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TVC II Chapter 4 - The Queen of Mysteries

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Get of W'soran

CN's Lord of Masks
True Blood
Dieter paused for a moment as the assassin suddenly fell, his head removed from his body.

The Blood Dragon snarled angrily, his eyes burning with unholy balefire as his jaw distended and fangs grew longer as he glared at the mortal before him.

"Prey" whispered a monstrous voice in his head as Dieter felt the blood thirst rise within him.

The vampire took half a step towards his target when the mortal began to speak.

Dieter frowned at the words of the man...Kavok...yes that was his name.

"Protect?" he thought to himself.

"Kill!" the voice hissed more urgently.

Dieter ignored the voice and turned to look at a fallen woman...he could hear her heartbeat even at this distance...she was dying.

"No! Anya!" a different voice shouted in anguish within the vampire's mind.


Dieter cried out and grasped his head as man and beast fought against each other for control.

After what felt like an eternity the swordsman, breathing heavily, stood up straight once more.

He saw Kavok making his way towards the fallen princess and he ran forward himself, ignoring his wounds which were healing only slowly. The vampire tore past the mortal and, ignoring the new arrival, fell to his knees beside Anya and Elanor.

"Princess!" he whispered urgently, after only a moment he saw the stomach wound and felt his hopes sink despite the Lahmian's sorcery, after all it was practically unknown of any vampire's who could touch the winds of magic that could heal.

Dieter, still kneeling beside the princess, unsheathed his dagger and held it ready to defend the small group if necessary.


Satsu had planned to wait for a proper response from Elanor until acting but the situation quickly changed.

Dieter had regained control of himself and dropped down beside the woman, meaning the new arrival felt certain that any further attack on the mortal girl would be stopped.

The more pressing issue than the dying Princess was the sudden shift in the duel between Morturion and his opponent, the necromancer was now falling back and Satsu could tell that he would not recover.

Satsu also saw the human knight called Kavok seemed to be running towards him, although whether in attack or greetings he was not yet sure and there was no time to concern himself over it.

Satsu started running as swiftly as he possibly could, even as Morturion was only hitting the ground, the vampire's supernatural speed was beyond that of even most of his kind indeed he would have been simply impossible to follow for the mortal eye.

Salvator grinned as he brought his weapon down towards the Necromancer's neck, a grin which immediately vanished along with the rest of him as Satsu's boot struck the side of his head with such strength that it hurled him through the air and into the ground a few feet away. Despite the surprise of the attack he managed to roll back onto his feet in a surprisingly quick recovery.

He looked up at the man who had struck him.

"You!" he spat hatefully.

"Me." Satsu agreed.

Holding his blade at arm's length, the point aimed at Salvator's head, Satsu stepped back and carefully leant down to grab Morturion with his left hand and pull him to his feet with ease.

"The woman...please see if you can save her Master Morturion." he requested politely, his tone respectful despite the distortion caused by his mask "I will finish of this insignificant one for you."

"Insignificant am I?" sneered Salvator as he stalked towards his new opponent "Is that why the Triumvirate's men are dropping like flies to my men?"

Suddenly he leapt forward his rapier thrusting out however Satsu parried the attack with a swift two handed blow and then twisted his wrist to bring the Katana blurring down towards his opponent's head but the mage-hunter brought up his parrying dagger to catch the curved blade and turn it aside. The two traded blows like this for a few more moments before Salvator leapt back to avoid a sudden cut aimed at his ribs.

"Poor men to have such a leader as you."
Satsu pointed out calmly.

Salvator snarled at the insult. "I have stopped the Council in their tracks! I have forced them into retreat! I have struck down their members!"

"Is that so?"
Satsu asked as he looked around mockingly "It appears that all your men have managed is to strike down a single human woman...and how many of your own have been slaughtered? I pity Akarin's memory that an idiot such as you was ever named Commander of Squad 12."

Salvator roared in fury and attacked with renewed ferocity, his rapier thrusting and cutting at his opponent with the occasional dagger slash thrown in.

Satsu simply backed away from his opponent, ducking and dodging around the attacks with the occasional parry when moving out of the way was impossible.

"Your rebellion will end in failure old friend...you go against Akarin's dream of the von Carstein family."

Satsu suddenly stopped backing away as he caught a quick cut aimed for his leg on his blade and shoved his opponents backwards.

After recovering Salvator sunk into a deeper stance and raised his dagger to block a cut from Satsu "He never dreamed of such weak leadership as the Triumvirate! Karl was a fool! He should have seized control instead of bowing to the demands of his thin-blooded nephews! Only the strong should rule!" he cut at Satsu's head but as soon as his opponent parried the blow he spun and threw a spin kick into the side of his head, knocking Satsu stumbling back. "This is why we rebelled against the Triumvirate! And this is why we follow him instead of you!"

