TVC II Chapter 1 - Old Faces

[Lynks]

As almost everyone was enthralled by the performance put on, the fire had slowly dwindled over the course of the night and was reduced to embers. A thick cloud passed over the moon and as its light was blocked out The Verdant Heart’s armour changed from a sparkling silver to a brilliant array of deep reds and oranges, reflecting the dim radiance that the hot coals exuded.

“An entertaining performance Nimrais the vampire but it seems my eyes see more than most. Never fear however, I shall not ruin the magic of such a spectacular performance for the others.” After making is praise The Verdant Heart continued, picking up on a relic of conversation from well before, “However, you need not call me sir, I am no knight and my name is no title, nothing more than a simple string of words I like to use to identify myself.”

“It would be quite rude of me to invite you into our company only to have you entertain us for the entire period of your stay, I shall do a performance of my own… Hector, find the seeds.” While the man who was presumably hector wandered around the camp, rummaging through bags, a lute and a violin were both passed to The Verdant Heart who placed them aside for the time being and other picked up a large sheet and started to unfold it.

One member of the group groaned and turned to Nimrais and stated “He likes to do this to impress the new people…” the man swiftly received a light-hearted punch by a woman next to him who replied “shut it, it doesn’t make it less impressive. I for one would watch it a thousand times!” There were various grunts of agreement from the crowd. By this stage Hector had managed to find a small bag and brought it forwards to The Verdant Heart. A large stake was placed in the centre of the fire-pit and The Verdant Heart moved to be standing almost on top of the hot coals. The sheet was thrown over the top of the stake, slowly sinking to hide the armoured figure from view. The last thing the crowd could see clearly was their leader dropping a single seed at the base of the stake.

There was a small pause before a sorrowful tune came from the violin within. The heart wrenching music continued for several minutes before slowly picking up tempo. Though The Verdant Heart was the only one underneath the sheet, a single note came from the lute whilst the violin continued. At the same time, a burst of light emanated from the base of the stake. The lute and violin continued, changing from a sad, slow tune with long notes to a much livelier tune as the light rose and seemed to coil around the stake. The audience sat in silence looking on as the light rose and the music rose in intensity. As the light reached the top of the stake the music reached its climax before suddenly stopping.

There was a brief moment of silence before the sheet caught ablaze Chasing the flames were a multitude of vines, their folds holding a light of their own as if they burned from within. As the sheet rapidly burned from the top down, more of the stake was revealed and the same vines had grown and coiled their way around and up the stake, their internal fire creating an effect unlike any other. The crowd stared in awe as The Verdant Heart Held an instrument in each hand and took a bow. As he reached the lowest point he could in the armour, the vine’s internal fire blinked out. There was a brief moment of almost darkness with only the coals for light before the vines exploded with light from all over its system.
The light faded away to reveal unbelievably intricate flowers where each burst of radiance had come from. They had sharp and angular petals that coiled inwards towards the centre of shades reflecting the flames they were born from and at their very core there was a solid substance of what very much looked like amber but seemed to have a very faint glow of its own.

Even the naysayers of the crowd sat in awe of what they had seen and silence reigned until The Verdant Heart turned to Nimrais and stated, “I trust that was to your liking? The Firebloom is a rare and exotic flower that only ever grows under the most perfect of circumstance, I was able to aquire a handful of the seeds and luckily I am able to emulate the spectacle of nature required to bring the extrodinary plant to life.”

 

[Mr Nightwere]

Jason drank his blooded tea a delicious brew of concentrated blood with a hint of flavor, which was all together delightful before he let out a sigh.
'Poor Graveclaw'
He mused as people became defensive around him, their weapons and magics poised to strike at him.
He would be fine he knew this about the Vampire implicitly but even so, to live such a life is not a kind one.
Then the Air changed and grew a sour taste in Jason mouth.

"Now, allow me to test out my little device,"

Morturion muttered to Karl with a sick sadistic smile as he pulled out an orb from his cloak. Jason's flesh and his soul scars burning, causing him slivers of icy pain along the intricate scar formations.

As the Necromancer continued.

As Morturion Waved the glowing object around some more, he said to Karl under his breath.

"Where do you want him to go? This item should lead him in the right direction; at the very least, it will calm him down. However, if this vargheist does not stop fighting him, I may not be able to get Graveclaw to focus enough on this arcane object of soul-hypnosis for it to have the desired effect."

In the blink of an eye Jason moved and was clutching hold of the orb his eyes a fiery darkness, which blazed as the penetrated into Morturion's own. He was stone quiet as he grasped it, his bear hands darkened as a weave of runic symbols glowed with unholy power and the room went silent. Terror entered Morturion, those eyes which were like those of demons. A soul of such inner strength, honed through trial and tribulation over millennium.

