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TVC II Chapter 7 - Return to the Silver Pinnacle

Smoke? Does that mean we're late? Niklaus thought. He saw Akela picking up her pace, and considered picking up his pace, but decided against it. He could Shadow-merge to make up any distance needed, and wanted to observe as much as he could before reaching the battlefield. Despite the current or recent fighting, however, he was sure Neferata was alive. If she were only marginally more powerful than Annabella and some of her other daughters Niklaus had met, and she was probably far, far more powerful than that, an invasion of ex-von Carstein assassins would not be sufficient to truly endanger her life. Complicating the mission, however, was well within the shadows' capabilities.
Kithan turned, racing up the rocky terrain behind him, the elegant frame of Akela could be seen, gliding swiftly over the tumbled terrain, her eyes fixed on the Pinnacle. 'Look' murmered the Prince to his two companions and parted their enveloping screen of mist. The Pinnacle sprang into view, tall, remote, yet huge. Disturbingly, black smoke was billowing out of several fissures and the wight uttered a short cry of frustration as he realised the foe must be inside the fortress. He accelerated his pace towards the Queen's domain, his sphere of mist and delusion streaming from his shoulders.
Maybe it wasn't such a bad idea to pick up pace. Niklaus made some attempt to match his companions' speed, though he wasn't in the habit of running everywhere. Shadow billowed around him as he prepared for battle. He wondered what enemies were here, but was confident about his ability to defeat them. He'd defeated a Pyromancer, and survived regular assassins even with limited magic. But then, that kind of thinking probably summoned something worse, as if the universe didn't like confidence.
Run, thought Konstanze. If we've lost the Pinnacle, we've lost the war. Get out while you still can.

But if she ran at such an important time her sisters would see her and she'd be put on probation again, and this time it'd surely be worse. She shuddered internally to think of what could be worse than two years in a sewer with a romantically-inclined Strigoi. Her face betrayed none of this, just the barest hint of concern at her sisters' fate, as was proper. She picked up her pace instead to keep up with the more senior Lahmian, while nonchalantly fidgeting with her necklace.

"Keep up, girl." she snapped at Klara, who seemed to have been distracted by one of the swain's corpses. The girl jumped with shock and stood up guiltily, running to catch up with the group.

"Sorry mistress," she said, choked-back tears roughening her voice, "It's just, it's just, I knew that man in..."

"I don't want excuses. Don't do it again." She allowed a touch of anger to creep into her expression for a moment and the girl quickly nodded and ran to watch one of the group's flanks, little tear-tracks appearing in the dirt on her face. Konstanze's expression softened again when her servant turned away. Poor girl, she mused to herself. Still, it's for the best. Romance wreaks havoc with the breeding plans.

She considered whether she should talk to any of her new-found companions. No, she thought, It would not be proper, with Akela here. Besides, most of them will probably die at the Pinnacle. Making friends would be pointless. She cast an eye over the rag-tag collection, the grinning petty thief, the bestial excuse for a vampire and the others. And such friends.

Count michael

The Undead Sparky
As the mist parted ,shock registered on Mikhail's features as he took in the imposing figure of the Silver Pinnacle in all it glory before a feral grin took hold of him. "Finally a worthy fight" he cried brandishing his weapon to the sky, gazing around he noticed the others picking up the pace, with a howl he loped tirelessly forward quickly catching up and slowly started to trail ahead of the others.

Over the smell of smoke and ash his chaos enhanced senses picked up the distinct scent of the enemy, the inner beast within raged against it's meat prison as it sensed further bloodshed, grimacing in pain Mikhail quickly controlled his darker half through years of brutal experiences. The closer he got to combat the harder it became to control it but he resolved he would hold it at bay as long as possible until the time came that it was absolutely necessary to unleash the beast within.

The Dread King

Staff member
True Blood
"It is a fight we will be facing," Rowhaine replied to Mikhail, "prepare yourselves for combat. I can sense their foul chaotic presence from here."

