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TVC II Chapter 3 - The Second Council

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The Dread King

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Morturion looked down with contempt at the young vampire, before making a silent mental command. His armour rapidly encased him once more, and another hulking souleater stepped out of the doorway. "All I can say to that little speech is-"

The souleater thumped its way to behind Alroy, and uttered an ear-splitting, terrifying scream. "-you don't choose your underlings very well," Morturion finished.

He heard what Roland said, and thought amusedly, If I had a gas-sucking machine, I'd have used it long ago on the Priests of Morr. Then I wouldn't have to listen to their boring speeches and could just get on with killing them.
 

Sweeney Todd

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Kenshiro saw the flaring cloak being casually thrown into his face as a mild prank on someone poking holes in the twins' suggestion, but took no offense. Such was the character of these eternal brats of the night, after all. Instead, he replied thoughtfully to Alroy's words.

"Interesting...your castle might indeed prove to be a suitable mode of transport after all. However, as Professor Austimov has pointed out, aerial travel over the Chaos Wastes itself would be difficult. Perhaps we should use your castle to bring us to the Sea of Chaos, whereupon we continue our journey by sea and land." He said, before turning to Roland as he introduced himself.

Kobura...most likely a direct transliteration of 'Cobra' into Nihongo

"Well met, Roland Cobra." Kenshiro said, intentionally using what he saw as the Reikspiel behind his foreign-sounding name, to determine whether his educated guess was wrong or not.

"Unfortunately, flair does us no good if it kills us in the process before we have actually achieved anything."
 

Ghouly

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Graveclaw rose to his full height, with a thunderous roar more than ready to tear apart whatever Carstine fool that wanted a piece, Upon hearing the Kilsivites heartbeat however the Strigois rage immediately evaporated as if it never were with an exasperated sigh Graveclaw turned in preparation for a long chase through the night. Suddenly the wind shifted carrying the man’s scent to Graveclaws nostrils, the Srigoi froze there was something wrong with it the man was tainted there was a wild primal side to it Graveclaw could smell the beast in his blood “Lycanthrope” Graveclaw snarled, before spinning back around and hurling himself at Mikhail with a savage roar. Graveclaw crossed the distance between them in a heartbeat raching out with one powerful claw Graveclaw seized the berserker by the throat and lifted him one handed the face level “Fuck, You Fido!” Graveclaw snarled into Mikhail’s face before hurling him back with all his strength.
 
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Alroy pointed toward Kenshiro with one giant paw. It was an innocent, man'sbest-friend variety of gesture. Which, of course, was horribly out of place given the monster that was making it. "See. Muscles speaks sense! We never said we would be scouting around in the thing, we just said it could get us where we needed to go, and in more comfort than ANY of you gits have available for the road!" He sat and scratched at an ear vigorously with one hind leg. "My wife may even be able to tinker with the enchantments that keep it afloat to allow us safer travels in the more Chaos-y areas. Also, your analogy made sense until you tried to insult people with it. Idiot." he remarked, plopping his furry rear down onto the stone and unleashing a panting grin like some over-sized demented family pet. He seemed to care little that his brother appeared to be in grave peril across the room.

Aidan's expression and demeanor did not change as the soul-eater screamed directly behind his ears. What is this, some sort of threat? Idiot.

The soul-eater loomed over the dimunitive, paltry form before it. Its master was but a breath from making it strike. The intense hunger in its gullet longed for the rich essence emanating from the creature it faced, and it trembled with restraint and expectation.

The last thing Morturion saw before his vision was blocked by the rush of shadows was the impudent vampire's face abruptly smirking at him.

The soul-eater felt something huge and hard crash into its face and torso. Its feet lost contact with the ground for a good four seconds, and it flailed helplessly before pulverizing itself against the doors opposite where it had been in the Council Chamber.

Alroy watched as his brother shifted into the form of his own design; his beloved Crypt Hulk. Standing at fully twice the size of the once impressive creature Aidan faced, he swung hard back with one bulging arm and hurled the construct away. It went sailing over the thrones and into one of the large doors in the chamber, where it splattered and knocked the doors wide open, fragmenting the bar in the process. He proceeded to bring his paws together in a pantomime of clapping, howling out his approval.

