# The Crusade of Blood. (Action Thread)



## revan4559 (Aug 9, 2010)

Everyone: The year is 1727 of the Imperial Calendar and in the lands of chivalry and knightly honour the sun has set with the sister moons Mannslieb and Morrslieb rise high into the dark sky with the darker of the sisters, Morrslieb, casting a vile green glow over the land revealing an ancient lichen covered castle nestled between the towering peaks of the Grey Mountains and the ancient wood of Forest of Loren. There is nothing but deathly silence sounding this castle as all things living long since abandoned the surrounding lands and villages when its current master took up residence there some four hundred years ago. But while nothing living has inhabited the castle for hundreds of years it does not mean it’s abandoned as those traveling by will see shadowy forms upon its ramparts and dark silhouettes stalk through the fire light halls of the keep itself as the undead do the bidding of their master, Mordred Von Drakenblood. 

As Mannslieb and Morrslieb slowly make their way across the night’s sky the castle is a hub of activity as those undead bound to the will of their master do his bidding by preparing for Mordred’s “Crusade of Blood” against the lands of Bretonnia to retrieve several artefacts linked back to the original homeland of the vampire race and dreaded artefacts created by necromancers in a forgotten age too powerful to destroy but to dangerous to leave unguarded and finally the recovery of the skeleton of a long dead Carmine dragon that is so saturated with the Winds of Death it calls out to those that wish to master it. And so it is that when Mordred called you answered his summons to join him in this crusade of blood for such reasons as finding nothing but pure bloodshed to sate your first for battle and destruction, the gathering of powerful magical artefacts, serving the liege-lord who sired you and freed you from the bonds of mortality or even repaying an old debt that you owe.

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The Eastern Rampart (Ulric, Gaelen, Radu, Khalidel): Upon the Eastern Rampart stand seven lords of Undeath gazing out towards the Grey Mountains with six of them stood a few feet behind the seven and while each of them is a paragon of might and fighting prowess in their own right is the one who stands apart from the group of six standing together that is perhaps the most terrifying vampire in the entire keep, Mordred Von Drakenblood, with his shoulder length black hair left to tumble down behind his ears to reveal a snow white hauntingly handsome face with high cheek bones and piercing red eyes that stare out into the darkness, fully armoured in his black and red warplate which with ever slight movement black wisps of dark magic rise from the gaps between each plate and at his side is sheathed the dreaded Black Blade of Mordred which is said to rival that of the might Runefangs of the Empire but while Mordred is terrifying in his own right when he stands with those who are the true ‘Sons of Mordred’ then nothing living or dead will be able to stand in his or their way and all of the vampires bar one that stand behind him can call him their ‘Father-in-Darkness’. 

The First among these are oldest of the group is Hienrick Von Drakenblood who was Mordred’s adopted son in life and most loyal follower in Undeath, standing a just under six foot in height Hienrick wears dark silver plate armour sculpted to perfectly to match his own physical form which when combined with his snow white skin makes him seem like a white marble statue of a young elven god that belongs in some temple in the elven homelands, while Hienrick like his ‘father’ is unearthly handsome his features are largely concealed by a blood red scarp wrapped around the lower features of his face concealing everything from his nose down as his scarlet eyes peer out through the strands of his shoulder length white hair that now seems to have taken on an ethereal blue tint. Standing to Hienrick’s right is the second oldest of Mordred’s sons: Ulric Von Drakenblood once the youngest son of a Brettonian Duke Ulric stands at just over six feet in height and is perhaps the strongest vampire in terms of physical strength in the entire castle save for the fallen knight: Klaus, his younger ‘brother’ Tyreal and his ‘Father’ Mordred. Wrapped around his black and crimson coloured armour are two monstrous bat like wings which are currently folded close to his body like a cape hiding the sword sheathed at his side and upon his head keeping back his shoulder length hair sits a silver coloured circlet with a deep emerald gem set in the middle of it.

Next among the sons of Mordred is Gaelen Von Drakenblood, third eldest of the five true ‘sons’, like his brother Ulric he stands just over six foot with long dark hair held at bay by a golden circlet with a deep crimson gem set into its center. Like Ulric he wears armour of a deep crimson and black but while Ulric is a almost a hulking mass of muscle Gaelen is lithe and as quick as a serpent as other than his Father is the quickest vampire in the entire castle. As Gaelen stands beside Ulric it is clear these two ‘brothers’ have little love for each other as to Gaelen, Ulric is little more than an uncouth barbarian even though Ulric comes from the noble hands of Bretonnia and Gaelen from the unforgiving lands of Kislev. Standing to the right of Gaelen is the fourth of Mordred’s sons, the almost feral looking Tyreal Von Drakenblood whose wild yet relatively short black hair and blood shot crimson eyes make him look like his grip on self control could snap at any moment and he would then take his blade to what ever finds itself within reach. Standing a little shorter than his three older brothers Tyreal like them is armoured in the colors of their Lord and Father though his armour sports many spikes and blade like additions that still have dried blood on them yet to be removed. 

The fifth and youngest son of Mordred is Khalidel Von Drakenblood though while he is the youngest stands as tall as Ulric and Gaelen and whose physical build is only slightly larger than his older brother Gaelen. With shoulder length raven black hair he unlike Gaelen and Ulric does not have a circlet to keep it held at bay which could either be a sign of Mordred’s disapproval or Khalidel simply doesn’t care about such things. Khalidel is the only one of the Sons of Mordred not to wear a suit of plate armour but instead chooses to wear a form fitting suit of mail crafted by the dwarves long ago which gives him an impressive and district appearance compared to his brothers yet also seems to isolate him, of all of his children Khalidel is the only one who seems to both hate and respect Mordred for cursing him with vampirism. 

Though while there are five sons of Mordred there are six vampires stood behind him and the six vampire is one who Mordred considers being more of a son to him than Khalidel and his name is: Radu Von Carstien. Radu like most of those Blood Dragons around him stands he stands a little over six feet, has shoulder length raven-black hair that falls lazily around a perfect snow white face so it isn’t surprising that Radu is often thought of actually being a six Sons of Mordred by the other vampires in the castle that are not of Mordred’s or Elizabeth’s Bloodline. Like all the others save Khalidel, Radu is armoured in his armour of black plates covered in blood red roses but while he shares the bloodline of the Von Carsteins upon the shield strapped across his back is the heraldry of an roaring dragons head entwined around a black blade, the symbol of the Von Drakenblood house hold which shows he is favored by Mordred and atleast tolerated in his presence more than other vampires not of his blood line.

The Great Hall (Maithas, Klaus, Natasha, Nuso): Unlike most of the ancient castle the great hall is the most well kept as it is where the lords and ladies of the night gather in their numbers to dine and make their plans of death and destruction upon the world of the living. The great hall is a large room lit by many torches and fire places that burn with magical witch-light created by the lady of the castle, Elizabeth Von Drakenblood, so that even vampires might feel their warmth if only for a short time, normally the great hall is filled with undead servants bringing their masters goblets of blood to drink from or dragging still living peasants and nobles to their tables to be feasted upon while Mordred watches impassively from his terrifying obsidian throne that dominates the hall with its mere presence. But now the great hall is completely bare with only several benches brought in to act as seating areas as the entire castle prepares for war though the black throne still remains with Lady Elizabeth casually seated upon it watching those vampires gathered with her piercing red eyes. In the great hall there are sixteen vampires present: Elizabeth Von Drakenblood and her two hand maidens, the so called ‘Sons of Mordred’ ten fledging vampires who are currently sprawled upon the floor with deep cuts across their undead flesh as a vampires clad only in a red dress stands in the center of the ring of vampires with two blades in her hands. 

She is Natasha Von Drakenblood, the ‘daughter-in-darkness’ of Elizabeth and one of the best swordsmen among all vampires gathered in the castle save the true Sons of Mordred who currently stand upon the castle ramparts. Natasha stands just less than six feet in height with her shoulder length blonde hair pulled back in a pony tail as he looks distastefully down upon those vampires that sought to test their skill against her. Sat upon one of the benches observing the fight is the Lahmian Vampire Nuso Esva from Albion with a dire wolf sat either side of her staring straight ahead, Nuso has long dark brown hair that stretches down passed her shoulders and has the facial structure of minor nobility which makes her seem to fight in with all the other vampires within the castle and this attracted the attention of Elizabeth who seems to have taken a motherly type approach to Nuso though no-one but the Lady of the Castle knows why. 

Standing impassively several meters away from the seated Nuso is the amour plated silver blonde haired form of Klaus, a Vampiric brettonian knight who in his veins runs the bloodline of the great Abhorash who mastered his thirst by consuming the blood of a dragon. Fully armoured Klaus cuts an impressive figure with his armors dark plates a stark contrast to his silver blonde almost white hair that cascades down his to his shoulders and sheathed at his side is a dragon-hilted black blade while his shield is strapped over his back bearing the symbol of his noble house hold long since perverted into something darker. Finally on the other side of the great hall opposite Klaus is Maithas Blackjoy another Brettonian Knight who was turned to vampirism, but unlike his appearance is almost the opposite to Klaus’s as he has a ragged black beard that meets his raven black hair and his full plate armour is a steel blue tint instead of a dark grey. Maithas like Klaus seems to be observing the fight with mild interest as the female vampiress overpowers the ten blood dragon fledglings.

The Dungeons (Tzimisce, Sasha, Yakov, Alexander): Deep under the ancient castle are the dark and grim dungeons that belong to the castle above, lit only by torches the dungeons are a network of tunnels and passage ways that lead to its many cells where creatures of all kinds are held to await death or experimentation. Those that make their way from the castle down into the dungeons will find that the guardroom that all the passages lead into has now been expanded into an enormous torture chamber filled with both mundane and arcane devices of pain along with shelves of strangely colored vials and shelves filled with books of black magic that allow its deranged keepers to attempt to create unlife from the corpses of the dead. Crouched in the far corner of the guardroom is the monstrous form of Yakov of the Strigoi bloodline, his huge armoured form is hunched forward as he perches ontop of one of the metallic tables with his huge wings folded against his back as he stares down into the eyes of a terrified merchant from the lands of the Empire. 

Standing several meters away and hunched over a squirming wood elf is the corpse-like frame of Tzimisce one of the vampires who can trace his blood line back to W’Soran the first of the Necrachs, in his faded and tattered robes Tzimisce looks like a month old corpse that had just been dug up and started to wander the world once again and his currently applying his utterly mad mind to work out if an elf can scream if you remove their tongue with a pair of sheep shears while reciting a norscan drinking song of bedding wenches and cracking skulls. Currently pacing back and forth near one of the many door ways that lead away from the guardroom is Alexander who like Yakov is a descendant of Ushoran the Lord of Mask’s, though once a handsome young Kislev noble Alexander is now little more than a skulking beast armed with a sword and clad in blood and mud caked armor. As he paces by the door on all fours like an animal his long claw like fingers leave scratch marks on the floor as he mutters insanely to himself about why brettonian noble women should all wear white until they find a husband, why he is talking to himself about this no-one knows but those other vampires in the room don’t seem to care. 

The final vampire in the dungeon is in the appearance of that of a small boy around the age of twelve to thirteen years of age who stands on several boxes as he dissects the corpse of an ogre tyrant for use-able limbs and organs to use in the creation of one of the siege engines required to break down the walls of the castle which holds the arcane treasures Mordred is after. This vampires name is Sasha Vykos and he too shares the same blood line progenitor as Tzimisce but while the older Necrach is completely mad Sasha’s mind is relatively intact.

The Library (Markus, Ezekiel, Viktor): Within the castle’s library lit only by torches of blue witch-light and a roaring open fire place stand three lords of the night, each as different from one another as a raven is different from wolf. Standing by the roaring fire is Ezekiel Von Carstien oldest of the his blood line present within the castle at this point, wearing a long robe of dark purple his mane of black hair is tied back from his moon-light white skin into a single pony which allows him to read the book currently grasped within his left hand as he paces back and forth by the fire quietly mouthing the words that he reads, though he currently stands un-armoured and with only his sword sheathed at his waist it is clear that to take on such a vampire will result in a quick and bloody execution. 

Next is Markus Von Carstien fully armoured in his full plate armor and ready for battle at a moments notice, standing at six feet in height with thick light brown hair this vampire has muscles that even a dwarf would be proud off to arm wrestle against is said to be strong enough to match Ulric Von Drakenblood is strength of arms but not in speed or skill with a blade, leaning against a very old and antique table with his shield beside him Markus sharpens the edge of his onyx colored blade while watching the other two vampires in the room with mild disinterest. Finally there is Viktor Von Carstien the youngest of the three vampires present in this room, standing at five foot ten with short blonde hair this vampire looks barely a day over twenty four though he has walked the earth for over two-hundred and seventy. Like Markus, Viktor stands armoured in his full plate armor but with his sword blades sheathed at his waist and his great sword slung over his back as he merely stands there with his helmet that resembles the head of a snarling dragon tucked under his left arm with his right hand merely hanging at his side as he looks between Markus and Ezekiel.

Markus: You sit in the library watching the two other vampires with you with mild disinterest as you sharpen your black blade as you await the summons of Mordred and the call to war which will drown Bretonnia in a sea of bloodshed that will be most satisfying. Looking from the other two vampires in the room you have picked up the slight scent that while each of your ‘sires’ was different you all atleast seem to stem from the same blood line though you have no idea who that is. Since you started sharpening your blade you have heard the sound of blades ringing against each other but chose to ignore it as it just sounds like those barbaric vampires who belong to the bloodline of Abhorash testing themselves against each other and that the only ones you seem interested in testing yourself against are those five vampires known as the Sons of Mordred who he turned himself. Shifting your thoughts back to the two vampires infront of you, you recall that none of you have said a thing to each other since you arrived in this room, perhaps you should get to know your ‘brothers’ by finding out who they are and from whence they came for future reference. (Im leaving you quite abit of free reign to ask the other two what you want so perhaps talk to them in pms before posting? If you want to you can also go walk around the castle or go into the great hall to see what is fully going on.)

Maithas: You stand in the great hall opposite the vampire knight called Klaus but like him you are watching the Lahmian vampiress defeat all ten of the blood dragon fledglings without even taking so much as a scratch. Looking down at the fledging vampires you can tell that all of them have barely been vampires for atleast twenty years and that none of them are sired by Mordred even though they carry the title ‘The Sons of Mordred’ and that the true sons of Mordred are stood outside on the eastern rampart with him. Looking around the great hall at the other vampires gathered you decide to make your way from the great hall and go out onto the ramparts and walk in the eerie moonlight of Morrslieb and perhaps even find out what the others that share the blood of Abhorash are doing. Leaving the great hall you step outside onto the northern rampart and look out towards the Grey Mountains in the distance and you can’t help but wonder why Mordred was unable to defeat a dwarf thane and his little band of filthy dwarvish fighters. Turning away from the mountains to look over to see Mordred standing with Ulric, Hienrick, Tyreal, Gaelen, Khalidel and Radu on the eastern rampart staring out towards the mountains aswell so perhaps you should go and see what exactly it is they are doing. (Feel free to do what you like, pretty much free reign in what you decide to do at the moment)

Klaus: You stand in the great hall watching the female vampire Natasha Von Drakenblood fight ten vampires which you are able to tell are part of the Blood Dragon line of Abhorash like yourself yet within minutes they drop one by one until Natasha is left standing in a circle of downed vampires looking rather disappointed and annoyed. You must admit who ever trained her to use her blades is a master swordsman himself who you would surely like to test your abilities against, and her blades look like they were created by a master smith aswell and enchanted with dark magic to enhance her abilities. This has pique your curiosity in this Lahmian vampiress so perhaps when Natasha has finished showing off her skills and shaming the younger vampires than you could ask her who taught her the ways of the blade and where she got her blades from? After a few moments at staring at the vampiress you turn your attention to the vampire standing directly across from you that appears to be the complete opposite with his black hair and light armour but you are able to tell that he shares the same bloodline as you so perhaps you could test your skill against him sometime. (Like Markus im giving you pretty much free reign in what you decide to do so pm me if you have any ideas you think you might need checking first of all)

Yakov: You are crouched ontop of one of the metal tables staring down into the eyes of a still living merchant of the empire who is trashing against his restraints in an attempt to get away from you. You have been inside of the dungeon for the last few hours having arrived down here after having Tyreal Von Drakenblood personally boot you down the stairs for getting in his way when he was going to meet Mordred and what you remember of that experience still hurts slightly as the tip of your left wing is broken from bouncing against each step with enough force to crack each one, you still remember seeing: Ceiling, step, ceiling, step, ceiling, step until you finally crashed through the dungeon doors crushing a skeleton who was moving some crates for one of the Necrachs experimenting on their captives. Shaking away the memory of being booted down into the dungeons you look back down at the human and see that you have been drooling on him which has made him cough and splutter in disgust at how vile your breath is, seeing as the Necrachs in the room aren’t using this captive maybe you should have some fun with him by tearing him to pieces one little body part at a time, starting with his fingers and toes?

Ezekiel: You currently pace back and forth by the fire in Mordred’s library reading up on the history of the empire from the last two hundred years and you smile slightly as you have been around longer than most of the things written in the book you are reading. As you quietly mouth each word to yourself your mind shifts to think about the other two vampires standing in the room with you. Both clearly share the same bloodline as yourself but that begs the question of who is the progenitor of your line? Who is your common ancestor? Stopping mid step you turn to regard the two other vampires inspect them both noticing that they are still fully armoured while you are in a rather expensive purple robe but as you are the oldest vampire in the room neither of them poses a threat to you. Snapping the book shut you deposit on the shelf and scan through the other titles before deciding that you have gotten bored of staying in this quite room and go for a walk around the castle, though if you wish to stay and engage the two other vampires in conversion that is your choice.(Up to you what you wish to do at the moment)

Tzimisce: You are currently stood over a capture would elf with his mouth held open by two skeletons with a third holding his tongue in position as you pick up the sheep sheers, since you decided to see whether an elf can still scream with his tongue cut out you started singing a norscan drinking sung of battle and wenches much to the annoyance of the other vampires in the room as you are practically tone deaf and don’t seem to entirely know the words. Picking up the sheep sheers you turn back to the elf and slice straight through his tongue with the blades laughing out as the elves blood spurts out in all directions as he gargles a scream of pain before the skeletons release his jaw to allow him to practically almost drown in his own blood as it fills his mouth. Turning from the elf you look around at the others in the guardroom having already lost interest in the elf for now you have him thrown back into his cell before walking over to see what the small form of Sasha is doing with the corpse of the ogre. After watching the small but rather old Necrach go about his work you look over to a pile of metal, bone, organs and corpses and suddenly realize that it is that Sasha is making: A Necrofex Colossus and for one of those rare moments in your long life your sanity reforms itself partially to allow you to see that it will require much more to make it truly worthy of a Necrach. Perhaps you should wander around the cells looking for larger monsters to butcher and dissect for parts or study some of the dark lore contained within the books for how to bring such a creature into unlife? (Like the others, pretty much free reign)

Ulric: Standing out in the eerie green light of Morrslieb upon the eastern rampart you are stood several meters behind your lord, master, and ‘father’ Mordred Von Drakenblood as he gazes out towards the eastern mountains. To your left is Hienrick Von Drakenblood the only son of Mordred older than yourself who has been with Mordred since when he was a human and your closest brother-in-darkness and standing to your right is Gaelen Von Drakenblood perhaps the only vampire you would openly attack for the slightly insult to you as you have been rivals for over two hundred years, why Mordred turned him you do not fully understand but know that Gaelen is the only vampire faster than yourself save Mordred. Turning to regard your hated brother you see that he like you is wearing the circlet gifted to him by Mordred which makes you want to lash out and punch Gaelen straight in the jaw though the last time you and Gaelen though Mordred slammed both your head heads together, broke seven of your ribs and dislocated all of your fingers before throwing you into the cells under the castle for three weeks until you both learnt not to fight each other. Looking back from Gaelen back out towards the mountains you wonder why Mordred didn’t take any of you with him when he went to make war upon the dwarves as he only took with him the Wight king known as the Accursed and the sniveling necromancer Helven Von Krieger, since his return from the Grey Mountains Mordred hasn’t truly been his old sense as he has been far more brooding than before and not even Hienrick fully knows what has brought on this change though perhaps you should ask your brother his thoughts on this? (Going to give you free reign in what you decide to do Midge.)

Natasha: You stand in the great hall with your blades in hand with the ten fledging vampires sprawled on the ground around you after they arrogantly thought that could beat you like you once thought you could beat Mordred. Luckily for them however you lack the rage and strength of a blood dragon so for now they escape with their existence. After looking down at the vampires around you, you turn your attention towards Elizabeth who is currently sat casually on Mordred’s obsidian throne smiling at you and clapping her hands together lightly at the entertainment you provided her with her other two hand maidens stood either side of their mistress with their hands clasped behind their backs waiting for what ever orders their mistress has. Bowing to Elizabeth you sheaths your twin blades and make your way over to her to ask if she requires anything before she replies in her silky honeyed voice. “It seems one of our sisters from the far lands of Albion have come to answer my dear husbands call. Perhaps you should introduce yourself to her and find out why she has come to join this crusade of blood?” Elizabeth then giggles to herself as she motions to Nuso before pushing herself out of the throne and disappears down one of the darkened hallways with her hand maidens in tow. If you talk to Nuso then that is entire up to you or you can follow after your mistress to find out what she is doing.

Gaelan: Standing on the eastern rampart with your four brothers: Hienrick, Ulric, Tyreal and Khalidel, along with the vampire known as Radu Von Carstien you are watching your sire Mordred stare out towards the grey mountains with hate filled eyes as it seems he is recalling the events of the battle he had with the Dwarven thane Ragnar Ironhand. While standing there with your brothers and lord you wonder why exactly Radu is standing here with you as he does not share the same blood line as the rest of you as he was not turned by Mordred yet the ancient blood dragon seems to favor the Von Carstien for some reason although you still cant help but do you best to resist the urge to pick up Radu and from him from the ramparts for being unworthy of standing in the presence of your ‘Father’ but while you dislike Radu you positively hate the vampire standing to your left: Ulric Von Drakenblood, the second eldest of Mordred’s ‘sons’ and the most uncouth and barbaric vampire in the entire castle save perhaps Tyreal who once again looks like he can barely contain his bloodlust. Though there are several Strigoi in the castle they cant help being the degenerate animals they are now due to the destruction of their ancient homeland but Ulric on the other hand has no excuse as ever time he enters battle he gives himself fully over to his Vampiric rage and hunger something which the great and noble Abhorash, father of the entire blood dragon line, told his followers in turn all of their descendents to find a way to cure their thirst like he has. While none of you have said a word to each other yet you get the feeling that one of your brothers will break this oddly peaceful silence with a completely pointless question so perhaps you should bring up a question which entirely does have a point and ask your lord and father what he plans to do with the treasures he reclaims after the war against the brettonians? (Feel free to do what you like at the moment, punch Ulric if you want to but I suggest reading his post above to read what happened the last time you two fought)

Khalidel: Starting upon the eastern ramparts of the castle you are the only one not of your brothers that are gathered looking towards Mordred, instead you are focusing your attention on the dark moon of Morrslieb as its makes its way across the sky where it then overtakes Mannslieb so it can cast a eerie green glow over the land which is as silent as the dead. Looking from the moon to your brothers you see that they are still focused on Mordred with Hienrick and Ulric looking very thoughtful, Gaelen looks like he has no idea what to think at the moment and Tyreal as always looks like he could tear someone’s throat out at the drop of a hat. Looking to your left you see the Radu Von Carstien and can’t help but feel annoyed that Mordred seems to favor him, an outsider and not of his own blood line, over you who he personally turned. Finally having enough you decide to turn away from the group and walk to the southern ramparts to look out towards the forest which the wood elves call home, while you stand there by yourself your eyes pierce the gloom with ease and you swear you can see movement in the shadows of the ancient wood and your suspicions are raised that the elves might be on their way but these are proven false as a rabbit shoots out from the forest quickly followed by a wolf. For now you just seem content to walk around the castle by yourself staying away from Mordred and the others, perhaps you should go and see how the resident Necrachs are getting on with their experiments? (Entirely up to you what you decide to do.)

Radu: You stand there under the eerie green light of Morrslieb with the five true Sons of Mordred and the Vampire Lord himself upon the eastern rampart looking out towards the grey mountains where Mordred fought the Dwarven thane Ragnar Ironfist. Though you are not of the Blood Dragon line you are allowed to stand with the Von Drakenblood’s and their Lord as it seems Mordred favors you for some unknown reason and have spent all the time you have been at the castle trying to think of why that is. The only plausible reason you have come up with so far is that he owes something to Medea and will look after you until her return though you have also been wondering how the two ancient vampires know each other in the first place as they are both so different. Looking over the ancient blood dragon you see that his piercing red eyes are fixed upon the Grey Mountains and are filled with hate but since his return to the castle he hasn’t said a word about the battle he had with the Dwarven thane only that he will return with an even greater force to crush the hold that dwarf calls home. Looking at the others gathered you see that Hienrick and Ulric look very thoughtful as they gaze at their sire, Gaelen you are unable to read as his attention shifts from one thing to the next, Tyreal as you noticed when you first met him looks like he could just about attack everyone here at the drop of a hat as his blood shot red eyes stare ahead and his hands tremble slightly, finally there is Khalidel who looks hatefully at his sire before turning and leaving. You’ve wondered why it is that Khalidel hates Mordred but you’ve never bothered to ask him, perhaps if you have the chance you could ask Mordred himself? For now it is entirely up to you whether you stay and attempt to have a conversation with those around you or explore the castle some more.

Sasha: Standing over the corpse of the ogre tyrant that was brought to you some hours ago you continue to dissect it as and place its various organs in different jars for future examination while trying to block out the sound of Tzimisce’s tone deaf singing which to you sounds like nails down a chalk board but you are unable to do anything about it as if you tried to put a spell on the older Necrach he is likely to take it as an attack and blast you into oblivion or worse use you for his own experiments. After finally removing the last of the ogre’s organs you have it cut up into pieces and each limb is taken to the pile of other rotten limbs ready for the construction of the Necrofex Colossus. Hoping down off of your crate you walk through the passage ways and past various cells filled with captive humans, elves, dwarves, a few cultists and even some creatures captured during battle or specifically hunted down and one of these is a manticore chained to the cell floor so it is unable to move at all and its scorpion tale is unable to move aswell, this would be a great addition to the Necrofex colossus however if Mordred or Elizabeth has one of Kadon’s scrolls then this creature could already be bound to their will….you should perhaps go and ask one of them first so turning from the captive manticore you head back up the stairs to look one of the two vampires who owns this castle. (Entirely up to you if you go after Elizabeth or Mordred. Also up to you if you take a detour to look around the castle some more or even go into the library to see what arcane books there are.)