Satsu sighed softly as he regained his footing "I see." he said sounding almost sad but perhaps that was just the mask.

Satsu bent his knees slightly and raised his blade above his head with the tip facing up ad back.

"It is time I end this brother."

Salvator, holding both rapier and dagger out before him, laughed mockingly. "We shall see brother."


The tall grinning man still stood invisible above the fighting, at the sight of the new arrival stepped back from the ledge.

They were in the final stages of the game now.

Stepping back the figure summoned the shadows, becoming one with them, shadow-stepping away from the cliff he headed towards his next target.
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The Archivist

Archivist of the word The
True Blood
Faust finished reloading the pistol, removing the ramrod and slotting it into a pocket. He looked up from where he sat. The coaches were still trundling forward, though as the path clogged with assassins the coaches were slowed by the number of bodies they were trying to force out of the way.
He took a moment to crouch down behind the drivers seat of the final carriage and examine the enemy's composition. There were the assassins, humanoid in all obvious respects, and the wights, the near skeletal warriors implacable. Something worried at Faust's mind, some fact that eluded him that was putting him on edge.
Steeling himself, he opened his necromantic sight once more.

It was obvious what was bothering him. Aside from the walking spotlight, whose tendrils now even touched the empty carriages he was riding on, there were also chains of light weaving their way from the wights up to a point on the cliffs. He remembered the tales: wights were supposed to be warriors whose instincts lingered with their bodies, animating them. The strongest wights kept their whole mind: he remembered the time Roland and he had retrieved an ancient device from a vanquished wight's still deadly burrow.
Assembling so many wights to attack fellow undead would obviously have been near impossible if it hadn't been for whoever had bound them.

Faust grit his fangs and carefully rested the pistol on the back of the seat, sighting at the shadowy spot where the lines of light converged. He'd only get one shot at taking out this filth, since the assassins would realise the carriages weren't empty when he fired. The soundh of chains echoed in his mind as he pursed his lips, a fire in his eyes.

A crossbow bolt thunked into the wood next to his pistol. Crouched behind a wooden bench with his chain buckler and backpack he made a very small target, but he furiously refused to take his concentration off blasting that slaver off the face of the earth. Instead he roared the name of the man best able to keep him undead.

Count michael

The Undead Sparky
Ducking under the swing of a wight's axe which embedded into the nearby coach, Mikhail drove his blade up into the wight's exposed chest causing it to crumble with it's demise, panting like a dog he gazed around the coaches confused at his surroundings. Some cowards were using magic to summon shadow copies which were messing with him, not that they were a problem he thought as he could easily smell which attackers were real thanks to his chaos enhanced senses, it was just weird . As to emphasise his point two cloaked assassins simultaneously stabbed him in the chest only for their blades to pass harmlessly through him before he angrily struck both of them causing them to dissipate in a cloud of smoke.

Apart from the shadow clones most of the vampire assassins seemed to be avoiding Mikhail for some reason with the Wight's being the only ones attacking him, though his brute strength and blade work made him cut down a few with ease however he felt insulted which made him lash out angrily at the nearest enemy. Howling in rage Mikhail grabbed the nearest wight by the head driving it into the nearest coach causing it's skull to shatter slightly making him feel better, as he blocked another wight's blow Mikhail wondered whether or not if he should off stayed up in the north.
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Elanor didn't even notice as the assassin almost ended her undead existence so intent she was on pouring her energy into the dying princess. It was all she could do just to keep her alive. To keep her heart beating again and again. That sound, drumming over and over, so hypnotic. So delightful. Her hands were covered in blood. Deep scarlet red blood. Oh how she wanted to just plunge her mouth into the princess stomach and suck on that glorious blood. No, no, no. Focus Elanor. Save her. She told herself but her energy was slipping away. She couldn't hold on much more. Her head was splitting and her throat burned.
With her eyes closed, Ezra's other remaining senses (hearing, touch and smell) were further enhanced. Along with her naturally jittery physical behavior bestowed on her through her bloodline, she could immediately hear her new attacker approach from the darkness and respond to the threat, despite vampiric and martially muffled footsteps.

Instead of turning to face her new foe head on, she leaped forward into a roll to avoid his first blow. The failure to hit with such a powerful attack forced him to stumble slightly which gave Silence the opportunity to roll to her feet, spin on her heel and fling three knives into the middle three copies before she drew her weapons again and shifted into a defensive position, ready to fight.

Get of W'soran

CN's Lord of Masks
True Blood
Dieter frowned at Sorceress, seeing the strain on the beautiful vampiress's face...and there was something faintly familiar about her expression.

"Could she be..." he wondered to himself before reaching a worrying thought.

"Elanor." he barked harshly at the woman.

