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TVC - Chapter 39 - The Scribe

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As Mirca swung towards Jason his cloak attached to the blade and whipped it around, Jason realed back his mistrust of the majority of the council excluding Lesa had paid off.
A wave of anger flew over him, he realised the sensation and quickly attempted to retreat as Mirca turned his attention to Zakk.
V'azrin was the only thought running threw his mind and the Hate that he now accustomed to it.
' Does he think me a fool! a thrall , I shall show him a fool, I shall crush his skull into pieces, Yes Crush it, to Pieces!'

He shook energy rippled threw the walls of the cavern and collided in to any thing Jason saw, the flame washed across the carstiens like water over stone. As he struck at any thing in his way untill his fabric wings tore him out of the fray he cursed his alliance with the council and Simon, as he shot forth magical flame which emersed the Von Carstiens once more the flesh burnning and charring. The cackling laughter of V'azrin echoed threw his mind as he flew up into the night air. Only the angry screaming of V'azrin's name flew threw his mind as he cursed it for in every tounge he could muster. Untill his mind cleared a portion and he realised his one and only ally and his thoughts cleared swiftly, shifting back to who he was and... To Lesa.
 

Trevy the Great

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Vekarin fell to the ground on all fours, crimson blood running through the mask on his face and pooling on the rocky floor. Simon stood over him, grinning sadistically, bloody knife in hand. Vekarin struggled to get up, the armor about him reknitting itself but his wound remained open, healing slowly and still pouring blood. The world seemed to him a red haze, his breath not reaching his lungs, instead they filled with yet more blood. It was fortunate that he needed them very little now. All he could hear was the beat of his own heart, fulled with Dragon's blood and continuing on, beat by beat, pumping more of his ichor onto the floor. He pushed himself off, the blood still rushing in his ears and he dismissed the sharp pain from his mind turning to his opponent.
He saw Simon gurgle and look down in surprise as another weapon ripped itself through Simon's chest, the blade screaming inaudibly and bursting into blue flame as it soaked in his delicious blood. It was a quick thrust, not enough to do much lasting damage, but surprising enough to delay the Vampire for a few seconds, if that.
"Maybe you should stop your pointless tirade and focus on the fact that I'm behind you."
Zosz's voice echoed through Vekarin's head, the only sound penetrating the thump of his heart and the rush of his leaving blood, "It's just like a Carstein to gloat until he can get stabbed."
The dark form of the Necromancer was already on the move. He made his way over to the form of Victarias, her armor shattered and her chest bloodied from Innocence's attack. She was already reaching her gloved hand toward the shape of the Dark Blade in the shadows of the corridor. Zosz bent, taking up both the sword and Victarias' hand in one motion. He looked back for a split second at Vekarin.
"Run, skullkeeper."
And disappeared, taking Victarias and the sword with him.
 

Gree

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Mircea unfurled his cloak he had wrapped around himself, protecting himself was Jason's flames. He glanced around.

''How pathetic'' he remarked, blood still flowing into Vlad's blade, absorbing the lifeforce to heal his wounds. However it was not enough to regenerate his army.

''Necrach! Unless you expect me to fight with one arm I suggest you heal me, I currently lack the energy to do so'' Mircea remarked.

V'azin glared at him, but waved a hand anyway, streamers of necromantic energy was fed itno Mircea's stump. After several seconds new flesh and bone jutted out of the limb, forming into a new right arm.

It took almost a half mintuie, but at the end Mircea had a new arm. The vampire lord flexed it observing it and testing it's strength.

''Shall we pursue the councill?'' he inquired.
 
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Burkhard Müller absentmindedly picked his teeth with the rib of a human fetus as he continued his hunt.

This was his last job, after this the Church of Sigmar would release him from their control.
He was all but free.
He had been allowed to remove the silver knuckle dusters. They where both a useful tool and limiters on his own power, the silver weakening his strength. They had given him back his two pistols and several bullets shaped into a Twin Tailed Commit. He was loath to use the symbols of Sigmar, but he couldn't deny their effectiveness at destroying His Kin.
No...they where not his Kin...they hadn't been for a long time...he was a different beast...

His last assignment was to eradicate some Vampire Cult named the Council. It seemed like an easy enough task. He had destroyed countless Vampires, and this would be no different.
He wiped the blood from his chin with the sleeve of his greatcoat.
The pregnant woman had been his first meal in ages, and he had thoroughly enjoyed devouring her flesh and the unborn child had been quite succulent. He just couldnt resist indulging his hunger now that he was not under the Church's thrall.
Vampires had their Red Thirst for blood. His kind have the Hunger, a need to sate themselves on human flesh.

Müller paused and threw the rib away. He sniffed the air.
He could smell the necromancy in the air. It had a particular reek of grave dust, blood and corpse-rot.
He grinned with his fangs.
He was getting close to his targets.
 

