TVC II Chapter 3 - The Second Council

[Bounce]

Elanor jumped backwards visibly shaking as ghostly words whispered in her ears. Luckily no one seemed to notice. She looked furtively around the room but could see no one.

Voices. Am I going mad? By the darkness i hope not. But this doesn't sound like a normal mad voice, it's too real. Best to assume it is a telepath because if I am mad than it won't matter either way. Either they are invisible or hiding somewhere nearby. She thought carefully. Someone who doesn't want their identity known. Fair enough for such a meeting of powerful figures. Can I trust them? No. But I don't have much choice I suppose.

She tried to direct her thoughts back towards this mysterious voice. Which was harder said than done as she wasn't used to such a communication and didn't know where to project her thoughts towards.
I understand and i will speak for you, but you should know I do not do things for free. You will owe me. She thought with a smile. The stakes had been risen again.

 

[Lord_Mortis]

Ezra laughed to herself at the back of her throat. This young one did not know who she was dealing with.
'Depending on what you want, I will try to provide it little one' she thought to Elanor, 'But beware, child. I do not take kindly to those who try to take advantage of me. Besides, are you willing to risk it for a few moments of me using your voice?'
This girl was attempting to get something out of her, if she worked with her instead of trying to take from her she could have a very valuable ally in all of this. But this was now her decision.

 

[The Dread King]

Morturion looked at Alastor barely and with disgust. "My social status is far above yours, young whelp; I only fail to keep the peace when there are blood dragons about. They seem to be aggravated that I'm not on my knees serving them."

Morturion turned to Peter with psychopathic amusement. "The property of the council? Where is that kept, pray tell? It is divided out between the members, sir. And I will consider myself one of them, should Rowhaine do the same."

"As for your exploits, I have matched them, if not done more. Do you think I was idle for 1000 years? I was no mere cultist; I led the cult myself. Neither was I an upjumped lord who served as a lickspittle for his lords, unlike somebody here."

"And those fangs are only a further sign of your weakness: vampires, with few exceptions, are treacherous beasts."

"Masters of your race? What race? The one which let a lone strigoi tackle the Lord Imperator to the ground? I assume you talk of Vekarin Banespike." Morturion spat at the name. "Vekarin...well, if my theories are correct, and there is little doubt after the encounter with the skaven that they will be, then there is a reason why Vekarin is not here, a reason that will be revealed soon enough." Morturion smiled mysteriously and sinisterly. He might not be the most powerful, but it was likely that he knew more secrets than everybody other person in this room.

 

[Mello]

Alastor looked at Peter's eyes, and saw a sorrow he had never seen. It wasn't the unbridled rage that rampaged around him, it was a sad thing, remembering the years gone past

Alastor shook his head silently, Morturion just didn't realise that his childish retorts didn't annoy him anymore. Alastor felt some kind of personal duty to stop Morturion's nonsense continuing, Rowhaine was just getting drowned out by the eight year old bickering of arrogants and idiots.

"Ah, thankyou, I was wondering how I had offended you, it seems you're so arrogant that comparing yourself to anyone in the room is deemed an insult. I won't make the mistake again, sorry. And considering that you've managed to insult the entire room, come here uninvited after taking a message which was intended for someone else, attacked some of the actual council members and still persevere in trying to irritate us, restraining us from discussing important matters, you still really think that we're going to give you free gifts?"

Alastor listened intently as Morturion blathered on, and stood up. Time to raise the proverbial level..

"And now you insult half of the vampires in the room, and vampire kind in general, in a room of vampires. Are you sure your social skills are that good Morturion? I at least know when I'm about to get killed."

He turned bowed towards the regents, and then to Rowhaine. "Please forgive me momentarily."

As he said this, his cards exploded,flower like, into action and snaked around him violently, like some rabid oriental dragon. Alastor was hoping that intimidation would silence the fool, and while him alone wasn't going to accomplish anything, he hoped that some others in this room were tired enough of endless whining and wanted to at least give a display of force to shut the up the proverbial chin wagger.

 

[Count Darvaleth]

Before Rowhaine could reply to Kraskor's questions, the damned fool Necromancer had returned, and again began spouting his incessant filth. Alastor, unusually, was making a great deal of sense. His display of magic was unlikely to stop Morturion, but then nothing short of direct conflict would. He was as block-headed as he was arrogant.