Aidan swung back around and gripped the necromancer's body in one hand, lifting it up to his hideous, ghoulish face. "The von Carsteins want you breathing, mortal. Otherwise I would squeeeeeeze..." he cackled, roughly dumping the wizard on the stone floor after giving him a guick, mostly-harmless pump. His lumbering bulk made its way back to his brother, where they both reformed into their usual semblance of normalcy.
 

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Morturion cursed as he fell to the ground. He had not expected the fool to turn into a raavening beast, but at least he would be prepared for that next time. His souleater, however, would not. The blue, horned humanoid was splattered, just like the one in the centre of the room. In an outburst of frustration, he addressed the whole council and said, "Could you stop using my servants as punchbags!?" Turning to Aidan and Alroy, he snarled, and slung a magical sphere around them with a flick of his wrist. Without a good degree of magical effort, they would not be able to leave the sphere's limits, and could not transform within it. The words 'japes of the night' blazed above the sphere in fiery letters.

Morturion spoke loudly, "I will not suffer a charade such as that again. Were you in my hall, you would already be dead. You are the fortunate ones, for I believe this council also wants you alive, ridiculous though that seems. I am no mere mortal, but a thousand year old necromancer; one, I feel, will soon become a Liche. Whereas you are a pair of vain adolescents who would dare to enter the Wastes in a flying castle! In case you haven't noticed, Tzeentch has his own flying fortress - originally the great wizard Fozzrik's, and it's much, much bigger than whatever petty tower you've got out there, which I could disenchant, if I felt so inclined. Then where would you be?"

A smile played on his face. Morturion needed something...bigger this time. Something more powerful. He smiled, and a vast flesh golem stepped forward, bigger than the average vargheist. It was an amalgamation of disgusting leathery browns, rotting greens, and cold, dead pinks, with bone and dark magic underneath. It had two sets of arms, and blades in each of them, and its face seemed to be moulded onto the top half of its chest. A formidable foe, without doubt.

Morturion continued, his calm attitude resumed. "I shall let you out now," he said resolvedly, "but if further incidents are to occur, then there will be consequences. I am not a mothering man, so I fear my discipline is a little on the harsh side." Morturion drew a slicing motion across his armoured neck, as if to indicate what the consequences would be. "And you may want to remember," he intoned quietly, before making the sphere dissipate, "punishment does not end with death."

Morturion surrounded himself with a protective circle of rotating, arcane shadows and blazing flames. He stepped within what he thought was a safe distance to be from Rowhaine, and ruminated on how he would get his revenge. There could well be revenge in store for these terrible twins. Already, a ghastly plan had formulated in his mind, and a letter was planned. The first two lines were to go like this, Morturion decided: "Dear Count Krieger, there are a certain pair of vampires I would like to report..."
 

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The bickering and delaying was beginning to eat Shah's temper, which was beginning to fray minute by minute, second by second. 'They act like children!' he told himself viciously. He controlled his unnecessary breathing, following the calming routines he had learnt as a child under the stern eye of his grandfather. He still used them when he felt himself about to lose control - he had vowed to never reenact the scenes which had drenched his first days as a vampire with blood. Even so, he felt his anger bubbling to the surface. Ineffectually, his hand tried to ball itself into a fist.

The young vampire's antics finally pushed him beyond the limits - they were here for more than petty arguments. A greater purpose was at stake. A grumbling noise started in his throat, and grew louder and louder until he was practically roaring to gain the attention of the Hall.

"Stop," he called; not shouting but forceful, confident. "We have a purpose here. Fools!" he called to Aidan and Alroy, referring to them jointly with an appropriate name, "Stop irritating ... Everyone!
"Morturion, keep your constructs under control; we don't need the problems they cause."
The disgust in his voice was clear.

