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The Disciples of Blood

Malochai

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#1
Part I

The hall was full of courtiers, each one painfully beautiful, their alabaster skin glowing in the pale witch-lights which hung from the ceiling on four immense chandeliers. Some sat around Bretonnian tables and Cathayan rugs as they sipped from tall, fluted wineglasses and others stood arrayed around vast fireplaces which sputtered and sparked. They wore either courtly dress, ranging from deep crimson reds to celestial cobalt blues and verdant emerald greens, or polished armour.


It was into this surreal retreat from reality that Casimir stepped, inhaling deeply. The fragrant bouquet of blood was intoxicating in its rich depths, and from the smell alone he detected sources from across the Old World; Estalia, Tilea, Bretonnia and the Empire, each country was represented. A growl reverberated deep in his chest as his desire for blood rose in him, the Beast struggling at the adamant chains he had bound it in.

"Control yourself," came a familiar voice, cold and steely, from behind him, a vice-like grip settling upon his shoulder. Casimir shuddered and twisted his thin lips into a snarl before turning to the newcomer, a man as tall and sublime as any other in the room, clad in a gilt-edged suit of obsidian serrated plate mail with curves sharp enough to cut to the bone. "Behave with some comportment, Casimir!"

With an effort the younger of the two schooled his features into a more human façade, hiding his bestial nature behind a mask of civility, "Better, boy."

"Alaric," he spat, nodding his head in a facsimile of subservience whilst turning back to look at the gathering of the nights aristocracy in the opulently decorated hall; Alaric stepping next to him; both clasping their porcelain hands behind their waist in an unconscious mirror of the other.

"Welcome home, Casimir."

— — —​

Casimir strode beneath the tall arch of the hall's doorway, his armoured boots resounding from grey stone flags and disturbing a decade's accumulation of dust, his movement creating a swirling vortex of granules which glimmered in the silver light of Mannslieb, filtering through the fallen roof and past sundered beams high above. Upon what remained sat a murder of crows, their malignant, obsidian eyes turned to him and glistening with cruel intelligence. So much had changed, he thought, as he cast his eyes around the ruin of what had once been a lavish grand hall. No one had so much as stepped foot in that cavernous space in a long time, he surmised, and narrowed his eyes.

The groan of rotting wood beneath his feet brought him back to himself, and he looked down at the shattered doors, the planks riddled with woodlice and other creatures which feasted upon it. With disdain he crunched a bug beneath his foot and strode further into the room, standing by the grime-covered mantle which looked like it had been subjected to immense heat, the marble seemingly have run and set like the wax of a candle.

“It was a terrible thing that happened here, Casimir,” came a silken voice from behind him, tinged with something he would have attributed to genuine sorrow had he not known better the person who spoke to him. Rising an eyebrow, he turned to her.

“You speak as if you were here when it happened, Penelope,” he replied, drawing a gauntleted finger across the filthy marble and drawing it away.

“And you act is if my mere presence here is an insult,” Penelope replied sharply, her voice cold as the ices Kislev, piercing eyes seeming to freeze his very heart, dead for over a century as it was. Returning her gaze with a flat look, Casimir raised an eyebrow.

“Well, was it not?” he returned, “Your mistress knows our history, and if this is not a ploy to throw me off balanace, then I am not a son of Abhorash.” Penelope gave him a scathing look, before tutting in admonition.

“Do not be so juvenile, Casimir,” she scolded as she swept towards him, seeming to glide across the deep layer of dust, leaving barely a footprint as she passed. The Blood Dragon stood statuesque as she approached and circled him, a porcelain hand trailing around his chest as she did so. It felt as if, even through the thick steel plate, her fingers were drifting across the flesh of his chest. He shuddered and then snarled, his pearlescent fangs sliding from gums. With a gauntleted palm he grabbed her wrist, pulling her close and leaning forward to speak in her ear.

“Keep your distance, quean,” he murmured, before spinning her away. With elegant grace, Penelope followed through, her carmine skirts billowing like the blooming petals of a flower. When she stopped, she held her skirts in a curtsy, a mocking smile upon her face, cut through by a strand of auburn hair which had escaped the Bretonnian braid which hung down between her shoulders and past her waist; to any human her unnaturally preserved beauty would be irresistable.