Voltaire

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Meanwhile, in the path of the retreating army of the council, a pair of figures stood talking over a huddled column of slaves. They were slaves and they had been brought here at the behest of one Amadeus Valda. The slaves were subdued by a series of runes inscribed onto their foreheads and their origins were as varied and wide as those of the council itself. The figures bickering were Amadeus Valda and the Dark Elf known as Lady Darkmane.

"I do not care for this sort of sorcery Amadeus."

"Don't care away. This sorcery is whats going to give the council enough time to retreat properly from whats just happened to them at the hands of Nagash."

"How did you know they would fail here?"

"Ah, now, Lady Darkmane, if I told you that, I'd be giving away my trade secrets."

"I didn't see this and I was trained by Morathi."

"Again, narrow minded. Your abilities lie more in the realm of destructive magic and subvertion than precognition. Some people, my dear lady, have a knack for it."

"I still don't like this Amadeus."

In truth, Valda didn't either. He was hoping that he would have the right way when the council fled, if they fled. If not he would still be able to intercept and finish off the remnants of battle and continue onto Nagashizzar. Either way, the product of the battle was going to be a foe weakened. Still, as duplicitous as he was, Valda knew his better chances stood with an alliance with the council. To that end, the slaves were either food, or the backup plan. He hoped they'd just be food. The Von Carstein scout who had seen him in bat form had been intercepted by Lady Darkmane and Valda had bled it dry. As he had gone to taste the scout, he felt something wrong with its blood, it didn't smell Von Carstein and Lady Darkmane had confirmed some malign influence over the scout. It was not natural and Valda began to fear the worst. Focussing once more, he finally replied to the Dark Elf.

"Now be quiet, your moaning reminds me of harpies. I smell something coming this way on the wind."

Looking to the horizon, Valda cursed slightly under his breathe. He could feel Arkhan the Black whenever they were within scant miles of each other and Arkhans prescence was nowhere near here.

It was going to be a bittersweet day.
 
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Müller froze on the trail of the Vampire Council as his mind was suddenly struck as suddenly and powerfully as a lightning bolt.A force sought to dominate his mind, something external. Müller had lived for centuries and had experienced mind control before.
He fought against the implacable will trying to subvert his mind, but it was impossible. Whatever was assaulting his mind was different in ways he couldn't explain...but felt strangely familiar.

All at once the force took control of his will, guiding his purpose.
It was the same command as the Church of Sigmar had given him.
Kill the Council.
But through him, this external force had found a secret. Through him, it had dominated more than just one mind, it dominated the will of his entire subspecies.
The Werewolves where at Nagash's command.

With this new power guiding him and urging him on, and his own inhuman senses illuminating the way, Müller raced for his quarry.
He halted as a new scent reached him, and he went forwards cautiously.
He watched from the shadows as a force drawn from races all across the world marched to where he knew his prey was. He identified two figures leading the column, a Dark Elf and a Vampire.
The will controlling him commanded 'Enemy'.

Müller walked out of concealment, his hands in the pockets of his greatcoat.
The command of his head commanded him simply to kill, to destroy, but Müller was able to partially subdue the command. His blood might have some of the Von Carstien line in it, but he was still very, very different from a Vampire, and he was not going to blindly rush forward and attack an army.
"Well well, this is an odd sight in the middle of the Empire? Where are you going? Is there a battle near?"
Müller made sure the collar of his coat was upturned, the better to hid his teeth which he couldn't keep from transforming into fangs, the external force over his mind causing his bloodlust to rise to the fore.
The mortal cattle where certainly a feast...
 

Sweeney Todd

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Geralt clutched at his abdomen. While it was no flesh wound he was no mere human and wouldn't die so easily, but sank to his knees in exaggerated pain to deceive the traitor Carsteins. As he mock-keeled over, a hand swiftly snatched one particular vial from his belt of potions and he downed its contents in one gulp. Even as he went prone his wounds were already reknitting themselves whole as the concoction named Swallow coursing through his body lent him the prodigious regenerative abilities of trollkind.

Geralt suddenly rose again and sprinted towards his employer before any could stop him. Sweeney Todd fought to keep the pain from the magical blast from affecting him but despite this he was somewhat slower than usual. The beast within roared with fury at the sudden betrayal, rattling the bars of the cage of reason. It took a precious moment for him to compose himself enough to speak

"We must retreat."

Geralt turned back to face V'azrin and the von Carsteins and in the same motion grabbed and hurled a small clay bottle at the ground. The earthenware shattered and immediately threw up a cloud of inky blackness that even the preternatural senses of the vampires were hard pressed to penetrate. The cave had temporarily been thrown into pitch darkness and the duo used the opportunity to make their escape. The wraiths blocking their way stood no chance against Geralt's Moonblade and Todd's razors and the two did not stop until they were well clear of the cave.

The Patisserie and his remaining forces had arrived while the Council had pursued the Innocence. Todd beckoned Mrs. Lovette to him and quickly explained what had happened as the now trio swiftly boarded the waiting Patisserie. His armies began to reform into a defensive perimeter around the Patisserie and its prow-mounted cannons turned to face the legions of the von Carsteins, ready to fire when their minions began to move against what remained of the Council as well. As the preparations for evacuation were being made they waited to see if any of the other 'loyalist' Council members would join him for the ride.
 