"All of you! We stand here as a Council to combat the forces who gather against us in the Shadows; forces of great power - no mere mortal gathering. We have travelled far to come here, and we are wasting time. You - near all of you! - are acting like mortals, who don't know any better! You act like you are aged two, not two centuries, and even older! We are supposed to be the Lords of the Night, the Blood Aristocracy! Start acting like it!"

The Lion took a deep breath. He forced himself to be silent for five seconds, and then raised his eyes to the Lords Imperator and Regent. "Lord Karl, Lord Simon ... I apologise." He felt the Regent's aura start to weigh on him and felt himself bow slightly. Steeling his will, he forced against it and stood straight. Turning, he caught sight of Rowhaine and his own aura and felt his skin crawl again; he was too ... 'Alive?' he thought. "Champion, I must leave this ... Nursery. I shall be training in the yard with my men. If you need me, send a messenger and I shall attend presently."

Spinning on his heel, cloak of blood red cloth billowing behind him, he strode from the Hall calmly, keeping a steady pace. "Lukas will not enjoy sparring tonight," he thought ruefully.
 

Count michael

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Slamming back into Mikhail heard bones crack as he was hurled back into a tree his ribs cracking due to the force, cursing in pain Mikhail started coughing up black blood. "I was going to play nice big fella but now you really fucked me off, first I am going to fucking rip your ugly head off, then I shall piss on your corpse before I mutilate your body in the most satisfy ways possible after which I shall get really angry, probably eat a few people or something " he yelled with a wolfish grin coughing up more black blood as he lost grip with his sanity as the beast within took control. Shuddering as an unholy change took form Mikhail cried out in agony kneeling upon the ground his form getting larger his bones cracking as they forcibly elongated and changed their shape while his muscles enlarged and grew. There was a sickening ripping sound as Mikhail's skin was ripped to shreds revealing bloody fur as the beast within clawed its way out, his hands and feet forming fury paws with razor sharp claws and his head changing into the face of a wolf with sharp teeth and a hungry gleam in its ice blue eyes. Its transformation over the where once stood a man now stood a huge wolf like creature almost standing as tall as Graveclaw shrouded in the bloody rags of its skin let out an ear splitting howl which spread across Sylvania. Mikhail was a Skin wolf a creature of dark legend and myth cursed by his tainted blood as a chaos shape shifter half insane with a ravenous hunger.

The Beast Mikhail uprooted the nearest tree running at Graveclaw swinging it like a club which sent Graveclaw flying backwards, still holding its makeshift weapon Mikhail readied its self for Graveclaws next attack howling even more.


(OOC yes Mikhail is a Werewwolf well a skin wolf basically the same unsure if the council heard Mikhail's howling but chances are they would don't really know how close we are too Drakenhof, hopefully my description of his transformation is ok probably might change it later if it need improvement)
 

Get of W'soran

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Dieter was breathing heavily.
The sheer amount of stupidity and nonsense occurring in hall was pushing the Blood Dragon's temper to it's limit. He could feel the Blood Fury of his kind pushing against the steely discipline instilled by centuries of training.

Throughout centuries of serving the various Lords of the von Carstein family he had never seen such foolishness, even Konrad the Blood Count's court had been better behaved that this 'Council'.
It wasn't the bickering but the pure pointlessness of the conflict between the members which bothered Dieter and these two new vampires where even worst.

Karl perhaps noticing this raised an eyebrow to his Captain.
"Perhaps you should see if the Lord Shah finds his way to the Training Halls." the Regent offered.

Dieter bowed silently and stalked out of the hall without a backward glance, he had already said he would go on the mission to deal with Nefereta so his input was no longer needed anyway.

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

Nekhlior watched Morturion reprimand the two children immortals with some amusement.

"You are all going to die you know."

Nekhlior suppressed a sigh as the now familiar hallucination of V'azrin spoke up, knowing this shade of his Brother was a figment of his imagination didn't seem to empower the Necrarch with the ability to banish it.

"Go away." he muttered quietly.

"But you are. This council is pathetic. And look who's leading you! A mortal follower of a God who wants our kind destroyed! So your Council is not only weak but stupid as well for following the man." V'azrin told his brother with a smirk "You should have brought Reshorn, you're going to need some fodder for when things go wrong so you can escape...or is that why you brought Kraskor?"