Alexander: You are currently pacing back and forth on all fours in the dungeons muttering insanely to yourself about Brettonian noble women wearing white until marriage though you have no idea at all how you came up to this conclusion. Looking up from the floor you see that Yakov is still perched ontop of the metal table with the captive human merchant under him, Tzimisce has just finished with his little experiment with the wood elf and is now aimlessly wandering around the dungeon and the younger Necrach Sasha has finished dissecting the ogre and has go up into the castle looking for something though you have no idea what for. Turning your head to look left and right you catch the scent of something dead through one of the passage ways and turn to go and follow it. Making your way down the passage way you come to a cell with three humans lying on the floor lifeless yet still fresh, while you haven’t done much atleast you have found something to sate your hunger for now. (Feel free to do what you want with the bodies as they have recently died.)

Viktor: You stand in the library fully armed and armoured with your helmet tucked under your left arm as you watch the other two vampires in the room go about their business and since you met them you’ve been able to tell you share a common ancestor but you have no idea who but if anyone was to know then it would be the vampire called Ezekiel but he doesn’t seem that much older than the other vampire in the room. Looking between them you have decided that of them both the one who is fully armoured would be a very good sparring partner as he roughly has the same build as you and you assume has been a vampire just a little longer then you have. After starting there for a few more minutes in complete silence you decide to move from your current position to go and stand by the window so you can look out into the courtyard of the castle and onto its southern ramparts where you see a lone vampire in armour of red and black clearly one of Mordreds, though usually those sired by Mordred stay close to him this brings you to the assumption that it is Khalidel as he is the youngest of the Von Drakenblood line and is the only one who seems to hate and respect his master in equal measure. Perhaps you could go and talk to this vampire and find out why he is still in the castle if he hates Mordred so much?

Nuso: You are currently on one of the stone benches left inside of the great hall with a dire wolf either side of you as you watch the younger female Lahmian beat all ten of the blood dragon fledglings with ease using her twin blades which is slightly detestable as you prefer to deal with your opponents from afar rather than having to dirty your hands with the menial task of wielding a sword to kill unless you absolutely have to. Yawning slightly you look around the great hall as the younger Lahmian makes her way from the circle of fallen vampires over to Elizabeth von Drakenblood who is currently sat in her husbands throne, obviously something that if any other vampire tried they would have their head separated from their shoulders by Mordred’s Black Blade. For some reason Elizabeth has taken you under her wing since you arrived here and guess it was just in her nature to look after any vampires of the sisterhood that share the bloodline of the Queen of the Night Neferata who has not been seen in over a thousand years. Pushing yourself up from off the bench you make your way towards Elizabeth but before you reach her she disappears off down one of the passage ways with her hand maidens leaving you alone with the vampiress called Natasha and the Blood Dragon Knight Klaus which is interesting in itself as you’d assume one of Abhorash’s blood line would try to avenge any insult to his blood line yet Klaus hasn’t. (Like all others im leaving what you now decide to do up to you so feel free to do what you want and talk to who ever you want.)


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## Priad (Aug 14, 2008)

With the eerie moonlight of Morrslieb falling on him, Mathias glanced at the beautiful night sky. It reminded him of Alessa, and all of her enchanting features. He wondered what she was doing at the manor all by herself. Though he didn't exactly know what his gem was doing, he felt content and trusting. Not even a touch of worry struck him, for Alessa was his everything. Coming back to reality, Mathias wondered further up the rampart towards the band of lords. 
Before speaking, Mathias gazed at the lords. Taking in all the details about them. He then put his eyes upon the one who called on him for this "Blood Crusade". This one was called Mordred von Drakenblood, and he was a intimidating creature to say the least. Without further pause, Mathias said " Greetings fellow sons of night, if I may, can I inquire upon what you are doing on the rampart?". Further more, Mathias went on to address Mordred himself saying " My dear lord, I am at your command and will carve many bloody paths for you. I am willing to muster forces, lead, and anything else you need. Only if you would grant me the pleasure of doing so first.


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## Malochai (May 27, 2012)

Markus was sat, his sword across his lap, the jet-black blade seemingly absorbing light from the fire and witch-lights, and ran his whet-stone across it rhythmically in a way that soothed him - he disliked being around so many lords and ladies of the night, in such close proximity. Sniffing discreetly, he caught that scent he’d been catching all night ... Something familiar, almost primally, instinctively so, kept on drawing his attention. Sighing to himself, he stood, holding his sword blade down and closed his eyes momentarily, before sheathing it and rolling his shoulders to loosen them up. He dismissed his thoughts on the scent, before walking over to the bookcase, dismissively glancing over the titles that were collected there, despite their probable worth being immense. Growing bored, immensely so, of the silence in the room, beyond the gentle crackle of the fire and the rustling of clothes, Markus opened his mouth to talk.

“Markus, at your service,” he said to Ezekiel, clearly the oldest of the three vampires there, bowing slightly before turning to Viktor and repeating the gesture. His armour clanked gently as he did so, and his skin crawled, itching to release his vampiric appendages. _‘Soon,’_ he told himself, deciding he’d follow the sounds of blades clashing and investigate the source, whilst literally spreading his wings. _‘First, I shall finish here.’_ The thought fluttered through his mind and was gone just as quickly, as he waited for one of his extended family to respond.


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## p_folis (Dec 27, 2011)

Viktor stood in the library examining Mordreds collection, some of which he had procured for Modred, also seeing some others that other clients were inquiring about. Surely he wouldn’t miss a few volumes. Viktor made the thought vanish from his mind as he looked at the others in the room. Their scent was intriguing, relatives. In fact the entire castle was filled with the scent of all the bloodlines, how many had answered the call he thought to himself as he walked to the window. 

Peering out into the beautiful night he noticed a lone vampire looking out into the forest with a sullen face. 

Viktor lets out a small chuckle and says out loud “not one night and already there is unrest”. 

He turns to leave the room to talk to the lone vampire. Just then the anxious looking one, who was sharpening his blade nonstop, stands and introduces himself to both in the room. 

“Markus, at your service,” he says “and Viktor at yours. Procurer of fine artifacts, rare books and blood, Viktor replies with a wicked smile and outthrust hand.


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## Romero's Own (Apr 10, 2012)

Alexander muttered under his breath as he stalked the dungeons.
“Maybe it’s just completely random. No that can’t be it. These high-born lady’s have to have their reasons. Maybe it’s just a nice colour. No, again with the reason. It has to mean something! It's so infuriating when this happens. I never know. Wait, i'm talking to myself again. I've got to stop doing this. Oh for god's sake, now i'm talking to myself abnout stopping talking to mmself. Shhhhhh!"

With that Alexander abruptly shut up and shook his head. As he looked around at the other Vampires present a strange smell caught his attention. He lifted his head and let the scent lead him to an abandoned cell where three fresh human corpses on the floor. The manic glint in Alexander's eyes quickly dissapeared to be replaced with an entirly more scary one, a look of bloodthirst. Alexander fell on the first corpse. With a slash of his claws the throat was slashed and Alexander drank quickly from the crimson tide flowing out of the body. The second was finished in fairly the same manner but Alexander paused on the third. With a flash Alexander punched through the corpse's chest and with a floiurish withdrew the dripping heart. He then proceeded to wolf the heart down as a whole. When the bloodthirst was satasfied the manic glint returned to Alexander's eyes. He turned back and walked down the corridors again. Muttering something about frogs....


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## BlackGuard (Sep 10, 2010)

His eyes darted back and forth across the vast Great Hall where a number of other vampires had gathered. His cold eyes took them in quickly, each of them imposing in their own way. Though his attention continued to return to the woman, little more than a girl in his eyes, at the center of the Hall. She moved with fludity and grace as she struck down vampire after vampire around her, her swings excellence, her form far more precise than the fledglings wish attempted to prove themselves her equal. He had fought many foes in his long-existance some more terrifying than her, others far more intimidating. She carried herself with neither the bluntness of intimidation nor the stench of a terrifying presence. Her's was something far more subtle far more lethal. 

His memories where not what they used to be as time had slowly erroded most of them. The only one he could ever remember with stark clarity was that night within the Chapel of Ulric -- where Krale changed him. He could still smell the sweet scent of sage candles burning slowly upon the altar. He never quite understood why followers of a Warrior-God would need such decadent things, but of coarse he knew it was to mask Krale's stench. The old man's seeming fragile state was obvious a ruse to make him lower his guard. His blood began to boil within his veins despite the frost which he felt in his long-silent heart. He knew what the feel was and try as he might he knew he could not control it for long. He hated what he was ... he despised himself for being so weak in the face of such a blatant monster. 

His eyes moved slowly across the Great Hall again, this time they sought targets -- something to unleash his disgust upon. Across from him was another vampire, he'd never met him before obviously, and he seemed to be the exact opposite of him. Where his blonde hair cascaded across his black armor, this warrior held a darker hue of hair and brighter armor. Despite the growing disgust inside he could not help but find humor in the coincidence that they should stand opposite one another. He checked this warrior's weak-points from across the Hall. Gaps in his armor or perhaps a forging discontinuity thart could be exploited. Of coarse he fought neither they could not be easily defended.

He felt his rage begin to cool slowly but still it lingered. He knew how this went and he understood the risks that came with coming here in the first place. He hated his kind and wanted nothing more than drive Bloodmourne through each of their hearts. His attention was caught against by the young vampiress who'd smited the fledglings as she spoke with Mordred's wife, Elizabeth. Elizabeth stood up and began to walk down the hall with his hand maidens in tow.

He pushed himself off the wall he was leaning on and began to make his way towards the center of the Great Hall -- eyeing Natasha with a warrior's glare. What was the point of this Blood Crusade? For him it was to become the perfect weapon, to be the principle blade to be used by this potential patron, this Mordred von Drakenblood. He knew everyone here was playing a lethal game. Everyone had an ulterior motive for everything they did. What else could a damn vampire do with his immortality but plot for all time against everything around him. Attempting to control and manipulate came easy to him and to all his kind. 

He paid no attention to the fledglings as they lay prone on the ground as he walked to the center of the Hall.

'Mi'lady,' he said to Natasha and gave a curt bow, as was becoming of one of noblility such as he. With that he drew forth Bloodmourne and felt the blade's weight in his hand -- its midnight texture seeming to eat the light around it. In a fluid motion and brought his shield around. It was one a proud enblem of his family. Their sigil had been a black raven's had, screaming towards the heavens, with a massive warhammer behind it, with a general background color of blue with white stripes running vertically across. Over the years he had made a few ... modifications to it. Its background was red, with the blood of his enemies. The raven's head had been replaced with a dragon's head, impaled upon a vicious, vampiric looking spear. He chuckled to himself once more at the fond memory of how he once thought his family crest was something to be proud of. After his ... Failing ... he slowly began to realize the uselessness of it all. Everyone in Bretonnia of noble-birth had a different sigil for their family and sometimes themselves ... it was truly silly when one thought about it.

Removing such unnecessary thoughts from his mind he spoke agian. 'You are far more skilled than your frame suggests. However, you test your metal against fledglings -- they are hardly more than children ...'

He allowed the comment to hang in the air for a moment, no doubt it would draw the attention of the others, 'Why not test it against something more befitting of your skill?'

The challenge lingered in the air. No doubt he had already caused some controversy with this ... oh well.


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## HOGGLORD (Jan 25, 2012)

Ezekiel's eyes flickered over to one of the younger vampires as he approached, Ezekiel sensed his impatience, he could see in the way he sharpened his blade and in his agitatedly movements. He laughed inwardly at the youngster's desperation to be away from the quiet serenity of the castle. He recalled his own 'youth' as a vampire, he had spent many years enjoying his new abilities, his speed, his strength, all so invigorating and new! 

But now, he was accustomed to his powers, so he had delved into learning new skills, he was now a swordsman without compare, he had studied the minds and bodies of humans, which was still a curiosity of his, he dabbled in poetry and he had also developed an interest in the histories of the human lands, he had learned about the different emperors and could recite the story of Sigmar's coming better than any man.

Currently though, he was drawn to the vast power of the artifacts in these lands, as well as the fascinating potential for understanding the knights of Brettonina, as he had had few chances to interrogate any kind of knight. They protected themselves well and were rare and difficult prizes.

The silence was broken by the vampire who was looking out of the window. “not one night and already there is unrest”, he said, chuckling and tearing Ezekiel away from his reflections. 

He glanced at the vampire, then followed the course of his gaze out of the window, where a figure, obviously another vampire, stood alone, his face sour. The armour was the distinctive red and black of Modred's kin. The solitary vampire was not standing alongside his 'father' bringing Ezekiel to the conclusion that he would be, if his intelligence served him correctly, Khalidel, who bears some ill feelings towards Modred. 

"Markus, at your service" Said the young vampire, bowing slightly.
Ezekiel's mouth slid into a slight smile and said smoothly, "Ezekiel, at yours." The younger vampire turned and repeated the gesture to the other of his younger kin, who called himself Viktor. "Procurer of fine artifacts, rare books and blood".

Ezekiel smiled at his confidence and was intruiged by his aclaimed trade, _this one could be a useful ally_ he thought, he would have to ask Modred about the child's abilities. The other seemed to have potential as a fine warrior, the two were still young, they had eternity to hone their skills. He would watch them both carefully during his time on this 'Crusade'.

With that thought he swept from the library, his footsteps silent and careful. He ventured upstairs, leaving through a door to the southern ramparts of the castle. He looked out over the landscape, lit only by the silvery moons. Staring over the area, Ezekiel took in every detail, spotting each creature as it scurried across the grass or through the trees, all believing that they were invisible in the night.

Ezekiel stood motionless for a few more moments, before tiring of the scene before him. He left and ventured further down into the depths of the castle, following the place where the sounds of clashing blades had been heard from the library. Using his enhanced hearing and knowledge of blades, Ezekiel discerned that the combat had been between at least four blades to one. Whatever swordsman was fighting, they could be worth Ezekiel's interests at some point.

In another part of the castle, he heard screams of terror, he smelt fear and desperation, but they were faint. The sounds and smells must have originated from deep within the bowels of the castle, Ezekiel had little interest in venturing there at the current time.

He decided eventually to simply wander the castle, perhaps encountering another guest in the place. He would like to speak to Modred, but knew that his patron was one of the few vampires stronger than himself and dared not visit him without request. He contented himself with wandering the castle corridors, his eyes and ears searching for new things to learn.


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## Malochai (May 27, 2012)

“Ezekiel at yours,” replied the elder of the two vampires in the room, offering nothing more to the conversation. _‘Clearly he’s a bit above himself,’_ Markus growled inside his own head. After bowing slightly to the other vampire, who replied with, “and Viktor at yours. Procurer of fine artifacts, rare books and blood,” Markus nodded his head slightly, a look of slight vexation flashing across his features, for but a second. He’d hoped for at least a surname. Sighing, he didn’t register Ezekiel remove himself from the room, without a word, for about a minute, at which point Markus felt he should do the same; the skin on his back was starting to crawl irritably, begging him to give in and release it’s form. 

“Viktor, I hope we have time to talk later,” he said to the room’s other occupant, before once again bowing slightly and taking his leave, striding out of the library with an air of determination. Even walking helped him to shed the air of anticipation and the restlessness that plagued the young von Carstein, and he wandered aimlessly through the seemingly endless corridors of Mordred’s bastion. After following the maze of galleries that made up the castle, Markus found himself in the Great Hall, his eyes instantly drawn to the female vampire in the centre, surrounded by young, sprawling fledglings. Just as he entered, another male vampire approached her, and began a conversation. His unnatural hearing allowing him to hear every word that was said, he smirked slightly, shaking his head. A sharp pain ran along his left arm and he gasped, almost inaudibly, although he knew all of those present could probably hear it. Cursing himself, and muttering under his breath, the vampire shifted the shield on his arm, trying to do something with it to stop the pain flaring up again. Hurriedly, he left the hall and tried to find his way outside. After twenty minutes more, the von Carstein was outside, on the northern ramparts, overlooking the mountains. 

Deciding he had no real choice, Markus pulled off the leather tongs that held the strips of mail, which made up the arms of his chain-mail shirt, allowing them to fall loose over his morphing arms, slinging his shield over his back so he didn’t lose it.The skin bubbled, horrifically so, and then the skin began to run, bones breaking and reforming, to form huge, membranous wings. Extending them fully, he had a massive wingspan of six metres. His face also changed, becoming more bestial, fangs extending and ears altering, becoming bat-like. A snarl forced it’s way up his throat, forcing him to twist his head unintentionally, and he then roared, putting all of his bestial hate into it. He put a foot upon the rampart, looking down at the earth beneath him, and then cast himself off, wings tucked close to his body, falling like a rock, until he forced his wings out. He gently came out of his fall, lightly skimming the ground and then rising until he was looking down upon the vampires upon the Eastern ramparts. Recognising the red and black armour of Mordred, and noting the fact that his gets were with him, he made a quick decision - they must have realised he was there, and he didn’t want to appear ignorant to his new liege, so he swooped down to the ramparts, landing on his feet, and strode confidently to the group before him. Wings crossed before him, like those of a bat, he bowed slightly, and forced his bestial mouth to form the language of men - “My Lord, Markus von Carstein, at your service. I shall serve as your whim dictates until our ways part!” Part of him hated the bowing and scraping, yet another, more rational part of his mind knew it was probably the right thing to do. The malevolence that radiated from the red eyes of his new lord, and the sheer reek of dead flesh and power that surrounded the von Drakenblood gets was astounding, and he did find himself wondering if it really was the wisest choice to speak directly to his lord so soon.


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## p_folis (Dec 27, 2011)

As Viktor and the other two introduced themselves, Viktor noticed feint interest on Ezekiel’s face. Whenever he tells an older vampire of his abilities to acquire goods, they always seem intrigued. That is the gift with age Viktor thought to himself, knowing when someone can be of use. Viktor knew that Ezekiel would approach him at some point. The old devil played it well however, not jumping into the conversation or showing great interest, very well played indeed. 

Markus on the other hand seemed uninterested at all, almost upset. As though he were expecting something else.

As quick as the conversation started it had ended, with both abruptly leaving the room. Viktor was perplexed. What had happened? Had Modred summoned the two? Viktor went back to the window to see if the sullen faced Khalidel was still there pouting. He had not been summoned. Viktor had seen the rip in the family ties last time Modred had enlisted his services, but business took him away as soon as the transaction was complete. An insider to the Von Drakenblood’s with no thought of loyalty could be of use, Viktor thought. Knowledge is always useful.

Viktor turned and made his way to the Eastern Rampart of the castle with a devilish smile on his face, remembering were the rarest and most expensive books were at, just in case something happened. Viktor was not coming out of this “Crusade” empty handed.


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## High_Seraph (Aug 28, 2009)

Nuso sits on a stone bench with dire wolves by her side wacthing a fight between a fellow Lahmian and a few young Blood Dragons who quickly end up on the floor. Losing interest quickly Nuso glances around the nearly empty hall eyes moving from another couple of Blood Dragons who are opposites in every physical sense of the word. Disregarding them for now she turns to look at the Queen of the castle, Elizabeth has seated herself in Mordred's black throne. Though she had the notion that had any other attempted that they would quickly find themselves shorter by a head. Covering her mouth with the back of her left hand Nuso yawns politely wondering why Elizabeth has taken such a motherly concern for her. Though why exactly that is is a mystery to her though she suspects that it is because they are both descended from the Great Queen Neferata and Elizabeth is protectoive of fellow Lahmians.

Pushing herself off the bench Nuso pats the dire wolf on its head and smiling at it before approaching Elizabeth and her get Natasha. Noticing the Knight with blond hair moving towards the same area Nuso slowed her pace to see what would happen in the coming moments. Though as she slowed her pace Elizabeth moved off the throne and dissappears down a side passage with her handmaidens leaving her alone with Natasha and the knight. *Though if he is indeed from Abhorash's bloodline he would challenge her to a duel to satisfy his silly honor at the insult to his bloodline.* Coming up on the pair Nuso is not disappointed as he challenges her to a duel. 

_"Really that would be ever so delightfull! Though of course you would have to do so in no armour so as to make it a fair contest as she is wearing a dress mind you. Of course this is all up to you dear cousin._ Nuso says as she reaches htem looking up with innocence in her eyes and face while thinking *Now if she goes against him I'll have a better idea of her actual skill as well as his. This actually could be interesting and most infomative.*


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## Captain Stillios (Mar 8, 2009)

Khalidel moved away from his 'brothers' with barely concealed contempt, despie the hate that he felt for Mordred he still disliked the favour Mordred gave to the Von Carstien, Khalidel turned his thoughts from Radu as another lord appeared and spoke to Mordred. "My dear lord, I am at your command and will carve many bloody paths for you. I am willing to muster forces, lead, and anything else you need. Only if you would grant me the pleasure of doing so first.
'Pathetic' thought Khalidel as he left the ramparts and headed below 'Already trying to lick Mordreds boots' he stalked through the keeps corridors with a rage which demanded violence, it came from both his hatred for Mordred and for Radu, eventually he came across the great hall itself, pausing outside of the door he watched Natasha fight against the younglings. He was impressed by her skill and lent against the door to watch, he continued to watch as another vampire stepped forwards and challenged Natasha, at this Khalidel was pleasantly suprised as he saw a perfect opportunity to quench his desire to fight something.
Raising his hands he began to slowly clap and pushed himself off of the door frame, he slowly walked forwards towards the two vampires. 
"An impressive show of skill" He spoke, addressing Natasha. "However I agree with the knight, these are hardly worthy foes, these who model themselves after my sire and _brothers_" Khalidel almost spat the last word but rested his hand on his sword hilt and continued speaking "If you wish however, face a true Son of Mordred"


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## Lord Ramo (Apr 12, 2009)

Natasha ducked underneath a swing from a two handed blade, flowing along the ground to get behind the fledgling like water. Her movements were fluid, graceful, precise. Her red dress flowing around her. She knew exactly where she wanted to be the moment she started her attack. The fool with his strike had lost his balance, something which she would take advantage of.

She knocked his legs from underneath him with one of her swords, and whilst he was falling, slammed the hilt of her weapon into his chest, increasing the speed so he hit the ground hard. While she did not have the strength of a Blood Dragon, she had managed to get him off balance, the only way she could have done so. Around her lay the forms of eight other fledgling vampires, each one a would be guard for their Lord and Master Mordred. They had all thought they could beat her, she maybe good with a sword but she was no Blood Dragon. Their arrogance was their undoing much like hers once was.

She remembered bitterly her fight with Mordred, how foolish she had once been when she had thought herself his equal in swordsmanship. She was one of the best in the castles, being trained by Heinrich Von Drakenblood, but that wasn't enough to beat Mordred. She had been humbled, humiliated by the fight. It was anothers turn to feel shame she thought to herself. 

She twisted and blocked a blade with her left hand, her right blade striking out and catching her opponent on the side. He grunted and she twisted away, blades moving as if they were mere extensions of her arm as she cut along his arm and leg, forcing him to his knees. She placed her blade on his neck, citing the defeat of the last fledgling. She looked at all of the fledglings around her, she lacked the rage of Mordred any further, but she had no doubt that his Gets would punish those that they turned.

She turned to regard her Mistress Elizabeth, sat about the throne of Mordred's, the only one who would ever dare or be tolerated. She was clapping the performance of her get and smiling at Natasha. Natasha smiled back and bowed to her lady, before putting her blades away and moving towards her. *"My lady, is there anything that you wish me to do for you?"*

_“It seems one of our sisters from the far lands of Albion have come to answer my dear husbands call. Perhaps you should introduce yourself to her and find out why she has come to join this crusade of blood?”_ With that she giggled, stood and moved out of the throne room, her two other handmaidens in tow.

Natasha nodded once thoughtfully, she would do as her mistress commanded. She turned to see the Lahmian sat between two dire wolves and was about to head over when she was interrupted by a tall figure, one who appeared to be of Blood Dragon descent. 'Mi'lady,' he said whilst drawing his blade which he stared at for a time.

Natasha felt a little uneasy by this, hands twitched to her own blades as she made ready to draw them in case for some unknown reason one of the guests that had been drawn to Mordred's crusade had an ulterior motive. 'You are far more skilled than your frame suggests. However, you test your metal against fledglings -- they are hardly more than children ...' He said again after a while. 'Why not test it against something more befitting of your skill?'

Natasha relaxed a little, he was challenging her to prove her skill against his. An interesting offer, though she would rather see what he had to offer before she agreed to a fight. She did not want another repeat like the one she had against Mordred, and before she could reply the Lahmian came over, innocence in her eyes as she agreed that they should duel, but on equal terms. Another interesting proposition, though Natasha sensed that she was being tested by both.

"An impressive show of skill" A voice boomed, addressing Natasha. "However I agree with the knight, these are hardly worthy foes, these who model themselves after my sire and brothers" Khalidel, Mordred''s least favoured Get moved into view, hand rested on his sword hilt. "If you wish however, face a true Son of Mordred"

*"Dear Khalidel,"* Natasha began, her voice sweet and high, "*As I was about to explain to my dear lahmian cousin and our bold guest here, this was not a test of my skill. This was a test of their arrogance, like I once did foolishly against our Lord. Whilst I would love to cross my blades with both of you two, I'm afraid someone has to bring news about their son's failures to your brothers Khalidel."* She spoke softly, a smile on her face.

She started to walk away but turned back, *"Here's an idea Khalidel, why don't you and our bold guest here test each other. As Blood Dragons it will surely make an interesting and much more fair fight than the one you just witnessed."* She turned to the lahmian before saying, "*Do you wish to accompany me, after I have delivered news I go to my lady's side. I'm sure she would appreciate your presence."*

Not waiting for an answer she began to move out of the great hall, headed for the walls. She could see Mordred's gets standing around their Lord, though he merely stared past the walls, she could almost feel his fury. She had once felt it and did not wish to again, and so moved as quickly as possible. She found herself near the group as two sycophants introduced themselves to Mordred, one being foolish enough to approach in his altered form. 

She arrived at the group, courtesing to her Lord, eyes watching his blade as she greeted him. *"My lord."* She said in greeting, knowing it would be best if she did not ignore him. She moved over to Ulrich's side, adressing him, Heinrich and Gaelen, *"My apologies to you, your Fledglings all challenged me to test their skills, and I'm afraid I made a mess of them in the Great hall in front of my mistress and a couple of our guests."* She said to them. She would wait to see what they said before moving off to find her mistress and find out how else she can serve her.


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## Santaire (Feb 13, 2011)

My father.