"Whilst you perhaps should not try and escalate with your threatening weapons, Alastor, what you say is right. This Necromancer has come here, uninvited, constantly insulting and irritating all of vampire-kind, making threats on a regular basis, and now demanding payment for his services." Kraskor made a point to not even look at Morturion whilst he spoke, his address projected towards the Lords.

"My Lords Regent and Imperator, he demands things of you for his own personal gain, not for the furtherment of the Council's aims. He is providing a constant source of friction within our ranks, and I doubt very much that any offer of help he does deign to give will be genuine. He will try to use us, then betray us when he has what he wants." Kraskor paused.

"Would it be such a bad thing then, my Lords, if we just dealt with this inconvenience now and be done with it?"

 

[Ghouly]

Graveclaw watched the squabbling of the council with interest “doessss the big bad necromancerssssss nassssssty wordsssssss hurt poor lickl councilsssss feelingssss awwwwww poor council” he said in amusement. Suddenly the ghoul kings mood darkened and he slammed both hands down on the ground with a thunderous boom “too bad they true!” he roared “And nobody getssss any artifactssssss, Graveclaw smash them all!” spittle and blood were spraying from his mouth.

 

[Malochai]

Shah shook his head, light glinting off of his mask. The members of the Under Guard, who had all managed to survive the battle with the Skaven, who attended him cleaned the blood off of his armour with great care. Raising his hands to his mask, he gasped slightly - his left arm had been injured in the closing stages of the battle when Simon’s ship had appeared and started shooting indiscriminately. Being in the middle of the Skaven forces, he had to use all his skill to avoid being hit, but it didn’t stop a ratman blade from flying into his arm and catching it at just the angle to injure him.

“Lukas, take the Claws. Hold them - be careful!” With a nod, his second in command took them from where they rested, and then looked upon his lord’s face. It was stained with black blood, and Markus’ distaste was obvious. Without needing to be asked, one of the Under Guard hurried forward with a damp cloth and dabbed at the skin carefully, removing the visceral remains that had managed to breach the mask.

The chamber that the Lion was standing in wasn’t large, but he cared not; he had just needed somewhere private to clean up before the Council began. He looked with irritation at the damage to his armour - nothing serious, but enough to cause him some consternation. A scowl crossed his face.

“Hurry up!” he commanded tersely, “The Council will not wait!”

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A knock on the sturdy door disturbed the contemplation that Shah had fallen into once urging on his attendants. Lukas started as well, and hurriedly urged another Guard to answer the door. Irked, Markus put his mask back on, resolved to ‘correct’ Lukas’ actions later.

Closing his eyes, he listened to the beginning of the conversation taking place behind him. “The Council will be beginning soon, Sir. Lord Shah al-Hamid’s presence shall be required in the Hall, along with the rest of the Council.”

After that he tuned out, urging the Guard cleaning his gauntlets to hurry. After another five minutes, he thought himself presentable enough, if not as well-groomed as he would have liked. Time would not permit such extensive cleaning. ‘After the meeting,’ he told himself. He gestured with his right hand, still gloved, and the Under Guard took up positions by the wall.

Taking his sword from where it rested against a stone wall, the vampire buckled it around his waist and studied himself. Less than a minute, and he nodded in satisfaction. ‘It will have to do,’ he thought unhappily. Turning on his heel, his cloak, torn and stained as it was, flowed behind him raggedly.

“Lukas, you shall accompany me into the Hall. Under Guard, you shall await me as you were before the Battle. Understood?” His soldiers nodded, and he congratulated their professionalism silently; no human soldiers that he had ever met bested his, in his own mind. “Then we shall, once more, enter the lion’s den!”

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The murmuring of those who had entered the hall before him could be heard from outside, but he didn’t deign to listen. He held no special bond with any of the individuals within - only Esmerelda interested him, curiously, and Morturion did nothing more than grate against his sensibilities. With barely a gesture, the Under Guard took positions lining the walls outside the Hall, and Lukas approached with the Claws. Sighing, Shah allowed them to be fitted, feeling slight pain radiating along his left arm as it was moved about.

‘Let’s get this done,’ he thought stoically, and strode forwards into the large room, noting instantly the people within. Karl and Rowhaine were the most interesting personalities within, Simon just an added irritation - having almost died at the hands of his over enthusiastic weapons, he didn’t particularly have any warm feelings towards him.

Walking straight towards Karl, he stood before him and bowed his head slightly, resisting the urge to do anything more - whilst he was grateful, he would not grovel before Karl. “Lord Regent, I thank you for sending aid to us in the field.”