Nekhlior gritted his teeth and ignored V'azrin as the shade continued listing the faults of the Council.

Stepping forward Nekhlior coughed and looking past Rowhaine to spare himself the pain of observing the Champion's Aura he addressed the man.
"Perhaps we can get this meeting moving forward Champion? I believe everyone has stated where they wish to go."

"Don't ignore me Nekhlior!"
 

Count Darvaleth

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Kraskor smirked inwardly as the mortal offered his hand. He briefly considered rejecting it, but decided it would do more harm than any good the short pleasure would bring him. Besides, it wasn't as though Kraskor would actually remember who this man was. He'd be dead within the century, just like all mortal humans, so it didn't matter much to Kraskor anyway.

"Kraskor Banespike, Get of Vekarin, Slayer of Nagash, and Grandget of Abhorash, my line's progenitor," rumbled Kraskor, taking the hand and giving it a stiff shake, "You've fortunately missed most of the fireworks concerning my sire, however, and our outing to the Wastes will soon put everybody's mind at rest."
 

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Markus strode out of the main doors of Castle Drakenhof and into the cool night air of Slyvania, breathing it in and sighing. The smell of blood tickled his nose, and the call of a beating heart sang to him, but Sylvanian stock had poor blood; as thin as water and tasting of vinegar. 'Now, the blood of Reikland, Averland ... Ostland!' he thought. 'That is blood of finer stock; hard people. Better than the swill the von Carstein's drink.'

A sad smile touched his face, and instantly he forced it away, face turning stoney again. The vampire had made his way to the main gates and stood at the top of the hill, the wind whipping his cloak about him like he was in the centre of a maelstrom of material blood. He opened his mouth as his fangs grew, the pearlescent teeth tearing rivulets into his thin lips. Thick, black blood bubbled from the wound and trickled down his sculpted face. All of this happened beneath the golden mask, hidden from view. He licked the blood and then, over the whistling of the wind, heard the sound of footsteps on the stone ground behind him.

Turning with regal arrogance, preparing to see the Fools or perhaps Morturion, he formed a snarl deep in his throat; a deep, primal sound that would make the heart of many a veteran soldier lose heart. However, when he saw it was Dieter, he let it die. He had a feeling it would make little difference to the Blood Dragon's morale either way; a veteran warrior such as he could probably match the sound, and equal him with a blade. 'Although, why someone so skilled would ply his trade for von Carstein's is beyond me,' he reflected silently. With a slight bow of his head, Markus acknowledged the other vampire's presence. He turned back to the view, lit by the moons high above.

"The mortals really do miss such a spectacular sight, Brother of my Blood. Their limited sight ... Their fear of the dark ... Morrslieb and Mannslieb alight this world so beautifully ..." The younger of the two vampires sighed silently, and then turned to the Regent's bodyguard. "Anyway, Ser Dieter, enough of that. Surely Lord Rowhaine does not already require me to return? I have barely been here more than five minutes?"
 

Get of W'soran

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Dieter give a respectful bow before approaching Shah, he liked the other Blood Dragon who seemed immune to the foolishness that infected many of the others.

Brother of my Blood? he thought, although Dieter had never been welcomed as such but the words rang deep within him and he was suddenly very aware of the comforting sense of the other vampire's kindred blood.

Is it right to even think of claiming kinship with one so obviously high born? he wondered.

Perhaps it was this unexpected and new-found feeling of brotherhood that he felt with this other vampire that allowed Dieter to swallow his annoyance at how Shah addressed him.

"Greetings my Lord." he greeting the other vampire and looked up before shrugging "In all my years I do not think I have ever considered our unique perspective of the world." Dieter admitted "I am just a simple soldier, such thoughts rarely come to me."

Turning his gaze back to Shah he removed his helmet. "And on the note my Lord I am simply Dieter or 'Captain' if formality is needed, I am only of common blood and am certainly no knight." Dieter told Shah although he sounded proud of the fact and said the last word with distaste.