After a moment he continued on more kindly "You do not have to heal her completely, so long as you believe she has reached a point where she will survive then I can carry her to the carriage."

The Dread King

Staff member
True Blood
Morturion's face was a mixture of surprise and relief under his helmet as he was saved by Satsu, the mysterious newcomer who had arrived to aide the council at a time of great weakness within it. "Thank you, sir...I will do my best." Hurrying to his feet, the necromancer quickly exited the scene of the duel between Satsu and Captain Salvator and rushed over to Anya.

His relief was quickly overcome as he witnessed the grave nature of the situation that had unfolded before him. The type of wound Anya had just received was rarely overcome without intensive medical or magical assistance - and recovery was almost unheard of on the battlefield. His magic could do little for the woman directly, being mostly comprised of four rather destructive lores. He could attempt to relocate her soul, but the process was extremely dangerous and magically draining, the outcome uncertain, the potential effect on her mental state damaging...and any protection to spirit manipulation the Nehekharan gods had instilled in her could threaten the necromancer and sabotage the process. This was not an option, and would no doubt infuriate the Nehekharan pantheon should it be carried out. There were a number of other things he could do to help the mortal, however.

Stepping over to Elanor, he placed a hand on her shoulder and murmured, "Use this wisely." He then channelled a vast portion of his magical energy into the Lahmian. Hopefully, this would supplement her own arcane energy enough to allow her to save the princess' life. Dieter's presence made sure that assaults from assassins weren't immediate risks in Morturion's opinion, although the wizard was slightly worried about being protected by a man who had only recently overcome a bout of vampiric bloodlust. The necromancer bent down onto his knees, and calmly replaced Anya's healing intestines to where they should have been within her body. Learning to piece together and repair undead constructs under the watchful eye of Nekhlior and practising necromantic artificing over hundreds of years had given the necromancer a good idea of where the various nuts and bolts of the biological human machine slotted into place (although the more bizarre creations he'd built as an apprentice of the aged necrarch were not at all helpful in this instance), so fortunately Anya's intestines were put back into her body correctly).

He stood up and looked at the cluster of vampires surrounding him, before opining briefly, "I am in accordance with Dieter. We should get Anya in a carriage, and quickly. I know that enemy troops are heading for them, but a disruption of the healing process could be fatal for Anya and would be less likely to occur in the safety of one of the coaches. We can't risk being interrupt-"

A wight blade swung in an arc and bit deep into Morturion's shoulder. His hearing of the skeletal creature only a moment before had given the wizard time to turn around, thus preventing his head from being severed from his shoulders. He screamed in agony at the blade's deadly touch and rapidly dispatched the undead with a thrust of a conjured, shadowy lance through its chest. Clutching his wounded shoulder with his other hand, the necromancer gritted his teeth and healed the serious damage done to his being. "As I was saying," he remarked in a pained tone, "we can't afford to be interrupted. And more importantly, we can't allow our vehicles of escape to be destroyed."


Nikolaus licked his lips as the vampire he'd attacked responded defiantly. Two knives embedded themselves into fake copies of the shadow mage, which disappeared in cackling puffs of smoke along with the other fabricated beings, and the third was only just caught between two fingers by the real vampire. He looked up at Ezra, then down at the sight of his fingers, one of which had been partially impaled by the knife,. At last, a challenge! he speculated as he utilised his vast magical prowess to neutralise the toxins flowing within him. What's more, I don't just have to sit back and magically enhance the incompetents fighting the council below. With the rush of the upcoming kill, the wizard's sanity was temporarily fraying. His combat form, however, was only getting sharper. "Catch!" he shouted with a grin, hurling the throwing knife back at Ezra with the speed of a honed assassin.

Time to finish this, Nikolaus thought. Even as the knife flew towards Ezra, the shadow mage leapt to her side and unleashed a rapid volley of razor-sharp bolts of darkness that sailed towards her.. Both beings were yet standing on the edge of the cliff at the time of Nikolaus' throw, but murky tendrils reached up from the ground to grasp at Ezra's feet and try to throw her to the floor.
Even as Elanor felt the princess' life slipping further away she felt a sudden surge of power rush through her. Like a mighty flood sweeping through a tiny creek. All around her light began to crackle and spark in shades of deep violet. A pure hum sounded throughout the air and for a moment a vision of peaceful tranquillity and harmony flashed before her before being ripped away. A sight she was forbidden to do more than glimpse at. However it had been enough, Anya's wounds began to close over. Pink skin covering over the blood, organs and intestines. She was still incredibly weak but she would live for now if they could get out of this cursed ravine.
"Thank you, necromancer." Elanor said sincerely, so maybe he wasn't all bad. Elanor turned to the ferocious looking blood dragon, Dieter and was very glad he was on her side, although his eyes still seemed to be partially obscured by red mist.
"Uh, it might be better if I carried her. You can defend me." she suggested.


