vital. Nothing more basic.
She had gone to New Haven that night instead of sleeping in the attic of the Bramble Rose as she normally did. Instead she had taken the few coins Paine had given her and went to Haven to dance and have a bath. A real bath with hot water and scented soap. But since that night, more than once did she think;
“If only I had stayed.”
So now she patrolled the grounds, outside the palisades and in. Swept through the alleys and along the tree-line. Stood guard at the entrance. No one. No one got in or out so long as she stood the night watch.
Then the unthinkable happened. The man she loved, or thought she loved, confessed to the crime. Yet somehow he was not responsible? Somehow his actions that horrible night had been controlled by the monster called Draven? It was all so confusing. Was such a thing possible? It was madness, she thought; utter madness.
A dark mood hung over the small town of Ashencrosse and its leaders as they argued and wept. Some kind of action was needed, anything to relieve the unbearable sense of loss and failure that threatened to destroy them all. For Alisiea there was only one solution. If her clan was to be free again. If she was ever going to dance inside that theater again, if she was ever going to laugh again, then the danger must be eliminated. And so, gathering her armor, she headed for the gate. Today, before he rose again, she would travel to the other side of the world, travel to the place called Carden and destroy the thing called Draven.
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Post by Judas D'arc on Feb 20, 2013 11:00:13 GMT -5
It was late night in Empath Abbey, and all was silence, except for Judas. Inside the small chapel he knelt weeping, the stinging of his tears obstructing his attempts to gaze upon the large ankh located in the back of the room. Sir Malidian of Northridge and Agostino the Gypsy were dead. Lady Eclyse Christian of Ashencrosse lay dying. And the bard was responsible for it all ...
********
Earlier, Jolicia had come the abandoned Trinsic mansion with the news. There had been a series of murders across Sosaria. Three men and one woman in almost every town, a sword pattern carved into their chests, and a message left in blood: "For the MURDER of our kind, rest well Order of the Silver Sword". Revenge for the slayings of the vampires Dezera Blackwell, Everett Whitethorn, Raquel Blackrose, and Averi Coldgrove, all of which Judas had orchestrated. But that was not the end of it, Jolicia explained to him. Those responsible had also struck Ashenrosse, in almost the identical manner, killing two and leaving a third at death's door.
"This is ... our fault," she told him, putting words to the truth they both knew. When he asked of the lady knight's fate. "Rosar has her hidden somewhere now. We don't know if she'll make it."
"It is strange," the bard commented. "I was actually thinking about her just yesterday."
"Why's that?" Jolicia asked.
"No particular reason," he shrugged. "Just a stray thought."
Before the journey to Ashencrosse, Judas retrieved two items from a chest in the bedroom. Not weapons, but the methods of protection he had come to rely upon these past weeks. The first was an ankh made of purest silver, crafted at his request by one of Shelley's men. The second was a mystical talisman in the form of a golden necklace, fashioned by Aingeal and blessed by her gods to protect him from vampires. For reasons he could not recall, he had removed them three nights ago while resting in Empath Abbey. But he knew it was unsafe to be without either for too long. With both securely around his neck once again, the bard and mage departed Trinsic.
********
Step by step, Judas followed the trail of death left by Marcus Draven, the Vampire Master responsible for the attacks. Ashencrosse was far from empty that evening. Besides Jolicia and the bard, Aurelia, Paine, Alisiea, Aingeal and Striker were also present, as well as two others that were new him, Ivor MacGregor and Zeph Lochlann. He wondered if they thought him mad, the way he sprinted about town, noticing signs that no other could see. Judas was uncertain how, but he believed that it was Aingeal's talisman guiding him. From the vampire's arrival. to the strike against Agostino in the northwest watchtower, to the ambush of Eclyse and Malidian outside the palisads, and then finally to the Bramble Rose Theatre, where the slaughter had occurred.
As the bard slowly stepped onto the stage, he carefully avoided the dark stains on the floor. Instinctively, he took up the killer's position, reached for the silver dagger at his side, and began to trace a sword-like pattern in the air. His mind was suddenly flooded with imagery that encumbered his senses -- the sight of their lifeless bodies, the sounds of their dying gasps, the touch of a dagger carving into flesh, the scent of mortal death, and the taste of their blood upon his lips --
... Emerging from the darkness, I ventured forth into Ashencrosse, and began my hunt ...
... Licking my lips, I readied myself for the attack, and fired an arrow into the back of Agostino's throat ...
