Post: #1

It was day..

The monolithic ranks of the Council's army moved ever forward, to the front of the massed marching ranks of undead were the other skeletons who moved towards Drakenhof mysteriously.

The vampires had retired to their coffins in their coach while their mortals servants and necromancers maneged the vast undead horde marching into the depths of Slyvania.

The head kept up a punishing pace that the living could not, there was not rest and they marched all day towards drakenhof, Finally, four hours after night fell and the coffin lids stirred, Castle Drakenhof was sighted.

Post: #2

Drakenhof had hardly changed since Mircea had seen it last. But it was darker and looked abandoned except for lights shining from the throne room. The main gates were open and unguarded as the council entered. There was no sign of any life anywhere when suddenly the main doors opened and a richly dressed man of noble looking persuasion stepped into view "good evening ladies and gentlemen you are expected please follow me."

Post: #3

Mircea narrowed his eyes but followed. his get's behind him.. He had not expected Drakenhof to be filled with anybody but Mannfred's lackies. Was one of the former count's get's trying to become the ruler? Well he would not stand for that, he though as he followed the man.

Post: #4

The man led the council through several corridors and opened the doors to the throne room as they stepped in Mircea saw where Mannfred's lackeys had got to. They appeared to be scattered all over the room quite dead "Who are you?" he asked their guide. "My name is Gabriel von Carstein and thats all you'll get from me. The master will explain everything." replied the man.

Post: #5

''Your're master'' muttered Mircea, looking around the throne room.

Post: #6

From behind Vlad's obsidian throne an armoured figure walked its head covered by a metal helmet it stood and appeared to survey the group. Gabriel spoke "May I present Lord Jerek the new ruler of Sylvania and leader of the von Carstein line.

Post: #7

Mircea's eyes narrowed. ''You are the new leader of the von carstein line? Your name is Jerek, but you cannot be the original Jerek von Carstein, I know him and he is dead, so who are you and how dare you presume mastery of Drakenhof?'' he questioned.

Post: #8

Gabriel was about to speak when suddenly his master waved him away and he fell silent. "You're right of course." said the figure calling itself Jerek "You will call me Jerek no longer. From this day forward I return to my true name." He raised his hands to his head and slowly removed his helmet turning to look at the council who looked in surprise and horror. "Simon" he said eyes glowing for a second.

Post: #9

"Simon?!" The cry was weak but sounded round the room nonetheless. It had come from Lesa who had entered supported by V'azrin. She was obviously greatly weakened from her injuries, but she still held her heard proudly.
She slowly walked closer to the throne, critically examining him.
"It is you," she said, before her face twisted in anger, "What the hell is going?!" she demanded, her voice cracking as she screamed at him, "you've been hiding away and playing dress up, whilst you leave the rest of us to battle Mannfred?!"

Post: #10

''But you are dead! You were disembered when I found your body? How did that happen!'' Mircea said in clear shock at the reappearance of his brother.

Post: #11

They trudged, exhausted, through the forest, the fool and the black cat. The air was still, no breeze rustled the leaves, no whisper occluded the senses. Where there was no draft there were thoughts, fleeting, insubstantial, caressing and biting, refreshing and oppressive. They stumbled along, the same repetitive action, one foot forward and then the next, over roots and fallen branches, the detritus of the forest, each reminiscing.

He had traveled far and long. At first he had sought knowledge, for what greater power was there? The mind had enraptured him, for it was here that knowledge, power, and reality itself gushed forth manifesting in the obscene and the miraculous which danced before the eyes. He had fervently sought some source, some wellspring of wisdom from which he could glean the secrets of the psyche from, a mentor, a deity, and energy source, something, anything. Only now, with the abject chaos of recent of events, the battle, the slaughter, had he finally opened his eyes. Wisdom had come from the source, the mundane.

“Baking requires a core of patience and calm amidst the surrounding tempest, the hubbub and rowdiness, the orders from both regent and peasant, the stress and the reprieve”, the baker lectured him, he had taken the guise of a young boy.