The Colonel
True Blood
Roland cursed as several more assassins swooped into the path ahead of him. Behind them, a rush of wights were reforming to block the retreat. Sigh.
Roland took a defensive stance and moved forwards, but the lead assassin simply spat out something to the other vampires and disappeared into the shadows. Hmph. Then one of the remaining vampires spotted him approaching and surged forwards, the others hanging back to guard the retreat.
Roland dodged the first dagger thrust, and responded by stabbing upwards with his right hand towards the throat of the vampire, who deftly deflected the blow with his free hand. Roland ducked just in time to avoid the return slice, and backstepped away. As he did so, the vampire slashed across his chest, the dagger blade slicing through his tunic. The Assailant regarded its bloodied weapon.
“What are you doing here, meat?” the assassin hissed, just before lunging at Roland’s gut. Roland stepped back and pushed the attack away with a crossguard, then evaded a second thrust at his throat. Backing away again, Roland met gazes with the assassin, struggling to suppress the pain from the chest wound and his broken rib.
“You are nothing but prey to me,” the vampire sneered. He stepped forward to thrust again – Roland dropped one of his long knives, grabbed his cloak, and cast it in the way of the attack. As he wrapped up the arm, the vampire stabbed at Roland’s exposed stomach, but he elegantly impaled the hand with his other long knife, causing it to drop the weapon. Tugging on the entangled arm, Roland stepped forward and drove the blade through the vampire’s heart. Assassin and assassin met gazes again, but this time the vampire’s was a pleading one. Roland simply smirked.
“Well I prey your friends have better luck than you.”

He let the vampire fall to the ground, and silently chided himself as he bent down to collect his other knife. Gods, that was awful. I’m losing my touch. As he rose, something flashed through his vision – Faust, riding a wooden plank. That man gets crazier every day.
Suddenly, something struck the side of his face hard, sending him crashing to the floor. Dazed, he staggered to his feet to see six or seven assassins advancing on him. He backed away, only for his back to meet the ravine’s wall. He was surrounded. Shit. This doesn’t look good. Well, let’s see how many I can take down before-
The first vampire leapt forwards.
And suddenly Roland’s vision was filled with… more Roland. Illusory copies of himself leapt into the space between him and the oncoming vampires. Rather than questioning his sudden multiplication, he noted that the copies were confusing the assassins, and decided to take advantage of the situation.
What ensued was a chaotic frenzy of knifework. Illusory weapons flicked and darted, capturing attention but never driving home; silver tipped daggers ripped through shadowy flesh, only for the illusion to reform moments later. And In the maelstrom of blades, only two struck true – the pair of long, thin-bladed knives danced and whispered from target to target, trailing thin streaks of crimson in their wake.
Moments later, the illusions vanished as suddenly as suddenly as they had appeared, but it was already too late – the last remaining assassin had his back to Roland, who nonchalantly reached out with both knives, pushing them into the flesh at the base of the skull, and swept them outwards, succinctly removing the vampire’s head.

Roland surveyed the seven lifeless bodies strewn across the ground in front of him. He cracked his neck. Goddamn Vampires.
Suddenly, a cry echoed through the ravine, a word he had heard far too many times as far as he was concerned.
He turned to see Faust, poised atop one of the carriages, trundling through a mass of wights and assassins, trying to fire his musket while under a barrage of crossbow bolts.
By Zajun... why do I not feel surprised?
Quicky ducking to avoid the mace swing of a wight, he riposted by jabbing both knives into the undead's leg and tearing them across, causing it to fall to the ground, then bellowed at the top of his voice,
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The Archivist

Archivist of the word The
True Blood
Roland's cry vaguely filtered through the battlefield. Faust made a face and hunkered down more as a crossbow bolt pinged off the buckler lodged over his head. He tracked the slaver back and forth. Though the shape was indistinguishable, the light's convergance moved with him, giving away his position.

Fora couple of minutes Faust had been fiddling with the sights and observing the man's movements as the coach had got nearer. He waited for the man to expose himself in a lunge.

The opportunity came.
Faust pulled the trigger with a feral scowl. For the second time the sound of gunpowder echoed across the battlefield and a small ball of lead shot up toward the cliff.
Faust turned and leapt out of the way of another crossbow bolt a second later.

The ball passed through the dust kicked up by the coaches, soared high over the council, and smashed straight into the back of the shadow mages kneecap. The bone shattered with a crack, shards slicing through the flesh and severing a few important nerves. The leg suddenly crumpled and convulsed with pain.