A great man, if a man he could be called.

Mordred von Drakenblood stood gazing out over the kingdom of Bretonnia. Behind him stood six other Lords of Undeath. There was Hienrick, oldest and mightiest among those who stood behind their Lord. Ulric, a wretch barely worth noting, nothing more than a blood crazed maniac who could have been a great warrior but instead sacrificed his mind to the Blood Rage. Tyreal, a rabid dog even when compared to Ulric but at least it was amusing to watch his blood rages when surrounded by no being that bled.

Khalidel was next. He was curious. He hated and respected Mordred; loathed him and loved him. Radu von Carstein stood with the sons of Mordred despite not being among their ranks. A curious distinction that had animals like Ulric and Tyreal tense with barely contained fury. He was favoured by Mordred. No matter. He was no Blood Dragon and never could be.

I stood in their centre. Armoured in black and red lacquered plate, my twin swords sheathed on my back. Despite the heavy plate it was clear I was a warrior who danced around lesser foes. There was a centre stance, the flickering movements of my eyes. I caressed the hilt of my sword, ‘Blood Gold’ and Tyreal’s eyes moved to me. “Nervous Kislevite,” he sneered. I returned his gaze with a look of calm certainty. “If I am nervous worm,” I said very calmly “then you should be terrified.”

Tyreal growled and his mouth began to open in a snarl, displaying his impressive fangs before I smiled at him. He froze, seemingly remembering that not only was I older and more experienced but that I was the swiftest vampire in the castle, Mordred being the exception. He would not even have completed the snarl before my blade was at his throat. Mordred did not even bother to turn to us, continuing his silent vigil towards the mountains where the Dwarf Thane Ragar had defeated him. That defeat was constantly on my father’s mind, he was not free from it day or night.

I was just about to silence the inevitable stupid question from one of my brothers with one that would actually affect us when one of the other von Carstiens stepped up to the ramparts and spoke, asking us of our business upon the ramparts. He then bowed low to my father and grovelled like a fool, claiming he would raise an army to fight for Mordred. Judging from the look of him he wouldn’t be able to raise a handful of newly dead corpses let alone an army. I may have been incapable of magic but I was proud of that fact for I believed magic to be the work of cowards. Mordred and Elizabeth, his wife, were the only exceptions.

After he stepped back a second von Carstien in the form of a huge misshapen bat swooped down and this one also grovelled and praised Mordred. I was growing rapidly bored with the constant sycophants. After speaking the bat froze for a moment and backed away rather hastily. I smiled and that smile revealed the edges of my fangs

Then a Lahmian stepped up to the ramparts and my eyes instantly focussed on her. Tall and lithe, doubtless one of Elizabeth’s handmaidens. Beautiful, as they all were but my eyes did not focus on her for that reason but for the blood crusting the edges of the twin scabbards she carried. She curtseyed to Mordred before turning to myself, Hienrick and Ulric. "My apologies to you, your Fledglings all challenged me to test their skills, and I'm afraid I made a mess of them in the Great hall in front of my mistress and a couple of our guests."

With a sigh I sketched a full bow to my father, saying “my lord I will leave you now, I have some fledglings to give a lesson in manners and,” he continued with an appraising glance at the Lahmian “it seems I also need to teach them how to fight if all ten of the fledglings cannot beat a single Lahmian”.

I took a pace backwards and turned. I walked to the inside edge of the wall and simply stepped off the edge. My blood red cloak splayed around me and I landed with only the slightest thud. I then strolled into the great hall.

“Ah Khalidel, I wondered where you had gone,” I said with mock concern before stepping into the centre of the fallen fledglings. “Felix, Dietrich,” I roared and two of them scrambled to their feet. “Yes lord?” they said hurriedly. “Oh, there you are,” I smiled and they began to smile back but before they knew I was between them.

My foot swept Dietrich off his feet before my fist crashed into Felix’s nose. He staggered back while Dietrich collapsed to the ground. Felix was already drawing his sword. “Quick,” I said in sparse praise before adding with a vicious grin “but not quick enough.” He drew the blade and I darted forward, snapped a quick into his elbow as he extended his arm to lunge his sword at me, driven by rage at the attack and shame at his failure against the Lahmian. The kick knocked the sword from his hand in a reflex action and I stepped inside his guard, slammed a punch into his throat, hooked my right leg around the back of his leg, placed one arm on his throat and shoved forward, he went down and I slammed an elbow into his midsection for good measure.

Dietrich raised sword and shield and I shook my head. “Drawing a blade on your own father,” I said dryly. That froze him and I kicked him in the chest, knocking him over.

I stood over the crumpled fledglings and only then did I draw ‘Blood Gold’. I touched it to Felix’s throat and, drawing my other sword placed that squarely over Dietrich’s heart. “You failed against a single Lahmian. One single Lahmian,” I snarled. “You really thought you could challenge me?”


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## Akatsuki13 (May 9, 2010)

“Frère Jacques, frère Jacques, Dormez-vous? Dormez-vous? Sonnez les matines! Sonnez les matines!” Sasha Vykos sang as he marched through the corridors of the castle, a jar containing the heart of an Ogre Tyrant tucked under his arm. “Din, dan, don. Din, dan, don.”

His latest toy was coming along nicely. The framework of bone and metal had been constructed. There was enough flesh to coat the framework, enough metal to forge its claws and fangs and he had brought the wyrdstone to bring life to it. But he was lacking the organs to properly maintain it. The manticore’s organs were of a proper size for his toy and that barbed tail would make an excellent weapon to graft on to it.

Unfortunately he couldn’t just take someone else’s toy, unless of course that person was annoying or rude. Then he kill, dismember and experiment on them (and if they were really he would do it in that order) before taking their toys as his own. Von Drakenblood was his host and would be rude to take something of his without asking. He would ask permission and then he would start cutting up the beast.

Though to do that he would have to first find Von Drakenblood or his Lady. They would probably be in the Great Hall presiding over their court. …Or maybe in the library.

Sasha stopped in his tracks. No! He had work to do! Work now, pleasure later.

Though he could send one of his toys to collect some reading material or maybe he could send one of his toys to ask permission from von Drakenblood. No, that wouldn’t work, most of them didn’t have tongues and those that did weren’t really fit for conversation or carrying messages. He would have to do it himself.

“Frère Jacques, frère Jacques, Dormez-vous? Dormez-vous? Sonnez les matines! Sonnez les matines! Din, dan, don. Din, dan, don,” he continued to sing the old Bretonnian song as he resumed his walk to the Great Hall.

He had only been there once, when he offered his services to von Drakenblood but at that time the Court hadn’t been in session. Only the Lord, his Lady and some of their close retainers had been present. Since then he had spent nearly all of his time in the dungeons and catacombs, toiling away on his newest and biggest toy, his gift for von Drakenblood in exchange for a treasure trove of new toys and playthings. It would be amusing to see the looks of all those fat little children playing at being adults when they saw him for the first time. Other vampires always seemed a little _unsettled_ when they first saw him. Maybe they realized that as they were children in adult bodies, he was an adult in a child's body and were jealous. But it wasn't like they mattered. Only the toys mattered.

A look of childlike glee spread across his face. Oh how he couldn’t wait to get his hands on them.


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## Midge913 (Oct 21, 2010)

A cool breeze teased an errant lock of his raven black hair, ruffling the bottom edges of his furled wings, the cutting chill invigorating him. Looking out upon the forrest that surrounded his father's keep, Ulrich relished the freshness of the air, his face upturned, drinking in the malevolent glow of the twin moons. The majesty of the mountains in the distance, the unpreturbed wild of their surroundings, this was his home, a bestial wild setting, for a bestial and wild man, if a man he could still be called. A small smile, lips peeling back from pointed fangs, met that thought. A man he was not, he had not been a man for nearly 350 years. He was more, so much more. 

Ulrich von Drakenblood stood with his family, his brothers, a magnificient display of martial and arcane prowess, the strength of sheer forceful presence on the rampart a palpable thing. These beings together, were death incarnate. Heinrick, the eldest, his trusted brother, his gleaming silver plate an odd incongruity amongst the sea of deep crimson and black. The scarlet scarf, a small piece of fabric that hid the lower part of his face, moving slowly with the pulse of Heinrick's breath. The familiarity and comfortable ease that passed between Ulrich and his favorite brother a stark contrast to the tension that crackled between him and the others. 

His brothers Tyreal and Khalidel, of their relationship not much could be said. they left one another alone, never intereferring with the others devices, coming together in times of their lords need, to fight, to kill, to burn, and maim in the name of Mordred. He had a passing respect for their abilities. They were amiable, neither close nor in conflict. His thoughts for the Von Carstein, an outsider invited into their midst. A curious thing, a point filed away for later use. 

As Ulrich watched the vampires assembled, he found it interesting that Radu, resplendid in his ebony armor, inlaid with fine engravings of blood red roses, held a place of higher honor than his brother Khalidel. An amusing thing, a petty slight to the least favorite of Mordred's gets. A slight that by the tension set in his brother's shoulders, was one that did not go unnoticed. This Radu would be one to watch. Ulrich cared little that he had been called upon with the other Sons of Mordred. He knew his position was firm, his loyalties confirmed through centuries of service. He felt no unease at the Von Carstein's presence, only curosity. 

Despite his intentions to ignore him, Ulrich's gaze wandered, falling on his brother Gaelan. The animosity held between the two was known by all and two centuries worth of rivalry had left nothing but bad blood. Ulrich could not remember the time and place that their dislike of the other had began, but in the centuries since Mordred's embrace of the arrogant cur, he had proven to be nothing but a self-righteous ass. The golden circlet about Gaelan's head a mirror of Ulrich's own, a gift, as his had been, from Mordred marking his favor. As he always did, Ulrich felt the need to lash out at his younger brother, to beat him into submission, to wipe the smug look from his face. He knew that it would be a folly. Though it did not seem that their lord was paying attention to them, his attention focused on the lands beyond the keep, Ulrich knew that few things drew his ire quite like the petty infighting between two of his favored sons. Ulrich recognized the bitter rivalry with Gaelan was petty, a distraction normally not worth his time, and definitely not worth the punishment his father would met out, but he also knew that nothing would fix things. Nothing would be strong enough to put aside centuries of hatred, even if he had desired it. A flash of anger, his teeth grinding, the rabid bilious anger coursing through his veins at the very thought was proof enough that he did not. 

Tearing his gaze away from Gaelan, taking steadying breaths to still the steady current of rage that roiled beneath the surface of his calm demeanor, Ulrich turned his gaze back towards the mountains. As it had many times since his father's last campaign, Ulrich wondered why Mordred had taken none of his sons with him when he rode out to wage war on the Dwarfs. He suspected, though he had now proof, that that sniveling necromancer, Helven Von Krieger, had been the cause of their exclusion. That wreched specimen of a man did not know his station, believing himself to be more than what he was. A pawn in Mordred's great schemes. 

Armored footsteps upon the rampart drew his attention. One of the myraid of vampires that had answered Mordreds call, a Blood Dragon by the looks of his armor and demeanor, had deigned himself worthy of an audience with Mordred without an invitation. Ulrich was growing tired of this sycophants, groveling wretched vampires, crawling out of the inbred holes the came from, infesting the keep, eager to share in the glory that should not be theirs. Ulrich's tongue bristled, desired to lash out at him for his unwanted presence. 

"Greetings fellow sons of night, if I may, can I inquire upon what you are doing on the rampart?" Ulrich's eyes narrowed, the muscles that controlled his great batlike wings tensing. Already this cretin thought himself among equals. Swaggering into the presence of greatness with an air of overexaggerated self-importance. He was not fit to lick the dirt from his father's boots. None of the Sons of Mordred answered, his inquest unworthy of a response, his presence not worth their attention. It was in times like this that Ulrich wished his temperment was more even, controllable as Heinrick's was. Stealing a glance at his eldest brother, Ulrich found a look of boredom on his perfect face. 

" My dear lord, I am at your command and will carve many bloody paths for you. I am willing to muster forces, lead, and anything else you need. Only if you would grant me the pleasure of doing so first." The weedy tenor of the newcomers voice grated on Ulrich's already frayed nerves. This pathetic mewling wretch attempting to curry favor with a Lord who placed little value in flowery words. 

Ulrich's temper finally got the better of him," Our busniess is our own you pathetic worm. What invitation brought you into our Lord's presence?" a twitch, an elegant arcing of his eyebrow punctuating the question. "Leave our presence while you are still able." His voice even, deadly calm, the threat not one made in jest. 

Before the young blood dragon could answer however, a heavy thud drew Ulrich's attention back to the edge of the parapet. A huge, transformed vampire, its features marred by a savage beastial appearance, alighted on in front of Mordred. Ulrich's hands tightened into fists, rage at the audacity of these outsiders. This blood dragon was one thing, appearing regaled like a warrior, even Ulrich's anger tempered by the vampires bloodline. But this beast, a Von Carstein by his scent, appearing in front of Mordred in this altered, impure form, was too much. An insult to his father that he would not 
stand. 

Lunging forward, his speed taking the vargheist formed vampire by surprise, Ulrich put himself between Mordred and this beast. His eyes blazing in scarlet anger, his words escaping through clentched teeth, "How dare you appear before our Lord in this form." The pace of his breathing quickened, as his right hand clenched and unclenched, longing to draw his blade. He took in the Von Carsteins sudden flash of understanding, the realization that he had overstepped his bounds. "Come before my Lord again, unannounced and uninvited and it will be last thing you do dog." 

Ulrich's hands shot up, armored gauntlets grabbing the base of the vampires wings, and with a grunt of effort he spun, tossing the unfortunate vampire from the rampart. He watched in satisfaction as it fell to the ground, shock evident on its face, before it managed to right itself, the large bat-like wings taking its weight as it flew off into the night. 

Running a hand through his hair, Ulrich turned to face his father, an almost imperceptible nod of approval all he recieved and that more than he desired. As he took is place, once more at Heinrick's side, the slightest sound of a soft soled shoe caught his ear and he turned to the doorway that lead down into the keep from the rampart. In the doorway, stood Natasha, perhaps the only one of his relatives he was closer with than his brother Heinrick. Her stunning beauty framed in the small rectangle of torchlight cast from the hallway beyond, enough to calm his ire. It was said that Elizabeth was the only person that could calm Mordred when he raged and Ulrich by some unknown design had inherited that rage from his father. Perhaps it was his history before his embrace that contributed to it, but he felt consumed by rage and hatred most of the time. His mother, and by extension her get, seemed to have the same effect on him as it did on Mordred. 

Ulrich saw her eyes flit to Mordred's blade, the memory of her defeat at Mordreds hands not one she was likely to forget, as she approached and announced her self to him, before moving over to Ulrich, Heinrick, and Gaelan. "My apologies to you, your Fledglings all challenged me to test their skills, and I'm afraid I made a mess of them in the Great hall in front of my mistress and a couple of our guests."

"Damn them," Ulrich thought. He knew that it would have been Lancelot, his arrogance nearly matching Gaelan's. Gaelan immediately excused himself, citing his need to deal with his fledglings, before casting a thinly veiled insult in Natasha's direction and stepping off the rampart into the night beyond. 

He bristled, the insult to Natasha breaking his composure, a growl bubbling in his throat as he watched the form of his hated brother descend to the earth. A touch, the slighest gesture, and soothing words cut through the red haze that had started to cloud his vision. "Peace brother, that arrogant fool will be put in his place soon enough, all fools like him are, I speak from experience." Ulrich brushed her hand, with his own, thanking her with a nod of his head before turning to Mordred. "By your leave my lord," Ulrich said, his request answered by an errant wave of his father's hand. Offering his arm to Natasha, "Come sister." Taking his arm she allowed him to steer her away from the rampart, back down into the corridors of the keep. 

"What prompted my ignorant children to attack you?" Ulrich inquired as soon as they were away from prying ears. His question to the point, his ire at his gets rising as he spoke. 

"Lancelot started it," Natasha replied, confirming his suspicion. The whelp was beyond his station, his arrogance displaying itself at again the worst of times. Not for the first time did Ulrich feel regret about his decision to embrace the young noble, but the boy had reminded him so much of himself. "He acted like I did once to our Lord, though he thought that he could get away with it as I am not him." 

Silence stretched between them as Ulrich considered what Natasha told him. He could not help but take a small amount of pride in his children's audacity, seeing it was a trait that he valued in himself. He just wished that they would aim that irreverence in a more appropriate direction. 

Changing track, he asked, "I have heard tell that one of your Lahmian sisters has joined us, though I know little of her?"

Natasha shook her head, her tone and demeanor changing slightly at the mention of her Kin, "I know little of her as well, she seems to be cautious enough, trying to get me to fight one of our Lords guests in an attempt to see my fighting abilities."

"Well then she shows the manipulative cunning of your kind then," Ulrich said, a small smile directed at his little sister, "who did she suggest you duel?"

With a wave of her hand Natasha showed her disdain for the whole ordeal, "He did not introduce himself, a brooding Blood Dragon noble by the looks of him. Seemed rather fixated on his blade." A small smile of her own, adding weight to the playful insult.

Ulrich's barking laugh, reverberating off of the stone walls, echoed down the hallway, genuine amusement banishing the anger that he so constantly felt. 
"Most of us are little sister," as fast as his ire receeded his brooding scowl returned.

"Now, my sons, did they all participate in this show of arrogance?" As an after thought, he said with more temerity than Natasha thought him capable of, "
"And what did mother have to say on it?"

His sister paused a moment, her gaze peircing into him, gaining the measure of his thoughts, ""Indeed they did brother. All yours, Heinrichs and Gaelans. Lady Elizabeth only congragulated me, seemed happy with how I am preforming but had no words for the fledgings."

He was surprised, he would have wagered that his eldest, Caldecor would have had more sense than he displayed. The mention of Gaelan once again brought his anger to the forefront, the insult to Natasha still fresh in his mind, ""Well unlike my brother," spitting the word like it was something nasty," I don't attribute that to my get's lack of skill, but to an increase in your own. Still they will need to be dealt with."

"You faltter me brother. They do show a lot of promise, lets hope that they learn from this mistake like I had to once." 

"It surprises me sister that Caldecor would participate in such a display, no doubt some misplaced loyalty to his brothers overriding his judgement." His voice tinged with genuine disappointment, "Loyalty.... a strange thing is it not." The last almost introspective, a slight glance backwards, in the direction of Mordred and rampart.

"Caldecor seemed a little reluctant," Natasha said, trying to be reassuring, " but he followed the rest of the "Sons of Mordred. Loyalty maybe a strange thing brother, but I believe most of us feel it."

"Indeed... Indeed." Ulrich said, nodding in agreement to her statment, though it was obvious that his mind was on other matters. 

As if to draw him from his reveree, Natasha said,""I see our guests are already attempting to gain our Lord's favour. Fools." She knew as much as he did that Mordred did not suffer fools lightly.

"Aye," he responded with a slight chuckle, "they know so little of him, yet they fawn at his feet. He neither desires nor requires it." Fools they were indeed. They would learn their place, sooner or later. 

Their walk was short and in no time they had reached a junction in the corridor that would lead to Elizabeth's chamber and Ulrich could feel his sister's eagerness to return to her Lady's service. "I take my leave sister. Let me know if mother says anything about this incident? If it reflects poorly on me in her eyes, my children will rue the day their human mothers birthed them."

With a concilatory pat to his arm, Natasha turned and began to walk down the hallway away from him, her voice calling back to him, "I will brother."

Shaking his head, trying to clear his thoughts, trying to bundle his emotions into a managable mess, he stalked towards the great hall.


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## khrone forever (Dec 13, 2010)

(sorry for the late post)


Yakov was fuming. The upstart little twerp Tyreal Von Drakenblood was going to pay, his right wing broken in three places, and all for bumping into him as he passed. However it wouldn’t be wise to “make a scene” as his old master was fond of saying, especially as he was a guest of Mordred. Later on however, in the midst of battle a claw or sword could easily be mislaid and gut or disembowel one of “your own”. 

Yakov sneered at the cowering Empire tradesman, showing his rows of yellowing fangs, how pathetic these humans were, they had grown weaker and more accustomed to the easy life since the last great vampire crusade. He burped, showering the merchant with pieces of dried blood and gristle. “Sorry” he murmured, “The peasants don’t agree with me much”, his smile turned to a frown as the man fainted. “Now, now we can't have you missing all the fun , he chuckled.

Yakov’s backhand caught the merchant across the jaw, with a gristly snap his jaw broke and fell from the socket, the left side of his face mangled to a pulp. With a scream the man recovered from his bout of unconsciousness. Yakov grinned as his “patient” writhed and squirmed to get away from his less than tender ministrations. After several minutes of improvements the tradesman’s body was a mangled mess on the metal table, his skin on the floor some meters away and most of his inner organs and muscles in pieces across the room and inside Yakov.

Feeling a lot better for ripping the man apart, Yakov stalked round the small dungeon slowly feeding magic back into his broken wing, reinforcing the joint, bones and torn muscles, making it as it was before his injury.


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## p_folis (Dec 27, 2011)

Viktor made his way to the Eastern Rampart in search of Khalidel. He arrived to find Khalidel had gone, but something more interesting was happening. Mordred and the rest of his gets were there, also some other interesting characters. A scuffle had broken out between a vampire in a bestial form and Ulrich. Viktor noticed the scent of the beast as the one who called himself Markus in the library and another vampire out of place standing with the blood dragons, not another get of Modred’s he thought to himself. This one’s scent was different. Viktor would have to inspect later. 

As Gaelan marched away towards the castle, with a look of delight and fury on his face, Ulrich started to court a female vampire after her conversation with the group. They too made their way to the castle.

After that Viktor made his way to the group, “ah lord Mordred, how are we to campaign on this Blood Crusade if we can’t even last one night with one another. That fight there, I heard another while I was in the library, it seems all we want to do is fight one another” Viktor said with no bowing or lowering his own self worth, the title was enough Viktor thought to himself, he would not worship Modred like these other pawns did. Theirs was a business relationship, and in business one couldn’t give the edge to anyone. Viktor looked around and noticed there were some appalled and upset faces by this gesture. Viktor smiled at them and thought let them be upset this will only prove his point to Modred.


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## dark angel (Jun 11, 2008)

A cold breeze accompanied her incessant footsteps, as a sickly, flaxen-haired serf led the young, mercurial countess into his master’s chambers. 

‘The Lady de Clare,’ Announced the serf, as he swung the heavy doors open, lamplight flooding out into the dark hallway. ‘Here upon your request, sire.’

Within, Radu von Carstein spun steadily on his heel, hungry-eyed gaze falling upon Ekaterina de Clare. He wore an ill-fitting alabaster robe, leaving the corded muscles of his stomach bare, glittering curiously in the light. In his left hand, he clutched a bejeweled goblet, running the right through his mane of dark curls, arching an eyebrow at the Lady de Clare. She was tall and willowy, her hair a fiery-red, her eyes a deep, scintillating emerald. She was modestly dressed in a gown of black silk, clutching at a fanciful cane dutifully.

‘Ah, Ekaterina.’ Radu purred, his accent rendering his voice a deep, husky growl. ‘It is a pleasure.’

‘The pleasure is mine,’ She returned, curtsying. Behind her, the serf stepped back into the hallway, sealing the doors with a disgruntled huff. When he was gone, the tone in her voice changed. ‘Why have you summoned me at such an hour?’

Radu smirked mischievously. ‘Boredom…’ 

Ekaterina’s lips peeled back. ‘I am not a flute-girl, von Carstein. I know what this place is. I will not do your vile bidding.’

‘Oh?’ Radu spoke derisively, flitting closer to the woman. He dropped the chalice, disinterested, and flexed his fingers. ‘That is awfully disappointing,’ With preternatural speed, Radu von Carstein lunged forwards, wrapping an arm around Ekaterina’s hip, the other gripping at her hair. ‘I was hoping we could have been friends.’

The Vampire sank his fangs into the soft tissue of Ekaterina’s throat, warm, coppery liquid cascading into his mouth and down his chin. The Lady de Clare shuddered, an exasperated moan escaping from between her lips. Radu clutched at Ekaterina long after she was dead, bloodied chin resting on her perfumed shoulder; her head lolling backwards comically. He sniffed, nostrils flaring, engulfing the sweet scent of his latest kill, and threw the body away dismissively. 

‘Vezelar,’ Radu called, and his serf hobbled back in, bowing submissively at the sight of his bloody-mouthed, dull-eyed master. ‘Remove her,’ He said, waving a hand at the desiccated corpse, her red hair casting a garish halo around her head. ‘And prepare my armour. Mordred has called a summons.. I would like to outshine the others.’

***

Clad in plate, with a shield displaying von Drakenblood’s heraldry strapped across his wide back, Radu made short work of the journey to the eastern rampart. Chest swollen with boastful pride, shoulders spread with intent, - None dared to stand in his way. He cast casual glances of distaste at the others - Lips rippling over enlarged canines in silent snarls, his right hand resting reassuringly upon the hilt of his gilded falcata. 

He moved like a predator - His every step calculated, perfected, utterly confident. He was a swordsman and a killer; though he was often decried as a monster, a hell-beast, a daemon. And, of course, these were all true. The half-light made his armour glitter, a thousand roses resplendent in blood-red, shining garishly. 

Ahead, the hallway opened up onto the eastern rampart - The scene set in a sickly shade of green, giving an ethereal appearance to the assembled Sons of Mordred. Radu bade each a simplistic nod, his ringlets bobbing in the cold breeze. His eyes wavered from Hienrick, Mordred’s princely son, to the monstrous Tyreal, the immense Ulric, winged like a bat, before falling upon the mail-bound Khalidel. The von Carstein sniggered at Khalidel, pushing past him roughly, eyes settled firmly upon Mordred von Drakenblood’s ethereal form.

He was beautiful. Radu was enraptured in his presence, watching his baleful, crimson eyes settle upon the distant, snowcapped Grey Mountains. The hate was palpable, a living, breathing thing - Radiating from Mordred’s unearthly handsome features. The others displayed a plethora of emotions - Hienrick and Ulric lost in thought, Gaelan a miasmic figure, impossible to read, shifting uneasily. Radu remained unmoving; eyes fixated on Mordred. 

How he lamented Medea’s absence. She would have been a more-than-comfortable presence, a steady blade at his side. He longed for her scent, her laughter, her mischief-ridden smile. A low, mournful sigh fluttered from Radu’s lips. The others were slowly filtering away - Some having made declarations, most remaining silent and brooding - But all ultimately dwindling away, until only Radu and Mordred remained on the rampart.

The von Carstein stepped up onto the wall, peering down into the green-tinted murk. 