... This caused me brief hesitation, but only because it increased the anticipated enjoyment of holding their lives in my hands. I appeared from the shadows, His blood powering my every act. A hail of arrows and spellsongs upon the two knights, until both Eclyse and Malidian were fallen ...
No longer able to hold back the sensation that threatened to consume him, Judas retched violently upon the stage. "I ... I need to go," he said weakly to the others as he clutched at his stomach. "Sanctum Vitas."
********
It was late night in Empath Abbey, and all was silence, except for Judas. Inside the small chapel he knelt weeping, the stinging of his tears obstructing his attempts to gaze upon the large ankh located in the back of the room. Sir Malidian of Northridge and Agostino the Gypsy were dead. Lady Eclyse Christian of Ashencrosse lay dying. And the bard was responsible for it all ...
"Judas," Jolicia said as she approached. She placed her arm around him in a gesture of comfort.
"I ..." He spoke between his sobbing. "I did that ..."
"No," she shook her head. "He did it."
"No!" He screamed, as he pushed her away and rose to his feet. "I did it!"
"Tell me what you saw, Judas. Please."
Nothing. The answer was nothing. He had seen nothing. Back in Ashencrosse, it was not vision Aingeal's gift had granted, but recollection. The path of the killer had been his own. Yet how could this have happened? The talisman's magicks were supposed to keep him safe from outside control, and it had never failed him. Which is why he never removed it from his neck. Never. Ever. Except. Except once. Three nights ago, when he had rested at Empath Abbey, and he could not even recall why ...
"It was not Draven," he confessed to Jolicia through angry tears. "It was me!"
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Post by Jolicia on Feb 21, 2013 9:46:03 GMT -5
"You may have done the actions Judas... but I refuse to believe it was under your own will."
They hadn't argued this much in a long time and all Jolicia wanted was for him to listen to reason. Listen to what she was trying to tell him, but she knew when his crazy mind was made up that their arguing was pointless. He wanted to confess, needed to confess, and a part of her knew why. So, she did as he requested and opened the portal to go back to Ashencrosse.
It was all wrong though... lies and half truths Judas was telling them. Jolicia couldn't listen to it, couldn't allow him to do this and stepped in. She tried to fill in the pieces that would truly explain how this could have happened, "I believe... he was found... Controlled..."
Judas turned to her, his voice strained, "No, you're lying... I did it."
"I can't lie when it's what I think," she tried to speak calmly to him.
He lowered his voice and spoke quietly to just her, pleading, "Just tell them I did it... Please..."
Jolicia's heart sank into the pit of her stomach as she lowered her head, realizing what he really wanted. She nodded slowly as a recognition of her understanding and without looking at anyone, confirmed what he wanted to hear, "Judas did it."
She lowered the front of her hat to hide her face as she listened to the arguing coming from all around her. Judas' plea for people to believe that he did this, that he needed to be punished. It was all blurring together as she was trying to keep the emotions at bay, hidden from the others around. Then she heard Judas' voice again, coming through the crowd, stronger and calmer as he spoke plainly. The murders he felt he committed, the death of Cole, and the death of the others.
The word "monster" rang in her head as he spoke louder with each name. "What about what I did to her..." Jolicia finally lifted her head instinctively, knowing what was next as she heard him tearing up again. "I treated her like a fucking animal. I addicted her to my blood, and abused her, and..." She pulled the front of her hat down more and took a deep breath. If only she could hide right now, but she couldn't leave Judas' side. She knew the words that would come from his lips next. "I am no better than a... vampire." It was a conversation they had shared before. Mutual monsters, they were.
It wasn't until later with Paine and Jolicia that Judas finally came to his senses and listened. Jolicia knew what it was like to be ruled by guilt, but they couldn't let Judas fall to it. Besides, Paine was right... Jolicia was right... and Judas finally realized it and snapped back to himself. Draven needed to pay for all of this, and the plan they've been working on for so long needed to be finished.
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Post by Paine Drakul on Mar 14, 2013 23:41:36 GMT -5
Paine sat in the hall quietly, he watched the flames dance in the brazier. They moved like a gypsy swaying this way and that. The though of such brought a small smile to his face.
Very few understood how Paine could keep such a calm demeanor in the face of so much death and suffering. He had seen so much in his time and felt pain more so than any living person ever should. Upon hearing Judas' confessions of murder his mind did not move towards anger and sorrow...But Logic.
He knew the Bard, However determined he was to end Draven was no murderer. The stench of banality in the air reinforced his thinking. The Vampire wanted to strike a blow to everyone with this act. By using the very person who wanted him dead to harm others in his name.