“You know you want me again, Casimir,” she smirked quietly, the voice carrying across the silent space between them like a silken promise.

“That is enough, Penelope,” came another voice from beneath the arch of the doorway, a voice which demanded respect and commanded obedience. With grace which even Penelope couldn't match, and a silhouette which cast a shadow even over that of her protégé, the scion of Lahmia ghosted forwards to reveal her as little more than a youthful girl, fresh in the blossom of her youthful womanhood. If Casimir had to guess her age by appearance alone, he would place her at sixteen at the most, “We are not here to indulge your foolish whims, child, and this is one you have already had your chance with. Restrain yourself!"

With a deferential bow, the younger Lahmian bowed her head, murmuring, "Of course, mistress, I am sorry," as she did so. Casimir smiled as she was reprimanded, and then turned back to the newcomer, frowning as quickly as he smirked as he considered her. The woman wore a cobalt dress which clung to her slender waist and lifted her modest bosom, covered modestly by the fall of velvety, straight wheat-gold hair. Approaching Penelope, the newcomer circled her as she had Casimir before gently placing a conciliatory hand on her cheek and smiling at her before sweeping the strand of hair behind her ear gently.

"Now, to business! I am the Lady Danièle, handmaiden to the Queen of Silver Pinnacle and her chief agent in Couronne. You are Casimir, son of Alaric, correct?” she asked, her eyes seeming to pierce his dead soul.

“You know very well that I am, Lady Danièle. Why is it you asked Penelope to arrange a meeting here? I have no desire to become embroiled in the affairs of the Lahmian Sisterhood once again.”

“You have become involved with us before,” Danièle replied, a perfectly sculpted eyebrow raised, “Why not use your skills to aid us once more? You would be … Richly rewarded.” Casimir’s bark of laughter was harsh, his eyes simmering with anger as he stood confidently before her, the spread palm of his armoured hand upon the ornate, golden pommel of the sword belted at his waist.

“Such was I promised before, when I worked with your putain, until she tried to kill me,” he snarled. “Never again will I work with your miserable kind!” Danièle regarded him cooly.

“Then why did you come, I wonder? Surely not to see she who so betrayed you? No, if you had no intention of working with us, you would not be here. What is it you want, Casimir? What is your price?”

With a smirk, the vampire looked from Danièle to Penelope and back. “I want Alaric.”

"An acceptable trade. Alaric is yours, when our business is complete," the youthful-looking Lahmian agreed, extending her hand. Taking it in a hand covered with cold armour, the Blood Dragon lifted it to his thin lips and kissed it.

"I look forward to it, my Lady!"
 

Malochai

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#6
Part II​

“You do not much seem like you enjoy being here,” she said, her voice soft and almost earnest in its interest. Casimir looked up from the goblet of blood he had been staring into, the thick crimson lifeblood of an Imperial count shimmering in the light from above. Looking up, the vampire saw a striking image; she was tall and graceful, with beautiful locks of coppery hair carefully pulled into a bun with tress like molten metal flowing over her shoulder to settle across her chest.

“I never did much enjoy the petty games of court or the intricate games of intrigue one is expected to play at events such as this,” he replied, frowning gently as he did so.

“But they are half the fun of being here, amongst our own,” his newfound companion gasped in a perfect imitation of surprise, “How else would we know who amongst us is superior?”

“With sword and lance,” he replied firmly, his eyes hard as he did so, before taking a sip from the ornate chalice he held.

“Ah, so you are a warrior first and foremost? In that case, you must be a son of Abhorash, correct?” she asked, before gasping and raising a lace-edged velvet glove to her mouth. “Forgive me, I forget my manners! I am Lady Penelope, of Parravon. Please, do not let my mistress of my indiscretion; she would punish me most cruelly!”

“Do not fear, Lady Penelope, I am Sir Casimir, knight of Bretonnia first and foremost,” he announced, bowing at the waist whilst looking her in the eye, “and on my honour I pledge to keep secret your impertinence,” Casimir added in a conspiratorial whisper, shooting her a wink. Giggling quietly, Penelope held out a hand for him to kiss.