‘Quite the drop,’ He said, conversationally, a woeful smile on his face. ‘Khalidel is rather hateful.’ He turned towards Mordred, arching an eyebrow. ‘Why?’


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## revan4559 (Aug 9, 2010)

Markus: You seen get your answer to the thought of if talking to Mordred so soon was really a good idea as Ulric Von Drakenblood steps between you and Mordred and asks you why you dare appear before Mordred in your current form before stepping forward and with surprising speed and strength manages to pick you up and hurl you from the ramparts towards the ground however you do manage to right yourself half way down and glide away from the castle before circling back up and around to land ontop of one of the northern towers away from the gathered group of Blood Dragons. Clearly it seems that the Von Drakenblood gets do not like other vampires showing disrespect to their father and lord though the only disrespect you have perhaps shown was appearing in your altered form. 

Looking down at the group of blood dragons you see that they are joined by a female vampire wearing a red dress before several of them move off to head back inside of the castle. As you continue to watch those that remain Mordred casually dismisses them with a wave of his hand apart from one that seems to remain with the Undead Lord as the others move away to do their own thing. Looking around the fortress something catches your eye to the south above the forest and you move closer to the edge of the tower to try and get a better look and as you stare out towards the forest you can see what appears to be a great eagle circling above the tree tops with its head pointed down towards the ground as it appears to be hunting. 

As you watch the great eagle circle about as it hunts you are suddenly reminded of your own ‘hunger’ and can feel your already very large fangs elongate as you imagine the blood gushing from the wounds inflicted upon the eagles prey. Looking back down into the fortress you need to make the decision if you go down into the dungeons in search of blood to drink from one of the many captives or do you go out into the nights sky to look for a something far more fresher to feed from. Bare in mind if you go out to search away from the castle you will only find animals and vampires prefer human blood as it is more flavorsome. 

Maithas: After asking what these fellow lords of the night are doing ontop of the rampart the vampire called Ulric turns to face you before he berates you saying that what he and the others are doing on the ramparts is none of your business, that you have had no invitation to join them and that you should leave while you still have the chance. While listening to Ulric you feel your lips twitch into a snarl revealing your fangs as a challenge to the other blood dragon but before he even see’s it his and your attention are drawn to an altered vampire landing infront of Mordred and bowing to him which elects Ulric picking up the huge bat like vampire and hurling him from the ramparts which is no mean feet of arms given the obvious size and weight of the monstrous altered vampire. 

Turning to look back at Ulric you see that a Lahmian has joined you and says that there was a commotion to which Ulric, the Lahmian and Gaelen, another of Mordred’s Gets, leaving the rampart do go and deal with it leaving you along with those remaining vampires on the wall. All the while Mordred hasn’t even decided to acknowledge your presence as he continues to stare out towards the mountains and while another of your blood line joins you it seems that Mordred has no wish to deal with any of you so he raises his left hand and casually waves it in dismissal. “Leave me, all of you. Apart from you Radu.” Radu the vampire who is strangely not one of Mordred’s blood line seems to stiffen slightly before bowing his head in acknowledgement as you and the others turn to leave with the vampire Tyreal grumbling to himself loudly. 

Walking along the rampart to head to the southern part you are joined by the blood-shot eyed Tyreal who seems very fidgety with his hands constantly toying with the hilts of his two blades sheathed at his hip. As he turns his raged filled eyes to you his lips part to reveal his elongated fangs in a twisted parody of a friendly smile, “So then brother of the line of Abhorash, how would a duel of skill be of your taste? You are clearly a fine swordsman yourself but I doubt you could best me or any of my brothers. So what say you?”. You have time to reflect on the attitude of your fellow vampires, along with sizing up Tyreal and determining if a duel is really worth your time. If you do accept Tyreal’s offer then post it at the end of your post as the duel will start in the next update.

Klaus: The Vampiress Natasha declines your challenge and suggest that perhaps you test yourself against the vampire Khalidel Von Drakenblood who has now appeared from the main entrance of the great hall and made his way over to you. Looking over Khalidel you remember that you heard he is the youngest of the Von Drakenblood line but still old enough to around the same age of you which would be a very interesting fight indeed though if Khalidel decides to accept your challenge then you will have to wait and see. Looking around the great hall you see that the other vampire that was stood opposite you has decided to leave and that now Gaelen Von Drakenblood has entered the great hall to deal with his up-start sons which now makes you hunger even more for battle.

While Khalidel would be a rather interesting spar testing your might against Gaelen would be perhaps one of the greatest tests of your skill save fighting his brothers Tyreal, Ulric and Hienrick and the greatest would be fighting Mordred Von Drakenblood himself as he is the lord and master of this castle and the one who trained all of his gets personally and while you know you are perhaps a younger generation of Blood Dragon, Mordred is ancient and still has the strength of the blood line flowing through his veins. At the moment it is entirely your decision of who you decide to spar with be it Khalidel or Gaelen, I would suggest talking to your opponent for abit before preparing for the fight at the end of your post so I can get everything ready for your fight in the next update.

Yakov: As your wing heals you notice that all others in the dungeon have already left to go into the castle so you decide to join them by heading back up the stairs but make sure no other vampire is about to kick you back down them. Peaking your head out of the dungeons entrance you see that one of your Strigoi brethren has gone up ontop of the wall where there stands Tyreal Von Drakenblood and another vampire though you have resolved to get your revenge on the young blood dragon later. Looking at the other ramparts you see Mordred in conversation with another vampire but decide to leave the lord and master of the castle along for now as he is still brooding from his defeat at the hands of the short and annoying dwarves.
Moving on all fours you make your way through the main entrance guarded by Mordred’s ever vigilant heavily armoured grave guard to enter the great keep itself and eventually the great hall where you see that many vampires are gather there but you do not know for what reason. Looking at those gathered in the great hall you see that most of them are blood dragons and among them are two of Mordred’s gets: Gaelen and Khalidel Von Drakenblood. Moving over to crouch in one of the corners you also see that there is a Lahmian in the room along with a couple of Von Carsteins and can’t help but wonder if all of the blood lines are gathered in the castle. For now it is entirely up to you what you do in your post, perhaps you could challenge which ever Von Drakenblood doesn’t fight Klaus to a duel just to test your skill against one of Mordred’s gets? If you do then leave the challenging until the end of the post ready for the next update.

Ezekiel: You wander into the great hall just as Elizabeth and her handmaidens disappear off down one of the corridors and looking at the center of the great hall you can see ten fledging vampires pulling themselves up off the ground obviously having been bested in a duel though your not sure which of the vampires present defeated them, so you decide to move over to the group of three of them and find out which vampire it was who beat the fledglings (Up to you who you ask.). After learning who defeated the younger vampires you turn to regard them just as Gaelen Von Drakenblood enters the great hall and heads over to two of the fledglings and proceeds to beat them both until they clatter to the ground in a heap after trying to challenge him. This is very interesting indeed as it means you can now talk with Gaelen to perhaps get an audience with Mordred .Walking from the three over vampires you step over the prone forms of the two vampires Gaelen just pummeled into the ground and stand before him before offering a nod of your head and introducing yourself. After introducing yourself it is up to you how you proceed to go about asking for an audience with Mordred and while you are at it try and find out what Gaelen knows of Mordred’s Crusade and the other vampires within the castle. Pretty much free reign in this update for what you decide to do.

Ulric: As you turn away from Natasha and make your way down the many long twisting hallways back to the great hall you watch all of the torches upon the walls flick out before flickering back into life against as the softest of steps sounds from behind you and a silver gauntleted hand is placed upon your left shoulder. Half turning you see the handsome and ethereal features of Hienrick stood there with his crimson eyes focused upon you with his usual neutral look though as always he may aswell be peering into your very being as Hienrick is the closest of all your brothers and knows you better than anyone. Smiling slightly at him he joins you by your side and notice like always Hienrick casts no shadow upon the walls or ground and remember it is because he is the master of the school of magic the humans refer to as ‘Shadow’ or ‘Grey’ magic. 

As Hienrick stands next to you he looks straight down the corridor before turning to regard you “You should not blame them for wishing to test their skills against Natasha, Brother. Arrogance is often the undoing of the would-be victor.” Something about that phrase and the tone in his voice makes you think that those words were said to Hienrick by someone else and not fully his own and you quickly realize who it is that has said them. While this brings a slight smile to your lips as that saying is true to most vampires in the castle that are part of the Von Drakenblood line, where Natasha thought herself Mordred’s equal in the way of the blade, where Gaelen thinks himself better than you, where Khalidel thought that when he was human he could steal your fathers blade. Looking at your older and closest brother you can’t help but feel slightly ashamed at allowing your anger to get the better of you earlier as Hienrick always has such self control over his emotions and the hunger that consumes all vampires, even more so than your shared father.

After several more moments of silence Hienrick turns from you to look down the winding corridors towards the direction of the great hall which is still a ten minute walk away. “Walk with me for awhile brother, I get the feeling you wish to talk about things that have happened, especially with our Father.” With that Hienrick sets off at a leisurely pace down the corridor so you can catch up with him and have time to talk.

Natasha: After leaving Ulric you walk through the corridors following your mistress’s perfume to the set of black iron doors that lead to her personal sanctum and see that another vampire has already entered it, the child Necrach called Sasha. Looking at the child sized vampire you wonder who in their right mind would turn someone so young let alone someone with as much magical ability as him, quickly shaking your head and gathering your thoughts you see Elizabeth stood behind her scrying pool with the tip of her silver white hair dyed an odd pink colour from where it had clearly dipped into the blood contained within the pool.

Walking over to Elizabeth you curtsy to her before she smiles at you and waves a hand back towards the other two handmaidens currently lounging on the bed at the back of the room, moving over to join them you sit on the edge where they then begin to plat and braid your hair as you observe the conversation between Elizabeth and Sasha to see how civil the child vampire is being towards your mistress and should he slight her or Mordred in anyway then you can spring into action and punish the little vampire though you wonder if you could get from the bed to Sasha before he conjures up some spell to stop you although in the room Elizabeth is the strongest wielder of magic, perhaps even in the castle.

For now you are merely content to sit with your two sisters and watch your ‘mother’ talk with the younger vampire though your thoughts shift to the coming Crusade of Blood which shall be led by Mordred decide with all the vampires preparing for the war that it would be best to change out of this dress and into your armour ready for when you leave. For this update you have free reign in what you wish to do, do you talk to your sisters or perhaps even Elizabeth? Remember Ulric asked you to find out what Elizabeth thought of his gets so when you get a chance ask her.

Gaelan: Neither of your sons answer you merely looking very ashamed of themselves as their ‘cousin’ pick themselves up off the ground aswell and move away from you, while you also wish to punish them they belong to Ulric, the brother you despise yet would not wish to fight incase you provoke your fathers ire and with his current state you will likely end up losing a limb, and the remaining fledglings belong to Hienrick whose skill with a blade is only surpassed by Mordred and while he lacks Mordred’s rage he more than makes up with it in his sheer magical ability which is odd for one of your blood line so for now you are content to leave them be.

Sheathing your blades you send a boot into the underside of Felix’s chin as he tries to rise which snaps his head back against the castle floor stones cracking them before he finally lays still with his eyes closed obviously trying to recover from the punishment dealt to him by yourself and Natasha while Dietrick stares up at you with rage filled eyes before rolling away from you and hurriedly leaves the room to go and rage somewhere else in the castle. Turning away in disgust from your sons you look over to Khalidel and the other Blood Dragon to see them conversing about something as you size both of them up and see while they are both formidable fighters neither could match your speed.

Smiling which reveals your fangs your mental gloating is interrupted by a horrid smell which you then turn around to see a huge hunched Strigoi now sat in the corner of the great hall looking at all of you with its wings folded against its back. This is an insult to your fathers castle at having such a repellent and foul smelling sorry excuse for a vampire in the presence of Mordred’s black throne, so perhaps you should go over to it and get it to leave the great hall for the betterment of all the other vampires present. Entirely up to you what you do in your post though if you do fight Yakov or Klaus then prepare for the fight at the end of your post so I can get everything ready for the next update.

Khalidel: Natasha declines your invitation to test her skills against you and says that she has to tell Hienrick, Ulric and Gaelen of their sons failure before she quickly departs from the great hall to go and find them, this leaves you alone with the other vampires in the room so you turn your attention to regard each of them. One of them shares the same blood line as Natasha and your ‘Mother’ Elizabeth which must make her a Lahmian but this one has a look of mild interest on her face as she returns to sit ontop of a stone bench and observing the proceedings. The Blood Dragon Knight standing with you clearly shows signs of noble brettonian heritage and you wonder how much of a good test of your skills it would be to face off against this knight in a duel though as you size him up he could be older than you and have a lot more experience.

Looking around the room you see that while the fledglings are still picking themselves up after their beating a Strigoi vampire has entered and is now crouched in a corner observing you all and Gaelen has now entered and feigned concern for you having wondered where you went off to. Once again you are quietly cursing Mordred for giving you the embrace of vampirism just over one hundred years ago but in a way you did bring it upon yourself for trying to steal his blade and now that you are a vampire you have an eternity to plot revenge and decide what it is you wish to do with your immortality. Now that some others are deciding to gather in the great hall you need to make a decision on who your opponent will be for your duel, will it be the blood knight named Klaus stood with you or do you wish to test your might against the feral Strigoi vampire in the corner? You have free reign for your post though if you do fight then put it at the end like the others so I can get everything ready for the next update.

Radu: With a wave of his hand Mordred proclaims all but you are to leave his presence and you can’t help but watch the dark magic seep from the gaps in Mordred’s armour as his moves his hand in casual dismissal. While you ask the ancient vampire lord infront of you why it is that Khalidel is so hateful he does not answer you straight away as his crimson eyes remain fixed upon the grey mountains to the east where the Dwarven thane Ragnar Ironhand makes his home. Finally after what seems an age Mordred blinks and all that rage radiating from his is no longer projected outwards but disappears deep within him to fuel him for the crusade yet to come. Moving with graceful steps full of purpose Mordred deftly assails the steps to stand on equal level with you before he fully turns all of his impressive awe and dread inspiring form to focus on you, while his armour is magnificent and the blade at his waist legendary it is his face that holds all of your attention as he raises his right hand towards you.

With surprising gentleness Mordred’s armoured claw like fingers clasp your chin and tilt your head back so you are looking him squarely in his ancient blood red eyes so filled with wisdom and rage beyond any mortal could ever hope to achieve and only now, when you are staring into perhaps the most handsome face you will ever see, does he finally speak with his voice being deep, gentle, commanding and terrifying all at once. “Khalidel hates that I praise one not of my blood line above him, he hates that you have been allowed into my inner circle when you are clearly an outside. He hates me for turning him into a monster as punishment for trying to steal my blade so very long ago but mortal years.” While you knew that Khalidel tried to steal something from Mordred you never knew that it was Mordred’s blade that he tried to steal and wonder why it was that Mordred didn’t just kill him? Perhaps you should ask the Lord of Undeath why he turned Khalidel but before you have the chance Mordred’s eyes surprisingly soften as he looks at you and once again you hear him speak.

“If only it was I who found you when you were still human you would of made a fine addition to my family but alas all those years ago I was training Tyreal in the ways of the blade and now he has become little more than a blood crazed manic fit only to throw into battle after battle, If only Medea had sent for me when she had found you.” Mordred then lets go of your chin before he steps back and turns to look out towards the grey mountains once again this time his eyes aren’t filled with rage but instead of something perhaps even more deadly, purpose. Now you have time to ask Mordred what ever it is you wish to know, perhaps you can even find out how it is Mordred knows Medea as she never told you how the two of them met.

Sasha: Making your way into the great hall you see that it is mainly populated by Blood dragons and Von Carsteins save for a single Strigoi crouched in one of the corners and a Lahmian sat on the bench with no sight of the Lord Von Drakenblood or his Lady though sniffing the air you catch the scent of the Lady Von Drakenblood leading away from the great hall elsewhere in the castle though your not entirely sure which door she has gone through. Looking around the great hall again you quickly come to the assumption that the Lahmian vampiress might know where the lady of the castle has gone so you make your way over to her and ask her which way Elizabeth went. 

Upon receiving your answer to which way the castle’s lady went you bid the Lahmian farewell in a rather childish tone before heading off down the passageway that Elizabeth has supposedly gone down though judging by the scent of perfume in the corridor you are in then you are heading in the right direction. As you continue to wander down the passageways almost skipping out of boredom you come to a large set of black iron doors and manage to push one open before stepping through into a large oval shape room lined by arcane devices and in the center is a crying pool filled with blood. Standing over it and gazing into the crimson liquid is Elizabeth Von Drakenblood with his silver white hair tumbling down pasted her face so that it lightly touches the surface of the scrying pool dying the ends of her hair an odd pinkish colour. Looking around the room you see that her two hand maidens are currently lounging on the bed at the far end of the room and guess that this is Elizabeth’s personal chambers.

Walking over to the Lady of the castle she raises her left hand for you to stop before she looks up from the swirling pool of blood at you. “Ah my dear little Sasha, what is it that I can help you with this fine eerie evening?” You catch a slight hint of a motherly tone in Elizabeth’s voice directed at you and wonder if its because you look like a child or just because she speaks to everyone apart from her Husband in that manner. Well now you are meeting with her you have time to tell her what it is you wish to do and what exactly it is that you will need.

Alexander: You make your way through the dungeons and back up the stair case into the wider castle itself and end up walking into the courtyard that dominates the flat area behind the southern gate and look up into the sky to see that Morrslieb has eclipsed her more celestial sister Mannslieb so everything is bathed in a sickly green glow which truly makes you appear to be a monster to all those gathered yet there are no vampires gathered outside save for two vampires stood upon southern ramparts and look around some more you see in upon the distant eastern rampart is Lord Mordred stood along with another vampire, though even your partially insane mind knows not to approach Mordred unless invited you wonder what it is about the vampire lord that makes him so great.

Stalking around on all fours you make your way up the steps and onto the wall of the southern rampart and regard the two other vampires with you both of them appear to have the scent of the Blood Dragon line and one of them looks like a monster in human form which after a few moments your mind pieces together two parts of information, the vampires appearance to the name Tyreal Von Drakenblood one of the youngest of the Von Drakenblood bloodline currently within the castle. Moving on all fours you make your way other to the two other vampires and see Tyreal turn to regard you with a feral grin of his face. “Oh look it appears that a dog has stumbled its way into out midst, perhaps I should show it to respect its master.” Tyreal then makes his way over to you and sends his armoured boots into the bottom of your jaw and snapping your head up to look at the sky, now clearly annoyed you push yourself from all fours to stand at your full height and stare down at Tyreal with your fangs showing. Do you fight the up-start blood dragon or do you simply ignore him and wander off again? This is entirely up to you.

Viktor: After approaching Mordred and asking how the ‘crusade’ will happen if none of the vampires in the castle can remain civil with each other he merely raises his hand and waves you and the other vampires away apart from the vampire named Radu who now you are close to him get the faint scent that you share the same blood line but different sires, it is most intriguing to see that while none of you really know each other some more of the Von Carstien line have come to join Mordred and you wonder if perhaps the ancient vampire lord knows the original ancestor of the line. But for now you have been dismissed so not even bothering to bow to Mordred you turn and make your way along the wall with Tyreal Von Drakenblood and another Blood Dragon to the southern rampart before you yourself turn away and head off back inside towards the great hall.

Heading back into the castle you aimlessly wander around the torch lit halls not really paying any attention to where you are going as long as it is in the general direction of the great hall where you know several other vampires are currently gathered. Walking in through one of the side entrances you look around the hall to see that Mordred’s black throne is vacant as the lord is outside, ten fledging vampires are currently at various stages of picking themselves up off the ground as Gaelen enters the room and heads towards two of them and proceeds to berate the both of them for failing while flooring them both again. It seems you must of missed something very interesting while you were in the library and out on the rampart though you guess it had something to do with that female Lahmian in the red dressed you walked off with Ulric earlier.

Having another quick glance around the room again you can see that Khalidel is infact here along with another Blood Dragon Knight and even another Lahmian Vampiress, perhaps you should join the three of them and introduce yourself while finding out what is going on? Entirely up to you what you decide to do in this update though if you decide to challenge anyone to a duel then do so at the end of your post so I can prepare everything for the next update.

Nuso: The other Lahmian explains that the fledglings were merely testing themselves against her because of their arrogance in thinking they could beat her for not being one of the oh so mighty Blood Dragon Line of Abhorash something which brings a slight fang filled smile to your pale lips. As one of Mordred’s sons enters the room and challenges Natasha to a duel to prove her skill against his you notice she simply declines and disappears off to inform Ulric, Hienrick and Gaelen about their sons failures not seemingly caring if you come along or not but your clock-work like mind quickly pieces together that upon hearing of their sons failure the three Lords of Undeath will make their way here to deal with their wayward children which will prove to be rather entertaining indeed so you decide to stay within the great hall for now.

Moving back over to the bench you sit down again and observe all those around you with mild interest again to see if Khalidel and the other Blood Dragon enter into a duel like Natasha suggested they do and as you watch them you start to think back on the events that led you to coming to Mordred’s castle. Before you can lose yourself too deeply in your memories your thoughts and brought back to the great hall and Gaelen enters and proceeds to teach both of his ‘sons’ a lesson by flooring them both while berating them thought you don’t see any of the legendry anger that comes with Mordred’s line that is so obvious in Tyreal or Ulric. As you continue to watch Gaelen teach his sons a lesson you wonder if you will ever find some worthy female humans to be your gets, perhaps you could ask Elizabeth what it is like to create more of your kind as you have yet to do such a thing. For now what you decide to do is up to you perhaps you could go into the library and see what books there are or go exploring throughout the castle? Do you stay and wait for the other Von Drakenblood lords to arrive or go in search of Elizabeth?


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## Malochai (May 27, 2012)

Markus had barely gotten the words out of his mouth, difficult as it was in his current form, when a vampire, one of Mordred’s gets from the look of him, stepped between them. The anger evident in the vampire’s eyes and voice as he spoke, "How dare you appear before our Lord in this form." It was in that second in which Markus realised he was right - he would have been better observing them from a distance. The fools didn’t even appreciate he was attempting to be polite to his new liege. He growled as Ulrich continued, low and threatening, "Come before my Lord again, unannounced and uninvited and it will be last thing you do, dog." With a burst of speed that the von Carstein hadn’t anticipated, Ulrich grasped the base of his wings, sending pain racing down Markus’ spine, and threw him from the ramparts. 

Markus roared, the sound exploding from his bestial mouth as he plummeted and another realisation hit him - _‘Ulrich; it must have been,’_. But that thought left his mind as soon as it entered, the wind whistling past his bat-like ears as the ground rushed up to meet him, and he thrust his wings out, the effort straining even his inhuman strength. He glided away from the wall, thoughts red with blood as he imagined the various ways he could take retribution on Mordred’s get. He roared again, pouring all of his hate into it, and circled back towards the northernmost tower of the keep, landing easily with the practiced grace of one who has perfected the movement through years of practice. Walking with the authority of a king, Markus moved to the rampart that overlooked the Eastern ramparts and gazed upon the distant gathering of the undead. As he observed, a vampiress appeared, looking radiant in a sanguine dress that shimmered in the twin moonlight of Mannslieb and Morrslieb. She spoke to the group, and some of Mordred’s gets moved off, leaving the others stood as they were in the shadow of their father-in-darkness. “They act like puppies, following him around like he’s their mother, and they are nothing but dogs bound to his will; with no name of their own,” he declared to no-one on particular, forcing the human words through his inhuman mouth, deciding to remark upon it when he next saw the uneducated brute who threw him from the ramparts - “This form is closer to what we are than how they present themselves, pretending to be humans with unnatural skills!”

With the anger temporarily abated, Markus smiled, expression which on his bat-like face would have drained the morale of any human, and turned away from the pandering pups on the ramparts. Movement to the south, above the forest, caught his eyes, and he instantly zeroed in on it, moving across the top of the tower which was taller by far than any of the trees. His eyesight, enhanced by his inhuman form and powers, picked out an eagle, huge compared to those that called his own lands home. It appeared to be scanning the ground, and he knew in that second it was hunting. His fangs, already large, extended even further, tearing ruts into his lips and causing rivulets of his blood to run down his chin, the tang of blood causing his own ‘hunger’ to roar inside, the beast within letting him know that it wanted out. He thought to the captives in von Drakenblood’s dungeons, pitiful creatures that had lost all will to resist, and even welcomed the sweet, painful release of death, as the peasant he’d drank from most recently had. That was not what he desired - he needed the thrill of the hunt, the chase, and the sweet tang of fear in his prey this time, even if it was only an animal. With that decided, he roared again, the sound much more natural in his malformed throat than human speech was. Reluctantly, he willed his form to change back to that of his human self, and his wings broke and bubbled, becoming arms once more. Quickly, the von Carstein removed the bulk of his armour, leaving it stacked neatly in a patch of dark shadows on the tower-top. Much lighter, unencumbered by the metal casing in which he waged war, he made the decision to leave his shield with the rest of his armour, but took his sword, buckling the belt on which it was sheathed back around his waist. 

Finally ready, he transformed again, but this time it was more complete than it was, thanks to the lack of armour - his body bulked out more, muscles becoming even more pronounced, and his feet became taloned, the sound of claws resounding in the still night air. His wings again grew to their huge six metre wingspan, and he spread them, outlining himself against Morrslieb. He then threw himself off the side of the tower, spreading his wings and gliding serenely over the rocky area that surrounded the fortress. His eyes, black as jet, glistened in the moonlight as he scanned the area beneath him for life.


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## HOGGLORD (Jan 25, 2012)

Ezekiel strode into the grand room, his eyes sweeping from the ten sprawled fledgelings, to the vampires standing to one side. In a moment, he had stepped up and bowed elegantly to the other vampires. "I am Ezekiel von Carstein, may I ask who is the swordsman is that overcame them?" He made a sweeping gesture towards the fledglings. "You see, I am something of a swordsman myself and would be greatly interested to exchange notes, or blows with a swordsman of this caliber."

He waited until he had recived his reply, thanked the vampire and turned to see none other than the infamous Gaelen von Drakenblood. He strode up to two fledgelings and, using both force and skill, overcame them with seeming ease.

Ezekiel realized his chance in a split second, sweeping towards the highly important vampire. "I am Ezekiel von Carstein," He began. "And you, of course, need no introduction." He prepared himself, wondering how best to convey the request he wished to make.
"Do you know," He began slowly "whether or not Mordred is accepting visitors at this time?" He asked, his voice smooth and casual.