The combatants were now coming into view as individuals, and although it was not entirely clear from eyesight alone that they were fighting for the dark gods, some of them wore the armour of Norse warriors, whilst others were horribly deformed.
Mikhail threw back his head and howled. The eerie note was still hanging in the air as he ran ahead of Kithan's small party. The tarnished Prince paused and surveyed the mist swept scene of battling warriors dressed in the crude armour of the North. He strode up a small incline and turned, placing a crag of weathered granite at his back. Thorns and blooms writhed around his slender frame, ebon shoots punching into the damp soil, anchoring the Lord of Ivrel and preparing a subtle ambush. The two great felines blended into the swirling mists, while the famished baobhan sith rose shrieking into the tainted air. Mesmer swung hypnotically in one gauntled hand. 'Bring them nearer' whispered Kithan and with a heart stopping screech the baobhan sith stooped, like a falcon at the kill. Simultaneously emerald flares of eldritch flame shot from the fingers of Kithan's other hand, burrowing into the backs of the nearest Northerners.

Count Vashra

Lord of Shadows
Niklaus bared his fangs as he saw the forces of Chaos. These were the ones they weer here to kill, then. He shadow-merged, reforming, in full spiked armour, in front of a mutated warrior. He flung his hand at it, releasing a volley of shadow spikes, before shadow-merging behind another, swinging a shadow sword around to decapitate it. The only disappointment was that Chaos blood was tainted, so he would gain no extra strength through that method here.

Count michael

The Undead Sparky
Howling in rage Charged into the chaos ranks, quicker than his foe could react he cleaved through the spine of an unfortunate Norseman in a shower of blood and gore. Face me you scum" he cried in the harsh northern tongue so his opponents could understand him, "Come and face your deaths at my blades" finally he thought to himself, a worthy fight he was fed up with fighting soulless corpses though he hated the forces of chaos with a fiery passion at least they proved a good fight.

A mutated warrior hurled its self at Mikhail who quickly side stepped before driving his blade up through it's ribs, as the dying creature whimpered in pain Mikhail contemptuously kicked it off his blade knocking over those around him. Pushing himself forward Mikhail drove himself deeper into the chaos ranks hacking and slashing with both axe and blade as he sought to carve his way through the enemy as he sought out the champions of chaos he knew would prove to be worthy fights.
The tattered shadow of the Baobhan sith skittered through the chaos ranks, her constant wail waxing and waning as she spun around, her long talons leaving skeins of blood and gore in her wake. Meanwhile Kithan kept up a methodical hail of emerald flares, targeting any warp tainted warrior with an air of command. Those few warriors who turned to deal with the baroque wraith mistakenly thought he was undefended and each fell, hamstrung by the hidden, mist bound felines.
"Ready!" The Waechner sisters ran together and knelt to form a line in front of their mistress.

"Prime!" The girls drew back the dogs on their coachguns and brought them up to the shoulder. Konstanze extended a hand lovingly towards the onrushing chaotic horde.

"Die..." A black miasma rose from the broken ground, tendrils of darkness tenderly caressing the norsemen. Warriors coughed and coughed again, little spots of blood appearing on their faceplates. Some dropped their weapons or keeled over as the horrid smoke rolled over them, and the group slowed down when it was that or trip over the prone forms of their vanguard.

A little smile crept onto Konstanze's face, as warm and welcoming as frostbite.
Kithan's emerald gaze flickered back and forth across the battlefield; something didn't feel right. Slaughtered chaos warriors surrounded the base of his grassy knoll, while several briar wreathed mounds twitched spasmodically as his cloak drained them dry. Meanwhile in the battle itself, Mikhail, Nicklaus, the Baobhan sith and Kithan's darts had reversed the fortunes of the embattled Lhamians. The blood soaked ground was now littered with the fallen of the North. Hopefully some useful Necromancer would seize the opportunity to animate these handy puppets and add more pressure to the chaos scum. It still didn't feel right and despite their apparent success, Kithan determined to remain vigilant.