The Colonel
True Blood
Roland caught sight of Faust ducking for cover. Now stay down, you imbecile.
He glanced thoughtfully at one of the slain vampires. After a moment of concentration, Roland’s cloak morphed into an exact duplicate of the apparel the vampire was wearing. This should get them off my back.
Ezra huffed to herself as her foe flung several projectiles at her, withdrawing her blade with lightning speed and accuracy to deflect the physical knife into the chasm below.
The more ethereal ones she ignored however, deeming the shadows creeping around her ankles as the bigger and much more immediate threat. She let the shards of darkness run over her skin and armour with nigh zero impact on her, leaving only small lacerations behind after the ones she didn't duck or weave through thanks to her corset's innate anti-magic abilities.
She sprang around on tip-toes, narrowly avoiding the grasp of the tendrils at her feet. Eventually one hooked around her booted leg and she stumbled to the ground, her katar bouncing out of it's sheathe which made Ezra growl at both the mage and the tendrils menacingly.
'Pathetic excuse of a vampire!' her thoughts snarled to no one, 'Who uses magic in a sword fight?! Where is the fun in that?!'


Nikolaus' smile grew even wider as the mysterious vampire mounted an impressive defence to his attack, before finally falling to his shadowy coils. He bent down quickly, his eyes glazed over as a hellish idea made its way into his mind. He hastily picked up Ezra's katar, remarking to her almost enviously, "A truly beautiful weapon."

A maniacal laugh echoed out across the cavern and seemed to split the sides of his mouth as he raised the katar above his head, in preparation for a decapitation in one fell swoop. "A truly beautiful way to die!" He swung the blade down gleefully, but suddenly felt something smash clean through the back of his right kneecap. Even as he cried out in pain, his strength left him, the blade fell, only half of the way through its swing, and clattered to floor by Ezra's arm. The shadow mage toppled from the cliff, and braced himself for a fall he knew would be painful, but not lethal for a vampire of his power. I'll heal myself, and then I'll kill her, a murderous voice decided in the back of his mind.

As his concentration had been broken by the wound, his spells unravelled. The shadowy assassins disappeared, but more importantly, the staircase over Elanor's flaming wall was lost. It was only when he was a few inches above the conflagration did he realise that he was no longer protected by it. "Oh," he chuckled sibilantly.

Then his magically charged body exploded, and a scream ripped across the ravine. When the dust settled, the shadow mage was gone - but so too was the fire barrier he'd sought to dispel in his final moments. A pair of assassins at a column of enemy troops looked slowly at each other and raised their swords.

What followed was the unrestricted charge of the entire assassination force.

Get of W'soran

CN's Lord of Masks
True Blood
Dieter frowned at Elanor and opened his mouth to argue when he felt the magical discharge from the Shadow Mage's death, the blood dragon turned and saw the large number of assassins charging forward as they discarded subtlety for an all out attack.

"We'll all be destroyed." he realised.

Dieter stood up, his eyes glow bright red as he regarded the fallen princess and Lahmian sorceress.

"Then carry her and run!" he commanded.

The Greatswordsman only had his dagger but he would stay with the mortal and vampiress in case they were attacked.

The vampire turned his gaze to Morturion.

"Ready the carriages for escape as soon as the last of us are aboard..." he paused for a moment "And if everyone doesn't make it on before they" he gestured at the oncoming assassins "reach us then we leave them behind."

"Let's go!"


Salvator laughed as he ducked away from another of Satsu's attacks, the Tilean was a skilled swordsman, more than skilled, but his one handed weapons were simply poorly matched against the two-handed curved blade of his opponent...and there might be some truth in stating the other assassin was more skilled.

It mattered not however, with the flame wall gone his men would crush the council through sheer force.

"At last you prove yourself useful Nikolaus". he thought cruelly.

Salvator's twisted out of the way of another of Satsu's attacks only to receive a powerful kick in the chest that sent him stumbling back but the other vampire didn't press the attack, instead taking a moment to glance at the oncoming traitor assassins.

"It's too late Satsu...you will all die here!" he mocked.

Satsu shook his head, his expression hidden behind his mask "You underestimate the council."

Salvator sneered and charged forward, his rapier pulled back for an obvious thrust which Satsu's guard shifted to protect against but at the last moment the assassin Captain threw his parrying dagger straight at his opponent. Satsu gasped in pain as the thrown weapon struck him in the shoulder causing his guard to drop slightly allowing Salvator to ram his rapier hilt deep into his target's stomach.

"Got you Satsu..."

Unexpectedly his enemy began to chuckle, an oddly emotionless sound.

"No my dear brother...it is I who has you." Satsu said softly as he grabbed Salvator's wrist with his left hand.

Salvator felt a familiar ice cold sensation racing up his legs, he glanced down and saw shadow's climbing from the ground to envelop both himself and Satsu even as the two immortals were being dragged down into a pool of darkness at their feet.

"Shadow-Step? But how..." he wondered before realising what Satsu was doing.