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## Priad (Aug 14, 2008)

With a distasteful tension in the air, Mathias makes for the keep upon dismissal. He walks with a very agitated stride, and ponders on the disrespect he was given. His rage even boils over into a hateful show of fang. Calming himself, Mathias thinks about the wretched lord named Ulric, who confronted him. Ulric would have to be taught a lesson, but further more the other lords weren't very friendly either. Glancing at the night sky gave Mathias a wave of calmness, he felt the slight presence of his beloved. Just the thought of her gave him relief and blissful peace.

This peace was short lived, as Mathias was spoken to by a fellow Blood Dragon. Once he turn, Mathias recognized the lord as Tyreal. Tyreal seemed to be a bit unstable as he constantly was jittery. With a friendly smile, Tyreal said “So then brother of the line of Abhorash, how would a duel of skill be of your taste? You are clearly a fine swordsman yourself but I doubt you could best me or any of my brothers. So what say you?”. In response, Mathias said "Greetings brother, I'd rather not bloody my blade. Though, you seem like one who wouldn't let a decline be accept. So dear brother, I accept your duel and will show you just how worthy Mathias Blackjoy is".


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## p_folis (Dec 27, 2011)

As Modred dismisses all but himself and Radu, Viktor makes his way to the great hall were a gathering has occurred. Thinking, who is this Radu that holds so much favor? Viktor would have to get an audience with him at some point. 

As he walks into the Great Hall, he notices a large number of vamps, mostly fledglings of little concern. The one Viktor had been looking for was there. As he approached Khalidel he overheard the old von Carstein Ezekiel’s conversation. Viktor thought to himself in disgust, as Ezekiel kissed the ass of the Gaelen. Perhaps he was not the vampire Viktor thought him to be, he thought as he passed.

Viktor reached Khalidel, “Khalidel how are you tonight?” he said. “And who is this you are conversing with?” At that moment he noticed the two were sizing each other up as though they intended to fight. That is the problem with blood dragons Viktor thought to himself, they always need to test themselves and be dominant over others, which ultimately leads them to their doom. Viktor thought all this with a smile on his face as he waited for a reply.


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## Romero's Own (Apr 10, 2012)

The blow stung. His jaw, chin and neck were lanced with pain as his hgead was knocked back. Alexander cursed himself for not reacting faster. Anger welled inside him as he reared up to his full height where he towered over the youngest member of the Von Drakenblood bloodline. Alexander beared his fangs like a primal beast and had to fight back the urge for blood. But through an immense show of self control he managed to stop himself from charging at the vampire before him. His mind raced and from the mad thoughts rushing around Alexander somehow managed to form a plan. In a deep voice that growled with aggression Alexander spoke to the offending son of Lord Mordred. 
"A dog! You think off me as a dog. Could a dog rip your throat in an instance? So you see all of my bloodline as fog's. Mayhaps you wish to share that with my bloodbrother, Yakov. Pethaps as my 'master' you feel you could show both of us to 'show you respect'. Watch your back Tyreal Von Drakenblood, for in the heat of battle mistakes are made and lives are lost. And if you ever touch me again then i fear that time i will be unable to stop myself from killing you. No matter what your father thinks. In fact, i think he would celebrate in your passing you foul coward."
With that Alexander turned and set off away from the stunned vampire, a smile playing on his lips.


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## Malochai (May 27, 2012)

Markus scanned the ground beneath him as he flew, searching for signs of life as he headed towards the forest, where he actually intended to hunt. Straining his wings, the von Carstein raised until he was higher than any of the towers of von Drakenblood’s castle, and then brought them to his side, diving, the euphoric thrill rippling through his inhuman features. 

He spread his wings not far from the ground, the membrane filling with air as he regained altitude. The freedom of being out of the confines of stone walls and wooden doors was calming, the brisk, fresh night air pleasant against his skin. Once again at a height which enabled him to see for miles in every direction, he scanned the ground and saw two deer, presumably a doe and her fawn, grazing on bracken on the edge of the dense woodland. He also saw the stealthy movements of a pack of wolves, a dozen of them or so, surrounding them. One especially caught his eye, a huge black brute that stood higher then the others. _‘That one’s mine,’_ he thought, fangs extending even further at the thought of it. None of the others were worth his time. He looked about, once more before he planned on diving, and the night-sky vista above him caused him to catch the breath he, in all reality, didn't need to draw in the first place.

The silvery-green light of Morrslieb refracted from the dense cloudscape above and caused a stunning scene, like the roiling waves of the Great Ocean that lapped at the shores of the Old World. The darkness at the centre of each cloud, which the light of Morr’s Beloved could not pierce, seemed to absorb the light around it, and the natural beauty hit Markus like a dwarf’s hammer. Thrice before had he seen a night sky as stunning as the one he gazed upon now - the night he’d left Altdorf, and first set foot upon the road of independence from his father, albeit with some of the family’s money, the night he’d been turned and the time, three nights later, when he’d murdered his father-in-darkness. His mind was drawn back to the second of the three, subconsciously beating his wings as his eyes, akin to lumps of coal, glazed over and become dull and cloudy. 

_Sylvania, fifteen miles from Drakenhof, which lingered on the horizon, illuminated from behind by flashes of intense lightning, white tears in the night-sky, which roiled like an angry sea, and the rain sheeted down, drenching any stupid enough to be caught outside in seconds. Markus had ducked into the inn two hours earlier, as night fell, and now sat by a grimy window, staring out of it, and his corner was lit by a candle stub. He sighed as the barkeep bought over his broth and mead, knowing he was nearly out of his father’s money. He ate and drank, and then retired to his room, yet the lightning which flashed through his temporary quarters imprinted themselves on his eyes, and seemed unbearably painful in the otherwise deep dark. He found himself downstairs again, and in the corner he’d occupied earlier, a stranger, alone in the crowded inn, now sat, in much the same position he had himself sat. Without knowing why, Markus found himself walking over to the stranger, and introducing himself. And then a strong, grasping hand found his throat._ “You do not talk to me,” _a gruff voice growled, and Markus’ first instinct was to lash out. The next few minutes were a blur of fists, and then he found himself thrown out into the mire of mud and filth that the town called a road, with his assailant, and the orders of the innkeep that neither were to come back until they’d sorted it out. 

They punched and kicked each other, but with each blow Markus’ arms became numb and his punches less powerful, but his adversary wasn’t tiring; indeed, he seemed to be growing_ stronger, _despite the numbing rain. Eventually, Markus was on his knees, arms bruised and useless by his side, a rose-shaped bloom of purple blossoming on his cheek in the dark. His opponent stood above him, stood with his back to the light so his front was cast into shadows of the deepest black._ “You shouldn’t have fought back. It would have been much easier,”_ the voice informed him, and Markus replied that no son of Wolfgang von Heimlich stood down from a challenge like that. A fist burst out of the shadows and connected with his face; accompanied by a sickening crack. Markus gasped, and then spat a gobbet of blood into the mire he knelt in. No matter how many times he was punched, the merchants son refused to apologise, and kept on spitting blood until he became light-headed. The last he remembered was falling face-down into the muck, feeling the squelching slough soften the blow, and powerful hands underneath his shoulders holding him up and the blurred sky shone through unfocussed eyes. Then all was black._

Markus was dragged back into reality when the howl of a wolf, piercing and shrill, tore through his very soul. He looked back down to the space where the doe and fawn had been nibbling jade grass, only to find a scene of carnage - the wolves had torn them to shreds and fed, and then abandoned the bodies to carrion. A growl ripped through his throat; that alpha male would be his, but he had a feeling something else, far more important, would happen that night.


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## Captain Stillios (Mar 8, 2009)

Khalidel chuckled quietly at Natasha's reply and bowed slightly as she passed, turning back he sized up the knight across the room while out of the corner of his eye he watched Galean against the mock _Sons of Mordred_. The very sight of another of Mordreds dread sons filled Khalidel with anger but he ruthlessly suppressed it as he heard someone behind him, He looked over his shoulder slightly to hear.
“Khalidel how are you tonight?” he said. “And who is this you are conversing with?” 
"Ah, Viktor" Khalidel remembered the name as he had watched Viktor arrive at the keep but knew little else about the vampire however the look on Viktors face suggested that perhaps he had been looking for Khalidel. "I am well if a bit restless, the crusade is about to start and I am already itching"

He turned back to the knight. "Perhaps, as a fellow Blood Dragon, you could help me with that sir knight?" Khalidel drew his sword and lazily looped it in circles around him. "But first I would ask your name?"

(Damn computer died on me yesterday so soz for the short post)


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## High_Seraph (Aug 28, 2009)

Listening to her explanation of teaching the young fledgelings about testing themselves against her because they shared the bloodline of Abhorash while she did not brought a slight smile to Nuso's face revealing a fang filled mouth lined by pale lips. Watching as she leaves to inform the fledgelings sires about their arrogance Nuso remained behind silently declining the invitation though by the others non reaction she could hardly care less whether Nuso followed or not. *Sorry cousin but seeing what happens here is slightly more interesting than talking to you and your sire as this has the potential to allow me the opportunity to see these True Sons of Mordred in a time of anger before battle as they deal with their wayward children. Also it could turn into something in which I might be able to turn into advantages for myself depending on what happens in the next few hours of darkness.* Nuso thinks to herself before curtsying to the two Blood Dragons on the dais and returning to her stone seat she had vacated moments before.

Sitting down Nuso looks again at Khalidel and the other Blood Dragon wondering if they are going to enter into a duel as the Lahmian suggested before she departed. Though the thought of watching yet another fight bores her more completely than an evening with nothing to do Nuso sits patiently waiting for the rest of these "sons of Mordred" to show up. *Though with their arrogance I wonder what punishment those who sired them will mete out upon them. Nothing to harsh I should think as the crusade will commence shortly if I am not mistaken. I certainly hope my first get would not be as stupid as any of those ten.* Nuso thinks to herself while a look of mild interest spreads across her face at the thoughts, *Though coming here may have been a mistake. Not like I had much choice what with all the trouble that happened in Parravin. Those bastard humans nearly found out I was a vampire. Thankfully that noble's son was infatuated with me enough to spirit me away from the hunters. Though his reward wasn't exactly what he wanted.*

Refocusing her eyes back to what is happening in the room before her Nuso sees another of Mordred's Sons Gaelen berates his gets before flooring them quickly. Though he attacked his gets Nuso couldn't see any trace of the anger inherit in his bloodline unlike his "brothers". Though watching him move does bring a slight smile to Nuso's pale lips. *Though he is a bit beastly for my tastes but it's not like there is much choice here. Though I do wonder if it is time to search for a suitable get of my own? It has been a long time since I have had the pleasure of Lahmian company. Though how would one find a suitable candidate here? Maybe I could ask Elizabeth about that? Maybe that Lahmian Natasha will be there two. Well time to stop gazing around.* Finishing her thoughts Nuso stands up and walks towards the hallway Elizabeth disappeared down smiling and waving slightly at Gaelen light footfalls barely echoing on the stone.


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## Midge913 (Oct 21, 2010)

Though he tried to get a handle on his seething anger, his hatred, his disappointment, Ulrich found it difficult to concentrate on the task at hand. He knew that his sons must meet punishment. He knew that he would have to deal with their insubordination, but he found the task tiring. He did not want to deal with his sons, their arrogance reminding him forcibily of Gaelan, someone who truly wished to push from his mind. Dwelling on the tension with his hated brother did nothing to help calm his frayed nerves or boiling anger. He stopped, standing in the center of the lavishly appointed hallway that led to the Great Hall, arms rigid at his sides, his armored fists clenching tight enought that he heard the steel squeal and creak under the strain. It was too much, he wanted to howl at the dread moon Moorsleib, scream out his rage to the world. To vent it into the air where he would no longer have to feel it, though he knew that that release would never come. He would never be free of the anger that gripped his undead heart, the blistering rage that consumed the dark center of his blackened soul. His eyes pinched shut, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he wrestled with his daemons, fought the monster within that threatened to overwhelm him. 

As his eyes slowly opened, his breathing calmed, it was obvious that this time, he had won out over the berzerk fury that swam within him. This time he had won the battle, but the war was ongoing, an ever present struggle to maintain himself. A never ending trial against the frenzied madness the dwelt within him. Ponderously, he lifted a foot, shuffling to get himself moving, his limbs felt infused with lead. Each step forward, each small movement brought him futher under his own control, the engulfing darkness at the corners of his vision slowly receeding with every inch he covered. For the time being, he was himself. For the time being, he had not fallen into the grips of the fury that consumed his brother Tyreal. 

As he moved onward, his pace measured, his movements deliberate, he took in the hallway around him, focusing on the reality of the items displayed on plinths, hanging on walls, and resting in elegant cases. All trophies, all items that held memories of his father's conquests, all things that spoke to the untarnished glory of the Von Drakenblood house. These pieces soothed Ulrich, centered him in a place that felt comfortable, reminded him of his purpose, his position as Mordred's right hand, the callous blade wielded by the master tactician. A flickering of the torches, a moment of shadow, caught his attention. The whisp of a scent, the soft scrape of an armored boot on the thick carpet at his feet the only signs that someone was with him. Ulrich smiled, his body relaxed, the tension held in his sword arm vanishing faster than it had gathered. 

He followed the line of the silver guantleted arm that rested on his shoulder and took in the etheral visage of his brother. Heinrick stood, stillness embodied, his crimson eyes boring a hole into Ulrich's mind. A sense that his favorite brother knew what troubled him, caused Ulrich to shake his head, a small fluttering smile twitching at the corners of his mouth as he stood unsurprised by that fact. Heinrick knew him better than anyone, more than likely more than Ulrich understood himself. “You should not blame them for wishing to test their skills against Natasha, Brother. Arrogance is often the undoing of the would-be victor," Heinricks steady baritone voice, soothing to Ulrich's ears, washed over him. Though his brother spoke, Ulrich could not help but get the feeling that the words were someone elses. The ring of his father's wisdom danced within the crisp syllabels of Heinrick's statment, a nugget of truth about not only the circumstance that the statment addressed, but buried within the words a sense of the man who first spoke them. An easy silence, a moment of communion with the other, hung between them, before Heinrick turned, moving toward the Great Hall, beckoning Ulrich to follow, "Walk with me for awhile brother, I get the feeling you wish to talk about the things that have happened, especially with our father."

His gaze ahead, Ulrich walked at Heinrick's side for some time before speaking. Finally, the issue at the very front of his mind, the one that weighed on his thoughts demanded to be discussed. "It does not sit well with me that they have defied my wishes, brother," Ulrich began, returning to the statement Heinrick had made aout his gets. "Regardless of their intent, they should know their place and keep to it. You see what arrogance has wrought in our dear brother Gaelan." The spark of anger that flared at his brother's name, caused Ulrich to wince, he must learn to control that anger. He must learn to suppress the reaction that inevitably followed discussion of his brother. 

"That is true brother yet you need to remember when you and Gaelen were that young you were rash and believed you knew best," Heinrick said in counter-point. Ulrich wished he could deny it. He wished he could snap out at Heinrick, assert that he was mistaken, but he knew better. There had once been a time that Ulrich had not acted much different than the gets he know went to chastise. 

Sighing, pinching the bridge of his nose with an armored hand, Ulrich relented the point, "I suppose, there is truth in that. What would he have me do, let this incident go with out notice? Should I turn away, the defeat at Natasha's hand serving as punishment enough?" He left the question hang, his desire for advice evident despite the fact that his pride would not let him ask for it directly. 

"They are your sons, Brother," Heinrick said with a shrug, "It is your choice in how you deal with them, but I would suggest you deal with them. Our brother Gaelen will no doubt take the physical route to punish them." As he spoke, Heinrick stopped in mid-stride, and turned ot his left. Reaching out fondly, he re-adjust the picture of mother and father that hung there, straigtening the edge and brushing some of the fine dust from a top its frame.

"Of that I have no doubt Heinrick and he calls me the brute," Ulrich scoffed. "Perhaps their ordeal is punishment enough. Despite the fact that I respect Natasha's skill, they must be brooding that not only were they beaten by a Lahmain, they could not best her even when they stacked the odds in their favor."A poorly concealed smile and a flash of pride flashed across Ulrich's brooding face. His pride in his sister's accomplishments, a strong contrast to the disappointment that welled at the thought of his own children's actions. 

As Hienrick finished adjusting the painting, he stepped back, admiration and adoration clear in his expression as he gazed upon the Lord and Lady Von Drakenblood, before he stepped back into stride with Ulrich and continued on down the hall. "You seem to forget who it was that trained that Lahmian, Ulric. Her skill with a blade surpasses even yours and Gaelens," he said, the non-challance in his voice a sudden irration to Ulrich.

"I do remember," Ulrich snapped, before quickly regainin his composure, "But it seems it was a fact that my children neglected to take into account."

"There are other things on your mind than just your children not knowing their limits," Heinrick probed, his gaze locked on the side of Ulrich's head, his own head cocked to the side, a searching, expectant expression dominating his aqualine features. 

"Am I that transparent?" Ulrich chuckled, the question rhetorical though he knew it was one that Heinrick, out of habit, would answer. 

"Are you getting forgetful in your old age brother? I have spent the over three hundred years by yourside so to me your every thought is etched on your face for the world to see."

Ulrich waved his hand with a resigned sigh, "You had known me less than a year before you could read me like a book. The passage of time has only served to prove you right time and time again."

Ulrich did not know where to begin. Discomfort, a feeling of dismay creeping into his mind. He did not know how to address his concerns without raising others. 

"Speak brother," Heinrick said, a quiet command, though one Ulrich knew he could refuse if he had desired to. "You know what is said between us always stays between us unless our father asks."

"I know. But I have asked him before, and I have received no answer." Ulrich paused, his mind weighed down by the question he was about to ask. "Why did he leave us behind Heinrick? Why would he endeavor to root the Dwarfs from their mountain with out the strength of his entire army behind him?"

"His pride," Heinrick said simply before continuing, "his arrogance and his bloodline. What you need to remember Ulric is that while our father is a great leader he is a son of Abhorash the Dark Father, first and foremost. He must always strive to prove himself and overcome the hunger." "It is why he did not take us along, dwarves are hardy opponents and even us vampires have trouble against their runed weapons and armour. Did you not see our fathers wounds when he returned? Do you really think we would of survived them? Though it does not seem like him he did not want to risk us against the dwarves."

"Who is to say we would have perished. Had we been by his side, had his sons been with him he may have proved victorious." Ulrich's frustration quickly boiling him up to anger "This crusade, this errand of vengence would have been unnecessary. We would not have needed these outsiders, these fawning wretches that have invaded our home. We would have gained the prizes that our father desired and without gaining allies that think of nothing save their own advancement."

Heinrick shook his head, exasperation at his younger brother's stubbornness clear, but as always he addressed Ulrich with patience. "You must also think of the consquences of all of us leaving this castle Ulric. If we had all gone and been defeated it would of taking longer to rebuild our strength for another attack and in that time the brettonians would of attacked and destroyed this castle. This castle must always remain protected so we have a home to return to."

Excuses, seemingly harmless needs that would have been addressed by others should Mordred had proceeded as he should have. "Pah, trivialities. If that is the case then who is to remain behind this time brother?"

"That will be for our father to decide when we leave. Though if I were to hazard a guess I will be the one to remain behind when you march to war." Heinrick said matter of factly, as if the choice had but one simple answer, an answer that he was comfortable with. 

A derisive grunt escaped Ulrich's lips before he could stop it. However once it was out he decided he would not have wished to stop his expression of disdain for the idea. "You should stand by his side. There are no others that are more worthy. Being the home guard does not suit you brother."

"In that you are wrong," Heinrick said in the air of one about to lecture a student in something that the pupil should already understand, " it suits me more than the rest of you. Would you trust Tyreal to put up a competant defense of this castle while gathering troops? You and Gaelen would disreguard our fathers orders and follow him, as for Khalidel our father would sooner trust this castle to an orc than to him."

Resignation flooded through him. He knew that Heinrick's logic was infallible. " Of course you are right. I apologize for allowing my anger to get the better of me. I would obey father in this, I would he stay in defense of the castle should he but ask. It may rankle me, put fire to the anger that boils in my belly, but I know my duty brother. Still, if you are elected to remain behind, I will miss you at my side."

Dismissing Ulrich's sentiment with a wave of his hand, Heinrick continued, "We will have to wait and see what our father decides. He has surprised us before in the past with some of his decisions. For all we know mother could be the one to stay behind but I doubt that she would stay behind after what happened against the dwarves."

Ulrich will raise an eyebrow in queston, "Mother has said nothing to me about desiring to accompany us."

"Do you really think she will leave father alone after the dwarves almost killed him? She will barely leave his side as it is even within this castle. You also need to consider the fact fathers magical prowess has diminished since his encounter with the dwarves rune priest so it will be mother than holds most of the dead together." The feeling of wrongess that he had experienced earlier, the feeling of dread that he was unaccostomed to began to creep in at the edges of his mind. A trepidation that caused him to test the draw of his blade in its scabbard. 

"That thought had not occured to me, to be honest," Ulrich admitted, "but He has been very closed to me since his return and I did not know that his abilities had been so diminished."

"Only his skills with the winds of magic have diminished," Heinrick corrected, "his skill with his blade remains the same better than all of us put together."

"I know full well his skill with a blade remains as good as it ever has been. Does anyone else know of this?" Ulrich suddenly concerned, "If this became common knowledge brother, things could become tense."

"Only you, myself, Mother and Father know of this so it is best it remains between us. But knowing our father with his current anger he will be taking his blade to more enemies then he will be with spells."

"I agree," Ulrich replied, concern evident in his voice, "I would not put it past many of the new comers to have eyes for things that are not theirs. Despite the fact that it would be unlikely that such a coup would succeed, father's plans would be disrupted dealing with it."

"I believe we can trust Radu Von Carstien as father seems to have taken a liking to him and he acts more like a son to him than Khalidel does."

"I leave such judgements to you Heinrick, I know almost nothing of Radu save the rumors that preceed him. But what you say about Khalidel is actually my chief concern. He would be stupid enough to turn against father if the right opportunity presents itself, if he was able to coax others to his cause, we would have a serious problem." The thought was almost more than he wanted to think on at the moment, but necessity forced his mind to consider the possibility. 

"That depends on who joins his cause," Heinrick said. "Myself, Natasha and Mother are a match for any 'warlock' they can gather while yourself, Gaelen and Tyreal will match any warrior in combat. But do you really think any one within this keep could best father with a blade? If Khalidel did betray our father then I would doubt anyone would wish to get between Khalidel and fathers blade."

"As I said, it is not the fear of a coup's success that worries me. But the loss of resources and time that it would cause. Perhaps it is just paranoia that grips my mind. There is something about our current path that does not sit right with me. I mean for the first time in centuires loathesome Strigoi walk the halls of the keep openly, Necrarchs practice their craft in the dungeons that have been our private realms for eons, Von Carstein's strut around as if this castle belonged to them and their clan. I am just on edge Heinrick.... anxious, as if we stand on the precipice and I know not if the next step will be for good or ill." His gaze shifted his brother, but Ulrich did not know whether he sought confirmation of his fears, or a statement that would waylay them. 

"If we were on a precipice im pretty sure you'd more then likely push Gaelen in to see how deep it is." It is a rare day indeed that Hienrick would joke. Heinrick's sudden jest, his humor rarely shown openly and only in private moments like this one, caught Ulrich off guard. Again the stone work halls rang out with the sound of Ulrich's barking laughter, " Your point is well taken brother." Clasping a hand to Heinrick's shoulder, "I will try not to brood on these things again."

"We must trust in our father's decision, Ulric. He did not get to his age through being careless he knows what he is doing, and should anything arise that might interfere with his plans then it is our duty as his sons to deal with it."

Ulrich will end with, "Aye brother, that it is, a duty that I would thouroughly enjoy should the occasion arise."

He passed into the Great Hall, taking in the scene that lay before him, before he raised his voice, its bass timbre carrying across the room, heavy with malice. "Caldecor, Gaudain, Melis, and Lancelot. I require you in my chambers immediately." Turning to Heinrick he mumbled, "We will continue this conversation later brother, I have matters to attend to."

He swept through the hall, barely stopping to register if his gets obeyed his commands, for he knew that they would, and continued on through the entrance hall up the stairs. His rooms awaited him, his private sanctuary, perhaps there he could decide the best manner to approach the myriad problems that required his attention.


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## BlackGuard (Sep 10, 2010)

Natasha's casual disregard and disengagment from the situtation irritated Klaus instantly. He had waged war for over a century and knew all too well what it was meant to be -- a postponing of a fight he now knew would one day come. She was intending for him to prove himself against other foes. He growled quietly, very quietly, as if this woman had any right to suspect his skills were anything less than absolute. Though his annoyance towards her vanished as he the Blood Dragon next to him attempted to make light of the situtation, as he spoke with another guest, this one named Viktor, before turning back to him.

He barley registered the other guest, this Viktor's, words as he sized upon the vampire that had just challenged him casually as if he were but another fledgling. His cold, dead eyes scanned the opponent up and down. Not in disgust or contempt, he'd long ago cast such capriicous noble sensations behind him in favor of pure anger and bitterness. These two twin emotions, one feeding off the other constantly as become his companions and had kept him defeat too many times to count. They now dueled within him as he looked at this fellow vampire -- named Khalidel. He had become instantly annoyed with him several minutes ago when he had blunderingly came forth to challenge Natasha as well. In that singular move he had embarassed both of them and elevated Natasha above them -- that two Blood Dragons were vying for her 'affection' in a certain sense had grated against his tattered and archiac sense of honor. 

He could feel his bitterness rising within him attempting to overcome his rage in a fail-safe type clash to stop him from trying to rip the other vampire's throat out. How dare this crestfallen fool stumble his way forward for his own agenda embarassing him in front of his new-found allies. He could not shake the need for blood which was also now slowly growing within him. His slowly barred his fangs at the other Blood Dragon.

He did speak but instead turned to face him calmly ... well as calmly as he could as his arms twitched ever so often with anticipation. 'Very well, Khalidel, I shall take up this challenge.' Even as he spoke his eyes flickered over to Gaelen as his instincts told him of the greater threat or, rather, challenge posed by this vampire. He grunted in dismay, he should have kept a little tighter reign over his anger and allowed his bitterness to keep it from boiling point long enough to challenge him. It was going to happen now, he had accepted the challenge. He raised both Bloodmourne and the Bulwark of Terror and prepared for the inevitable clash that would follow.


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## Santaire (Feb 13, 2011)

I sent a boot in Felix’s jaw and there was a satisfying crunch of bone cracking as his head was lifted and then slammed against the floor. Dietrich snarled up at me but rolled away, rose and stormed off to brood in another corner of the castle. I let him go, knowing that he needed the punishment, as I had needed it when Mordred first turned me.