He then turned to the other, present, member of the Triumviate. “Simon, my saviour,” he drawled sarcastically from beneath his mask. “Next time, could I please ask you to check their are not any allies where you fire?”

Not waiting for a response, the vampire then made his way to Rowhaine and bowed deeply. “Lord Rowhaine, it is an honour. I have researched your deeds of a decade ago for nearly that long. I hope that, this time, we may actually accomplish something.” Gesturing around the room, he froze. “I apologise; I have been rude and discourteous in the extreme. My name is Lord Shah al-Hamid, more commonly known as the Lion of Araby.”

 

[Bounce]

I do not ask for unreasonable boons, only that you will watch my back and warn me of dangers. You must be hiding somewhere nearby to be relaying these thoughts to me so I guess you are adept at stealth. I need all the allies I can get and I will not turn any down. I will be your voice if you desire and I hope the others will not think I am mad. What should I call you?

Elanor thought carefully, trying not to think about anything else. This was hard though. How could you purposefully not think about something? And why did she keep thinking of the mortal knight?

With a start she noticed that Alastor was facing off against that loud mouthed necromancer Morturion again. He was starting to get on her nerves, constantly bickering when they needed to be united. She walked forward a few steps and wreathed herself in ghostly blue flames. Not a threat but a warning.

We cannot dissolve into fighting again. Please can you stop antagonizing everyone necromancer. So we can concentrate on whence are really here.

 

[Simon von Carstein]

Simon's eyes glowed for a second as a beam of energy shot out of them and struck the floor in front of the Shah. "Thats Lord Imperator to you! If you are unable to handle avoiding shrapnel then perhaps you shouldn't be here and should run back to the arms of your sire and spare me your so called wit and childish whining behaviour." Standing up he next turned on Morturion.

"As for you Necromancer I tire of your inflated sense of importance. Ten years ago I slaughtered one just like you his name was Rahotep the Sentence. He didn't know when to shut up either and now thats all he does. If I hear one more word towards my family that is not advice or is said in the wrong tone then I'll put you somewhere where you'll have no one to talk to and strip you of those powers of yours so that you'll spend your days in perpetual boredom and weakness which will soon turn to madness."

Simon sank back on to his chair "Think very carefully before saying anything." he said calmly.

 

[Malochai]

Turning from Rowhaine back towards the Lord Imperator, the Lion glared at him with cold eyes. “My Lord,” he began scathingly, “I can ‘handle avoiding shrapnel’, yet I do not see why I should have to defend myself from both my enemies and those whose lands I am defending! We put ourselves at risk for Drakenhof, because your defences proved insufficient. Think on that.
“I can also assure you that I was not being ‘witty’, as you so accuse me, and my sire would be incapable of offering me anything, given that I killed him for his crimes not long after he gave me the Blood Kiss.” He bowed and then turned his back on Simon, striding towards a wall against which he then leant, watching everything.

 

[Get of W'soran]

Karl had remained silent so far, he smiled apologetically at Rowhaine as Peter informed the Necromancer of the authority Karl had given the Blood Dragon.

"Indeed. I am sorry Champion but it would be remiss of me to leave our territories unadministered for the duration of this council so I have granted Peter a certain amount of authority to act as my representation. I have authorised the same for the Captain of my Guard." he said, at this he gestured for Dieter to stepped forward.

The Captain was in full black armour, a longsword at his waist with his helmet hanging from his sword belt. As usual he carried his Zweihander, leaning it against his shoulder.

The grizzled looking Blood Dragon bowed deeply to Rowhaine, the move lacked the practice of a nobleman but he had the grace of a swordsman.

"Champion." he growled.

Karl nodded.
"He is a swordsman of excellent skill from Abhorash's blood, although he is not a vampire you invited I assure you that he will be useful to your mission."

Karl then turned his attention to Shah as he entered and nodded politely.
"It was a honour, I only wish I could have acted sooner. Your Captain made an excellent case, even where it not my intention to aid you his words would have swayed me."

The Regent remained silent for a few moments before turning his attention to Morturion.

He was sick of the open insults and barely veiled threats that the mortal sorcerer was making.

"I had thought that your disrespect had abated however..." he raised a hand and the wards in the Great Hall where activated by an unseen mage, only the first level where awakened which stopped any form of teleportation.