'The Demon of the Shade'

Jason spoke, his words slow and furious.

"There is no will working in this or any council. You Morturion Darkheart of Templehof, have no right to wield this here. Do so again and I shall rip the soul from you and you will dance as my pet for all time. This is a promise, do we understand?"

A wave of magical force echoed through the room and the light was drained from the grand throne room, as a shattering blast broke the orb in to a thousand tiny fragments, his gaze never leaving Morturion.
Once the light returned he turned his gaze back to Graveclaw nodding and then to the Von Carstiens.

Bowing deeply, he spoke in his soft elegant voice, once again.
"A thousand apologies, I did not mean to cause any undue offense. But to work ones will over others. Here Is something I cannot abide."

The last words were shot at Morturion who stood there in shock and a twinge of fear in the back of his mind ate at him. The throne room was silent for a long moment as Jason composed himself before the council.

 

[Get of W'soran]

Karl said nothing as Jason interrupted Morturion's spell-working.

The Regent silently strode out of his circle of guards to his throne with Dieter and his ten men following swiftly.

Karl sat on his throne and Dieter, with his men, joined Simon's soldiers to create a single wall of protection before their von Carstein Masters.

Karl glanced at Simon with an annoyed expression.
"Volunteer Drakenhof to the council you said." he muttered.

Karl sighed and looked up at Alexander for a moment before shifting his gaze to Mort, wondering how the arrogant mortal would react to being made a mockery of by the Lahmian.

----------

Dieter stood stock still with his men, directly before the Regent's Throne, with his eyes locked on the Strigoi.
He readjusted his grip on his Zweihander, ready to bring it down in at a moments notice.

The captain had to admit to feeling somewhat conflicted, on one had he was annoyed that Jason had interfered with the human who seemed to have successfully disabled the one called Graveclaw.

On the other hand he was glad to see that someone had put an end to such a foul sort of magic.

He considered how it had taken a great deal of control not to try and kill the disgusting little Necromancer several times already but letting him live was worth it to see him put in his place.

Beneath his helmet Dieter smiled.

 

[Sweeney Todd]

Kenshiro folded his arms across his chest as he watched the entire fiasco with Graveclaw impassively. He shrugged inwardly as the necromancer's magical device sparked Jason Nightwere's fury and its consequent destruction at Jason's hands. The human had it coming after all, what with all his demands and arrogant bluster; no sympathy was due to him.

As the music from the piano continued, Kenshiro belatedly realized the young one possessed great musical skill. But more pressing matters weighed on his mind, such as whether Graveclaw would temper his wrath, and more importantly, when Rowhaine would finally show up.

 

[Mello]

Alastor stopped looking at Igor, and stared off into somewhere in the distance. His eyes, once emotional, grew dull and cold, perhaps too dull, like he was repressing something..

"I was four when my father left my mother. Heavy drinker, liked women. That type of person."

He emphasised 'That' with almost a sigh, as if it was an accident or something.

"I... was the final straw for my parents. The night of the fire had destroyed my face and my mother couldn't bear to look at me any longer. I took up playing an old piano I had found in a farmer's barn to let out my sorrows, it seemed to be the only thing that understood how I felt, no living thing could after all.."

He looked down, his face still disturbingly void of emotion.

"She hung herself in front of my eyes. She didn't even say sorry. A couple of days later the bar-girl my father had ran off with returned sobbing, he had left her too.

I spent the rest of my childhood in a travelling circus, using my face as a centre of mockery and repulsion, and gained some money there. However, the circus performers soon started abusing me and I ran away one night. Over the next few months I travelled back home and took up residence in the hillsides around, I couldn't bear to live amongst society any more, everywhere I looked, there was only fear and revulsion." Alastor looked up again, hauntedly.

"Then a vampire came one night, it was being hunted by Kraskor. The ensuing chaos set fire to the village again. I couldn't just stand there and let the only thing I felt any connection to get destroyed, so I ran into the town trying to save someone, anyone. They all died, every last one, and in my rage I attempted to kill the vampire, who consequently turned me as an act of desperation to get me to protect him from Kraskor."

He closed his eyes, frowning, and then opened them again, his eyes had returned to their harsh but understanding stare.

"That's all there is to know about me, don't worry I don't expect compassion." he said as he swung back to the piano, and resumed playing. This time a haunting, lonely piece, the music clawed at your soul with sorrow.