“My noble saviour,” she murmured, flashing him a smile which could melt even the coldest of hearts.


— — —​

The mountain pass was wide enough for ten men to ride abreast, wending its way through the Grey Mountains between the Empire and Bretonnia. High walls of craggy grey rock rose to either side, blocking out much of the silvery moonlight. Casimir rode easily atop his immense, jet destrier, twenty feet ahead of a cumbersome coach pulled by four snowy geldings; half a dozen knights rode in file on each side, pennons fluttering from their lances, the steel tips glistening in what little light managed to find its way into the cleft-like road.

"You know I didn't mean to hurt you, Casimir," Penelope announced as she urged her steed to ride level with his own, the confidence of her voice instantly grating upon the Blood Dragons nerves and his shoulders tensed beneath his armour. Responding to its master reaction, his steed made a sound halfway between a snarl and a whicker, snapping his teeth at the blood-bay mare she was mounted upon, snorting in satisfaction as it side-stepped away. Casimir allowed himself a spiteful smile before smoothing his face back into a blank façade.

"Truly, it wasn't intentional -"

"It was your sword thrust through my chest, yes?" he snarled, finally losing his patience after a week of the same.

"Well, yes, but -"

"It was you wielding it, correct?"

"But I wasn't -"

"Enough, Penelope! I don't need to hear anymore, and you'll never convince me you didn't try to kill me," he cut her off, slashing a hand through the air to emphasise his point. "You are as treacherous as any of your bloodline, harlot, and I am only dealing with you now because I need your mistress' aid!"

"I just hoped ..."

"That I would forgive you?" His bark of laughter was harsh and mirthless, "I will never forgive your betrayal. If the Lady Danièle didn't condition our agreement upon you accompanying us, I would happily have left you in the Reikland!" Without another word, he touched his armoured boots to the powerfully muscled flanks of his steed and urged him into a canter, only to pull harshly on the reins as a wall of dark flames burst into life before him, the leeching cold they exuded setting his dead muscles aching. He rounded on Penelope fiercely, his now blue-black lips bared to reveal long, sharp fangs sliding from his gums, dark coal-like eyes burning fiercely and tinged with crimson. Beneath his skin, which had turned even paler than normal and had taken on a waxy quality, the dark veins so long starved of blood pressed against the surface like a spidery web of obsidian; the sockets around his eyes likewise darkened as if the flesh had been freshly bruised. The flames circled around him, leaving him barred in on all sides by twisting, unnatural tongues of sorcerous flame which seemed darker than the night itself. Even his poor witch-sight could see the manipulations which controlled the magic.

"Desist," he ordered the Lahmian, his voice deceptively calm as a cruelly taloned hand pulling his longsword from its sheath, the steel rasping ominously. Penelope only sneered at him through the fires, although her features also seemed strained.

"Or what, Sir Casimir, noble Knight of the Realm? You will run me through with your sword?" It was her turn to utter a short bark of laughter, tinged with genuine amusement. "The moment your flesh touches the fire your fate is sealed."

Casimir snarled and turned his mount in a circle like a caged animal, his anger rising like a red wave.

"You don't listen, Cas," Penelope said, her voice suddenly soft and earnest. "I have tried to apologise a hundred times, and you won't listen to my explanations -"

"You spit me upon your blade like a pig to roast," he bellowed, his voice human and something else altogether, the sound resounding from the enclosing walls and echoing mockingly,

"And I'm trying to tell you why!" Penelope replied, exasperated. Finally still, the Blood Dragon glared at her through the flickering blaze, his anger flowing from him in almost palpable waves. One moment, the two were separated by a wall of crackling fire, and the next there was nothing. In a split-moment a sound like a tired sigh swept over the two and the currents of magic washed away. Casimir was the quicker to react, and within a second was at the Lahmian's side, his blade ready to pierce her heart.

"Enough!" Danièle's voice sounded like a whip-crack across the two, her fury cowing even the scion of Abhorash for a moment, before he recovered his composure and snarled at her, teeth bared in a lupine threat. Penelope took advantage of his distraction to wrest his sword from his grasp, and howling with rage he turned back to her, hand drawn back to strike her once and finally remove her from his world.