Knowing Morturion would be unable to flee any conflict through magical means now Karl fixed his cold gaze on the human.
"You stand much lower than even young Alastor here. You are a human who constantly flees from death in a pathetic imitation of the immortality that we Lords of the Night hold. Perhaps you think your attending this council grants you a certain protection allow me to assure you that it does not." he told the Necromancer coldly.

"Remember where and what you are. A follower of a master who is destroyed, a cultist of a cult who's purpose is extinct.

Karl's Aura flared in power, he radiated authority with supernatural strength.
Whilst others may have been effected it was focused on Morturion.

"So I shall say this once. Watch your words and reign in your arrogance, I will not have you throwing your weak threats at this council or your mocking of those who have answered the Champions call."

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

Nekhlior had entered the hall with the express purpose of blasting a hole in Morturion's chest.
Whilst he wasn't sure if was definitely the Necromancer who had read from his tome without permission he was the only one that the Necrarch could think of who had the skill to undo the lock.

To read from it without being seduced by it's power.

However as per usual Nekhlior's original purpose was washed away as he became distracted by other thoughts.

His main distraction had been his link as he made his way to the hall, his mind was still somewhat weakened by the damage he had received and so his attention had been unfocused but Nekhlior now realised Reshorn had been using the Link.

He frowned and glanced at Kraskor but he was certain the Blood Dragon hadn't actively used the telepathic method of communication in a while.

Nekhlior glanced suspiciously at Alastor, ignoring all other activity in the hall including the crawling sensation that washed over his skin due to Rowhaine's divine aura.

"What are you planning without my permission Alastor? Are you and Reshorn scheming behind my back?" he sent over the link, the force of the ancient Necrarch's will causing his words crashing into the younger vampire's mind.

 

[Lord_Mortis]

'Protection for you but not your interest? If you insist. And I am widely known as just Silence. I have many other names but this is what you shall call me. Until we speak again, sister' she thought and with that cut off their connections. She looked to where the girl had next turned her attentions as several vampires moved to almost encircle a Necromancer. He had been talking his mouth of once again and was very soon about to pay for it.

In the meantime however, she inspected what the other assembled persons were doing. A few gathered at the front by the thrones as the arguments between the vampires and the Necromancer rose in tension. The third girl with the double thoughts was watching this unfold from afar. The bestial Strigoi had started yelling, no one seeming to take notice. A mortal, possibly the one everyone was interested in, had approached the royal woman and another vampire stood at the back of the hall, after being shot near by someone upon the podium. There were still four up there, two of which were seated, as the rest had approached the situation with the Necromancer.
This council did not seem to be off to a good start...

 

[The Dread King]

This has got out of hand, Morturion was thinking, and then Nekhlior entered the room. There was a moment in which Morturion looked at Nekhlior. At this point, he was angry and nervous, and someone as skilled as Nekhlior could have read his face like an open book. Thinking of this, Morturion remembered the book of Nagash, and realised that there was a far greater threat than a card-juggling recluse in the room. Still gazing at Nekhlior, who probably knew what he had done, Morturion whispered in a small voice, "Oh no."

Turning back to the vampires, he stammered quickly, "I'm very sorry. I must go and rebuild my army now; it is outside Drakenhof. Perhaps I can h-help your troops while I'm at it, Lords Imperator and Regent." He looked at Kraskor in momentary anger. "I nearly died on the battlefield today. I fought for the survival of necromancy with the rest of you. And yet you would say I have nothing to offer this council?"

Remembering who else was present, Morturion became frightened once more. He felt like an animal hunted by fate. "If you have any questions for me, please w-wait for my return or ask my servant Defiance." He pointed at the lesser necromancer, who was standing nearby. "If you have honour, you will not harm him, as he is not responsible for any of my actions that offended you. I should be back soon."

Morturion walked past Alastor, carefully avoiding his cards before conjuring up a laughing joker and tossing it in. Heading straight for the doorway, he thought, That went well. Next time, I won't speak at all. And they'll hopefully shut up too, with my forces outside the door.

 

[Sweeney Todd]

Kenshiro had been about to intervene to prevent Morturion from being set upon by the rest of the Council like a pack of wolves, when the subject abruptly underwent a complete change in behavior. He noticed the glimmer of fear evident in Morturion's facial expression, the way he looked at Nekhlior, his tone of voice, and the speech problems the human necromancer had suddenly acquired with narrowed eyes. For a moment Kenshiro was silent as he gazed thoughtfully at Morturion's back while the latter skulked away on a flimsy excuse that was probably cooked up on the spot.