 

[Dark_Wolfen]

"Oh, I see. I just asumed you were some kin of noble since your armour is so beautiful and you lead all these people," she replied mildly surprised. "And I don't mind entertaining people, I love it in fact. I'd be honoured to see your show."

Nimrais let out a short chuckle about the man and the woman bickering about the on coming show. She was smiling as the show began, but when the music started playing the smile faded. It was beautiful music, but very sad, and she listened to the tunes with great interest. When the sheets suddenly caught fire Nimrais flinched back a little and let out a small gasp. She didn't expect the flames to appear, but she quickly realized there was no danger and that it was part of the act.

When the act was over Nimrais applauded and walked up to the Verdant Heart. "That was quite impressive!" She squatted near the flowers. "And such a pretty result," she said with a voice that trailed off in a murmer as she inspected the flowers. She was about to pick one up, but when the Verdant Heart said how rare and hard to grow these flowers were, she decided to leave the pretty Fireblook in the earth.

 

[The Dread King]

Unhinged by the angry vampire's onslaught, Morturion shuffled his feet. This is not Nagash, he reminded himself. I am not undergoing the...trials again. Looking at the vampire's face, and judging by the conversaition he'd been engaging in earlier, Morturion recognised that he was being threatened by Jason Nightwere.

"Nightwere." Morturion grunted, fear slowly turning to fury. "How dare you question my methods? You do not decide what objects are used here, our hosts do. That contraption was useful; it was calming down the strigoi. Lesa had a contraption too, once; but it wasn't very useful, and it went a bit doddery." Morturion snorted in laughter at Jason.

"As for my soul, I have taken certain precautions to ensure that it is safe. They do not call me the Bane of Morr for nothing. You talk of ripping out my soul, but in your mental condition, it's a wonder you can even speak in any language but gibberish, and in all your years, you have not delved deep enough into the art of soulworking. You abhorred its darker side, you were scared of what lay within. Admit it!" His voicing rising so that all could hear, "I have looked into the darkness, and I have seen the soul in all its measures. In my laboratory, there are jars upon jars, rows upon rows, stacks upon stack, of souls!" Lowering his voice, sounding controlled, he proceeded to say: "You do not have any idea of what machines I have made. This little one you broke is nothing! You could not dream of half of what I have created. I have captured more souls than you have seen. I trap them, conduct my tests on them, keep them away from Morr, and when I have no use for them, do I release them? No! I have created my own little dimension which only I can access, just for them!"

Grinning madly, he gestured lazily and a floating image of a hellish world appeared as he spat, "Welcome to the prison. A little more ugly than Nekhlior's tower, but far more amusing". Figures could be seen, endlessly suffering but never dying, as nightmarish creatures drove them ever onwards. Something dark and terrible loomed in the distance, something wrong and unnatural, and there was so much more to see, but Morturion snapped his hand and the image disappeared.

Laughing hysterically as he talked of his favourite sport, he continued: "There are more powerful and ancient beings in there than you can imagine," he said in a gloating whisper, "and one more soul in a jar - and then the prison -" he drew his scythe slowly down, until it was pointing at Jason's chest, "would not be noticed." Jason could see the barely controlled insanity behind Morturion's eyes, eyes which had made even great vampire lords flee in terror.

"Now", he slyly said in mocking tones, addressing his question to the two present members of the Triumvirate and the guests scattered around the hall, "shall we try that again with Graveclaw, or will my lord of Nightwere need to sing a little tune and hold my hand?" Shadowy fires danced around Morturion's hands, and darkness coiled around his body. If Jason thought to make a preemptive strike, Morturion's armour would protect him.

 

[Get of W'soran]

Karl growled, his control of his temper being to weaken.

"Enough." he commanded angrily and turning gestured for Ademus to approach the throne.

The wizard von Carstein moved to stand next to his father and bowed.

"Activate them." Karl snarled.

With another bow Ademus closed his eyes and began a soft chant, in reaction to this strange inscriptions appeared on the walls and roof of the great throne room. For those with the proper understanding it could be seen these where wards of protection but every vampire could feel the main effect.
The winds of magic waned greatly, so that even the greatest magi in this room would find it difficult to call on any of the impressive spells in their arsenals.
It also made the likes of Teleportation no longer possible, an intended side effect.

Assured that this would at least mean no ridiculous magical duels would erupt in the center of his home the Regent turned his attention to the hulking Strigoi.
"Graveclaw calm down or I shall have that mortal executed." he said, gesturing at Kavok, the heat was gone from his voice replaced by an cold fury.

There would be order in his home! There must he order.

----------------------------------------

Nekhlior glanced at the wards with interest, he could of course destroy them but it would take some time.
They where complex and forged with great power over many years but then again their potency was no surprise.
Nekhlior had instantly recognized them as one of V'azrin's designed and for all of his brother's arrogance he had been a great wizard.