"I said enough! Both of you!" The whisper of her shoes across stone held a threat all of its own, the rustle of her dress hinting at the power she commanded, and once more both daughter of Lahmia and son of the Blood Dragon froze. A vortex of whirling air formed around her, her hair floating about her like a halo and her eyes glowed with power. "Are both of you stupid?" she demanded, "Are you both new bloods? Act with more discretion! This path through the mountains is patrolled by humans. What if they had come across your little spat?" The venom in Danièle's words was like a physical blow, and Casimir recoiled, his features becoming somewhat more human.

"Penelope, return the sword and get in the coach - no! No arguments! Silvain, please lead her horse -"

"Yes, mistress."

"- and Casimir, please, comport yourself. You are integral to our designs in Parravon, but I would sooner cast you loose than have you and Penelope at each others throats. And if you don't complete your end of our agreement, you can be sure we won't hold up ours!"

Once the vampiress stopped speaking, a tense silence settled over the group until Casimir, not trusting himself to speak, nodded his head and relaxed his body. Danièle and he locked eyes for a moment, and then he turned his steed towards the west and cantered off, eyes still burning with deep fury.

— — —​

The sound of the horses' hooves were loud and regular beneath him as Casimir rode on through the night, as soothing to his soul as the sound of clashing steel. Thoughts thundered through his mind as he thundered along the pass, the memory of his confrontation with Penelope raw and awash with conflicting emotions - desire and rage most prominent amongst them. So concerned on his thoughts was he that the Blood Dragon almost missed the scent of blood in the vein ahead of him, the resounding sound of beating hearts setting the ground ashudder. Gently pulling his mount to a halt, the vampire closed his eyes and flared his nostrils, letting his hearing take in everything.

More prominent now was the odour of living humans, and he could hear the jovial merrymaking of soldiers at rest, the harsh tang of alcohol mixed with the perfume of unwashed bodies. Without meaning to he let his fangs extend, and it took him a moment before he could exert the will to retract them. Once more he touched heels to his horse and started off, now at a more sedate pace.

It was ten minutes later when he rounded a corner and found himself confronted by a tall expanse of quarried stone, thrice the height of a man. In the centre was a gatehouse, the gates themselves barely tall and wide enough for a coach and made of thick oak bound with iron bands. Set into these was a barred hatch, and from behind it a pair of suspicious eyes watched him approach, narrowing as they saw the quality of his steed and equipment.

"Who 'proaches the Fort Alaceur at such an 'our, all arm'ed up?" The voice was ready and shrill; the speaker clearly thought more of himself than his place in the world should have let him, and Casimir grimaced in distaste at having to converse with such a fool.

"I am Sir Casimir Couvreur of L'Anguille; open the gates!"

"Sorry m'lord, but I ain't 'lowed do t'at. Please wait 'ere!"

The knight scowled and ground his teeth but acquiesced and nodded. "Hurry. The entourage of the Lady Danièle Marchal of Couronne approaches," he growled. The peasant nodded and turned away, scurrying off towards the castles keep. For some inexplicable reason he felt his ire rise, the rage he had felt earlier with Penelope eclipsed entirely.
 

Malochai

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#7
NOTE - as I have characters that I plan to introduce into the TVC II RP at a later date, the background will have elements not found in canonical GW fluff
 

Malochai

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#10
They won't come into TVC for a while! And I need to decide who if anyone dies :)
 

Count Vashra

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#11
Still, good to plan them out before hand. I pretty much established Niklaus in my mind by writing The Pale Web.
 

Malochai

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#12
Now, whilst this isn't the most interesting (or, to my mind, the best written) part of the story so far, I think it is important, and so, here it is! I still haven't got to the point I originally intended part II to end on, but I hope to get there in part IV, so hopefully tomorrow! I hope you guys are enjoying this so far; there's plenty more to come!

— — —

Part III​

With a smile upon her features, Penelope lead Casimir through the main doors of the castle and into the night, the vast courtyard lit by pale witch fires of emerald green which cast a sickly light over the immense blocks of grey stone that comprised the walls. In the centre of the courtyard stood a tree, skeletal and bare, decades past dead.