"NO!" he roared, forcing another trained in this technique into your Shadow-Step was suppose to be impossible.

Despite the two vampire's appearing to stand completely still they were battling as hard as they ever had, each trying to impose there will against one another as Satsu attempted to magically drag his opponent away and Salvator attempted to resist.

"I will NOT allow this." he hissed hatefully.

Satsu's response was as calm as it was cold. "I am Headmaster of our Order and you are a traitor. You WILL come with me."

In the end Salvator could not resist the Master Assassin's seemingly unshakeable will and with a horrified shriek that echoed throughout the ravine he and Satsu sunk down into the shadows and vanished from sight.

The Archivist

Archivist of the word The
True Blood
Faust heard the charging assassins and looked at the wights. Their bonds unravelled, they had paused for a moment, unnoticed by the assassins. Then they turned on them.
Assassins who had moments ago been charging victoriously found themselves sliced by the withered corpses and the roar of victory became the babble of confusion. The wights each had their own personal agenda, some carving a path back towards their burrows, others diving on those who dared twist their will, some even duelling the wights of those they duelled in life.
Chaos and confusion reigned across the entire battlefield. Given time the assassins would regroup, but for now it was every man for himself.
Faust gave a smile. He ducked back down as another flurry of bolts came from the cliff. It was only a momentary reprieve, but it was time for the council to flee.
Elanor picked up the still unconscious body of the princess. She weighed almost nothing. Her skin was soft and warm though and smelt so very sweet. Elanor went to walk forward and then a surge of fiery energy passed through her as her fire wall was dispelled. She swayed blearily, seeing flames everywhere but with a lot of willpower managed to suppress them. Letting the excess energy off as steam and smoke through her ears and nostrils. Fairly oblivious to everything else around her she began to walk towards the carriages. Not that she really knew where they were in the swirl of fire, smoke and blood.

Get of W'soran

CN's Lord of Masks
True Blood
It took less time than the Council would have suspected for the assassins to reorganise, many had simply fallen back using their shadow-step to escape from the sudden betrayal of the Wights however some fought back for too long until it was impossible to escape the relentless dead.
In normal circumstances the magi would simply have taken control of the Wights once more but with Nikolaus's unexpected death and Salvator's disappearance the few remaining Necromancer's lacked the necessary coordination to mount such a magical effort.

It fell to Senior Brother Arno to take command. Rallying and swiftly reorganising the majority of his brethren who had disengaged themselves from the Wights he led a swift and brutal attack on the freed undead, with magic, bow and blade they annihilated the Wights with cold efficiency. As this skirmish continued he pulled out those who had been too badly wounded to fight any longer and ordered them moved away from the passage by their brethren, he was glad to learn that the despite some severe injuries no one had been killed and eventually all injuries could be healed for their kind.

Arno may have lacked the sheer power of his Captain or the Shadow-Mage who had previously led them but he also lacked their arrogance. What the younger Vampire had was control of his emotions.

His strategy was simple, all would finish with cleaning up the rest of the Wights. Then every remaining Assassin able to fight would advance on the Council, swiftly but together, Archers would move on high and do what damage they could whilst the most powerful of their numbers would use shadow-magic to strike unexpectedly if needed.

They would kill their target.

It was their mission and the Order never failed.


Dieter was behind Elanor before she realised it, the veteran Soldier looking worried as he glanced back in the direction of the preoccupied Assassin forces.

"Elanor you have to move faster!" he snapped ignoring the smoke surrounding them "Our reprieve may not last long."

The warrior sounded angry but truthfully he was just afraid, an emotion that was practically Alien to the Blood Dragon.

They couldn't fail, if they died here then Dieter doubted the Council would have the strength to continue.

The carriages were close now, he just hoped that Morturion had them ready to go...
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Kavok moved to follow with the council as they moved towards the carriages. Noticing that Dieter is now continuing on without a weapon, a small frown appears on Kavok's face. 'I am going to regret doing this... There is no way I am not going to regret doing this... I hope I at least get it back...'

Grabbing his arming sword in his shield hand, Kavok quickly reaches back to pull out the two-handed blade from his back. A small wince passes over his face as the movement pulls on the wound on his back. Managing to get the blade off his back he shifts his grip to be on the blade, and holds the hilt in Dieter's direction. "Here!" Kavok shouts towards Dieter.

Kavok tries to take up a defensive position with the assumption that Dieter would be another point of defense around Elanor and the princess as they moved towards the carriages.

Get of W'soran

CN's Lord of Masks
True Blood
Dieter turned to Kavok and frowned, a look of distaste crossing his face at the sight at the knight. However as he noticed the weapon that the man held out to him the vampire's expression softened.

He took the weapon and give it a quick swing looking surprised at the weapon's decent balance.