 

[The Dread King]

Morturion looked at the ceiling in wonder as wards appeared on the walls. Incredible, he thought, but worrying. If he could no longer perform much magic, he suddenly did not seem to be so powerful and threatening, and the likes of Kraskor and Shah would have a huge advantage over him. Stepping quickly away from Jason Nightwere before he said something that could draw the Blood dragons in, and thus probably start a swordfight, Morturion glanced at the doorway to make sure that his army still lurked outside. Leaning on his scythe idly, he watched intently as Karl threatened Graveclaw with the potential execution of the mortal knight.

Everyone has a weakness, but I didn't know what Graveclaw's was...a strigoi! With a conscience! That's absurd! He almost laughed, but decided not to. It might offend some, and the last thing he needed was a bunch of big angry vampires attacking him when his magic was at its lowest level ever.

Morturion stepped up to the wall and placed his hand on one of the wards. It was warm to the touch, and felt arcane and unnatural; it almost seemed to be a sentient being of its own mind. Scrutinizing it closely, he saw minor imperfections in it, but they were incredibly small. It would take months for me to stop the overall effect of these wards, he marvelled. Small wonder Drakenhof has never been taken by the mortals - the Carsteins have even prevented potential magical attacks from inside. They are one step ahead of us all, in the ways of protection... It worried him. What if they have only brought us here to slaughter some of us, and enslave the rest as their thralls? Time and time again, the Carsteins have proven treacherous and power-hungry. Morturion dismissed the thought. His hosts would surely not dare to openly anger the Champion of the Nehekharan Gods.

 

[Malochai]

Markus had been watching with dispassion as things proceeded, smiling as Jason smashed the Necromancer’s object, until Morturion started raving. He stepped forward slightly, a frown on his face, until Karl spoke, his powerful voice ringing around the room.

The younger vampire was powerful, Markus could tell, the Aethyr drawn to him like a beacon, but on a less powerful level than Nekhlior. The results were amazing, even to one as distanced from magic as Markus was - the glowing runes and inscriptions enough to cause him to gaze in wonder, before he felt a sudden chill. This left a few of them quite vulnerable, and the rest outnumbered. A thought occurred to him; ‘This is dangerous.’

“Karl, do we have any idea how long Lord Rowhaine will be? This situation must be defused. I would not say such methods as you have chosen to employ are the correct ones.”

 

[Simon von Carstein]

"If the rest of you do not pipe down I'll resolve the situation the way I usually do...." said the Lord Imperator sitting up straight in his throne.

Looking over to Graveclaw he commanded "Shackle the beast!" Turning back he said "Now which of you brought him here to the heart of Carstein territory? I sincerely doubt he received a letter like the rest of you. Graveclaw hasn't been seen in over ten years and even if he had been he can't read."

 

[Mr Nightwere]

Jason back was still on Morturion, yet he knew what was coming he had hoped to have done with the Necromancer to have sat back down and enjoy the show... Yet when his scars burn he could rarely control himself...

my methods? You do not decide what objects are used here, our hosts do. That contraption was useful; it was calming down the strigoi. Lesa had a contraption too, once; but it wasn't very useful, and it went a bit doddery."

Morturion snorted in laughter at Jason and Jason turned to eye him, a cold smile etched across his face calculating as he gazed into him.
Morturion showed him the
"You have not delved deep enough into the art of soulworking. You abhorred its darker side, you were scared of what lay within. Admit it!"


An evil grin crossed the Lahmians features as The necromancer continued.

"You do not have any idea of what machines I have made. This little one you broke is nothing! You could not dream of half of what I have created. I have captured more souls than you have seen. I trap them, conduct my tests on them, keep them away from Morr, and when I have no use for them, do I release them? No! I have created my own little dimension which only I can access, just for them!"
He gazed into the dimension he was shown dispassionately as Mourturion continued his ramblings.

"There are more powerful and ancient beings in there than you can imagine," he said in a gloating whisper, "and one more soul in a jar - and then the prison -" he drew his scythe slowly down, until it was pointing at Jason's chest, "would not be noticed." Jason could see the barely controlled insanity behind Morturion's eyes, eyes which had made even great vampire lords flee in terror. Jason's shot back with equal force fury staring to build withing him if there was one ting he hated more than will working it was being threatened with violence.

He was allowed a moment to speak, though he cursed himself as his words came out angrily.