"It may have been by your hand, But it was his will" Paine thought on what he had told Judas. One was not simply guilty because they held the blade. Draven's actions were cruel and focused, However they did not make Paine skip a beat.
Out of those there, Paine was likely the only one who could face Draven. Judas was indeed determined to get revenge, But could he face such a horror? Alisiea, So brave and eager to take him down to save her friends, But could she willingly take a life? Jolicia who had bad blood with the Elder, Surely she hated him but would she risk all of those she loved?
He had nothing to lose in the deal. Sure he had friends now, But he could see the suffering in their eyes. He could not bear to see all this weight resting upon their shoulders. He looked upon his axe silently as he sat.
The blade was as pristine as the day he was forced to use it against his own ally. Since then it had taken the lives of many Vampires and evil beings alike. It comforted Paine to have it around, Even if it brought darker feelings to others. The axe did seem to possess a dark Aura about it, As if all those it had killed were ready to unleash themselves upon their killer.
"Soon I can lay you all to rest, One more..And there will be peace.." Paine spoke to the blade as if trying to calm it.
He laid back in the chair and shut his eyes, Sleep came quickly. The braziers flickered wildly as The Slayer dreamt of figures of flame, dancing vividly across a landscape of black...
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Post by Judas D'arc on Mar 17, 2013 11:23:15 GMT -5
Slowly, the pieces began to fall into place. Some had been expected, and some not at all.
********
The truth of it was difficult to accept. Draven had once again taken control of his mind, and Judas had allowed this to happen. He still did not understand why he had removed Aingeal's talisman, which protected him from a vampire's manipulations, but no answer would ever satisfy his conscience. The bard might not be guilty of the Ashencrosse attacks -- the murders of the gypsy Agostino and Sir Malidian of Northridge, with the fate of the Lady Eclyse Christian in doubt -- yet this did not lessen his guilt. But when Judas was ready to surrender to defeat, it had been the hands of friendship that had saved him.
"You may have felt what it was like to be like Draven," Paine advised, "but you are feeling the one thing Draven does not regret. If the f*cker used me to kill someone, I would find him -- and tear his ass to shreds."
In response, the bard sighed and quietly mumbled.
"Say it out loud, Judas," Jolicia told him.
"You are ... right," he nodded slowly. "You are both right." Then he pushed past his way past his friends and out of that small room in the Hall of Ashencrosse that had almost become a self-imposed prison cell. "Now get the f*ck out of my way."
********
"If you'd like assistance in hunting them down, I'll gladly join you," the swordsman Zeph Lochlann had offered to Judas, Paine, Jolicia, and Alisiea, after learning that vampires were responsible for the recent troubles in Ashencrosse. The bard knew little of the man, but Aingeal had spoken highly of him, and they were in no position to refuse an ally. Besides, the swordsman had already witnessed his angry confession-turned-tirade against Aurelia, and was still willing to help. Later, when Judas thanked him again, Zeph simply smiled, "Well, what sort of bastard would I be not to offer it, given the state of things."
********
"Ye shamed me," Aurelia said to him, as they stood inside the large chamber in the Hall of Ashencrosse. It was a reference to his previous night's rant, in which he had confessed to her (and others) far more than perhaps he should have. "In front o' everyone."
"And you shamed me," Judas countered.
"How?"
"By trying to absolve me of everything I do wrong." As she always did.
"This wasn't you, Judas," the Countess argued. "I don't absolve ye o' everythin'. But this wasn't you. I know better. Ye know better."
"As do I ... now," the bard relented. He was there to explain, not to bicker. "Well, it is time we spoke regardless. What Draven did, it will not go unpunished."
"Good, I want this o'er."
"Well, that has ever been my intention."
"I'd gathered ye wanted vengeance," she nodded.
"No," Judas shook his head. "Until last night, I never did." And then he shared everything, not merely all of his plans, but the truth of his motivations.
When he was finished, she stepped closer. "For me....you risked yer life?"
"Yes, as you did for me. I want you to have that chance, and if possible, the others as well." He paused as he struggled for the words. "After what I experienced, what I did -- I was never wrong about what vampires are. The hunger inside of you, it --"
"No, ye weren't," she said before completing his thought. "It ne'er relents. It's taken me a long time t' realize I was worth th' act o' doing what I've planned."
"You are," he agreed. "It was never about who you are. It was about ... what you are." Words he had uttered months ago, but this time they sounded different.
"Excuse me, Countess?" Alisiea spoke up from behind him. "There is a man outside who wishes to speak to someone. Seems his sister was killed recently, and he thinks it may have a connection to our city. He did not explain why he thinks this."