Dieter lowered his Greatsword from his shoulder, jamming the point into the ground, after clipping his helmet to his belt.
"As for why I am here, officially because the Regent wished to ensure that you found the training halls."

The stern vampire give a rare smile "Although in truth I believe my Master sensed my lack of patience with our...allies and granted me a respite from their company."

"I decided to come see if your Lordship wished assistance with anything?" he asked.

It had clearly never occurred to Dieter that he could use this time for himself.
 

The Dread King

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Morturion observed what seemed to be a magical sink in baggage carried by Roland. The power of the arcane seemed to weaken when one went closer towards him. Strange...perhaps he has an artefact of sorts...

Morturion snapped back into reality and realised that the meeting could well be coming to a close, and chipped in with his final point. "Rowhaine; you may not have heard me the first time, so I repeat my question: may I take charge of the fleshwyrm's remains? I wish to investigate its chaotic taint in my laboratory, to try to find out more about its possession. It could prove a useful tool for the military forces of the Council in future."
 

Harland

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Although Roland’s handshake was strong, the vampire’s grip was far stronger. When the handshake was finished, Roland gently flexed the hand behind his back. Stronger than I thought... Will have to take it that into account...
“What an impressive list of titles you have there, Mr. Banespike. I’m sure they are well deserved.” He grinned. “And fireworks are nothing if not fun.”
His smile only widened when he turned to the Nipponese vampire. He lowered his head in the slight bow traditional in the East.
“Well met indeed,” he said, before switching to Nipponese: “The name was given to me by my mentor, a man from Nippon, along with this coat. I was trained high in the Mountains of Cathay, in the Ai-Heping Monastery; I don’t know if you’ve heard of it. Would you perhaps tell me where you were trained, as a m- vampire of obvious skill? Also, I did not catch your name?”
[OOC: In future I will use this colour to indicate when Roland is speaking in another language.]
He was about to continue the discussion concerning flair, when suddenly there was an almighty crash behind him.
In a blur, Roland spun around, Katana in hand, to see a horrific, hulking monstrosity drop the old man onto the stone floor. Roland started when the fiend suddenly transformed into one of the twins he had spotted earlier. When the necromancer gathered himself and contained the twins in some sort of pulsating magical sphere, Roland straightened, and returned his katana to the sheath slung on his back.
To all who caught a glimpse of it, it would seem a very strange sword. Although the blade had been forged using the traditional methods, hence its classification as a katana, everything else about it was odd. The guard did not follow the traditional circular shape, but resembled the cross-guard commonplace in the old world, albeit much more jagged and stylized. The grip itself, although ergonomically designed with finger-grooves , was far too thick to be either comfortable, or practical. After listening to the masked vampire’s tirade, Roland spoke up.
“I agree, for what it’s worth, that we should get to business,” he said once the vampire had stormed from the room, “And I was wondering where my particular talents would be most useful. I could serve as a scout for the party headed to the chaos wastes, or perhaps give some measure of protection to the one headed to Silver Peak, as that seems to be made up of the less battle-oriented of us.” He glanced back at Faust, who had remained silent for a time. “However, Faust and I still need to go to Altdorf to... ‘visit’ the Amethyst College. Therefore if the plan is that we, and those accompanying us, head there now, as opposed to waiting until we get back, that will be my course of action.”
 

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“I do not spend too much time dwelling on it, either, if truth be told, Se ... Dieter. It was just a thought that sprung unbidden to my mind as I tried to block out the fools in the Lord Regent’s hall. Gah; such melancholy is not becoming. I apologise!” He glanced across to the Captain and raised an eyebrow slightly at the scar that ran down his face. He almost asked, and then thought better of it.

‘He is still my elder, regardless of rank,’ he told himself sternly, although he felt compelled to say something. “You may not have been born to the aristocracy, Dieter, but you are one of us. The Lords of the Night. You are a son of Abhorash, Brother. Your blood is now as noble as mine own.”