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Peter wheeled Firehoof around and galloped towards the sounds of battle. He feared that the retreat of Nagash's army had only been a feint to spread out Council. His army was too spread out to be of any use as a counter attacking force, so he sped back towards the Council on his own.

He saw Todd and another Vampire running back to the huge wooden vehicle the Strigoi travelled in. Peter raced towards it too. He dismounted and strode through the ranks of Todd's forces.

"Permission to come aboard?" he yelled over the commotion of the army forming up.
 
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Realizing that with a good quantity of the Vampire Lords either incapacitated or treacherous combat would be suicide, Quezalat swallowed his pride and anger and raced off as quickly as possible, calling Larekoth to his side. He was isgusted but unsurprised at the Elf's betrayal; as he fled, he pointed the Vengeance towards the Archmage as a signal of retribution. When the small convoy of surviving Council members slowed to a stop, the Saurus raged at the other vampires; even without understanding the nuances of what had happened he understood that they had been betrayed and cursed the others for trusting the other members.
 

Sweeney Todd

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From his vantage point on one of the Patisserie's high windows Peter seemed to be the size of an insect. But Sweeney Todd had heard him clearly enough.

"You have it." He shouted back and waved him aboard, rushing down to meet him as he instinctively commanded one of his minions to take care of Peter's steed. Todd didn't waste time waiting for Peter to take more than a few steps aboard the Patisserie before he launched into a quick account of what happened in the cave when they had pursued the Innocence inside.
 
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Peter was shocked by the news Todd gave him. He knew he was in a difficult position. Simon was his liege lord, and as a knight of Blood Keep, Peter found it hard to go back n his word. Yet he had also sworn his alligence to the Council...

As the remains of Peter's army shuffled towards the Strigoi's army, the pair stood side by side, watching the their forces form up.

Peter turned to Todd.

"It looks like I must abandon my oath to the Count for time being. I, and all my resources are at the disposal of the Council," said Peter, "What is our next course of action?"
 

Sweeney Todd

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Todd looked back at Peter strangely; it did not take a master strategist to know that to stay here for long would only lead to them being drowned and dragged down by the vast numbers of the von Carsteins' combined legions.

"Even with the martial power of the knights you command we simply cannot fight the Carstein army and the Innocence in our current state. We must fall back as soon as possible, and can only hope what remains of the Council will rally quickly, to us if possible."
 

Disciple of Nagash

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As the last of the Council fled V'azrin commanded Simon and Mircea to stop. They stopped without question, looking for their next order. The spell they were under was an unusual one. It did not make them into mindless automatons, because to do so was to reduce their capabilities. Nor did it impose another will on top of theirs, as to do so would only mean so or later that they would begin to fight back, begin to resist.

Instead it simply changed something in their minds, flipped a switch that made them sure they were fighting for the right cause. Fighting for their Lord Nagash and that whilst they arrogant that they should obey V'azrin, in the same way they had obeyed Vlad whilst he lived.

"No not yet," he said, "your forces outside will now be splintered, now they traitors have shown themselves."

"Bastards," Mircea muttered, a murderous glare in the direction where the Council had fled, "to defy our Dark Lord, to turn traitor his cause......." He seemed to have no memory of the recent events, sure within himself that it was they who had been betrayed, and intent on revenge.

"Only the line of Vashanesh has remained true." At the words Simon and Mircea turned to see Milosh walking towards them, a cold look on his fate, "and so it should be that only we now remain on this world. If the other lines defy us, then they learn to bow to us once more, as they did to our sire, King of Lahmia, or die."

Simon and Mircea nodded eagerly at his words, not noticing the look of hate from V'azrin.

Come brothers. It is time for the Dark Lord to rise once more.
 

Trevy the Great

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"And it shall be his hand that deals the blow. His might that vanquishes the powerful, for he is a servant of all, and none, of everything and eternity. With the powers of gods he shapes the earth to their choosing, for he is their might below, their will imbued. Look upon him now and rejoice, but then and despair."
Vekarin spoke with a voice not his own, deeply echoing, as if repeated by a host of unearthly voices. He rose shakily from the ground, apparently heedless of the blood splashing on the front of his armor, which glowed with renewed power, the runes twisting across it's surface writhing like serpents, every changing their shapes and meanings.
And then it stopped, the armor returning to it's usual pitch, the runes settling back into their arcane patterns and his voice returning to normal as he coughed another wad of crimson that he spat out of his mouth, the strength he had gained to push himself up suddenly lost. He fell back on all fours, drooling ichor onto the floor and snatched his weapon from the ground, laughing to himself.
"Death for the f.... blood for... blood for....." Looking up he noticed the Dreadlords before him.
"Nagash is a weak fool, and you also, misguided wrecks. Come to me and I can show you the error of your ways."
Standing slowly, Vekarin clutched his sword and shield tightly, ready to die at the filthy hands of his betrayers.[/i][/b]
 
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