When Judas and Aurelia left the Hall to investigate, he repeated once more. "You deserve this chance. And you will have it."
********
The man was named Darien Blackrose, a nobleman from Trinsic, and he was after the truth. His long missing sister, Raquel Blackrose, had finally turned up dead. An organization called the Order of the Silver Sword had claimed not only responsibility, but that she was a creature of darkness that had chosen death over her mockery of an existence. Yet poor Darien could not accept this.
"What proof do you have," the nobleman demanded more than asked, as they sat outside the Bramble Rose Theatre, which was still closed after the murders committed there.
"Her own confession," Judas responded. "She freely admitted it."
"To everyone," Jolicia added.
"She was not," Darien refused. "She could not have been."
"I am afraid she was," the bard reiterated as kindly as possible.
"Do you know who killed her?"
"Yes," he said, briefly glancing at Jolicia for guidance.
"Who then? Who did it?" It was clear that this was an answer that meant everything to him.
Judas turned to Darien. "I did," he stated plainly, ready to accept the consequences.
********
Upon the Countess of Ashecrosse's request, Aingeal had restored the magicks of her talisman, although she did not even bother to conceal her distaste for the task and for the one that it was intended to protect. The witch held Judas responsible for his role in the recent attacks, regardless of any outside influence that had caused them, and she was primarily interested in defending others from the further acts of violence she expected him to commit. The bard had even offered to ask Aurelia to withdraw the request, but Aingeal also refused to shirk her duties. However, despite this aid and all that had previously passed between them, Judas feared their friendship would not be so easily repaired. It also did not help that he was unable to provide the one thing she wanted from him.
"The Countess and Jolicia, both are of Draven's blood," The witch stated. "Am I right?"
"You know the answer to this."
"Yes, I want you to say it," she pushed.
"Why?" Judas was clearly frustrated. "So that I can betray their trust?
"No, to regain mine," she cut back at him. "All that I have been privy to and I have yet to say something about any of it."
"Then I will do you on better," he suggested. "I will ask the Countess to tell you everything."
"I can do that," she insisted. "I want you to tell me I am right."
"Yes, but if I ask her, she will do it. Aingeal, you do not understand the history here --"
"How could anyone?"
But before they could continue, Jolicia appeared, interrupting their debate with a far more pressing matter. "Avella is here. In the hall ... "
********
After asking Aurelia to reveal the truth to Aingeal, Judas was able to convince Avella Isilian to depart with him. She had journeyed to Ashencrosse in search of the bard, and he had already brought enough death to the small town. On a whim, he picked the Buccaneer's Den Bath for his Queen of Darkness to hold court, under the belief that the pirate town possessed the smallest number of innocent bystanders in Sosaria. Besides, if she did decide to turn on him, he could always jump into one of the tubs and try to persuade her that he had filled it with holy water. But the dark haired vampiress was not interested in harming the bard; in fact, it was quite the opposite. All of her memories had been restored, and it was time for them to revisit the bargain they had struck weeks prior. Not only would Avella remain neutral in the battle that was to come, but she would also keep her most loyal of children from interfering. And in return, all she wanted was ...
"I am not Draven," he hissed at her. The tension had quickly escalated. "Do not compare us!"
Suddenly, the vampire turned and grabbed Judas. She dug her nails into his scalp, and pushed him to the floor. Before he could resist, she was on top of him, any advantage solely in her hands. "Look at me, Judas D'arc. Do you think for a second that if I wanted you, I could not take you? Do you think those trinkets of yours would stop me?"
Laughter was the only response that came to mind.
"I am not Draven, I have gone beyond him. I am Avella Nethia Isilian, and one day ... one day ..." She released her hold and stepped away from him.
The bard slowly stood to his feet. "You want me willingly," he reminded Avella as he approached with her with his silver dagger in hand. She refused to concede even the smallest glimpse of reaction as he slashed through the front strap of her leather bustier.
"Do it. Go on. Do it," she taunted with that smile of hers.
"What, take you? Cut you?"
"Whatever you are thinking. Do you wish to place your mark upon me? Brand me?"
Judas cut twice, destroying both shoulder straps, and her bustier fell to the floor. He then dragged the flat of his blade across those two perfect breasts that stared directly at him. The flesh sizzled, but she did not make a sound, and instead grabbed his hand and pressed the dagger against her. She licked lips and grinned in defiance. Finally, he pulled away. "Avella, do not forget. We are both vulnerable."