“One cannot hasten the bread to rise no matter the sum of gold the Elector Count pays, nor too can the implied threats which hang over your head”, he chuckled, weary eyed.

“Patience and self centeredness shall bring you far.”

His tail unconsciously stood erect, swaying slowly to the rhythm of his memories. Swish, flick. Swish, flick. An unearthly breeze rifled the leaves. The trees groaned.

“Art is everyway. In the baker’s goods, in the musician’s drums, in the war we make, and in the breath we draw”, the artists said with a smile to attentive pupil.

“It is harmony and it is discord. It is life and it is death. It is order and it is chaos”, his lips twitched.

“With every breath, ,with every step, with every word, and with every act we paint a resplendent mural, we weave an evocative web. We dance to the hum of the unseen, and we create such beauty and such carnage as to overpower the senses and leave us dazzled. Drink deeply of the draught of life and create your masterpiece.”

Swish. Flick. Swish. Flick.

The trees swayed in the breeze. The air whistled through the leaves. Shadows quivered, rising and then falling away. A soft drizzle pattered against the earth. Raindrops darkened the soil. Seeds held with the comforting embrace of nutrient pact soil began to germinate. Life renewed itself, the cycle beginning anew.

“The wizards of the Colleges of Magic, the vermin seers of the Underempire, the heathen spell casters of Chaos, and the immortal blood drinkers all believe that power is of utmost importance when one wields the winds of magic”, a hermit wizard instructed an adolescent.

“Yet all the power in the universe is to no avail should the vector, the conduit, be unable to channel such force with precision, with accuracy. It is therefore focus, precision, and accuracy which are paramount in wielding the arcane. With a fraction of the power of the greatest wizards who lead the Colleges of Magic and focus you can accomplish feats beyond their grasp. Meditation, comprehension of oneself and one’s surroundings, intricate harmony shall allow you to unleash power in a very direst, concentrated form to achieve your goals with minimum if any duress.

“Breathe. Let the air expand your lungs. Understand that you and the air are one. It fills you, imbues you with life. Exhale. Let the air leave your lungs. Understand that you and the air are one. It carries you, you become life. You imbue others with life and they imbue you with life. In this cycle you are one with all, and all are one with you. When you understand yourself you shall understand all, and you shall be able to channel your power in ways yet unheard of.

“Relax. Now open your eyes and be enlightened.”

Swish. Flick. Pitter. Patter. Swish. Pitter. Flick. Patter.

Tendrils of moonlight snaked from cracks in the fabric of wispy clouds which occluded a full moon.

Was it the dancing shadows, the eerie moonlight, or were the roots thrumming, vibrating to an otherworldly hum?

“Strike true, breathe deep. Allow the repetition fill your being. Allow the repetition to cleanse your being”, the warrior slashed at his opponent’s shield, cleaving a rent as his pupil watched on from a safe distance.

“You will become notion but the action and reaction, the cause and effect, the force and opposition”, he twisted on the ball of his left foot, allowing his adversary’s blade to slide to his right, trapping his opponent’s blade betwixt his sword and shield before delivering a kick to his nemesis’ gut.

“In doing so you transcend emotion, you transcend life and death, you become immortal. For who can destroy an action, fleeting and insubstantial? Who can capture cause in a jar and study it? What can stop force itself?”, with an elegant flourish he swept his sparring partner’s feet from under him.

“Release yourself. Sink into the current. Ever changing, ever moving, ever progressing. Transcend existence”, he ended with a sword point pressed against a crumpled figure.

Swish-Pitter. Patter-Flick. Pitter-Swish. Flick-Patter.

Roots uncoiled from their earthen bindings. Leaves sang in the gale, their high pitched voices rising in the tempest. Paws padded through muddied ground. Feet plodded through wet soil.

“Any good florist knows that the individual beauty of a flower does not mean that several beautiful flowers shall come together to produce beauty”, a middle aged woman spoke to an attentive youth.

“Beauty, they say, is fleeting. But I will tell you a secret”, she leaned in close, lowering her voice, forcing the youth to draw near.