So Morturion is afraid of Nekhlior...I wonder why.

Kenshiro remembered what Morturion had said before the mortal's paradigm shift. He judged that allowing the necromancer to weaponise information in the manner he had threatened to earlier was not in the best interests of the Council, and thus approached Kraskor.

"Could I have a word with you in private?" Kenshiro said discreetly to the Blood Dragon, to help ensure that none others could tell what he had said.

 

[the hidden one]

Seeing Morturion nearly run away from Nekhilor, Igor had an idea.

It was that book that he stole. Well, Nekhilor obviously was a little angry for having something stolen from him. Maybe it contained incantations or something. Maybe it was a famous book. I wish I had studied necromancy more now, it would be useful to know why the nechrarch was angry.

He knew that with their main scapegoat out of the way, the council might start to fight amongst themselves even more.

 

[Count Darvaleth]

Kraskor was pleasantly surprised when Morturion did the decent thing and withdrew. He almost thought there might have bee hope for him yet, but then realised it was Nehklior's enraged arrival that had prompted the flight, not a desire to stablise relations. Not that it mattered much, anyway; the important thing was he was out of the Council's hair for a moment.

Just when Kraskor thought he might get the answers to his questions from Rowhaine, the mysterious warrior-monk Kenshiro approached, asking for a private word. Kraskor inclined his head respectfully as the vampire came near, wondering what it was the man had to say. Although he was loathe to move away when he wanted to hear Rowhaine's answers, the vast gaggle of vampires surrounding the Champion would make it difficult for anyone to say anything at all. Sighing inwardly at the disorder, Kraskor replied in a similar discreet tone,

"Very well, Master Kenshiro," said Kraskor, making to follow the vampire to wherever he felt was clandestine enough for the exchange, "But I must impress upon your good self that we mustn't tarry. The Council does need to begin at some stage, after all."

 

[Sweeney Todd]

"I will tell you what I think Morturion was hinting at. I shall get straight to the point, but you might find what I am telling you hard to accept." Kenshiro continued to speak in the same discreet manner, pausing momentarily to let Kraskor prepare himself mentally.

"Your sire, Vekarin Banespike, is all likelihood now a pawn of the Dark Gods. During the final battle against Nagash he displayed powers that were unnatural, even by our standards. The hypothesis put forth to me was that a daemonic entity or entities within the Chaotic artefacts he wielded had corrupted Vekarin. Whether that is true or not, the odds of him retaining his own free will are slim. If Chaos will be the foe that this Council will have to confront, then we may have to cross swords with your sire." Kenshiro was sombre as he spoke those words, carefully watching Kraskor for his reaction.

"If what was told to me turns out to be untrue, then all the better for us. Unfortunately, that does not seem to be the case."

 

[Count Darvaleth]

Kraskor's mind raced as he heard the name of his sire, before turning icy cold as Kenshiro told him the last thing he wanted to hear. Vekarin, a slave to Chaos? After defeating Nagash, leading the charge against the mightiest threat ever to face vampirekind? And now he would fight against that which he fought so hard to preserve?

The Blood Dragon clenched his jaw, becoming rigid before stiffly replying:

"I... I need a second of fresh air."

Kraskor swiftly made his way out of the chamber, climbing a short flight of stairs before coming to an open balcony. He drew on a deep lungful of the night air. How could it make any sense? How could Vekarin betray his own kin? Was that why Kraskor hadn't seen or heard from him since the Battle?

When he had been inside the chamber, it had almost felt as if Kenshiro was trying to help Kraskor, to ease his pain. But now, out here, free of the room's shackling walls, it felt different. Other than the briefest of introductions, Kraskor had never seen this vampire before. For all Kraskor knew, he was one of Morturion's cronies, or, worse still, a pawn of Chaos himself. How could he even know where Vekarin was and what he was doing, if Kraskor himself didn't?

He's lying.

The thought sprung unbidden, but it made so much sense. Vekarin would never turn, never. He had always fought for righteousness, for honour. He had not been bound by petty pride like the other Blood Dragons, but had embraced war in all its forms. Kraskor followed Vekarin's ideals in his pupilage of magic, and the acceptance of the arcane. This Kenshiro, on the other hand, was some jumped-up monk. Some bookworm from a mountain temple, who thought he could walk into Drakenhof and besmirch the name of the greatest vampire in existence.