"My...thanks human Lord." Dieter said although the words sounded a little strained and far from thankful.

Dieter strode away from Kavok feeling both annoyed and ashamed at having to accept a knight's assistance but his moving to protect Elanor's other side showed that, although unspoken, he seemed to be trusting that Kavok would protect Elanor from his angle.

Dieter raised his blade high and shouted.
"Carriages! Now!" he roared, his patience was at an end and they needed to get out of this place before the assassin's reached them.


The Colonel
True Blood
Roland was carefully picking his way towards the carriages, still disguised as an assassin, when the wights suddenly turned on their masters. In the ensuing chaos, he spotted one of the vampires quickly taking charge and, once he had dealt with the insurgence, swiftly turned his attention to the group of fleeing council members including the unconscious Anya. Roland watched with dismay as a flood of assassins closed in on the group from all sides. They'll never make it. He looked back at the carriages, almost within reach.... Gods dammit.
He turned around and sprinted back towards the group, picking out the lead vampire as his target.

Long-knives out, he barrelled into the front line of assassins. As he tumbled through, he raked his blades across the flesh of the vampires, including the leader. Rolling as he landed, he sprang forwards, emerging from the back of the onrushing wave. He quickly rejoined the assassins, attempting to blend in before they had realised what had happened.


Hasn't left TVC for the rest of the forum
True Blood
There seemed to almost be a distant rumble of thunder in the distance as Alastor crouched on the ground some distance away.

He didn't know why he had left really.. It was one of those moments he had in his life. He just had to.. get away from it all. He sighed slightly as his mask slipped from his hand onto the floor. He missed his organ.

From here at least it looked like they were losing. A group of vampires were high tailing towards the carriages his... he guessed he should consider them his allies... were travelling in previously.

The battle had seemed.. intense from back here. It certainly was on a much larger scale regarding skill than the skaven fight ever was. That bored even him, and he found the idea of fighting rather exciting. He had hole himself up after all. A musician needed his muses. Alastor smirked. Perhaps if vampires really existed so would muses. He must find himself one.

An all too familiar emotionless expression passed over his face as he donned his half face mask once again. All the time hiding behind indifference. He guessed it would work one day.

The grass stood on edge as the static filled the air.

Suddenly, to Dieter's side Alastor appeared in a flash of electricity. Grimacing, he fell to one knee as he clutched his side. Too far to travel in one go..

"Lord Dieter" he muttered with a mixture of sarcasm, pain and irritation, "Can I assist in any way? I have been watching from far to... cut off the enemies retreat, but it seems I am needed more here."

Alastor really didn't understand tactical situations enough to think of a valid excuse, but he hoped this would work.
Elanor did not really appreciate Dieter's tone but now was hardly the time to bring it up. The Blood Dragon looked more than capable of snapping her in half like a twig at the moment. Fortunately they were almost at the carriages. With a final effort Elanor sprinted towards them, her lithe legs moving like a blur. Her vampiric grace meaning she was in no danger of slipping on the muddy ground despite her fancy black shoes. At some point she noticed the musician Alastor appear. Great she thought to herself but any help was better than none.

Reaching the carriage she yanked open the wooden door and jumped inside. Laying the wounded princess softly down on the seat opposite. She still looked very pale and very tasty.

Get of W'soran

CN's Lord of Masks
True Blood
Dieter whirled with blade half-raised at the sound of Alastor's voice.

His face showed a mix of disgust and anger at the cowardly vampire who had vanished when the council could have used his help.

"Get in the Carriage." he commanded tensely

Dieter glanced over to Kavok and waved him to the side of one of the Carriages.

"Stand guard with me Knight, we'll wait until everyone is safely in the carriage" he called over to Kavok although truth be told the group couldn't wait much longer.


Arno frowned as he saw one of his men crash into him and a handful of other assassin's, the attackers blade's left minor injuries on the men before vanishing into the crowd but the attacker also left a picular scent behind that Arno's vampiric senses just barely picked up.

"Keep going! Slaughter the council!" the Senior Brother commanded however he himself slowed and made a few hand signals to two of his men.

"Stay with me." the message said.

Closing his eyes the de facto commander listened carefully, he listened beyond the obvious sounds such as the crashing of his men's feet as they continued their charge.

Then he heard it...a heartbeat.

A human infiltrator then.

With a soft hiss of annoyance he pulled a throwing knife from his waist and hurled it toward's the sound, the blade missing the other vampires and heading straight towards the disguised mortal with the precision born from centuries of dedicated training.