Ulrich’s gets had fled the chamber earlier while Felix and Dietrich still lay on the floor, trembling with terror at my swords at their throats.

They were his to punish, even if their colossal arrogance had me wanting to behead them. Heinrich’s also fled. I heard Ulrich booming that his were to go to his chambers immediately. His bestial tones had me frustrated. He was an animal. But even so, I found it easier to tolerate him than the bestial Strigoi that infested the castle like rats. This fortress had held host to my bloodline for centuries and now animals like the Strigoi could be found in every dark corner. And in this castle that held host to the Lords of Undeath there were an awful lot of dark corners.

I looked up from my contemplation to see another of Elizabeth’s handmaidens smile faintly in my direction. She was beautiful... Gah, what am I saying. Every Lahmian is beautiful. But this one was truly something. Long auburn hair falling in a cascade to the middle of her back, deep hazel eyes and a slight, small stature. Appeared weak and helpless. I was not so foolish. Such a physically weak vampire would have powerful talismans, maybe even magic at her disposal. But still, a true beauty if I ever saw one.

As she left the Great Hall with a slight wave in my direction and a smile, her light footfalls seemed to echo in my mind. 

I tore my gaze away and back to Khalidel and the Bretonnian Knight, Klaus. Khalidel it seemed had shown his desire to be viewed as the equal of Vampires such as myself, Heinrich, Ulrich, hell even Tyreal was more of a son to Mordred than Khalidel would ever be. I had watched Tyreal turn from a fine, cultured swordsman into the animal he now was. I had liked the swordsman, the animal I regarded with scorn but not hatred simply because I had liked the swordsman. Maybe that was why I hated Ulrich so. I had never known him before the animal. Had I known the man maybe I wouldn’t have hated him so much then...

Of course, being Khalidel, he had done it by shaming Klaus and I watched as the bitterness and anger of the fallen Bretonnian brimmed over and he accepted the challenge of Khalidel. He then glanced in my direction, as if sensing that I would be a better challenge. Maybe I would. Then I was certain. Now I am not so sure. Khalidel was a well trained swordsman, if over eager when he thought he was winning. But then, which of us wasn’t at that age?

Then a revolting smell hit me like a battering ram. I turned, faster than a striking snake and my hand reached up to the hilt of Blood Gold as I saw the Strigoi in the Hall. Anger rose in my soul. How dare this animal squat and defecate over my father’s hall?

I approached it, my stride sure and certain.

“Leave this hall Yakov,” I said, recognizing the beast for a Strigoi Oldblood that Tyreal had recently kicked down a flight of stairs. “Or I will make you leave...”


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## khrone forever (Dec 13, 2010)

Yakov crouched in the corner of the great hall, while absent mindedly chowing on an old bone he had picked up on his travels around the castle. Watching the other vampires square up to each other and issue duels, with mild interest. 

He payed special interest to Natasha and Khalidel, this promised to be an extremely interesting fight. The lith and subtle Lamian against the more matial and proud Blood Dragon. He awaited the victor with trepidation, as it would show really how good both the differing bloodlines where. 

Suddenly he was aware of someone approaching him, he looked up to see Gaelan Von Drakenblood bearing down on him, fury on his face. Sighing Yakov got to his feet as Gaelan got closer and steped forwar to meet him, attempting to diffuse the anger that was plain to see on Gaelan's countenance, as he had no great quarrel with him and did not want to anger his father. 

“Leave this hall Yakov, Or I will make you leave...”

Yakov considered trying to reason with the little fool, but decided that he had as much right to be hear as any other of his fellows here.

"Is that right, little Gaelan ? You , you upstart little brat think that you can force me to leave this hall? You have the audacity to ask me to leave these halls in which I am a guest of your farther. No, i dont think i will leave, and you can try as you might to move me"

All the while throught this rant Yakov was drawing himself up to his full hight, rolling his muscles and extending his wings. And begun to draw the meager magical power he could control ready to imbue his form with the magic of the beats.


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## Santaire (Feb 13, 2011)

"You call me an upstart Yakov. You, a Strigoi Oldblood. Normally I have respect for those older than me and more experienced but with you whatever respect I had for you vanished when my younger brother Tyreal kicked you into the dungeons with only the slightest effort." I said very calmly, not feeling the slightest bit intimidated as Yakov drew himself up in an attempt to loom over me. "If you were so powerful as to call me a brat then you would have caught his kick before it landed, snapped the bone before hurling him down the stairs. You did not. You took a single kick to the chest that threw you backwards through a doorway to thump down the stairs."

I reached up for Blood Gold's hilt and drew the sword, reaching up with my left hand and drawing my other blade at the same time. I dragged the blades against each other, the screech of metal on metal echoing in the hall. "Do you truly wish to fight me Yakov? You may be an Oldblood but I am a Blood Dragon and you are a Strigoi. Your once great bloodline sacrificed all greatness when it became the animal. The runt of the Vampiric litter. Your kind are nothing more than animals now. You sacrificed all nobility. You are hardly worth the time needed to teach you a lesson. As for being a guest of my father I do not remember him inviting you to join him, you came of your own accord because you lust for power and the only way you can think of having it is to fight in my father's shadow. That makes you the upstart Yakov, the creature trying to make himself look greater by walking in the shadow of those superior to him in every way. It is the same with all your kind. You lust for power but cannot gain it on your own, therefore you hide in the shadow of truly great vampires such as my father. People call my bloodline the most arrogant but it is truly yours. Your kind think themselves great and yet they hide in graveyards and make courts of Ghouls, pathetic flesh eaters."

"How can you call me a little brat? You are a fool as I have come to expect from Strigoi. Though I expected more from an Oldblood of that bloodline I must confess. At least the Necrarchs have some form of power. Your kind are merely a shadow of my own Bloodline, vampires who act like us, talk like us and behave like us but will never match our skill."

I stepped backwards and dropped into a fighting stance.

"Though if you truly wish to learn why Mordred turned me then fight."


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## dark angel (Jun 11, 2008)

A northern, icy-cold wind ruffled his hair, caressing and tossing the long, dark ringlets. Mordred was a living force, a myriad of colours leaking from the joints of his armour - Turning the air greasy shades of green, red and brown. Radu’s lips rolled back over sharpened incisors; a distasteful, unappreciative purr filling the air for a moment. 

‘Magic,’ He noted, his voice whisper-soft, though nonetheless filled with venom. ‘Of course. Magic follows our kind like a shadow.’

With a series of clattering footsteps, Mordred’s impressive form was standing atop the rampart, armour shining a baleful green in Morrslieb’s diseased glare. Radu leaned forwards, clenching the ancient stone in his clawed fingertips, scanning the distant mountains. Ragnar Ironhand, the Dwarven thane who had beaten back Mordred’s undead army, inhabited them; in his nigh-on unbreakable fortresses, those which could break armies like the coast broke the tide. Radu shook his head, shrugged apoplectically, and turned his attentions back to von Drakenblood.

He was shockingly handsome - His features sculpted; as if from ice, his skin pale and smooth, his hair long and silken. His eyes, deep, unreflective scarlet seemed to eat at the soul - And behind them, Radu knew that Mordred’s mind was a tempest of emotions - Of rage, of unbridled wisdom, of remarkable intelligence. Radu’s gauntlet extended between the two, fingers closing on Radu’s chin, gently tilting it upwards. Radu was tall - An impressive figure, at anyone’s admission - But Mordred was taller. 

When he indulged Radu on the origins of Khalidel’s hate, Radu was enthralled by him. Despite the subject of the conversation, Mordred’s voice was honey-sweet, filling Radu’s ears humbly. When he was finished, there was a moment of peace, as von Drakenblood relinquished his grip on Radu’s chin, gaze wandering back over the mountains. The rage within Mordred’s eyes subsided, fading into a grim determination.

Radu regarded his lord whimsically. He was a beacon of life, despite his state of undeath. Radu shuddered subconsciously; his armour making the faintest of rattles as he did so. Mordred was a miasma, to an extent that Radu became perplexed if he studied his new-found master too much.

‘Thank you.’ Radu said, giving the slightest of nods with his handsome head. ‘I have questions, but they are not pressing - I needn’t the answers, yet. I think I shall attend the great hall, care to walk with me?’


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## revan4559 (Aug 9, 2010)

Markus: As you land infront of the alpha wolf it turns its gaze to regard you as the entire pack starts to snarl and growl towards you while baring their fangs. In kindness you reveal your fangs to them aswell with a challenging snarl and when you do all of the wolves start to whimper as their tails curl down between their legs and they lower their heads to the ground obviously recognizing the greater predator and something then flashes through your hunger filled mind: The Von Carstien Bloodline has always had a kinship with wolf-kind. Stalking closer to the alpha male you see that of the entire pack it is the only one not submitting to you and its fangs are still bared as it lets loose a throaty growl and launches itself at you with its jaws spanning at your throat. (I shall leave it to you do describe the fight as you wish and once your done see the second part of your update below)

As you feast upon the blood of the alpha male the other wolves keep their distance as they finish off what is left of their own meal and once you yourself are finished you stand up at your full height and let out a roar into the night sky. Now you have sated your hunger your senses are sharper and you pick out an odd whistling noise coming closer and turning towards its source an iron arrow buries itself into the lower right side of your chest where it finally stops once the haft is a full half way inside of you. Grunting in annoyance you see a group of wood elves coming silently through the tree’s towards you loosing arrows at the wolves as they get closer and taking into the air you see that behind them is an even greater war-host clearly headed towards the castle. You have just enough time to flee from where you are as the elven army approaches, it is up to you to return to the castle and warn the others of the approaching force. I would suggest crashing through one of the windows in the great hall and bellowing that enemies approach but how you warn the others is up to you.

Maithas: Tyreal smiles at you when you accept his offer but then as a Strigoi vampire appears upon the ramparts he shifts his attention towards it before kicking it in the chin which then provokes the Strigoi to start insulting Tyreal which in your mind would be a very bad thing to do. Before you are able to do or say anything Tyreal charges forward and jumps upon the back of the Strigoi and starts to pummel it with his fists before getting knocked onto his back as the Strigoi vampire rites itself and draws its own blades as Tyreal draws his. You stand there and watch the two vampires exchange a flurry of blows with Tyreal gaining a slight upper hand against Alexander and you can’t help but smile at the skill of Tyreal even though he is fueled by nothing but rage though if the Strigoi is able to keep up with a vampire like him then he must have some skill aswell, then again the Blood Dragon line has hunted Strigoi line for centuries in order to test their skills against them. As you continue to watch the fight you realize that it is entirely possible that these two could kill each other which either way could upset the already annoyed Lord Mordred, so you now have the choice of stepping in to try and break up the fight which could result in them both turning on you or sprinting into the great hall to find one of Tyreal’s older brothers to come and stop him, however there is the third option of going to the Lord Von Drakenblood who as you can see is still stood upon the eastern Rampart. The choice of what you do is up to you; also feel free to include some thoughts on what Maithas thinks of the Strigoi bloodline.

Yakov: As Gaelen moves back into a fighting stance with both of his blades drawn from behind him appears Hienrick Von Drakenblood who then proceeds to tell his brother than fighting now on the eve of war would not be worth it in order to remove an old-blood from the great hall. After he is done speaking with his brother Hienrick steps forward to stand between you and Gaelen and looks over you with calculating cold eyes as if picking out all the weak points in your armour with but a single glance before he finally decides to speak. “While my little brother let his anger get the best of him, it does not excuse you in slightest of provoking him into a battle Old-One. You must remember that you are a guest within these walls and my Father will not tolerate in-fighting that has kept our bloodlines from uniting as one and destroying the living since the time of Nagash. Now Old-One I will ask that you ignore my brothers insults and that you also do not insult him as an insult against my brother is an insult against Myself and my entire family something which none of us will allow. Out of respect for being one of the oldest vampires in this castle I shall allow you this one chance in hope that you will learn not to so readily insult my brothers.” With that Hienrick turns away from you and heads off towards his gets leaving you alone with Gaelen to think on what Hienrick has said. Going to leave you the choice of what you wish to do but I would like to see some thoughts on what Hienrick has said from Yakov’s point of view.

Ezekiel: Gaelen Von Drakenblood seemingly ignores you before he turns his attention to an old-blood Strigoi that has entered the room, this disregard of proper etiquette makes your back stiffen in annoyance before you look around the room once more as you see that now both Hienrick and Ulric Von Drakenblood have entered the room aswell though it appears Hienrick has gone off to talk with Gaelen and Yakov leaving the only other Von Drakenblood you could talk to being Ulric who is already heading for one of the other doors. Quickly making your way over to him you decide to introduce yourself to him which stops him in his tracks meaning he has to turn and face you giving you the perfect opportunity to ask whether or not the Lord Von Drakenblood is taking any guests at the moment but judging by Ulric’s facial expression it would be wise to engage him in a short conversation between asking him if you could gain a meeting with his ‘father’ Mordred. I would suggest that you work out a conversation with Midge through pm’s before uploading your post.

Ulric: Before you are able to leave the great hall an old-blood vampire comes up to you and introduces himself as Ezekiel Von Carstien which stops you in your tracks as your anger bristles along your spine before you calm yourself enough to be able to talk to this vampire without lashing out like you have done to others so far. Turning to face him you can see that he is clearly shorter than you but while he may be an old-blood he seems to be relatively close to you in age judging by the way he acts and the presence you get when standing next to him. As you look over Ezekiel you see that he is wearing a rather extravagant purple robe with his sword buckled to his waist which meant if it came to a fight at this exact point in time then you would clearly win, perhaps you should suggest to him about going to armour himself as it is likely that the blood crusade will start as soon as Mordred decides that enough of the undead and vampires have gathered and that your Father will not wait for those still gathering up their Wargear. Going to give you pretty much free reign in what you do in this update, also feel free to go and deal with your Gets in your chambers, so if you need to ‘talk’ with them we will work it out over msn.

Natasha: OOC: See previous update.

Gaelan: As you drop into a fighting stance you feel someone place their hand upon your shoulder and in irritate you almost strike out at them but as you turn your head you see a claw like silver gauntlet and your gaze follows it until your blood red eyes settle upon those of your eldest brother, Hienrick Von Drakenblood and as you stare into those chilling red eyes of his something seems to calm you as a voice echo’s out from beneath the scarf that covers the majority of his features. “Peace, little brother. Now is not the time to test your skills against an old-blood such as Yakov and you let your anger get the better of you. Refocus and calm yourself Gaelen or will you let your anger boil to the surface and become like Ulric and Tyreal?” Hienrick removes his hand from your shoulder and shakes his head ignoring any kind of protest you might try to make about the Strigoi not belonging here. “Remember this my brother, our father called all willing vampires to join in this crusade it is not up to you to decide who is can not enter these halls, and it is not down to you to punish those that should not be. Both of those are fathers choices alone, now put away your swords before I put them away for you.” Something has changed Hienrick’s manner since you saw him upon the wall and his usual calm cold detached logical self has finally started to show some of the Von Drakenblood anger though you guess it is only to reinforce his threat as he steps passed you and stands before Yakov. What you do now is up to you but should you wish to talked to Hienrick then you merely need but ask.

Radu: Mordred’s gaze remains focused on the mountains for a moment longer before he turns his attention back to you and starts to make his way towards the great hall with you and with each movement more of the shadow like smoke leaks from the joints in his armour and near it you feel slightly sluggish in his presence, perhaps this is part of the enchantments worked into his armour over the many centuries that Mordred has walked this world in his deathly state. “Speak your questions now, Young One, as in this coming war I foresee there will be little time to speak in private save for a few brief moments after each battle that will come.” Now you have time to ask Mordred all the questions you wish to ask of him as you make your way towards the great hall with this paragon of Undeath and Strength. While you walk with Mordred you hear the clatter of blade upon blade and see that Tyreal Von Drakenblood has engaged a Strigoi vampire in a duel and appears to have the upper hand, looking to the mighty vampire lord to your left you see he is completely disinterested in his ‘sons’ actions obviously knowing that this is what Tyreal does to pass the time. Perhaps one day you could test your strength against Tyreal or one of his brothers or dare you even perhaps ask Mordred himself to tutor you in the skills with a blade as he has atleast four centuries worth of experience on you and will know things that you will not.

Sasha: OOC: See Previous post as you need to reply to that.

Alexander: As you turn away you barely take three steps before Tyreal Von Drakenblood comes barreling into your back and knocking you flat to the ground as a hailstorm of mailed fists smash repeatedly into the back of your skull before you manage to shift your weight and thrown the younger vampire off of your back and onto the rampart with a clatter of armour on stone. Pushing yourself up back onto your feet you turn around to see that Tyreal is already back on his feet and charging full sprint at you with his swords and shield drawn and the white’s of his eyes have become almost completely red due to his blood-shot blood vessels. You manage to draw your blades just in time as Tyreal then unleashes a furious assault of blade strikes upon you with his blood red coloured blade that seems to shimmer in the eerie green light of Morrslieb. Tyreal launches nine sweeping blade strikes towards you with such speed you barely have time to block or dodge any of them yet somehow you manage to parry five of them away with your own blades before four of them connect with your armour. Two of the blade strikes screech harmlessly against your helmet and chestplate but two manage to find their mark and cut open your shoulder armour leaving two bloody gashes leading from your left shoulder towards the center of your chest. (Tyreal did 2 wounds to you, you have 3 left) but now if is your time to defend yourself and retaliate against this up-start vampire. (How you roleplay the following is up to you: You have 9 attacks, 6 hit, 2 wound, Tyreal saves 1 ward save. Total Result: Tyreal takes 1 unsaved wound. Tyreal: 4/5 Wounds left.)

Viktor: You take a few steps back as Klaus and Khalidel engage in their duel which you watch with great interest as the younger blood dragons seems to be roughly equal to the older blood dragon, something which you should remember for a later time should you end up having to duel with either of them. As you watch the fight you look around the great hall briefly to see that three other of Mordred’s gets have entered: Hienrick, Ulric and Gaelen Von Drakenblood. Each one of these vampires is a paragon of might and strength judging them their outwards appearance with Hienrick walking with the grace of someone who has spent his entire life wielding a blade, Ulric who has monstrous proportions that match his equally monstrous bat-like wings, and Gaelen who appears he could outrun a bolt loosed from a crossbow even while wearing that heavy armour of his. There only two blood dragon Von Drakenblood’s not in the great hall are the Lord Von Drakenblood himself and Tyreal who obviously has something more interesting to fight else wear. Now that Hienrick has moved over to his own gets you have a chance to talk with him and find out more about this crusade that is to take place. Free reign in this update for you, if you want to work out a conversation with Hienrick then pm me or add me msn: [email protected]

Nuso: You silently make your way down the corridor that the Lady Elizabeth Von Drakenblood left down and as you make your way along the cold corridors lit only by witch-light touches you begin to wonder why a paragon of the Lahmian line such as Lady Elizabeth would end up becoming the wife of one of Abhorash’s bloodline as the two lines are as different from each other as blood and water with one wishing only to fight and slaughter with the other secretly taking a hand in human affairs disguised as noble ladies and queens. While semi-lost in your thoughts you end up coming to a stair case leading up into a tower and judging from the scent of perfume in the air it must belong to Elizabeth. Gracefully ascending the stairs you come to Elizabeth’s inner sanctum and see that the Lahmian Lady is in conversation with a child though you do not know who this child is he reeks of Undeath and is steeped heavily in a magical aura suggesting that perhaps he is one of the Necrachs…but for one to be turned so young you begin to wonder what kind of vampire would do that. Looking around the room you see Natasha and her two ‘sisters’ sat on the edge of a king-sized bed watching their mistress intently though Natasha seems to focus her attention on you. You should politely bow to Elizabeth before waiting to speak to her or if you choose to then you can go and talk with Natasha. I would like to see your thoughts on the multiple blood lines that you have met so far: The Lahmians, Blood Dragons and now the Necrachs, for the most part what you do is up to you.

Klaus: and Khalidel: OOC: As the two of you will be sparing against each other you two will need to talk to each other and work out your respective posts. But here is the result of your round 1 of your spar: Khalidel: 6 Attacks, 5 Hit, 3 Wounds. Klaus saves 2 armour saves, failed ward save: 1 Unsaved Wound Dealt.
Klaus: 6 Attacks, 4 Hit, 4 Wound. Khalidel Saves 2 Ward Saves: 2 Unsaved Wounds dealt.

Wounds Left: Khalidel 2/4, Klaus 4/5. If either of you two have questions then feel free to ask in Recruitment or through a PM.


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## Malochai (May 27, 2012)

The roar ripped through Markus’ throat, the pure animalistic urges flooding through his undead body, and he drew his wings to his side, tucking them in as he took a steep dive. The ground rushed up to meet him with ferocious speed, and the stench of the dead deers filled his nostrils, which flared with delight at the bloody carnage. He executed a front flip as he came close to the ground, landing on his feet, legs crouched. He returned the murderous gaze of the alpha wolf, the black eyes only distinguishable by the jet-black fur because of the tell-tale glistening. Growls rippled around the small clearing, and blood-slick fangs glistened in the combined light of the twin moons, which shone in a dappled pattern, onto the ground. They drew his attention for but a second, as he growled back, the sound dominating their attempts, deep and low, clearly a threat. His fangs grew longer, tearing ruts in his teeth, and black blood trickled down his chin. The taste almost clouded his mind, but he held the bloodlust in check. Markus realised that the only wolf still growling at him was the alpha, which continued to try and stare him down, poised ready to launch and hackles raised in fury, barely constrained as muscles rippled beneath the thick skin and wiry fur. The others had slunk back into the shadows of the trees, heads lowered in subservience and tails curled beneath their legs. He’d heard rumours of a kinship between wolves and the undead, but had never put it to the test before. 

With a dismissive snap of his teeth he focussed his attention back on the alpha, who’d crawled forwards whilst he’d distracted himself. A snarl ripped past his showing teeth, fangs tipped with his own blood, and he launched at the exact same time as the wolf did. His wings propelled him faster and further, and they collided with a colossal force. The other wolves still didn’t interfere, merely watching with a surprising intelligence in their eyes. The wolf, forced onto it’s back by Markus’ momentum, managed to get it’s jaw around Markus’ neck, but the vampire backed off before it managed to crush his throat. The pair broke apart, and circled each other, neither attacking or standing down. 

After a minute of tense circling, the wolf tensed again, using it’s powerful hind-legs to push itself straight towards the vampire. Markus saw the signs, and spun out of the way, and used the claw on the end of his right wing to tear a jagged wound in the beasts size as it passed. He hissed in delight, a smile playing about his face, as he saw the wolf crumple as it landed, howling in pain. He stalked closer, not entirely sure the wolf was beaten yet, but confident in his abilities. The creature stood, but it was weak - blood poured out of the huge wound on its side, matting in the fur and dripping a trail onto the ground. It growled again, but the wolf was losing it’s fighting spirit, clearly limping and in mind-consuming pain. It fell onto it’s stomach, legs finally failing, and then rolled over, presenting it’s neck to Markus. The vampire fell onto it, tearing with reckless abandon, letting the blood pump into his mouth. It was earthy and heavy, but spiced with adrenalin and anger, and Markus forced it down his throat. The wolves kept their distance, finally finishing the remnants of their own meal. 

Finally sated, Markus stood, blood drying on his chin and a half-mad grin on his face. He turned his face to the sky and howled, the sound shredding and burying all other noise in the nearby woodlands, asserting his dominance over the area. He stood watching over his new pack, listening to the final echoes of his howl dying in the distance, and then he heard a whistle, unnatural in the near-silence. He turned, and then felt pain explode in his side unlike any he’d felt in over two centuries. He cried out and his mind turned red with blood. He looked down and saw the shaft of an arrow, fully half inside him. More whistles followed, and whines and howls erupted from the pack as more arrows hit them. Focusing on where he thought they were originating, he picked out a group of people, crouching and using the woodland to their advantage. He growled, and then saw the ear of one of them, flashing in a minute pool of moon-light. _‘Elves.’_ The thought ran through his mind and he was paralysed for a second. Another arrow sailed past his ear and he jerked back to reality. He realised he couldn’t fight them; there were too many for even one of the undead lords, and so turned and ran, another arrow slicing his side and causing a wince on his face, before he managed to build enough momentum to launch himself into the sky. Yet more arrows followed him, but he was too far away by now, his unnatural speed aiding him, allowing him escape where any mortal would have been slaughtered. He spared a glance back over his shoulder and a horrible realisation washed over him like a pail of cold water - more and more Asrai were following, an army powerful enough to attack the castle. 

Pumping his wings more forcefully than he ever had before, the vampire flew until the pain in his side became unbearable and glided for a couple of hundred metres, allowing the throbbing to slow and the pain to dissipate before he began again, pushing himself further and further. The castle grew in his vision until it obscured all else, and one of the windows into the main hall became his target as he grew increasingly tired, expending the energy he had garnered from the wolf’s blood. 

He propelled himself with one last thrust of his wings and shattered the window explosively, allowing himself to fall to the ground, wings already returning to their human form. He landed heavily on his feet, much less graceful than his earlier landing in the woods, and immediately tore the arrow from his side, leaving wooden splinters inside the wound, roaring at the pain flooding through his body. He must have drawn the attention of the entire hall with his entrance, and held the shaft aloft.

*“We are attacked!”* he bellowed, loud enough for the hall to echo and the sound to flood throughout the castle. *“The elves move against us! We are attacked!”* He threw the arrow to the floor, the wood and elven steel clattering as it skittered across the stone floor. He fell to his knees and gritted his teeth as he felt his skin start to knit itself together, the necrotic energies flowing through his dead veins, and the black blood began to slow.


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## Romero's Own (Apr 10, 2012)

Alexander turned, his blood was pumping and his rage was almost overflowing. But after only a few steps a force contacted hard into Alexander’s back. Fists came raining down upon him as he raised his arms to protect his head. Alexander roared and threw the thing, which Alexander soon worked out was Tyreal Von Drakenblood. Tyreal landed against the ramparts with a loud clatter of armour and Alexander pushed himself back onto his feet. Alexander turned to see that Tyreal was already back on his feet. Not just that but Mordred’s son has drawn his sword and is charging straight at him with his shield held forward. Tyreal’s eyes were blood red and Alexander knew this would be a fight to the death. In the second’s he had before the raging Von Drakenblood reached him Alexander drew his own blades and roared back at the vampire. Alexander drew himself up to the full height just as Tyreal reached him. 