"No."

Kraskor tensed and relaxed his arms, before launching a vicious punch into the small stone column next to him. The column crumbled into dust, collapsing under the onslaught; looking up, Kraskor realised he had unconsciously sheathed his hand in raw dark magic. It ran like viscous liquid around his fist, before trickling away and vanishing into thin air. Kraskor straightened up, his eyes smouldering with a distant light, just as they had done ever since the same eyes witnessed Nagash's downfall. The Blood Dragon's mouth was curved into a disdainful sneer, his jaw gaunt and unfriendly.

The Blood Dragon marched back to the chamber, finding Kenshiro where he had left him.

"I don't believe you," he snarled, his visage intemperate as he leered at the warrior-monk. Kraskor had entered intending to do more than simply snarl at the vampire, but his earlier conviction had lost its edge. Kraskor's heart was resolute, however, like an iron fortress with a moat of fire: there was no doubt in him that Vekarin was no traitor.

 

[Mello]

Alastor stayed stock still as Morturion left, then sagged, sighing audibly, the cards fluttered to the ground.

"Can.. you turn those wall enchantments off please.. they're really.. tiring." he gasped.

Alastor intended to kneel down to pick up the odd joker that the necromancer had tossed, but more collapsed than knelt. Bracing himself against the floor he tried to pick the thing up, but it just dissolved into shadow. Alastor sighed sadly, he was hoping for something more.. impressive.

Alastor jumped slightly and winced as an avelange of Nehklior flew into him.

Don't worry, Nehklior, I'm just.. acquiring some possessions for back home, nothing that's worth talking about.

 

[The Dread King]

Morturion couldn't quite believe it. He hadn't been stopped by Nekhlior yet! Perhaps his mind is on other things. I must seize this chance before it is gone. Morturion quickly left the romantic, and then the castle. Fortunately, the guards did not question him - so his exit was speedy.

As he left Drakenhof, Morturion noticed that the noise of battle was somewhat quiet, almost...distant. He stepped out, and observed the undoubtedly assured victory of getting counci. The skaven army was almost fleeing directly from Carstein forces; little resistance met the vast lines of undead whilst cavalry thundered around routing some of the few skaven that were still organised. Morturion bought that all council members must have left the battlefield, but he couldn't be sure. One could easily slip by unnoticed amongst all those rats...

Morturion reminded himself that he wasn't just here to escape Nekhlior. He had an army to create; with such empty ground, and so many fresh bodies, and him being located in Sylvania, a land notorious for its many dead, Morturion thought that he could easily build a force significantly greater than his previous one here and now.

Calling upon dread incantations which he'd never spoken before, Morturion used his knowledge gained from the book of Nagash to amplify his powers over the dead on a scale never done so before. Skeletons drew up gradually from the ground in their tens and hundreds, and tramped towards their master, forming a circle around Morturion. It's a start, he thought.

Countless zombies dragged themselves across the stricken land to join the necromancer, whilst newly dead skaven answered Morturion's fell call with the same effect. Now I have a force, but it still not enough, Morturion thought, annoyed at himself ever so slightly.

Strange golems formed themselves from bits of flesh and bone scattered around the battlefield, and the odd monstrous creature rose up, invigorated by the undeath Morturion had granted it. His souleatees returned to their gruesome parody of life, and howled their tortured cries across the battlefield, terrifying the remaining skaven. More! I must have more! Morturion screamed inwardly, but then stopped that train of thought. He felt incredibly drained of power.

I am not yet entirely familiar with these incantations, he reminded himself. These spells from the Book of Nagash are strangely dangerously addictive, and will kill me if I do not pace myself. They are unlike any spells I've ever attempted before. I should stop, or at least moderate myself until I've got the knack of them.

Sadly for that opinion, Morturion was an ambitious man. And the sight of the corpse of the hell pit abomination in the distance was enough to dismiss that thought, for the most part. His eyes gleaned with excitement, and he spotted skaven swarming over it. Should I really attempt to fight off the skaven and raise a giant monster in my current state? The rational answer is probably no. But I can't risk that wonderful beast falling into Carstein paws, can I? So I've got no choice but to go after it. Grinning, Morturion set off towards the fighting and the commotion with his army, keen to bring about more slaughter, but far more intent on getting hold of his vaguely rat-shaped prize.