"That contraption is forbidden and I can very well decide what are used here. That right was gifted to me By Vladimir Von Carstien, In the time of the Vampire wars and You must well know that to be a member of the council is to have the right to act as you see fit or leave. We have no time for half hearted discussions or wasting of time on petty things like who has the most power. You abilities are fantastic yet I do not take kindly to being threatened with weapons"

A blur of speed and Jason had moved to the necromancers side his scythe moved to strike and Jason caught it, leaning into speak again.

"You should learn to respect your elders, and do not assume by my demeanor that I am good bay any means I am vampire and I have slain far greater than you for lesser. there for I would suggest you Lower your weapon and keep that anger of yours in check."
The words whispered out as he let go of the scythe and moved slowly back allowing him space and as Karl's fury was echoed the magical wards flashed into being across the great Hall. Morturion was quiet for along moment as he examined the wards and figure out his chances of escape.

Jason simply waited looking at Graveclaw he spoke to Simon his body still poised at Morturion.
"Master Von Carstien, I do not think that necessary. Graveclaw can play nice if given ample incentive?"

"Please Graveclaw stop." His voice was smooth and sad in its plea. Jason only hoped he would heed it.

 

[Mello]

A figure stood in the main door-frame, while people had stopped fighting the strigoi, he still remained surrounded by guards and it seemed the necromancer was on the verge of slaughter as well.

Alastor smiled softly. Poor people, the rules of politeness and society had broken, and now the cards were on the table, so to speak, and everyone's true nature was revealed. How ugly it was indeed.

Alastor, still unused to his new strength at times, hadn't realised he had pulled the piano along with him, but realised he may actually be of use here. Carrying the piano into the room he placed himself to the side of the room. He cleared his throat.

"This, you see, is what happens when the laws of politics fall, it is merely a.. masquerade." he put emphasis on the last word, gesturing angrily at the transformed vargheist, the now drained mages, the bodyguards surrounding Graveclaw.

Alastor chuckled to himself, almost knowingly. "You'd fool any friend who ever knew you, you know. While you may want to hear my own music, I shall play you some Grieg. He only makes you weep. My music.. burns..."

And in an unforseen act of charity, Alastor tried to, for the first time, give something back to society. Not like he owed it anything, but generosity sometimes flared... In an attempt to diffuse some tension he began playing.

[OOC: play and continue reading. I'd reccomend listening to the entirety, its lovely]

[video=youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=57eXVwM5gL0&feature=relmfu[/video]

The music was no longer suicidal and angry, but was now compliant and polite. Yet still Alastor's inherent tragedy shone through, he seemed to be able to relate his entire life through his playing, without speaking a word. Each minor chord was held in such precision, such grace, the intervals apologetically wound their way through your mind sorrowfully and resolved themselves in arabesque cadences.

Slowly, the crowd held aside their differences, and just paused. And listened...

and enjoyed.

Alastor played on, oblivious to the world, they mattered not to him. It was just him and the music.

Sadly the peace did not last..

 

[The Dread King]

Hearing Simon's command to the Under Guard, Morturion laughed in desperation. What the Carsteins were doing to the Strigoi did not make any sense. "First you attack it with a vargheist," he said, gesturing at Graveclaw. "Then you tell it to calm down, next you remove our arcane abilities," he addressed to his hosts, "and finally you try to capture the most powerful strigoi in this world?!?! I thought you Carsteins had sense. The vargheist will only annoy Graveclaw and stop him from calming down. Removing our arcane powers puts him on the same level as us - our advantage over him was that we had magical abilities, which you've now removed while we're in this room. Brilliant! Trying to shackle him will make him even more angry and desperate than he already is, which will lead to vast bloodshed. What do you think you are doing? Unless Rowhaine arrives, someone is going to get killed." Turning to the bestial vargheist fighting Graveclaw and the under guard surrounding him, he remarked grimly with a sigh, "It doesn't take much guesswork to know who is probably going to die first."

Glancing at the figures just behind the doorway, he could see that his necromancers powers' had not been drained. So even if you are only a few metres outside the room, the wards do not affect you. Interesting. I will need to prioritize getting to the door quickly if and when I need to escape this wretched castle.

 

[Count Darvaleth]

Kraskor was intrigued to see Karl threaten Graveclaw with the mortal; Nehklior had once spoken of the Strigoi's great weakness, but Kraskor had never seen it in action. The blasted necromancer, Morturion, piped up again, complaining about the magical-drain wards around the room. The Blood Dragon's patience had worn thin with the mortal.

... the mortal...

Kraskor strode forward purposefully, then, moving as quick as lightning, he was behind Morturion, his sword drawn and held across the Necromancer's neck, his other gauntleted hand restraining the old crone.