The first strike of the blood red sword that Tyreal wielded glanced off Alexander’s own blade and went wide. Tyreal’s blade began to move in a blur and it took all of Alexander’s superhuman strength and speed to stop the blows. The next blow came at Alexander’s head only to impact with Alexander’s helmet and glance away. Another blow was knocked away by Alexander’s sword. The fourth blow cut through Alexander’s defence and made impact with Alexander’s breastplate. But though it dented it did not break. The next came at Alexander’s head again but Alexander brought up both of his own blades to stop the hissing sword. But this left Alexander open to the sixth strike. The sword cut through Alexander’s breastplate and slashed his flesh from his left shoulder to his chest. Alexander grimaced and roared even as another blow struck his helmet. The eighth strike cut into the breastplate again but made no mark upon Alexander’s flesh. But the breastplate could not halt the vicious swipe that followed and Alexander was cut deep again. 

Alexander roared defiance even as pain threatened to cloud his mind. But this vampire, Von Drakenblood or not, deserved to pay. Alexander moved like a man truly possessed, which in a way he was. His first blow smashed into Tyreal’s breastplate but did not break through. The second came at Tyreal’s head but could not cut its way through Tyreal’s helmet. The third finally made a mark upon Tyreal himself, but the blade did not cut deep and did no damage to the undead lord. The fourth strike glanced off Tyreal’s breastplate, again not marking Tyreal’s flesh. The fifth and sixth blows contacted hammered into Tyreal almost in unison but the armour withstood. But with a roar Alexander’s blade found it’s mark and slid into Tyreal’s flesh. The young vampire roared in pain but with supernatural effort managed to block the hissing blade coming at his head. Alexander roared and threw himself at Tyreal. This vampire had no right to continue his undead life.


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## HOGGLORD (Jan 25, 2012)

Ezekiel strode towards the powerful vampire, stepping directly in the path of the Von Drakenblood, hoping to stop him in his tracks. He assumed a wide, open smile. He greeted Ulrich with a courteous bow. 
"Greetings, Ezekiel von Carstein, at you're service."

Ulrich stopped short, his gaze locked on Ezekiel, behind his eyes Ezekiel saw the red flash of violent rage. 
Suddenly acutely aware of the danger he was in, Ezekiel silently tensed, preparing himself to leap into action should Ulrich attack. 
Slowly Ulrich's eyes flitted around Ezekiel's person, taking in his finery. Ezekiel allowed himself a small feeling of satisfaction, knowing that his name must be worth something in the eyes of the Von Drakenblood to keep himself under so much control. Even in the remote reaches of Ezekiel's home, Ulrich's temper was legendary.

"Get to the point.... Quickly," Ulrich growled, his gaze flicking behind Ezekiel, where he knew that the fledgeling Vampires were pulling themselves to their feet. 
"I have business of my own to attend to and the fleeting fancies of a Von Carstein are none of my concern."

Ezekiel ignored the slight on his bloodline and smiled graciously. 
"Of course, any business of one of Mordred's most favored sons is naturally important and benificial to all who are present." He placed his words with a practiced presicion, careful flattery woven into the words. Ezekiel knew that a vampire as old and seasoned as Ulrich would most likely see through this immediately, but there was no harm in trying and the comments were not without truth.

"Speaking of which, I was wondering of Mordred would be willing to receive guests at the present time and where he could be found, I have some matters of business to discuss with him."

Ulrich quietly chuckled at some inward giver of mirth. 
"Keep your honeyed words for someone who cares for such things. My business does not concern you and unless I miss my guess, you don't really care. I find myself as a your means to an end." 

Ezekiel bowed his head in assent. 
"You're astuteness, though not unexpected, is applaudable. I simply wish not to come upon ill terms with an individual as, renowned as yourself."

Ulrich sighed, gesturing half-heartedly in the direction from whence he had come,
"My Lord Von Drakenblood." The emphasis he placed on his 'father's' title obviously displayed Ulrich's disdain for the casualness with which Ezekiel used name, 
"is on the northern battlements, deep in conversation with Radu Von Carstein. I am neither servant, nor messenger." The Von Drakenblood's words becoming clipped with poorly masked annoyance. "Send word with one of the thralls that you desire a meeting and his response will give you the answer you seek." 

Arching an eyebrow, his jaw clenched, Ulrich began to turn, "unless there is anything else I will take my leave." He challenged.

"I wish merely to add my thanks and apologies for delaying you're important business." Ezekiel finished, refusing to be cowed by Ulrich.
"And now I must too make my leave. I have, fleeting fancies, to attend to." He said, smiling as he swept past the other vampire, heading in the direction that Ulrich gestured.

On reflection, he had enjoyed the simple verbal sparring. He had not conversed with an equal in a long time. It was a refreshing feeling.

He left the room, considering his options. Mordred would not wish to be disturbed if in conversation with Radu, to attempt would be foolish to say the least. 

Ezekiel decided to bide his time, his questions could wait. He returned to the library, seating himself and drawing a book from the wall of books. He opened the ancient tome, His eyes sliding across the rows of words, drawing the information from it's pages. The room was now almost silent. Meerly the sound of the crackling fire and the faintest sounds of the castle's other inhabitants.


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## Captain Stillios (Mar 8, 2009)

Khalidel slipped his shield down off of his back onto his left arm, he smiled in anticipation of the coming fight and widened his stance. Klaus looked confident and would no doubt be skilled but Khalidel would show him, would show all in this castle that he too was a vampire worthy of the title Son of Mordred. 
He danced forwards and slashed his sword downwards aiming to slice Klaus from left shoulder to right hip, when Klaus dodged back as Khalidel had anticipated he did not stop his sword but used the momentum to turn on his forward foot and slam his shield into Klaus. Their shields clashed and they strained against each other for a moment their faces inches apart, the exhilaration of finally fighting after so long cooped up in this castle brought a smile to Khalidels face showing his fangs as they seperated. 
They dueled across the hall with blades clashing faster than the human eye could see and Khalidel began to enjoy himself immensely despite his flamboyant fighting style leaving him only a small margin for error. As they came together again Khalidel slammed his shield at an angle into Klaus' shield and held it above them both simultaneously blocking his sword arm and shield as he lent back dangerously far while lunging forwards with his blade.

Khalidel licked his lips in vicous satisfaction as blood dripped from the deep side wound that he had inflicted but he then grunted in annoyance as he realised that it had not been deep enough and that he couldn't hold Klaus' shield for much longer at this angle. Before the shield could come crashing down and crush his ribs Khalidel pivoted away from harm to stand a short distance away.
"First blood to me sir knight" He said in a polite tone as he dropped into his guard position "It is so good to finally be able to fight something after all this time spent caged in this castle don't you agree?"


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## Lord Ramo (Apr 12, 2009)

Natasha smiled as she parted from Ulrich, patting him on the arm as she walked away. She enjoyed her brothers company, and seemed to be able to help calm him down a little. Natasha moved towards her own chambers, located near to her mistresses, allowing her to be able to serve her lady at any time. 

She moved through the empty corridors quickly, not wanting to keep her mistress waiting. As she entered her quarters she moved quickly to place her swords on a plush red chair, closing the door firmly behind her. Her chambers were Spartan like, Natasha having no need for belongings and other items like that. She quickly slipped out of her blood red dress, folding it carefully before placing it over a chair. Whilst Natasha didn’t normally like to wear dresses, being much fonder of her armour, she knew her mistress enjoyed having her gets appear lady like sometimes.

She quickly moved over to her armour, resting on a mannequin when she wasn’t wearing it. She traced a hand over her chest piece for a moment, lost in her own thoughts of when she was first presented with the armour by her lady. It had been decades since then, and Natasha kept her armour in perfect condition, not willing to spoil the gift she had been given.

She quickly pulled her armour off of the mannequin, placing it on her body and tightening it to her with buckles and straps. She placed a black leather belt around her waist before slipping into her leather boots, replacing the ladylike shoes she had fought in against the foolish fledglings. Grabbing her cloak from the mannequin she placed it on her shoulders, tying it so that it wouldn’t fall off before grabbing her swords and leaving her chambers, attaching them to her waist as she walked to her lady’s chambers.

She knocked lightly on her mistress door before entering, seeing her lady staring into a scrying pool while her “sister” handmaidens sat on the bed near to her. Natasha noticed her lady had a visiter, a necarch in the form of a young child. He was eerily repulsive Natasha thought, wondering what made a vampire turn something so young. 

She moved to her lady’s side, curtseying to her and waiting for a command from her lady. Elizabeth looked up at Natasha, smiled and waved her to join her sisters on the bed, Natasha moving lightly before seating herself on the edge of the bed, hands cupped in her lap as she looked upon her beautiful lady and her visitor. 

Her sisters moved without saying a word to kneel either side of Natasha and started to braid her hair, Natasha staying as still as a statue as they did that. Natasha watched her lady and her visitor, waiting for any signs of disrespect like a hawk watches prey. Even though she knew that the young looking child wasn’t what it appeared to be, in actuality a powerful old blood she still wondered if she had the time to draw her blades and cross the short distance before his powerful magic kicked in. It was an interesting thought.

"Milady, pardon my intrusion. I was asked by my brother Ulrich on your thoughts of his fledging gets in the fight. He hopes that they have not embarrassed him in anyway."

Elizabeth's crimson eyes remain fixed on the scying pool for a moment before her head shifts to stare at Natasha, her cold enchanting eyes now focused on her young get.

"They are of the line of Abhorash, they are arrogant and rush head long into things. They are no different from their father, uncles and even their 'grandfather'." The dark lady raises her shoulders slightly in a small shrug. "You get used to it after five hundred years."

Natasha nodded thoughtfully at her lady words before continuing hesitantly, "Yes milady, though I would say that Heinrich does not do that anymore. If you don't mind my asking, why did Lord Mordred not take you with him to combat the dwarves? I hope I am not overstepping myself my lady."
Lady Elizabeth looked around her sanctum and back at her other two hand maidens, both continuing to platt and braid Natasha’s hair before returning her attention back to Natasha. "I decided to remain behind, there was no need for both of us to go and I didn't trust leaving this castle in the hands of any of your brothers. In the event my dear husband was defeated then I would need to nurse him back to full strength, but tell me what would of happened if I had gone and been slain? What do you think your brothers and my husband would of done?"

Natasha looked taken aback at Elizabeths comment. She knew that her mistress was strong in magic and would be able to handle herself. "My lady, I meant no offence. Without you around though I think that my brothers and my Lord would have probably gone into a Blood Rage and would of attacked the dwarves until either they lay dead or all of us Vampires were. I was just wondering my lady, I apologize."

"I have only ever once seen my husband give himself over to his anger in its entirity and I do not wish to see him do so again. He cut his way through three-hundred black orcs, two giants, a wyvren and an arachnarok before he calmed down enough to order his undead minions back into the battle." 

Elizabeth seems to stare into nothingness as she recalls this incident from the past. Natasha did not speak, she knew of some of the wrath that her Lord possessed and never wished to see it again. She just nodded thoughtfully before resuming her watchman like position. Soon the door opened again, and Natasha watched as the other Lahmian entered the chambers, waiting for her lady to finish with the Necarch before she announced herself.

At least she showed a little respect, unlike the fools braying for Mordreds affection, though all of them would be sorely disappointed. Natasha stood and walked over to her, a smile played across her face. “Well cousin, you seem to have found my lady’s chambers by yourself with little difficulty. Please tell me, what do you think of my lady’s chamber and what brings you here? The entertainment I set up in the great hall not enough for you?” She joked at the end, wishing only to get to know her own kind better.


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## Midge913 (Oct 21, 2010)

Ulrich had turned, truly intent on returning to his chambers, the words he would speak to his Gets rolling through his mind. He believed that he would take the approach of derision and scorn, letting the experience of losing to a single vampire teach the lesson that his fists and rage would simply cloud. Natasha had learned some humility at Mordred's hand, her crushing defeat, decades past, still a memory fresh in her mind, an experience that shaped her everyday life. Perhaps it would be the same with his children. One could only hope, he could only expend so much energy beating sense into them, Lancelot especially. 

Ulrich had nearly made the door out of the entrance hall when a vampire stepped in his way, a flourishing bow in his direction halting his purpose filled footsteps. Ulrich felt the beginnings of a rage filled growl rumbling in the depths of his lungs, his fists clenching involuntarily, his eyes flashing a dangerous shade of scarlet. 

"Greetings, Ezekiel von Carstein, at you're service," the vampire intoned, his words clipped and sure, his deference and approach appropriate for one of his station. Ulrich inhaled deeply through his nose, drinking in the scent of the vampire before him. The aroma of age and experience clung to the Vampire, the weight of experience and innate power evident in his movements and speech. The purple finery he wore suited him and the blade at his side smelled of fresh oil and bits of whetstone, almost entirely covering the sickly sweet smell of blood. A blade that saw use, a warriors stance, a fighters grace. An old blood, like himself, this Ezekiel seemed to purport himself with decorum. 

Stuffing his anger at the interruption down and with great effort he unclenched his fists. He could tell that his immediate response, his body language, and his scent radiated fury and danger, as evidenced by Ezekiel's slight change in stance, readiness seeping from him. It was clear that Ulrich's temper was well known even in the far away lands of the Von Carstein holdings. 

"Get to the point.... Quickly," Ulrich growled, his gaze flicking behind Ezekiel, where his sons were pulling themselves to their feet. "I have business of my own to attend to and the fleeting fancies of a Von Carstein are none of my concern."

To his credit, Ezekiel continued, unphased by the venom in Ulrich's words. He must really try and get a handle on his temper. If he continued in the manner that he had been approaching these new vampires, he would have to start worrying about blades behind him, danger from supposed allies, as much as the blades of the enemy they went to face. 
"Of course, any business of one of Mordred's most favored sons is naturally important and benificial to all who are present." Ulrich couldn't help but grin inwardly. This Ezekiel knew his craft. Deception and flattery, a slight push to the ego, prompting a more favorable response. Perhaps this one, this Ezekiel could be one that had promise. If his father wanted allies, it was this sort, the likes of Radu and Ezekiel that Ulrich wished to retain. They knew their place. They worked with the realms of protocol and mutual respect. The trivial niceties observed. Ulrich cared little for his words, but the fact that Ezekiel approached him with deference, despite his near equality in station, said something about his intelligence. "Speaking of which, I was wondering of Mordred would be willing to receive guests at the present time and where he could be found, I have some matters of business to discuss with him."

_"At last,"_ he thought, _"one of these newcomers shows the respect for father as they all should."_ He could keep the smile from his face, or a chuckle from breathing over his lips. It seemed that they were not all brutish morons, trying to suckle at the teat of greatness without thought for their station. However, despite his appreciation for Ezekiel's respect, he cared little for his desires. He had matters of his own to attend to. 

"Keep your honeyed words for someone who cares for such things. My business does not concern you and unless I miss my guess, you don't really care. I find myself as a your means to an end," Ulrich said, the slightest inclination of his head showing slight respect for the vampires attempt at stoking his ego. Most thought because of his temper and his martial prowess that he was a simpleton. A rage driven beast in the same vein as his brother. Most learned, to their downfall, that he had a keen mind, and was well versed in the verbal wordplay and intrigue that permeated the Vampiric Nobility. 

"You're astuteness, though not unexpected, is applaudable. I simply wish not to come upon ill terms with an individual as, renowned as yourself."

Ulrich sighed, gesturing half-heartedly in the direction from whence he had come,
"My Lord Von Drakenblood." The emphasis he placed on his 'father's' title obviously displayed Ulrich's disdain for the casualness with which Ezekiel used the name, bristling slightly at Ezekiel's mistep."is on the northern battlements, deep in conversation with Radu Von Carstein. I am neither servant, nor messenger." his words becoming clipped with poorly masked annoyance. "Send word with one of the thralls that you desire a meeting and his response will give you the answer you seek." 

Arching an eyebrow, his jaw clenched, Ulrich began to turn, "unless there is anything else I will take my leave." He challenged.

"I wish merely to add my thanks and apologies for delaying you're important business." Ezekiel finished, he had spine this one. Others would have been cowed by the look on Ulrich's face. "And now I must too make my leave. I have, fleeting fancies, to attend to." He said, smiling as he swept past , heading in the direction that Ulrich indicated. His back turned, Ulrich returned the smile. In the midst of these hangers on, Strigoi abomonations, and witless morons, he was pleased to find one that showed respect and demanded it in turn. Ezekiel was not a feckless idiot like the rest. He was one that Ulrich would need to watch until his loyalties could be assessed. He could make a powerful ally for house Von Drakenblood, or he would need to be dealt with if his designs proved devious and detrimental to his father's house. 

A tremendous crash, an explosion of glass and iron, caused him to spin on the spot. Gazing up to the hole in his father's castle that had once contained a 600 year old stained glass window. A masterpiece forged by entralled artisans of Kislev, shattered into a thousand pieces. Rage boiled, the fury of his namesake coursing through his blackened blood, put him in motion, streaking to the being that now kneeled in reckage of the priceless work. He almost lost control, his blade in his hand in a motion so swift that he became a blur of ebony and crimson, he stood over the witless vampire. He smiled as he recognized the same beast that he had tossed from the ramparts. This filth would die for his slights to the Von Drakenbloods. First his total disrespect for his father, now damaging the castle, Ulrich's home. He would bathe in this vampires blood, the scent of it already cloying at his nostrils, its blood flowing onto the stone floor of the great hall. It was then that the beast roared, *“We are attacked!”* he bellowed, loud enough for the hall to echo and the sound to flood throughout the castle. *“The elves move against us! We are attacked!”* Ulrich paused, disbelieving, until the beast pulled an elven shaft from its side. 

Leaning down, whispering in the beast's ear, "You and I will have words when this threat is dealt with."

"To arms!" Ulrich roared, the gathered vampires still processing the words the beast had spoken. "It is time for you to fulfill the call you have come to answer. Defend this castle! To Arms! We feast on the blood of the Asrai!"


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## Santaire (Feb 13, 2011)

I dropped into a fighting crouch with my swords held low, ready to pounce and drive my swords through Yakov's chest.

Just as I was tensing my leg muscles, beginning to propel myself forward I felt a hand on my shoulder. My fangs bared in a silent snarl but as I turned my head I made out a silver gauntlet fashioned like a claw resting upon my collarbone. Heinrick. I knew instantly that with a simple twist he could snap the bone and so I relaxed, rising and turning in one smooth movement. My eyes, blood red from the adrenaline coursing through my body met his and instantly quietened, returning to their normal dark green. “Peace, little brother. Now is not the time to test your skills against an old-blood such as Yakov and you let your anger get the better of you. Refocus and calm yourself Gaelan or will you let your anger boil to the surface and become like Ulric and Tyreal?” He said quietly and calmly.

He let go of my shoulder and moved over to Yakov, speaking in the same quiet tone he had used for me. I heard only a murmur even with my enhanced senses. I raised my blades, contemplating Blood Gold for a moment. The blade would need blood next time I drew it, much blood. I slid the swords into their sheaths and murmured so softly that Heinrick could not hear me. "But I am already more like them than you think brother."

The swords came to a halt against the lips of the scabbards and I snapped out of my contemplative mood.

I walked to Heinrick and spoke quietly so that only he could hear me. "Forgive me brother. People speak of the von Drakenblood fury and say that I do not possess it. I wonder if they are wrong. I look at these creatures infesting the halls of our father, these animals grovelling to our father and yet acting so high and mighty when speaking with the likes of me and I shudder with rage. I am a warrior Heinrick. Nothing more and nothing less. All this politicking and boot licking does not suit me."

"Each one of us sired by our father possesses some of his rage and hatred though it manifests its self differently in the five of us. Like myself I am able to keep it fully under control, You and Khalidel are relatively in control save for your violet out bursts. Ulric's rage always boils close to the surface but only truly manifests in battle...as for Tyreal....His rage will consume him. He has already gone too far and will eventually become one of the feared Vargulfs unless Father chains him within a coffin."

I smiled grimly at that. It was only the truth.

Heinrick's gaze wandered until it halted looking out of one of the huge stained glass windows. It was a masterpiece, older even than Ulric. After I scanned the hall, seeing Khalidel and Klaus clash in a deafening ring of sword on shield, sword on armour and the faint thud of sword in flesh. I cocked my head slightly, regarding Khalidel's and Klaus' fighting styles calmly. Klaus appeared relied on his weight and strength to drive his opponents down where he could hammer them into the ground. Khalidel seemed to be trying to do the same, curious indeed that he had drawn first blood for Klaus was far stronger.

Then as my eyes fixed on a shape coming for the window I began to move, tensing my leg muscles and drawing my swords.

The glass shattered and the winged vampire that had earlier been tossed from the battlements by Ulric slammed into the ground. Ulric himself was there, approaching the prone vampire with a snarl when it yelled "We are attacked! The Elves move against us! We are attacked!"

I bared my fangs in a snarl as Ulric roared, summoning the vampires to arms. "At last, a foe worthy of my blades!" I hissed


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## Malochai (May 27, 2012)

Even as the echoes of his bellowed pronouncement started to fade from the hall, Markus was transformed back into his human form. He cracked his neck, the vertebrae clicking satisfactorily. Loose chain-mail strips fluttered about his arms, and as he knelt, giving the skin and muscle in his side a chance to finish knitting together, leaving a fresh pink scar, loud and vibrant amongst the puckered remnants of previous fights and the confrontation with his sire that led to his Blood Kiss, he heard the whispered threat of Ulrich, the vampire seemingly unable to keep his bestial side in check. Markus took an unnecessary breath, as a human would to gain some composure, before pushing himself off the cold stone floor and faced Ulrich down. He didn’t flinch when the von Drakenblood roared, less than two feet from his face, *"To arms! It is time for you to fulfill the call you have come to answer. Defend this castle! To Arms! We feast on the blood of the Asrai!"*

“Fool. I could have left you to be attacked, unprepared and all but defenceless. I could have soared above, whilst you were peppered with arrows and stuck with swords, laughing as you crumbled into little more significance than ash. Had I left, I could have returned here in a hundred years to find ruins, all traces of your family extinguished and scoured from the face of the Old World!” The vampire paused in berating Ulrich, spitting at his feet. “You should be thanking me,” he growled, before turning his back on the Von Drakenblood get and striding casually from the hall, face aglow with anger and contorted with bitter rage. 

Once out of sight, he picked up the pace, determined now that he had to reach the equipment he’d left in the tower before he’d taken flight for his hunt. Bursting out of a door he found himself on a rampart to the west of the castle, and immediately he spotted the tower. Instead of transforming once more, he preserved his energy and forced open the tower door, running up the stairs and taking them three at a time, his long legs granting him extra speed. He almost exploded onto the roof, thankful that his armour had been untouched. With a skill born from decades of practice, he removed his sword belt and put his armour back on, tightening straps and ensuring buckles were fastened properly. 

With a grin, he finally put his sword belt around his waist again, slung his shield over his back and placed his helmet over his head, finally ready to wage war. A sudden cramping sensation tore through his stomach, and he almost doubled over with the unnatural pain. Another growl, this one unintentional, ripped out of his throat, and then the pain receded as quickly as it had appeared, leaving only a dull ache and a heaviness in his limbs, a thickness in his thoughts. Only one thing rang true and clear within his mind, _‘Blood’_. Almost without knowing it, he quickly made his way down to the dungeons and ripped open the throat of two cowering, pathetic slaves, who begged him for the euphoric pain of death. The blood slid off his chest plate, and pooled on the floor, whilst congealing around his mouth. Without wiping it off, he made his way back to the Great Hall, stalking through the corridors akin to the spectre of a long-dead soldier, looking for vengeance. He emerged once more in the huge, open space, completely different in form from when he had entered. 

“Are they not here yet?” he murmured; voice low and rumbling, able to be heard by all.


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## High_Seraph (Aug 28, 2009)

Walking silently down the corridors passing witch-light torches that Elizabeth Von Drakenblood had left down Nuso starts questioning why an Old Blood of the Lahmian line would be here with a Blood Dragon. *I can not see why except maybe for protection against a massed attack but if that has happened then she has let her enemies discover her. I wouldn't enjoy being around someone who must prove his supeiority against everyone instead of changing the course of events to ensure that never has to happen. It could be they are in love but that would be a bit unusual for a Lahmian in that it would cloud her judgement.* Coming out of her thoughts Nuso sees a staircase leading to a tower in front of her. Inhaling deepy through her nose Nuso picks up perfume in the air and surmising that it belongs to Elzabeth ascends the stairs.

Reaching a door at the height Nuso knocks quitely before entering after a moments pause. Stepping into the room Nuso immediately bowed to Elizabeth but made no other move except to close the door behind her. Looking at Elizabeth Nuso sees she is talking to a child, though this "child" reeks of undeath and magical prowess suggesting he icrarchs one of the Necarch bloodline. *To turn one so young though is another matter entirely. What was his master thinking when they turned him? That could not be very healthy for his psyche but then again Necarchs have never been widely known for stable psyche's.* Nuso thinks to hjerself before looking over the room seeing Natasha sit on massive king-sized bed with two sisters who are watching Elizabeth while Natasha watches her very carefully. Bowing to Elizabeth again Nuso also curtsies to those on the bed while maintaining her silence. 

*So we have fellow Lahmians here as well as Blood Dragons and Necarchs. This has suddenly turned into a very interesting series of events provided that the Blood Dragons do not make stupid moves just for the sake of slighted honor before or during the battles ahead and the Necrarch keeps his mind on the task at hand and not his next test or experiment. Though from what I've seen these Blood Dragons have an almost unsaitaible appetite for combat and the more we sit here the more aggresive they become and the les restrained as well.Though this is my first time seeing a Nerarch they have an unsavory reputation as insane creators and delvers of magic. Though his creations will surely help in battles is it worth having him as an ally for now only to find out that he wishes to resurect Nagash and punish those who had fled?*

Focusing on movement Nuso sees that Natasha has gotten off the bed and is approaching her with a smile playing over her face before saying,* “Well cousin, you seem to have found my lady’s chambers by yourself with little difficulty. Please tell me, what do you think of my lady’s chamber and what brings you here? The entertainment I set up in the great hall not enough for you?”* 

Quickly thinking about her answer Nuso quitely responds so as to not distract Elizabeth, _"These furninshings are very tasteful though not excatly to my liking. The plainer the designs are commonly more refreshing to me than the more artistic and flowery though this is possibly due to my time as a mortal and in time I think I will enjoy these more. But as to the entertainement you arranged, well I find one can stomach only so much posturing and chest thrusting before it becomes boring. Though you'r own display was one of particular interest those between Blood Dragons often end in one or the other bleeding profusely and long lines of hatred._


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## khrone forever (Dec 13, 2010)

Hienrick was.....odd, Yakov decided. He seemed dedicated to his fathers cause, and yet still took the time to prevent his brothers arrogance leading him into a fight which would only get him injured.