 

[Dark_Wolfen]

As all the turmoil settled down, Nimrais finally decided to greet the Triumvirate. She started to feel quite unwell as the recent argument escalated, but now that Morturion had left the oppressive feeling was toned down a bit again. Looking at Simon first, since he was the lord of the lands, she greeted him. "My lord imperator," she said while bowing. "I thank you for your hospitality."

Turning to Rowhaine, since she understood that he was the one that summoned the council, she bowed again. "Lord Rowhaine, I'm here at your summons."

Finally turning to Karl, she was glad she could get out of this vicinity soon. Making a slight bow, she looked up, ready to talk. As her eyes met Karl's, she suddenly understood where all this force was coming from. She couldn't prepare herself for it and felt overwhelmed by Karl's aura. Nimrais began to feel dazed, his overpowering aura obviously having no good effect on her damaged psyche. She lost track of what she was about to say and stumbled a bit. The room became distorted, the walls moving in wavey patterns. A loud static noise began filling the air as the lights grew darker and darker. Soon, all she could see were two piercing lights where Karl's eyes previously had been, surrounded by a dark silhouette that radiated power.

"..."

"W-wha.." Nimrais muttered back in her thoughts.

"...oooooooo-cu..... ou... it!" The sound seemed to come from a very distant place.

"I.. I can't hear you."

"F..fooocus! Snap... out of it!"

Nimrais began concentrating and mustering her willpower back up. Slowly the room began to turn to normal and the deafening static started to fade. As Nimrais had gotten her sense back she avoided further eyecontact with the regent.

"L-lord regent, I'm at your service," she barely maneged to say. With that she hastily made a retreat to a more seclusive part of the room.

"At your service? AT YOUR SERVICE?" Nirmais thought to herself. "What do you mean at your service.. what just happened there? I hardly know the regent and he isn't going to be in the council and I'm "at his service"?" Nimrais groaned and held her head. All that noise and visual shenanigans have given her a headache. She had barely managed to stay conscious through it all.

 

[Get of W'soran]

Nekhlior's suspicion lingered on the link for a moment longer before a sense of happiness replaced it with all the alacrity of an insane mind.

"Very well neophyte." the Necrarch sent down the link, happy that Alastor was taking advantage of the advantages he had been given.

The Necrarch suddenly recalled his main reason for hurrying into the hall.

He looked around, a growl coming unbidden to his throat, but Morturion was not in sight.

Nekhlior looked around and when he spoke his words echoed in the realms of the physical and spiritual.
"Where is little Morty?" he hissed, after a moment his gaze settling on Defiance as he recalled seeing the Necromancer with Morturion previously.

A smile appeared on the rotten features of the Necrarch and he began walking over to the human.

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

After Morturion left Karl's fury left as swiftly as it had come, his anger at the man spent.

Hearing young Alastor talk he nodded and made the same gesture with his raised hand as he had earlier, the wards began to become dormant once more.
"Of course young Alastor, the effects should be gone in a minute or two." he told the vampire with a smile.

Karl watched Nimrais, leaning back in his throne relaxed, wearing a friendly smile as the Lahmian introduced herself.

The Regent returned her greeting with a respectful nod.
Polite if a little off balance he noted to himself silently.

"And Drakenhof is at yours my lady." he replied kindly.

Karl turned his head slightly as an unassuming vampire entered and walked up from behind the throne to whisper into the Regent's ear, Karl nodded and gestured for the man to leave which he swiftly did.

Turning to Simon Karl smiled some of the chilliness from his earlier anger returning.
"It appears that our friend Morturion has went out to scavenge amongst the remains of the battle in an attempt to raise an army just outside our walls." he said soft enough so that only the vampires closest to the throne would hear aware that the mortal servant of Morturion would be incapable to hear.

"He has took other impolitic actions already. He attempted to sneak some of his undead retinue into the ranks of the unliving Drakenhof Guard. We saw it of course and have men ready to destroy those skeletons in a moment if he attempts any hostile act but the point is he seems to be a compulsive deceiver." Karl said with a sigh

"This is made all the worst by how pathetic his attempts are." he added with a sneer.

The Regent looked at Simon then at Rowhaine.
"Usually I would sent out an army to destroy any unsanctioned force that size in our territories and kill the General. However I know you invited that...man here Champion so I will not act against him in respect to this council you have summoned. He can be yours to deal with if you wish."