And then he turned back the view over Sylvania before him, wondering about the Lord Regent. Not like other von Carstein’s. He shook his head and smiled grimly.

“Your Master appears to be unique amongst his Blood, then. I cannot see the Lord Imperator giving you such a task for such a reason ...” Feigning a cough, he turned to the Captain. “I think we should best do as the Lord Regent expects, then, and go to the training halls ...”

It was with a wary eye he looked at the Zweihander. He knew that the Blood Dragon must know how to use it - else why would he be trusted at Karl’s side night after night?

“In fact ... It has been too long since I last sparred with an opponent I did not sire myself or who was mortal. I would be honoured if you would allow me to test myself against you?”
 

Get of W'soran

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"I serve all of the Triumvirate." Dieter said in a soft but stern tone "However the Lord Regent is the eldest and also the only surviving son of Count Vlad. Perhaps this gives him a unique perspective."

Hoisting his Greatsword back up to lean against his shoulder he nodded.
"I would appreciate the challenge. We can use the training facilities for my Guards." he offered taking off towards the Guard's quarter.

"I practice regularly against my men and the Blood Knights when the deign that I am worthy of their time." Dieter told Shah as they walked.

"All of the Regent's Guard are trained in all Imperial Weaponry minus the ranged variants with a focus on the Imperial School of Swordsmanship although we also study the Breton, Estalian and Tilean styles." he continued feeling that this would be something that might interest Shah and the Lord Regent had spoke well of him after the battle.
"Although the focus of our training and duty is in protection of the Triumvirate of course."
 

The Archivist

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Faust took the device from his pocket, and a jeweler's saw, and began sawing a small protruding rod of iron down to a more managable size, without looking at it in anything other than confirmatory glances. He continued to listen to an answer to Morturion's query.
His hands deftly manipulated the spherical surface. Springs wound close to the surface mesh of wire that covered most of the workings. Several brass tubes, many sealed with glass lenses, protuded from several points around the sphere, and the mesh of gears, ratchets and axles inside made it quite intricate. Only three perfectly circular thin steel rings, each in a perpendicular plane, presented a fixed exterior. Masses of copper and bronze wound round just inside each ring, mostly ratchets with the occasional tooth chipped and in need of replacement.
Occasionally a spark would fly from one of the smaller tubes as the saw caused the gears to shift. The systems seemed perfectly balanced, and their surfaces were shiny and polished.
 
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When the Twins found themselves encased in a magical prison, they experienced a wave of Deja Vu. However, Maria was watching, and no doubt she was ready to shatter this shield with her staff...well, hopefully, she was watching...if she had not wandered off to chase a moth....or started teaching the servants that song and dance routine...

Though, Aidan had to admit...he did enjoy the entertainment, despite his wife's distaste for something so frivolous. Perhaps he would show any guests who rode their home north.

Hold on...focus, you are in a magical cage....

Aidan came back to reality and remembered where he was, as Alroy slapped him on the back of the head to get his attention. "Look! Little Mr. Morty is all upset we broke his toys!" he cried, gesturing at their current housing.

"It would seem that he also feels the need to compensate for something. Nevermind that I could tear that stupid plaything of his apart just as easily as I did his precious blue beastie." remarked Aidan, nonchalantly wafting a hand at the over-sized flesh golem. And, in truth, that was no boast. He had done worse to giants.

About then, the shield dropped. Most of the necromancer's actual words had gone unnoticed by the Twins, though they understood that someone had threatened them with death for the thousandth, nay, the hundred thousandth time.

Aidan strode boldly up to the wizened wretch again."We could care less what Vulture-face has in regards to flying castles, or what you think you can do to ours. And if you were not so busy trying to measure up to the vampires here, you would know that we simply suggested using it to get us there, or near enough for comfort, not joyride around Vulture-face's flower garden. Pay attention to something besides your own sorry machinations and strivings for unlife, Mr. Almost-a-Liche."

Alroy joined him at his side, and the two stared evenly at the mortal before them. Inwardly, they were smiling like fiends. The flaming words above their temporary prison had been a nice touch...they were getting to him. The damned fool was letting himself go unbalanced. He was nothing like Krieger. He would be easy.
 