"Is this more to your liking, Sir Knight?" she asked teasingly as she spun, sending her skirts fanning out, so that she could look upon his face. He merely raised an eyebrow whilst the corner of his mouth twitched fractionally. Lowering her lashes so as to appear demure, she stepped forward and placed a palm upon his chest, feeling the steel of his armour through her glove. From that point of contact alone she could tell he had tensed.

"My lady, this isn't appropriate," he murmured, stepping backwards, although she heard the tremor in his voice which told her that he wouldn't hold out much longer. A hungry smirk spread across her face, her eyes glittering darkly in the witch lights as she ghosted over the ground Casimir had retreated over, the movements silent and almost predatory, as if she stalked some prey.

"We are the aristocracy of the night, Casimir; what humans consider appropriate is as meaningless to us as the doings of ants is to them."

"Lady Penelope!" Casimir began, stopping suddenly, "I was recently one of those humans, and my morals don't dissolve with the fleeing of my pulse!" His voice was stony and harsh, cutting through the otherwise silent night like a knife to the heart. The Lahmian froze for a moment, hand outstretched, before she snarled and started forward again, a hand burying itself in his hair as she brushed her lips against his.

After a few moments she pulled away and murmured, "My poor, chivalrous knight."


— — —​

"You really should know better," Lady Danièle admonished Penelope once more, her voice softer than it had been in the open air of the mountain pass. Sat in sullen silence, the younger Lahmian had suddenly taken a great interest in her perfectly polished and manicured nails. "Do not ignore me, child!"

Strong fingers, stronger than their slender form had any right to be, gripped her chin and forced her face up. Now looking at her mistress, whose iron gaze was unflinching, Penelope felt uncomfortable and had to force herself not to fidget and to meet that glare.

"You know how you should have behaved, don't you?" The silken voice was softer now, more motherly, and it made Penelope feel even worse.

"Yes, mistress," she murmured, eyes averted.

"Speak up, girl!"

"Yes, mistress," Penelope repeated, her voice louder, if not less tremulous.

"Good. How should you have reacted to Casimir's words?"

"I should have accepted them and left it at that, working to change his opinion of me." The monotone, bored sound of her voice caused Danièle to scowl, but Penelope could see her put the anger aside and smooth her features once more into a mildly pleasant smile.

"And yet you acted like a von Carstein - without thought." The words caused her charge to frown, but before she could formulate a reply, the coppery tang of blood on the air caught her senses.

"Mistress!"

"I know, Penelope." With a gentle knock on the roof of the coach, she commanded the driver to halt, and opened the door. "Silvain, take two of your men and scout ahead; there is blood on the wind - a lot of it."

"Of course, mistress," her swain murmured in assent, bowing his head, before turning away at a flick of Danièle's hand. As the door closed, Penelope twisted in her seat to try and see out of the window.

"Please, my lady! Send me; I can-"

"No! Penelope, this is not the time. Your skills are useful, but this is the time for swains. I shall hear no more arguments from you, or else I shall send you to Silver Pinnacle and inform the Queen of what a liability you are!" Penelope saw the look in the other vampires eye and acceded, settling reluctantly back into the plush, crushed velvet of the coaches bench seat cushions.

Thus they waited for first a half hour, and then another. The two occupants could not have been more different in how they waited; the elder was poised and relaxed, eyes closed as if feigning sleep, whereas her protégé's eyes wandered and she tapped her fingers, fussing over the intricate details of her skirts and playing with her hair.

She felt she was about to lose her mind when finally the sound of hooves on the stone road echoed in the carriage and she sat bolt upright, her hand reaching for the doors handle. "Wait."

The word stopped her in her tracks, and she scowled over at Danièle - who still sat with her eyes closed - with her fingers hovering mere inches feom the brass fitting, "And take that look from your face, girl, it isn't becoming." With an effort, Penelope smoothed her face back into the blank façade expected of her and sat back, although with an unnatural stiffness to her spine. When the knock finally came, Danièle luxuriously unfolded her arms and leant forward, opening the door slowly. Penelope hissed at her deliberately luxuriant movements, but could do nothing more.