 

[Sweeney Todd]

Kenshiro looked Kraskor calmly in the eye, without fear or contempt. While Kenshiro had expected the Blood Dragon to react in this manner, he still had to try to enlighten him. Such an outcome did have its benefits as well, he realized.

"Fair enough. It is your prerogative to disbelieve what I say. I was concerned that Morturion would attempt to use this to gain leverage over you, but I see that such worries were unfounded. That is good." Kenshiro said calmly to Kraskor in an even and controlled tone of voice. He watched the other vampire carefully in case the Blood Dragon attempted to attack him without rhyme or reason.

"Anyway, that is all I wanted to say."

 

[The Dread King]

Defiance almost squeaked as the intimidating necrarch approached him. He was not sure his safety was certain, and stepped back, waving a faint and terrified greeting to the necrarch. Defiance prepared to call upon Morturion's aid. This necrarch seemed to be very dangerous and unpredictable, and it was a wonderful that Defiance courage had not fully fled him yet. Though, he reflected, feeling slightly wet, it had begun to.

As Morturion approached the abomination's carcass, he saw that the forces of Drakenhof were merely cleaning up the skaven. Most of the clanrats wwere dead or fled already, and the blood dragons seemed to have knocked the last resistance out of the skaven. Morturion grinned, realising this would be even easier than he originally thought; he wouldn't even have to use the skaven souls he'd captured in the battle.

Suddenly, Morturion stopped in his tracks. He'd just had a devilish idea. The dead hell pit abomination wasn't the most huge carcass on the battlefield, was it? He remembered the fleshwyrm, and scanned the battlefield for it. His eyes lighted upon it, and with a start, he ran to it, his troops following swiftly. There was no time to lose as the Carstein forces would soon be returning, and Morturion could not afford to have them stop him in the middle of the wyrm's reanimation progress.

Gesturing to some zombies, Morturion watched as they ran off to drag the abomination's corpse over to where he was standing. Meanwhile, he whispered to his scythe, and the souls of the ratman's flooded into him, vapourising as their power was sucked into Morturion and their spirits were sent to Morr's realm. Brimming with the arcane, Morturion started to inflict dark magic upon the remains of the fleshwyrm.

Invisible strings pulled pieces of flesh together as the wyrm's once more began to take shape. Bits of bone and skaven were sucked into the strange creation, to further build and support it. The he'll pit abomination was dragged up to it, and the dead monster was ripped apart slowly, its pieces filling in holes in the greater construct. Eventually, the ground was no longer holding any mortal remains, but the fleshwyrm was still not whole, as much of it had been destroyed in the explosion of its warpstone core. Morturion callously used his powers to pound zombies into the body of the wyrm's, until it was finally complete, and the greater part of Morturion's zombie force destroyed.

The necromancer felt quite weary, but he was able to walk upon (and then ride) his new mount with unbridled pleasure as its eyes lit up with the blessing of unlife and it leapt into the sky. "Now Nekhlior cannot touch me," Morturion said, venom in his voice, "I shall return to Drakenhof." A sudden and urgent mental plea for aid from Defiance further persuaded Morturion to return. And, with his newly raised army, he began to do so.




.

 

[Get of W'soran]

"Where is he human?"

Nekhlior stood before Defiance although there was little difference between the two in stature it was easy to see who was the more intimidating.
A faint purple light outlined the withered form of the Necrarch as the power of Shyish was drawn to the vampire.

The vampire glared into the eyes of the Necromancer, the flames that burned in the Necrarch's sockets flared slightly. Nekhlior's witchsight took in the mortal's form and he saw a strange arcane connection to another although he couldn't follow it completely.

"Is little Morty in there with you human? Can he sense this?" he rasped.

It was likely Morturion could not hear or see anything that was happening and this Necromancer was unlikely capable of sending a coherent message with anything less complex than the Link that Nekhlior had created.

However perhaps he could sense drastic changes.

Nekhlior cackled softly as an idea for a "Drastic Change" came to mind.

Pointing his finger at Defiance he spat an incantation, a beam of purple light tore itself from Nekhlior's outstretched digit and smashed a hole in the Necromancer's chest.
The unnatural properties Necromancy had had on Defiance leant him supernatural stamina. This meant that the mortal sorcerer didn't die instantly but instead he collapsed to the ground unconscious and close to death.

He should survive until Morturion returns. I did miss the heart on purpose afterall. Nekhlior thought to himself looking down at his handy work.

Deciding he was finished for now Nekhlior turned and walked back to the others near the throne.