"If it's all the same to you, my Lords Regent and Imperator," said Kraskor, still addressing the vampires with their correct titles, "I think the visual, immediate threat of a blade to a helpless old man's neck is more likely to have an effect on Graveclaw. Threatening the knight, who may well defend himself or escape, might not calm the Strigoi as the Lord-Imperator hoped." Kraskor paused, his fangs showing as he smirked, "I must admit that it also brings me great joy to hold a blade to this one, rather than the honourable knight."

Kraskor kept the keen metal edge tight to Morturion's neck, hot air prickling the back of his head as Kraskor breathed, almost towering over the wizened figure.

"If you're not careful, my fangs might just slip..." whispered Kraskor, unable to resist as he smelled the warm blood pulsing through the necromancer's veins.

 

[the hidden one]

Igor slipped back into the shadows, contemplating what he had learned. An unfamiliar emotion came across him, empathy. He did not normally care about others, but alastor, he was different. The only person he had ever met who was like him in a way. It was, comforting.

 

[Mello]

Alastor humphed at the piano. Sadly it turned out that no-one had listened to him.

Just about keeping his temper under control, he ventured up to the thrones, and, trying to calculate how much offense he could cause without being killed, sat on the arm of the final remaining throne, leaning his head on his arms sullenly.

"You see what happens when one person just.. breaks the rules? Catastrophe. Masks off.." he chuckled, "So to speak". He guestered vaguely at the assorted chaos in the room.

"You know, if this were my house," he muttered, sinisterly, "and for whatever reason I had been possessed to invite them, I'd have kicked them all out by now, except the people who seem actually beleive that killing something isn't the only way to solve a situation."

 

[The Dread King]

Morturion now wished that he was not in Drakenhof. It seemed that Rowhaine would not turn up; his whole journey had been a waste of time, and possibly of his unlife. In choked speech, desperately trying to delay Kraskor's actions, he stammered: "Your g-get has a point, K-kraskor. Killing is most unci-civilised. N-necromancers are undead. It w-will not have the s-same effect on the s-strigoi if you were to kill me as if you were to kill the mortal knight. Besides, you would not want to displease Rowhaine by killing me, would you?"

Morturion sighed inwardly as he remembered that his armour was only covering his chest. He had not wanted to look eager for combat in this supposedly diplomatic meeting. With a silent command to his armour, it rapidly oozed its way over his neck, and more gradually so around his body, slightly repelling Kraskor's fingers as it did so. He would normally be able to perform this action effortlessly, but the wards in the room forced him to use incredible amounts of energy. In the course of half a second, Kraskor was holding some of the strongest armour in the world, instead of a mortal neck.

Morturion spun around, forcing himself partly out of the vampire's iron grip so that he was face to face - still uncomfortably close - with the blood dragon. "I remind you, I was invited here, I am not some helpless old man to be held hostage against an insane strigoi, I am not an upjumped servant who should be staying behind their master." He looked long and hard at Kraskor, and then at Nekhlior. Perhaps he did not betray Nagash initially, but it was very wrong of him to join the council. If it could even be called a council... He hefted his scythe so that he was ready for (but hoping against hope that it would not come to) - physical combat. Morturion's voice grew more and more angry, and less and less scared, as he spoke. "An honourable blood dragon would have challenged me outside. But you are Vekarin's get, I forget that."

A wight king, Morturion's bodyguard in this room, stepped up behind Kraskor, pressing the blade lightly against Kraskor's back. The wight blade could cause serious damage to the vampire if thrust into his back, perhaps even destroy him. With a grin, Morturion remarked, "Forgot about my little friend, didn't you? Vekarin did not teach you honour; he seems not to have taught you the dangers of underestimating your enemies either. I hope you have some knowledge of the dark arts; Nekhlior, whatever else he may be, is an excellent tutor. Now, let's act sensibly. Take a deep breath, count to ten, step away from me, and we'll forget this ever happened. Otherwise, the authorities in this room-" Morturion glanced at the Von Carsteins, " - will be forced to take action. Punishing action."

Morturion hoped Kraskor would move away. If not, the situation could get very difficult. He wanted Karl and Simon to take control of matters, but what had they done so far? A dignified group of undead had descended into a steaming mess because of the Triumvirate's inaction. And now, insanity of insanities, Alastor was sitting in a Triumvirate throne. Morturion thought Alastor had much potential, and was extremely amused by his mockery of the Von Carsteins, but marvelled at their incompetence and truly realised why they had only managed to take half of the comparitively puny human empire in ten years. If Rowhaine does not arrive soon, I will leave this blasted behemoth of a fortress. And it will be good riddance, too.