"And, Silvain?" Danièle asked pointedly, an eyebrow raised inquisitively.

"I- My lady, the slaughter ..." he trailed off and shuddered, which caused his mistress to frown, and Penelope with her. This was a veteran of more brawls and battles than she cared to count, but there he stood, skin so pale as to be practically luminescent and his brow was covered in a sheen of damp sweat. Silvain had seen enough slaughter to be inured to much. Penelope's stomach turned at the thought, murmuring, "Oh Casimir, what have you done ..."
 

Malochai

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#17
Yeah but you know more of the background, having helped me develop her!
She's an ... Interesting character. Probably more complex than the others, and she's not my main character
 

Malochai

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#18
Alrighty guys; whilst I'm going to start writing, I think I can confidently say it won't be up tonight! However, being as I'm not at work next week, I might even have 2 chapters up on Monday!
 

Malochai

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#20
Part IV

The scent of blood was dizzying, each frenetic beat of the heart a sledgehammer to his heightened senses. His tongue darted out and flicked across his lips, clawed nails digging into the palms of his hands. Casimir's jaw clenched as he restrained himself, his nostrils simultaneously flaring, drawing the smell of fear and desire to him. The woman, truly little more than a girl, was lowborn, that much was clear. Her hair was lank and sweat coated her flesh, the dress of homespun wool drenched and clinging to her bound form. Resisting the urge to tear and rip and rend which tried to force itself past his defences, the son of Abhorash growled at himself, a warning.

Small, delicate hands landed on his shoulders, thumbs massaging his dead muscles through the rich tunic of black and purple. "Why do you resist what you are, Casimir?" Penelope whispered, her crooning voice insidious, demanding his attention. Another growl forced its way up his throat, past bared teeth. He realised his fangs had slid from their gums, cutting his lower lips to ragged shreds as he inadvertently moved them, "She is yours for the taking; why resist? It is your right to take what you want! Take her! Now!"

Her words ringing in his ears, drowning the bellowing of his own consciousness, Casimir stalked forward like a wolf, his features drawn into a bestial façade as he did. He feinted a lunge forwards, hands outstretched, and the woman screamed, her cries high and shrill as she struggled against the bonds. Eyes burning, the vampire got close to her, his face mere inches from hers, and they held each others gaze as he reached down and tore the rope from her ankles. Relief spread across her face, and she began stammering confused thanks as he slit the bonds at her wrist.

"My-my lord, th-thank you, so much-!" He held up a palm to cut her off, and took a step backwards, gesturing towards the chamber door.

"Run." The word was the merest whisper held within the strength of a tornado, and she frowned, uncomprehending. He snarled. "Run!"


— — —​

The all-encompassing scent of blood was an assault on the senses, and even a vampire with as blood-soaked a past as Penelope gagged momentarily. The coach rumbled to a halt outside the sundered gates of Fort Alaceur, the driver jumping from his seat to open the door, blanching.

Danièle stepped delicately down, her boots clicking on the stone road as she did so, her face an inscrutable porcelain mask. Penelope followed, her nostrils flaring, and her eyes quickly locked onto the tall arch of stone, looking through. The knights formed up in a square around their mistresses, swords drawn as they started forwards.

Passing beneath the gatehouse, Penelope gasped, a hand instinctively coming up to cover her mouth. The courtyard was a slaughterhouse; nigh on two score bodies littered the ground. Most of them looked as if they had been running away when they had been cut down, necks snapped and jagged bone exposed or throats torn and pumping rapidly cooling blood onto the muddy ground, quickly turning it into a gruesome quagmire. Some hearts still pumped, the faint shuddering stirring her own bloodlust.

A single figure stood in that carnage, a twitching body held in an iron grip as he drank from the ragged wound that had once been the victim's neck. Thick clouds were scudding across the sky, but in that moment they cleared and the moon shone bright and brilliant onto the scene. Casimir turned to look at the women, an almost animal grin on his face, the lower half glistening crimson with fresh blood as he threw the dead body to the ground, metal armour denting and warping with the strength of it. His mouth was an abyssal hole lined with pearlescent teeth, fangs shimmering as he growled at the Lahmians. His gauntlets were similarly covered, blood congealing in the indentations and joins. "Welcome," he grinned.