“Beauty is balance”, she said with a shout.

“Beauty is life and death, harmony and discord. Together the infinite list of polarities join hand in hand to create the epitome of balance. Existence.”

She pointed at a bundle of wilted, dried flowers.

“Many would consider those hideous, but I know better. They are beautiful in every sense of the word. Where they decay new life shall spring forth, and give rise to the delectable fragrance of these beauties.” she said sniffing a pair of bright red roses before passing them to the youth.

“The only true ugliness is anything and everything which disrupts this balance.”

She smiled, warm and sincere.

“Breathe deeply of the lightening scent and the oppressive repugnance. Release yourself to balance, that you too may achieve beauty.”

Swish. Flick. Swish. Flick.

The rain had ceased. The moon had been vanquished by the streaming radiance of a rising sun.

Nagash was a cancer. The Great Necromancer was an enemy to balance, to beauty, existence itself.

The trees of Ghoul Wood had crept far beyond their bounds, but now they settled. With renewed purpose a black cat and cloaked man strode through the open gates of Drakenhof Castle.

Post: #12

Simon cast his helmet away "Playing dressup?!!" he said "I'm the reason that Mannfred's reinforcements didn't turn up otherwise you'd be completely swamped by legions of walking corpses grinning vampiric lackeys" he turned away "as for how I grew my head back its all thanks to this." he removed the gauntlet on his right hand revealing a band of metal with a small gem molded to it. Grandfather's ring!" he said replacing the gauntlet.

Post: #13

''The ring of Vlad? Then what do I have? a fake'' Mircea questioned, looking at his hand, examining the ring once again. He did not want to believe it, but it all made so much sense, he closed his fist agian, in thought.

Post: #14

“Lord Mircea, we meet again”, purred the black cat. He glanced at Simon.

“Although under a much more auspicious circumstances.”

The Fool piped up for the first time in a while, “Beleeara! The-the lady, she’s owie Beleaara!”

The Fool rushed over to Lesa with a sympathetic look over his face. The cat spared the Fool a measuring glance before returning his gaze to Simon.

“Ahhh, the fabled Carstein Ring”, he lapsed into silence.

After a moment his flesh seemed to run in rivulets, spilling and reforming as if nothing more than heated clay. In an instant the mirror image of a pensive Vlad von Carstein stood before the two von Carsteins.

“Very interesting indeed.”

Post: #15

"Not a fake Mircea. Grandfather had more than one ring. The one you possess is his signet ring but the real prize lies in my hand. believe I'm glad I picked up the right one before I allowed myself to have my head blown off. Simon smiled "But I had to create the illusion that you had it. So when he's not being my messenger I had Nar-Zuul follow you and heal you whenever you were hurt so that you wouldn't ask questions." Simon looked on as a cat appeared began speaking and then took on the appearance of his grandsire Simon said "I don't know what you are? But I suggest you change your form because what you are appearing as is blasphemy and the penalty is death."

Post: #16

”Life and death are merely points of view, varying perspectives”, the figure of Vlad shuddered and reformed into a replica of Simon von Carstein.

“And what is reality but individual perspective?”, his voice carried the crisp and haughty tones of the von Carstein bloodline.

“I am as much you as you are.”

Post: #17

"Really!" Simon said sarcastically "Can you do this!" Around him a terrible wailing began as the spirits of thousands of dead gathered screaming in torment. "I didn't think so." he said disdainfully as the wailing subsided.

Post: #18

'I have met this man before, brother, and he does little but mock, I would suggest you kill him.'' Mircea said.

Post: #19

With a glance at Simon, he rose his arms and reciprocated the gesture. At once the keen wailing of spirits rose and fell away.

Simon’s replica shook his head in equal parts disgust and pity, “You listen but do not truly hear.”

“If you perceive the wailing of spirits so shall your reality mirror your belief”, he shrugged gracefully.

“Truth is irrelevant.”

Post: #20

''What the hell does that mean? That makes absolutely no sense at all, Simon why don't you kill him now and be done with it'' said the vampire lord in an annoyed tone.