The Dread King

Staff member
True Blood
Morturion lightened up at the two new unexpected turns of events. With the assassins delayed, he had a better chance of getting to the carriages in one piece. With the shadow mage dead - which he assumed was the case, given the arcane circumstances in which the man had perished, Morturion's illusionary spells would likely have little in the way of magical resistance. His joy quickly turned to sorrow, however, as Alastor appeared. Indignance aimed at the assassins overwhelmed the necromancer. Couldn't they have killed just one of these many imbeciles I have to put up with here? They're eager to disappear the mysterious, but apparently useful, masked figure, but spare his pathetic doppelgänger. His thoughts wandered back from the speculative to the imperative once more, and he dismissed his internal resentment with a morbid (albeit jovial) afterthought: He's stupid enough to get himself killed soon anyway.

Morturion ran towards the carriages and stepped briskly into the one containing Elanor and Anya, before sitting down next to the princess.. This position was the best for him to take if he wanted to stop her being killed by assassins, and although he cared little for Anya, her death would lower council morale and Nehekharan support for the war. The last thing this campaign needed was to see Anya's parents arguing against a war and causing difficulties for Rowhaine's amassing of troops. In most cases, a pair of angry parents would be no threat to any ruler, let alone a champion of gods. However, the fact that the title 'princess' was bestowed on Anya was a fairly obvious indicator that her death could cause quite some political difficulty.

The main reason on the necromancer's mind for stepping into that specific carriage was not that one. It was, in fact, to avoid a repetition of the incident with the curious engineer and his mercenary at Drakenhof, the former of which was sitting in a nearby carriage. Morturion observed that the man was alone, and entertained murderous thoughts briefly, before returning to thinking about employing his illusionary magic as he had done earlier in the battle. Truth be told, such spells were exhausting, but they delayed the assassins, and time was of this essence in this escape.

First, the wizard commanded the carriages to turn themselves around, ready for departure. He winced as he heard the creaking of their battered frames. The coaches had taken severe punishment and were a sorry sight compared to the gleaming splendour that had been presented to the council at Drakenhof. Bolts littered them; huge dents threatened to tear their structures apart at any instant; their axles screamed in agony, precariously close to their breaking points. They yet stood, but even with the much-needed necromantic reparation Morturion was giving them at that current point in time, for how much longer they could remain intact, and how many more assaults they could take, was unknown to the necromancer, and was likely minuscule in quantity.

Then, drawing on some of his last reserves of energy, he chanted slowly, and the simple shadow copies he had created earlier - both the assassins attempting to confuse the real ones, and the fake council members - sprang into life once more, running amok in a desperate bid to confuse and thereby delay the assassins. The wizard swayed slowly in his seat without speaking, his eyes shut in concentration. A single drop of blood slowly trickled out of his nose, and he opened his eyes. Morturion was sorely tempted to leave now and save his own hide, but his ambition overpowered his cowardice in this instance - he would wait for Dieter, the emissary of the Carsteins, unless the assassins got too close for comfort. That guardsman is a good fighter, and his death would decrease Carstein support for this war. What's more, he keeps a level head, unlike most of the rest of this motley band. Unsurprisingly, not once during this internal derision of various council members did he criticise the condescension and incivility which, when expressed by him in the first meeting of this council, had inadvertently sabotaged its negotiations.


Hasn't left TVC for the rest of the forum
True Blood
A toothy smile flashed across Alastor's face, briefly making him look innocent.

"You'd rather the human defend the carriage than myself."

It wasn't a question, nor was it an insulted complaint. It was merely a statement. With a smile and a bow, Alastor disappeared in a flash of light, to appear on top of the front most carriage.

"I hope you don't expect me to actually go in one of those carriages Dieter" Alastor muttered as if Dieter and he were close friends.

"I'll just sit here and wait I guess.." Alastor sat down cross-legged and hummed to himself, staring into the middle distance.

hmmmhmmmmm hmmmm hmmmm


The Colonel
True Blood
Took you long enough Roland thought as the vampire pitched the dagger at him. Roland commanded his clothes to revert back to their original, indestructible form, just in time as the dagger struck him - it didn't pierce the shadowy fabric, but the great speed of the weapon staggered him, and sent a wave of pain threw his broken rib.
He cursed as he saw the vampire and his two goons sliding towards this.
Then they were upon him.

Roland ducked under a dagger slash from the first vampire. Moving past him, Roland jabbed his foot into Arno's knee, causing him to momentarily lose his balance.
With a briefly immobilise body between him and one of the goons, Roland turned towards the third vampire. Blocking a cut from its shortsword, Roland thrust his right long knife towards the vampire's throat, which the vampire easily dodged - but that attack was just a feint, as Roland dropped his weight and raked his other blade across the vampire's leg, severing muscle and tendons. As the vampire cried out in pain, Roland surged upwards, driving both knives into its neck. He twisted, pulled, and the vampire fell to the ground, neatly decapitated.
Panting heavily, he turned to face the remaining assassins.
"You want to dance, bitch?"
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