The Dread King

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In addition to Roland's sink, Morturion noted, it appeared that Kenshiro had a small, slightly magic-repelling aura, this emanating from his form. The vampire was strange; Morturion did not know much of this "Harakhte" bloodline that Kenshiro claimed to be from, and the knowledge he had suggested that Kenshiro was no normal Harakhte. What is he hiding? Morturion thought curiously and suspiciously, eager to learn more of this council, so it could be manipulated. But Kenshiro doesn't look as if he will be very easy to manipulate. I'll have to keep an eye on him...

Morturion then asked his final query of the meeting: "My Lords Imperator and Rowhaine, shall the party going to Altdorf go after our journey to the Silver Pinnacle? Or will we be travelling as a separate group altogether? If we are heading straight for Altdorf, then I shall go with Faust. Otherwise, I will journey with the Council to Neferata's palace."

He hissed at the sound of Aidan and Alroy whining once more at him. "Fozzrik's Fortress is not confined to the Wastes. It will get you if you try to land anywhere near there, your tower will be destroyed, and Fozzrik's Fortress might just chance upon it anyway - it has been known to make journeys in the regions around the Wastes. And my manipulations-" Morturion smiled, "are not sorry. I have progressed much in these past ten years, rebuilding my fortress and army, alongside many other things. What have you done? Got yourself killed by Count Krieger, and sat on your *rses in your castle, that's what. All the while, necromancy - the key to your unlife - crumbles around you. You are truly despicable, and best not come any closer. When children play with fire," Morturion's smile turned sadistic as the flames orbited around him, "the result is not pretty."
 

Disciple of Nagash

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“The decision has been reached,” Rowhaine said finally, having one again not involved himself in the petty bickering of the other vampires. The meeting had been an informative one, clearly showing which of the proposed Council could possibly function when presented with leadership, and those that clearly could not.

What will happen to those uncooperative elements? Asaph said in his mind.

‘It depends on their impact over these next events,’ Rowhaine thought back, ‘the upcoming tasks are relatively simple compared to the trials of the previous Council. Some may prove to be worth the trouble…..for those that are not…..in one way or another greater good comes first.’

As it should……

“I would suggest that we begin travel tomorrow evening, to allow all to prepare or recuperate as necessary. For those travelling to the wastes, I suggest we here at dusk. Despite the generous offer of transport I do not think a flying castle is the best choice for a subtle scouting mission. It has already become apparently clear that the enemy noting our movements, even just flying such a thing up north broadcasts our intentions, regardless of whether we fly into the wastes or only to the edge of it.

I suggest those who are skilled in the arts cast the necessary magicks to transport us as far as possible to the North. This will need to be limited enough not to draw large amounts of noticeable power from the arcane winds, but hopefully that will be enough to move a small group of us to the north of the Empire. Thus those who are watching Drakenhof will not realise until it is too late. Myself and the Ushabti can move as fast as horses, which I understand vampires can as well. Therefore considering that none of us tire either, we should be able to make excellent time.

For those travelling to the Silver Pinnacle, I should make one thing clear. There is talk of personal ventures to Altdorf. This Council is not here to satiate personal whims. If such an opportunity arises in the future then it may be considered, however for the time being meeting the Queen should be your only concern. She is a Master Vampire, one of the most powerful beings to walk this world, with immense magicks and legions at her command. It will not be an easy task, and considering you are there to gain here favour, such threats and poor etiquette as has been shown here will likely result in a swift death.

The Princess will follow this with the same resolve as I, there can be no delay.” Having said all that needed Rowhaine gave a shallow bow of respect to the remaining vampires, “I will now leave to make our preparations from tomorrow.”

Striding from the room Rowhaine paused at the side of the demolished Wyrm,

“Morturian, thus far your actions have caused many a concern. As such I am not of a mind to give such a thing to potentially one who has threatened so many. However as the realm of the Carsteins I suggest you beseech them if you wish to keep such a thing.”
 
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