 

[Count Darvaleth]

Kraskor snarled as the necromancer's armour warped and changed, his grip loosening as slippery plate sneaked up the man's neck. The previous stuttering, stammering, stupefied excuse for a living creature turned around sharply, his croaky voice suddenly feeling braver. The reason for the coward's sudden courage came less than a second after; Kraskor could feel the point of a blade against his back. The Necromancer's guard had snuck behind the pair, and now even Morturion himself readied his clumsy scythe. The stuck-up mortal's quip about Vekarin, however, earned him only bottomless fury.

"Vekarin taught me more than honour," hissed Kraskor, "And it appears nobody taught you anything. Never before has a more worthless example of walking stupidity and arrogance come before my sight. Our advantage over the beast, squandered by petty cowardice. Any chance of you escaping my wrath, dashed by your foolish, stuck-up "wit". And my temper, held in check, now unbound."

Kraskor threw his blade to the ground, watching the spineless relief spreading through the necromancer's ugly face. This insolent blight on the world would learn to fear the name Banespike. For he would become one.

The Blood Dragon bore his fangs, ready to lean in and make Morturion that which he always strove to fight, a vampire. He prepared to deliver the Blood Kiss...

Do it.

Kraskor faltered, halting with his hungry jaw inches from Morturion's face, a flash of concern crossing the vampire's features. Retracting his fangs slightly, Kraskor spat fully in the Necromancer's face, a great globulet of black ichor splattered across his arrogant face.

"I swear to you, by all those present," rumbled Kraskor, his voice grave and dripping with malice, "That you will die by my hand."

The vampire stepped back a smidgen, indicating that Morturion would live, for now.

 

[Kavok]

Kavok looks between the fighting monstrosities, the courtly people in charge, and the -really- old guy, who has definitely seen better days, argue with basically everyone else he comes in contact with, with quite a bit of confusion. When his personal death was suggested as a threat to stop Graveclaw, the level of confusion just got worse. 'Why would that stop a monster such as himself? Does he have something against other undead, yet not those still living? That can't be it... So what else about me... There are other warriors in the room, so that is not it. Is it something I don't even know about myself? Hmm...' Kavok thought to himself while still standing guard in front of Elanor.

When Kraskor started to talk, Kavok started to get the feeling that he could probably at least relate to him... He also at least thought something of Kavok's abilities in combat, which is quite a bit more then Kavok could say he thinks most of the other vampires think. So when Morturion start to insult Kraskor, Kavok found it fairly easy to know which side he felt more aligned to. "Sorry to interrupt you two... I'm not sure if there is much difference between a knight's honor and a blood dragon's honor, but... Honor doesn't mean walking up to people and challenging them to single combat the moment you see them. For knights anyways. We only challenge people to single combat with our honor on the line when they've done something that might insult our honor or the honor of those we care about. And judging by how most of the other... people... have interacted with you thus far, I'm fairly certain you've done quite a bit to insult quite a few of them. Your also a fairly sad person for starting to bad mouth someone else's honor only when you've got a bodyguard to cower behind. Also I'd come take the guard off your hands so that you can clear up the challenge against your honor, but..." Kavok looks between Elanor and the monster fight, before looking back at Kraskor and Morturion "... you look as though you shouldn't have too much of a problem dealing with them both, and I've got other duties at the moment..."

After Kraskor said that last bit Kavok added on "... Or that... Time and a place for everything... And this is probably not the time to be arguing with a coward." Kavok looks back at the fight between Graveclaw and Alexander.

 

[The Dread King]

Morturion wiped the spit off his face. Much as though he would have liked to crush Kraskor for his attack, the necromancer would not dare attack him in front of all these guests, without his magical abilities. It had looked as if Kraskor wanted to sire him. Whatever happens, I must not become a vampire...vampires are treacherous beasts. His armour melted over his face, and formed a ghastly helm in the shape of a snarling, steel monster's head. There was not a gap in his plate. Kraskor would need to smash his way through to expose any flesh.

Looking at Kraskor in contempt, he said, "I was taught by some of the most powerful undead in the world, Nagash and your own tutor - who should be restraining you now - among them. As for 'dying by your hand', that seems very unrealistic, but don't worry, I won't vow to slay you; I'll leave you for my underlings - "

Morturion kicked Kraskor's fallen blade aside, and it went skittering across the room as he smirked. "- and I think we will have no combat today; at any rate."

Astonished to hear the young knight speak up, he thought I'll make an example of this one, and then we shall see who is cowardly. Morturion turned to the young knight and said, "Mortal. You are very lucky to even be alive at this point. But your insolence has gone too far."