She smiled. "One day Judas D'arc, I will take you as my mate. For only you are worthy."
********
Slowly, the pieces had fallen into place. Some had been expected, and some not at all. There was one more he wished to speak to, but whether or not he found her, the time had come for an ending.
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Post by Judas D'arc on Mar 18, 2013 15:28:26 GMT -5
It was a simple choice: Death or Surrender. Fortunately or unfortunately for Judas, she had chosen the latter, and submitted herself to him.
On this night, Isabella de Mor had chosen to enter his life again, and as always, she brought with her both poorly-timed complications and potentially deadly consequences. This was a woman he once believed he could love, until she had chosen to reveal to him what she truly was. The former Countess of Trinsic was a vampire, and it was she that had set the bard down this bloody path that had so consumed his life these past months. She was the one who had betrayed him to Draven and his manipulations, abandoning him to die from the curse that threatened to destroy his mind. All of this had started with Isabella, and she deserved nothing but punishment for the role that she had played in it.
Yet he had accepted her surrender, and even asked Aurelia to allow her into Ashencrosse. Because there was nowhere else to hold her. It did not escape the bard's notice that in one brief week, he had transformed the Bramble Rose from theatre to torture chamber and finally to a prison. He also knew that his friends would never accept or understand his actions with respect to Isabella. Why capture her, rather than kill her, as he had the others? How could he permit her freedom once this was over? Judas tried to argue that it was part of his strategy to defeat Draven, but that was not entirely true. There was another reason, and it was logic that could only make sense to one who was also to blame for all the death that had occurred.
"Well, what is it you want from me now, Isabella?" He had asked, not bothering to hide his frustration, when she had approached him earlier that evening.
"Forgiveness."
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Post by Judas D'arc on Mar 21, 2013 11:06:41 GMT -5
When Aingeal and Arahim came for him, Judas was uncertain what to make of it. His relationship with the former had seen better days, and the latter had barely ever spoken more than a few words to him. The bard had been so close to breaking after uncovering his own role in the attacks on Ashencrosse, and the events of that evening -- Isabella's return, Alisiea's confrontation, Avella and Mei's surprise visit to Ashencrosse and the fight with Rosar, and his argument with Jolicia and Paine -- only served to push him harder. Everything at once, yet all he wanted was to plan for his impending confrontation with Draven. And now this.
"Is Aingeal's gift important?" Arahim asked of him, after the three had reconvened inside the Hall of Ashencrosse.
"Why, what is this about?"
"What price would you pay to see it through?" The Cove native inquired, amidst other questions. "Think ... before you answer."
"I do not have much left to give," Judas replied, the exhaustion in his voice obvious. "He dies tomorrow night. Is there something wrong with the talisman?"
"Make an offer, Judas, or your gift fails," Arahim plainly stated.
"Judas," the witch finally joined the conversation. "You wish for it to be at the potential it was before you disobeyed and took it off. Do you wish the binding of protection I offered to you to bring you back to those you care for?" She ignored all of his justifications and rationalizations, and continued. "The issue is potency."
"And creation demands recompense," her companion added. "As it stands, Aingeal carries the cost."
Confused, the bard looked between the two of them. "Carries the cost?"
"Do you remember that night, I asked you to tell me something and you wouldn't? You refused me."
He knew exactly what Aingeal referred to. She had wanted him to admit that both Aurelia and Jolicia were vampires of Draven's blood. But he refused to share their secrets. "Instead, I arrange for Aurelia to ..."
"Aurelia does not carry Aingeal's gift," Arahim interrupted. "You do. One last sacrifice, Judas."
"I ..." Speechless for once, Judas turned to face the ceiling.
"It cannot stand any other way," the man continued. "Not for me. Not for Aingeal."
"Judas, I ask for my price. For I cannot carry your burden, it is doing harm to myself," Aingeal explained, reinforcing the urgency of his choice.
His gaze returned to the witch, and Judas realized that they both spoke the truth. Perhaps he might have seen it earlier, had he been paying attention. But what else was there to offer her? The bard was not a man of wealth or power, nor, at least according to some who knew him, wisdom or taste. Then suddenly it came to him, that tiny thought in the back of his mind pushing to escape his lips. All of that night's the pain and frustration -- Isabella's desires, Alisiea's demands, Aurelia's affections, and the bickering with Jolicia. They were all due to that four-letter-word; that same, foolish concept responsible for all of his current troubles. And at that particular moment, not only did he wish to be free of it, but it was all that Judas had left to surrender ...
"Love."
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