Danièle was the first to recover, a cloud of anger passing over her face. "What have you done?" she demanded, her voice shuddering with barely restrained rage, "We were to pass into Bretonnia quietly! No-one was supposed to know we were anything but what we appeared to be. Now ... Now there will be a witch-hunt for the creature responsible for this!" She waved her arms vaguely to indicate the entire castle, "Why would you do this?"

Casimir growled at her threateningly, causing the knights to lower the points of their swords towards him, but he made no indication he noticed. "I did this, because it was either them, or your whore." The Blood Dragons voice was a snarl, his voice unrecognisable from the noble warrior he had been earlier in the night. Blood matted his hair, his eyes blazed with barely restrained anger. He disregarded his sword, buried in the body of a corpse to his left, and stalked forwards. The knights glanced at each other, worry lining their handsome features, but they formed into a wall of flesh regardless, glittering weaponry held before them.

"Stand aside," came a soft voice from behind them. The men hesitated for a moment. "I said stand aside!" Danièle's voice was sharp, and the men grudgingly obeyed. In a rustle of skirts, the Lahmian mistress strode towards Casimir, and as he grinned cruelly, fire lighting his eyes. He leapt forwards, only to find there was nothing there but thin air. He snarled and cast about for the woman, only to fall as his legs were swept from under him. He was on his feet as quickly as he had fell, the cruelly barbed knuckles of his gauntlets lashing out, only to pass through the insubstantial form of Danièle. He howled his anger, only for her to solidify and claw at his face. Four parallel lines sprouted across his cheek, leaking a foul, sluggish blood momentarily, before his body repaired the damage.

Casimir stepped back, Danièle quick to follow, a pale arm snaking forwards. Strong fingers clasped around his neck and shadowy, insubstantial cords of power bound his limbs to his sides. Her fangs extended and her beautiful features, the features of a demure child, became something far crueller and more dangerous. "I am a daughter of Neferata herself, child! How dare you attempt to strike me!" With almost contemptuous ease she cast him aside, sending him ploughing through the viscous remnants of his slaughter. "You are to me as humans are to you. You will learn to restrain yourself! You will do as I command you, Casimir, or I shall pin you to the ground with a silver stake myself and watch you burn in the sun!" Her voice had become as quiet as the rustle of silk in a balmy breeze, but they rang with power.

"Mistress, no!" Penelope cried, finally passing the cordon of knights and putting herself between her mistress and former mate. Danièle snarled, and turned her burning gaze on her.

"Do not intervene in this, child," she snarled, "his bloodlust is your mistake, and I do not mean your petulance tonight." Penelope looked aghast, as if she had been slapped, and fell into a stunned silence, whilst Casimir, cowed, looked up at the elder of the vampiress', his features becoming more human by the moment.

Anger still clouded his eyes, but with a stiff nod, the Blood Dragon acceded. Danièle smiled, her own beauty returned.

"Good," she said in a pleasant voice as if enjoying a particularly civilised conversation, and looked up at the moon as it dropped towards the horizon, and then to the east where the searching pale fingers of the morning light crept across the sky. "We shall stay the day here, and continue on as soon as the sun sets. The best thing we can do now is to leave this place and get as far away as possible before anyone realises what has happened here."
 

Malochai

Moderator
Staff member
True Blood
Joined
Aug 4, 2010
Messages
3,110
#23
Glad you guys are enjoying it! Danièle is kind of kick-ass, as well as a bit of a bitch ...
 

Count Vashra

Lord of Shadows
True Blood
Joined
Sep 29, 2013
Messages
1,559
#24
Well, I think you would be annoyed if your 'ally' killed everyone in a fort/castle/whatever after saying 'Our passage must be secret.' Especially one so supposedly in control as a Blood Dragon, wouldn't you?
 

Malochai

Moderator
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True Blood
Joined
Aug 4, 2010
Messages
3,110
#25
This is very true ... I would be kinda pissed! Turns out, Cas has some deep-rooted issues with Penelope, and doesn't know how to express them xD doubt there are too many vamp psychologists
 
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