Morturion swept Kavok's feet out from under him with the pole of his scythe, and took several steps back. "Maybe you should make this one a Banespike. He's stupid enough to be one." Seeing the growing rage on Kraskor's face as one might see a heavy storm cloud, Morturion quickly remarked, "But if you want to do battle, then let us battle with words, like the 'civilised' Vekarin would obviously do. The Von Carsteins do not like the sight of spilled blood in their halls, and Rowhaine would, I repeat, be beside himself with despair if any of us died. By the way, my guard is still behind you. So," he said, stepping further and further back and pointing to Alastor sitting on the previously empty Triumvirate throne, "I advise you to deal with your get."

 

[Kavok]

Kavok gets his feet swept out from under him while his attention was focused on the other fight. Standing up, Kavok pulls the sword on his hip out of its sheath, and points it at Morturion. "You attack me while I was focused on other matters, and then run away? You talk as if you have any idea of the very concept of honor, but I have yet to see even a hint of that in your actions. And yes I realize I am lucky to be alive at this time, but that does not mean I have to hide myself in the vain hope of living. If this is my end then so be it. I'm thinking I don't have any major problems with most the people present, though being threatened as a solution for the beast problem is beyond me... not sure how that is supposed to work... But you sir, are insulting not only the people in this room, but also honor itself. Cowards should just go hid in their corners instead of trying to intimidate others, because honestly I very much doubt any of the vampires here are by any means scared of you."

Then thinking to himself 'Maybe if he jumped into the fight between Alexander and the monster... If he makes it out alive he'd probably gain some respect... but I foresee that would more likely be a hilarious encounter with him not able to walk out of the mix.'

 

[Count Darvaleth]

Kraskor's rage boiled over as the Necromancer stepped away. As Morturion swept the knight onto the floor, the Blood Dragon felt unable to contain his hate.

"Fool," whispered Kraskor, as now that Morturion had moved from his front, the only thing holding him back was the wight to his rear. Moving with impossible speed, Kraskor brought his left arm forward, then pulled it back with immense force. Swinging his entire body with it, Kraskor's armoured elbow torpedoed the wight's face, smashing straight through the bone. Still suffused with rage, Kraskor turned fully, in the same motion, bringing his gauntleted right fist into contact with the wight's chest. The corroded armour buckled on impact, Kraskor's fist punching straight through as he ripped the spinal-column clean out from the wight's body. The skeletal mass fell to the floor, its head and body destroyed within the same second, its blade clattering to the ground. Kraskor raised an iron boot, and brought it thundering down, splintering the ancient blade beneath him.

Turning, his expression molten, Kraskor started Morturion in the face, "I hope we understand each other," he hissed, a dark humour laughing beneath the surface as Kavok raised a sword to the distracted necromancer. Part of Kraskor wanted to behead the necromancer, but he knew that, on his honour, he had sworn to end the bastard. If Kavok helped, he would break his word.

Kraskor retrieved his blade, before straightening up. "Stand at ease, sir knight. I will not allow any other to touch this one; only I will have the joy of watching the life slip from his eyes."

 

[The Dread King]

"You killed my wight," Morturion growled at Kraskor. "Go join Graveclaw and the vargheist, you are no better than them. A blood dragon, you call yourself. Yet all I see is a blood beast. And you, insolent mortal, you call me a coward. I am prudent and restraining, not cowardly. I served my master until his end, that was more honourable than any displays of chivalry by you two in this room. I should kill you here and now, you insignificant knight, and turn you into a wight, but then Kraskor would feel guilty about killing you; and I wouldn't want to break his vampiric little heart."

Snarling, he clenched his fists, and bellowed at another of his wights standing in the doorway to join him. "Oh, and Kraskor," he said, spitting at the vampire's feet, "we have an understanding. You've annoyed me." The ancient skeletal form of the wight stepped up beside the necromancer. "When we meet in the field, I promise you, I WILL send you to the prison. His voice was full of a dark eagerness. "And I hope you enjoy your stay." With a malicious grin,he turned away.

 

[Kavok]

Kavok glanced over at Kraskor for a second before lowering his sword. "Fine. You did already swear, so I'll respect your word. Not like he will likely stand much of a chance against you..." Kavok went back to guarding Elanor, looking between the fight between Alexander and Graveclaw and largely ignored Morturion. He did not want to be caught off-guard again by that mutilated guy with the scythe though, so he did at least take note on if Morturion, or the armored skeleton obviously working with Morturion, came any closer. 'So what is the big problem they have gathered to solve? And why was my death used as an attempt to deter the monster from mauling everyone... These vampires confuse me...'