Yakov was irritated when Hienrick turned from besting his younger brother, and proceeded to act as though he was Yakov’s better, making out that he had to make excuses of the actions he had taken. Yakov spoke up, when Hienrick spoke of being a guest, “This was the reason I took so much offence to Gaelen’s insults and demands. Had I just walked in from the forest without an invite, his actions would have been perfectly reasonable. However I was at the invitation of your father, and so his actions were unjustified.”

His expectations of Hienrick rose when he showed the respect that was due to someone as old as he, however he understood the barley hidden threat, that he would be “revoked” of his guest status if he stepped out of line again. 
As Hienrick walked away, Yakov remembered something he had said, “kept our bloodlines from uniting as one”. This made him hopeful that Mordred was sympathetic towards the outcast bloodlines, and wished to join them together against the prey. “maybe one day”, Yakov murmured, however it would be and uphill battle, as the hate for the Stigoi bloodlines, that ran through most of the other bloodlines.

Yakov reached down and picked up the bone he had previously been gnawing on, and broke it with a loud crack, then he crouched back onto his haunches and began to eat the marrow that was left inside the bone.

Suddenly a winged vampire crashed through one of the more ornate windows of the hall and crashed to the ground. Within a second Ulrich was by his side and his sword was drawn. However before he would strike the other shouted *“We are attacked! The elves move against us! We are attacked!”*
And threw an arrow, that Yakov guessed was of elvish origin across the floor. In a daze Yakov started to stand, stunned that the Elves would dare to attack a gathering of vampries.
*"To arms!"* Ulrich roared, "*It is time for you to fulfill the call you have come to answer. Defend this castle! To Arms! We feast on the blood of the Asrai!"*


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## revan4559 (Aug 9, 2010)

Markus: Upon entering the great hall and giving voice to your question you blink several times before looking around to see that the great hall is completely empty and that the two great doors of the main entrance have been pushed open which leads you to assume all the others are already gathering upon the walls. Striding outside you see that the Von Drakenblood gets have gathered together in a group and are looking south as the Strigoi perch high up on towers looking south towards where the elves will be coming from. Standing apart from the Von Drakenblood’s are two Lahmians who seem to watch the others with mild interest as the Von Carstien’s pace back and forth waiting to show off their skills to all those around. Though while there are brother Von Carstien’s here you decide to stand apart from them closer to the Blood Dragons as while you are formidable in combat it can’t help to be near some truly brutal fighters should you find yourself in the unlikely situation of being overwhelmed by the army of elves on the way.

Yakov: Dropping the bone onto the ground you swiftly move from the great hall out of the great doors and off towards the southern ramparts which face towards the great forest which is home to the wood elves. Ascending the stairs to the gate house you see that some of the other vampires have already gathered ontop of the walls as from deep within the dungeons, catacombs and other wings of the castle the undead minions of Mordred also make their way onto the walls and start to form up ready to defend the castle from intruders. Climbing up onto one of the gate house towers you look out towards the forest and see the elven host making its way towards the castle and can see the forms of lithe dryads, lumbering tree-men and tree-kin along with the soaring forms of great eagles. This truly will be an interesting battle as not only will it allow you to feast on the blood of a dying race but also will give you a chance to observe your fellow vampires in battle to pick out any weakness’s incase you need to fight them later on.

Ezekiel: Sat in the library reading over books and tomes almost as old as you your thoughts drift to the past thinking over your hundreds of years unlife and wonder if you should set yourself some greater goal that you can achieve but before you can think too deeply on the matter you are rudely interrupted by one of the castle’s human thralls who runs into the room breathless and panting before sketching a quick bow to you. “My Lord, you are required on the walls as the elves of the forest have come to attack the castle. Other servants have already prepared your armour within a chamber joined to the great hall and will aid you in putting it on if you require.” With that the thrall bows before taking his leave before he see’s a fang filled smile flash across your aristocratic features at the prospect of drawing and feasting on the blood of the elves as you have heard it is as fine as wine. Sweeping from the library to the great hall and your arming room you see large groups of heavily armoured skeleton warriors appearing from other passages around the castle and making their way towards the wall. Truly this battle will be very interesting and give you a chance to see Mordred in battle. 

Ulric: and Gaelan: While the two of you are barely unable to stand each others presence you find yourself walking together as you leave the great hall and are joined by Hienrick is matches your speed and stride lengths giving the other vampires and impressive display of the three oldest and strongest of Mordred’s ‘Sons’ as you head to the southern rampart where you can clearly see the skeleton warriors already gather and Mordred and Radu make their way from the eastern rampart to the southern one. As you walk together it is Hienrick who breaks the uneasy silence between the three of you, “The elves once again seek to test their strength against our father and remove him from his own castle. Did you both know they tried this once before over three hundred years ago before out father turned Ulric? Back then Father stood infront of the gate house with his sword planted in the ground before him daring them to come and kill him. Naturally they were repulsed and their corpses used to rebuild fathers army, im pretty sure some of these skeletons were once some of the Asrai.” Hienrick shrugs his shoulders then looks up at the sky. “We have just over nine hours before the sun rises and we are forced back inside the confines of the castle’s keep, we will need to make this battle bloody and short, will you stand with me brothers?”

Natasha: and Nuso: As the two of you converse with each other Lady Elizabeth talks with her Necrach guest in tones that both of you two are barely able to hear even with your enhanced hearing, moving to take a seat at the side of the room you both notice Elizabeth’s back straighten and tense as she stares directly ahead and into seemingly nothingness before speaking for all in the room to hear. “Powerful magic gathers to the south and those of the forest seek to oust us from this castle like they tried to three hundred years ago. The elves moves against us Natasha, Nuso, make your way to the southern rampart where my husband and his sons, and the others gather to prepare to defend the castle. I shall be with you shortly as I have some surprises to prepare for the elves.” With that prompt dismissal you both make your way to the southern ramparts in relative silence and while you make your way through the great hall you see that it is completely empty before stepping out of the great doors that make up the main entrance and see the might of the Von Drakenblood’s gathered.

Radu: OOC: you still need to post from the previous update, I would suggest doing so while also including the Everyone part from this update aswell.

Alexander: Before Tyreal continues his onslaught something draws your attention and his to the sky as you see a massive misshapen vampire crash through one of the stain class windows of the great hall which elects an annoyed grunt from Tyreal. While you both wonder what is doing on you hear the vampire roar that the elves are attacking and you see that with great restraint Tyreal sheaths his blade and makes his way over to the edge of the wall and peers off towards the forest before his growling voice reaches your eyes. “The tainted one is right Strigoi-Dog the elves are on their way and in great numbers for their dying race. We will postpone our fight for a later time.” With that and the swirl of his black cape Tyreal turns away and heads off along the rampart towards where Mordred Von Drakenblood is walking with one of the Von Carstien whelps. Annoyance flares through your mind in that Tyreal can just so casually dismiss your fight in favor of a greater battle and that he will not be punished for his aggressiveness towards you just yet but not the promise of Elf Blood races through your mind and decide that dealing with Tyreal can wait until later as accidents do happen in battle.

Klaus: OOC: you still need to post from the previous update, I would suggest doing so while also including the Everyone part from this update aswell.

Khalidel: Before you and Klaus can continue your spar the Von Drakenblood called Markus comes crashing for a very old stain glass window before bellowing that the castle is under attack by the wood elves that dwell in the forest near the castle before producing evidence to support his claim by pulling an elven arrow from his lower ribs and throwing it onto the ground which then provokes Gaelen and Ulric bellowing that all the vampires gathered should head to the walls and prepare to feast on the blood of the Asrai which in turn elects a smile from you as now you have opponents who you can truly test your skill against without having to hold back like you do when you spar with other vampires. Following your three older brothers (Gaelen, Ulric and Hienrick) from the hall you make your way onto the southern rampart and see that your ‘father’ is still walking along the wall with the Von Carstien which makes you bristle with anger that Mordred favors one not of his blood line over you, perhaps at some point you should teach Radu his place in the pecking order? 

Everyone:  Having made your wall to the castles walls you now look out across the plains between the castle and the forest to its south taking in the entire elven army that has come to try and put a stop to the Crusade of Blood before it has even begun. From your vantage point you can pick out the forms of Treeman, Dryads, Great Eagles, Great Stags and other forms of woodland creatures but the majority of the host is made up of elven warriors carrying bows and blades though you wonder how exactly they plan on getting into the castle which now has its ‘defenders’ upon its walls. Looking around you see that the Lord and Lady Von Drakenblood have called forth the undead warriors from the catacombs beneath the castle and they stand in unmoving ranks upon the walls and in the courtyard awaiting orders from their undead masters.

As you observe the elven host before their attack you have some time to reflect on bloodshed that will soon begin and give you a chance to gorge yourself on as much elven blood as you wish before the corpses of the elves are raised to fight alongside the hordes of heavily armoured skeletons. In this time you have a chance to converse with your fellow vampires or even shout insults and challenges at the assembled elves who now stand perfectly still as the lumbering Treemen make their way to the fore carrying gigantic boulders in their wood fists before they start to hurl the boulders towards the walls and the castle’s gate as they try to make an entrance for their elven allies.

As the Treemen pelt the castle with their stony projectiles you and the other vampires stand as still as statues watching the elven army and tense ready for a fight as you will them to come within the reach of your blades so you may shed their blood, should you look around you will notice that a heavily and ornately armoured skeleton has come forward to stand by Mordred with a banner in his hand and those of you within ten strides of the banner(it is up to you where you are stood) sense the flow of magic coming from this banner and you find your senses have become keener than they usually arm. Those of you who are of the Von Drakenblood line or have served with Mordred before know that this is the Von Drakenblood standard, the black cloth has on its front a snarling red dragon coiled around a silver sword with its blood running down the blade and to be caught in a golden goblet. It is said the banner was soaked in the blood of a hundred virgins and sorcerer’s to give many potent enchantments.

With a deafening doom that irritates your Vampiric heading you see that the massive metallic gate house doors have been broken open by a bolder several feet taller than the monstrous Ulric Von Drakenblood and now that there is a way into the castle the elven host charge forward giving voice to their elven war cries. It is up to you if you remain ontop of the walls as more boulders crash onto the ramparts crushing skeletons and ghouls before bouncing off into the courtyard or if you make your way down to the gate and prepare to meet the elves within the courtyard. 

Those of you that remain on the walls  find that the Great Eagles are now swooping down towards the battlements allowing elven warriors upon their backs to nimbly jumps off and onto the ramparts where they loose already notched arrows or draw their blades and charge into groups of skeletons while their flying mounts pick up the undead warriors and carry them off back towards the main host to drop them from the sky and then pick up even more warriors. Now that the battle has finally begun you charge towards the nearest group of elven warriors with your weapon draw ready to slaughter those who seek to challenge the rule of the Arisen.

Those of you now in the courtyard  Having left the ramparts to head down into the main courtyard you look back up to see that the elven warriors mounted upon Great Eagles have finally begun their assault but before you can turn around and make your way back up the stairs and onto the walls you hearing the screeching cries of Dryads as they come running through the gate house in their war aspect, looking vaguely female in appearance but made of rotting wooden branches and logs as they charge towards you and the skeletons at your back before the Dryads are then followed by mounted elven warriors upon elven steeds and Great Stags, it seems those upon the walls will not be having all the fun. 

OOC: Now that the battle has begun you can kill those opponents who are close to you, as I said it is your choice if you are now upon the walls or are in the courtyard so pick where you are and what you are fighting, remember you can kill as many people as you have attacks as at the moment these are all one wound opponents so you can 1 shot them though I suggest you make your attacks, wounds and deaths descriptive. Once I know where you are in the castle I will then be bringing in multi-wound opponents for you to fight, then the battle will begin in Earnest, If you plan on casting spell pm me before you post so I can tell you if you pass, fail, are dispelled etc. Below is the list of characters and how many attacks you have:

Markus: 5 Attacks
Yakov: 8 Attacks
Ezekiel: 7 Attacks
Ulric: 8 Attacks
Gaelan: 7 Attacks
Natasha: 6 Attacks
Nuso: 5 Attacks
Radu: 7 Attacks
Alexander: 9 Attacks
Klaus: 6 Attacks
Khalidel: 6(7) Attacks (7=if using 2 hand weapons).
Vardask: 6 Attacks.

Any questions then feel free to post in recruitment or pm me.


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## Lord Commander Solus (Jul 26, 2012)

An unearthly roar echoed across the battlefield, causing the briefest quell in the sound of battle. Huge, leathery wings made great rushing sounds as a massive shape crested the treeline, approaching the castle at speed. It came from the rear, the single flying black shape in antithesis to the multiple Eagles assaulting the fortress. Except this being was far more dangerous than an Eagle.

Vardask, the almighty Strigoi Oldblood, thundered over the walls, giving a second roar as he swooped into the courtyard. The blood-hungry vampire snatched an elven trooper from the floor, turning sharply upwards before wrenching the elf's heart from its body, Vardask's massive arm tearing flesh from the warrior's chest in the blink of an eye. Coiled muscles bulged all over the vampire, his pallid-white flesh sickening to look upon. The vampire's bestial face opened as he consumed the still-beating heart, red blood spattering onto his naked chest.

The Strigoi dived again, plummeting to the ground with an earth-shaking warcry. Elven warriors tried to surround the vampire, but he moved like lightning, his powerful arms slashing out as his talons tore through armour, flesh, and bone alike. Vardask dimly registered arrows impacting onto his unarmoured body, ripping them out as his flesh healed instantly, dark energy playing across his skin as he regenerated. Vardask noticed the smallest lull in the fighting, before realising that five dismembered corpses lay around him, the sixth having fallen on the ramparts when he dropped it to dive into the courtyard. The Oldblood chuckled, the laugh turning into a deep, grating rumble.

"Hear me, allies of House Von Drakenblood!" roared Vardask, making use of the moment of respite. "I am Vardask, Strigoi Oldblood, and I pledge myself to your Crusade of Blood!"


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## Malochai (May 27, 2012)

Markus was making last minute adjustments to his armour, ensuring it was tight and yet comfortable, when he voiced his question, and it took him a few seconds to realise he was alone in the great hall. A low growl emanated from his throat, and he shook his head. _‘Damned Ulrich wanting to take all the glory,’_ he thought to himself. He saw the night sky streaming in through the open double doors of the great hall, and he grinned; the smile of a predator breaking through onto an otherwise human face. Once again striding outside, the smells of life assaulting his nose, he snorted slightly, determined soon that it would be the charnel stench of death, blood and gore that would be impossible to ignore. 

He looked up, and saw the von Drakenbloods gathered on the walls, ranks of long-dead, skeletal soldiers with them, and the Strigoi on towers high above, all southward-facing. The two figures that really interested the vampire were the Lahmians, who, with a look of interest that was bordering on clinical detachment in his mind. The ones he had been in the library with earlier were also present, pacing fruitlessly. _‘It does not do to waste energy,’_ he told himself sarcastically, the energy from the two slaves he had just drained flowing easily through his veins. He climbed slowly to the rampart level, taking in the atmosphere and feeling a thrill of excitement. The undead son of Altdorf never felt more alive than when he was fighting and and awaiting it. He stood on his own, between those he felt a primal bind with and the pups of Lord von Drakenblood. _‘Not that I shall require the aid of any,’_ he told himself sternly. _‘Especially Ulrich. I just want to see how he fights.’_ Even thinking the name caused a growl to rumble in his throat, and he twitched his neck to cut it off, as if he was fighting an internal daemon. 

Finally facing forwards he saw the army of Asrai that had gathered, determined to sweep away the lords of night, and it caused him to raise an eye. _‘They must have planned this long ago,’_ he thought, reasoning that so many elves couldn’t have gathered in a short time. He focussed his enhanced eyesight on the more incredible creatures that marched alongside the Asrai; the huge, gnarled trunks of treemen; one with a patch of bark missing from one of it’s legs, and smaller, humanoid-treelike forms, vicious-looking and adorned with skulls and rib cages. He heard a screech above, the sound piercing to his ears. A scowl crossed his face as he looked up and saw the eagles wheeling. He longed again for the feel of wind flowing under his wings, to ride the thermals, and his arms began to morph, pain lancing up them as the armour restricted their growth. Only just able to control it, he turned his attention back to the approaching army. 

The bloodlust was rising, and he was becoming more and more restless, determined to get into the fight as quickly as possible, and he found his sword was in his hand, despite not remembering drawing it. Markus rested the tip of the blade on the floor of the battlement, wrapping his hands around the hilt, and looked out over the approaching army with a look of superiority and smugness. _‘Oh, if they only knew what it felt like to be us,’_ he told himself with a sigh, and then closed his eyes. An imagined taste filled his mouth, the sweet tang of elven blood a memory that he couldn’t wait to renew. Eyes opening, he saw how much distance the enemy had closed, and he appreciated their speed and the fluidity of the elven movements, _‘Still, they are but cattle.’_ Almost uniformly, the elves stopped, and boulders, launched from the immensely powerful arms of treemen, collided with the stone, but the ancient architecture seemed to be up to the challenge. “Or so we can but hope,” he muttered, casting suspicious eyes over the battlements around his feet, almost convinced it would collapse beneath him. 

Movement further along the line, where Mordred himself, the only male von Drakenblood that Markus felt cowed by, drew his eyes, and he twisted his head slightly to observe the approach of the ornately-armoured skeleton, and the intricately sewn banner it carried. He shook his head and focussed once more on the approaching army, thinking it was foolish to replace a blade with a banner. “Brilliant as a weapon,” he muttered sourly, before giving one of the skeletons beside him a glance, seeing the thin veins of magic holding them together, “Not much better with a blade ...” The huge stones continued to crash against the wall, and as one impacted under where Markus stood, it drew his attention back to the army before him. Another boulder hit, shattered on the castle wall, and a chip flew up and scratched his armour. He frowned at the damage, before tracking the trajectory back to the bark-encased spirit who’d thrown it, and murmured, “You’re mine,” his voice slow and malevolent, thick with anger. His vision seemed to tunnel, and only the terrible, ear-piercing scream of metal contorting under the immense force of a truly huge boulder brought him back to his senses. 

In less than a second, he decided to move, to position himself before the hole in von Drakenblood’s defences, and he spun about, roughly pushing past skeletons and then leaping down the stairs, landing lightly despite the weight of his armour, fist still clenched around the hilt of his sword, which he brandished like a child does a stick. He took an unnecessary breath, a throw-back to his days as fighting as a human, and swung his shield off of his back to his left arm, adjusting the weight slightly so it sat more comfortably, and held his blade ready, awaiting the first enemies that dared try his wrath. He gazed out of the broken gates, and it was akin to looking through a portal to another world - the elves moved behind dryads; a wall of living wood, devoid of the sweet nectar Markus desired, obscuring the true prize. “Cowards.”

Another screech drew his gaze skywards, and he saw the eagles diving and delivering elves directly onto the walls, elves seemingly effortlessly stepping from their winged mounts onto the ramparts, or executing perfect leaping backflips, bows drawn, and firing as they landed. He growled, about to run back up the stairs, and then the dryads began their own assault. “Finally.” The word was almost spat at the oncoming wave of bark, and he spied eyes that hinted at a hint of madness in the soul within. 

He stepped forward, spinning his sword once to gain some momentum, and then started to close the distance between himself and the spirits that aided the Asrai. Markus started to gather the winds of magic to himself, smiling grimly as he felt it wrap around him like a burial shroud, the dark pulse of necromantic magic yielding to his indomitable will, but, when he started muttering in the language of the Great Necromancer himself, ancient Nehekharan, to bring down the gaze of Nagash himself on his enemies, the control slipped away, like water through cupped fingers, and he found himself scrabbling to retain control of it even as felt, somewhere deep in the enemy ranks, a wizard defy his grasp on the magic, countering with his own spells and drawing the magic to himself. 

Angered even beyond what Ulrich had managed to achieve, Markus howled, the sound animalistic, and his eyes looked crazed below the rim of his helmet; his fangs sliced into the soft flesh of his lips, and rivulets of blood started to trickle down his chin. Despite it looking like he’d lost control of his senses, the vampire was evaluating everything and, when he struck the line of dryads, Markus blocked the scrabbling, wooden claws of a dryad and countered with his blade, driving the black metal through it’s chest, and twisting his wrist sharply, the creature had deep tears through it’s body, running from the central wound, and it screeched as the life left it. Before it’s body was on the floor, he was moving again, spinning around and blocking more attacks. The feel of an arrow slamming into his shoulder spun him a bit further, and he snapped it off using the side of his shield, the point still buried within his armour, and allowed the momentum to feed through into his sword, the blade whistling with speed as it travelled, and sliced easily through the dryad’s neck. Life left the wood and the head hit the stone floor with a hollow _thud_. Eyes moving quickly, he saw he was through the thin dryad lines and he now faced elves, fighting with short blades and tracing movements with drawn bows. He danced to the side and an arrow sang past him, sinking deep into the skull of a skeletal warrior behind him, before he launched himself forward and grabbed a female elf, pulling her to his chest and tearing her throat out, blocking a sword blow as he did so, before he dropped the twitching body, whose clothes were even then so saturated with the crimson life-blood that it was starting to pool and slide slowly, almost malevolently, down her neck to the ground. A skeletal warrior moved between him and his next target, and struck, knocking the elven form to the ground, before a blade was driven through it’s sternum, severing vital strands of magic, and it collapsed, the brittle, hollow bones tinkling and shattering as they impacted on the stone-covered ground. Reversing his grip on the hilt of his sword, and grasping it with both hands, drove it down hard, puncturing armour, skin and organs, blood oozing from the wound and dripping from his sword mesmerically when he withdrew it.


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## Romero's Own (Apr 10, 2012)

Before Tyreal could come at Alexander again a shape caught the pair’s attention. Flying through the sky towards the castle Alexander could make out the shape of a massive misshapen vampire. Tyreal grunted in annoyance as, with a mighty crash, the vampire smashed its way through a large stain-glass window. Although Alexander was unsure of what was going on within the room the vampire had entered he heard a voice drift through the night air to his sensitive hearing.

"We are attacked! The Elves move against us! We are attacked!"

Alexander tensed as he watched Tyreal sheath his blades and turn his back to look over the battlements and into the forest below. Alexander paused; his fist raised and watched carefully as Tyreal spoke in that high and mighty voice of his.

“The tainted one is right Strigoi-Dog the elves are on their way and in great numbers for their dying race. We will postpone our fight for a later time.”

With that and the swirl of his black cape Tyreal turned away and headed off along the rampart towards where Mordred Von Drakenblood is walking with one of the Von Carstien whelps. Alexander clenched his fists and bared his teeth, his fangs elongating as rage coursed through his mind. Who did this vampire think he was? Alexander didn’t care who his father was, no-one had the right to dismiss a fight with him so easily. Alexander tilted his head back and roared in anger before shouting after Tyreal.

“This isn’t over Tyreal. I will take your head. Be it in single combat or the heat of battle my blades will take your life!”

The only thing that prevented Alexander from charging Tyreal there and then was the promise of Asrai blood being spilled. With a final glare after the vampire Tyreal turned and launched himself over the battlements. Catching himself on a parapet Alexander paused and looked around him. Seeing that the others were gathering around Mordred upon the walls of the castle Alexander moved to join them.

Climbing quickly up the castle wall Alexander soon reached the roofs where he made quick progress till he arrived above Mordred. Dropping down Alexander caught himself on a drainpipe and hung there, watching the other vampires arrive. Raising his eyes to look across the plains before the castle Alexander couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face as he saw the entire Elf host spread before him. Treemen, Dryads, Great Eagles and all manner of other woodland creatures fighting alongside Elf warriors. This is turning into a good night.

Alexander could see the ranks of undead soldiers, summoned by Lord and Lady Von Drakenblood, standing in perfect order to defend the castle. But Alexander knew that the skeletons could not be allowed all the fun, his blades craved blood almost as much as he and they both must be satisfied tonight.
Alexander watched carefully as the Treemen lumbered past their Elven allies and moved to the front of the army. The Treemen all hold huge boulders in their wooden, gnarled hands and before long they draw back their arms and hurl their missiles towards the castle. Alexander watched, relaxed, as the boulders sailed through the air. One by one they crash against the mighty stone of the walls and the age-old timber of the castle gates.

Alexander licked his lips and flexed his muscles, anticipating the rivers of blood he would spill that night. Sparing a brief glance around the other assembled vampires Alexander saw that, like him, they were standing still, their eyes turned towards the Elf army. He smiled. They would all take a terrible toll on the already dying race.

Alexander’s eyes were drawn to an ornately armoured skeleton that had arrived to stand beside Mordred. In his bony hands was held an impressive standard, the black cloth has on its front a snarling red dragon coiled around a silver sword with its blood running down the blade and to be caught in a golden goblet. Alexander knew this to be, from legend, the Von Drakenblood standard. It is said the banner was soaked in the blood of a hundred virgins and sorcerer’s to give many potent enchantments. But Alexander has never had any interest in the magical arts that others of his kind practiced. He had no time for spells and magic.

A deafening crash shot like a lance of pain through Alexander’s supernatural hearing. Turning quickly, his teeth bared and eyes glowing Alexander growled as he saw the wreckage of the castle gates strewn across the courtyard. A huge boulder lies in the twisted metal and shattered wood.

Alexander’s keen hearing was drawn again, this time by the cries of the Elven army as, now with a way into the castle, surged forward across the plains. Alexander smiled and dropped from his hanging place. Landing heavily on the ground Alexander looked upwards as a high pitched screech drew his attention to the waves of Great Eagles swooping down towards the castle.

More boulders crashed into the walls, scattering undead warrior’s aside, as Alexander rose to his frightening full height. He raised his eyes to the Great Eagles and could make out the figures of Elf Warriors riding upon the backs of their trusted bird allies. Even as he watched them arrows flew through the air, each claiming an undead life. Alexander had to admit that, prey they may be, they were damn good shots.

It was then that the first Elf warrior leapt from his bird and landed upon the walls. Seeing Alexander standing tall the Elf loosed an arrow towards the Strigoi. The arrow embedded itself into Alexander’s armour. With a roar of rage Alexander turned to his assailant, his fangs bared. Wrenching the arrow from his armour Alexander charged towards the Elf even as they notched another arrow. But before he could fire Alexander’s blades where out and with a powerful thrust the Elf could only look in disbelief at the blades piercing his chest. The Elf looked up into Alexander’s face in time to see him lean forward and sink his fangs into the Elf’s flesh.

Pulling back from his meal, blood dribbling down his chin Alexander smiled. Now that his thirst was less sharp he could really concentrate on killing. Dropping the body to the floor Alexander withdrew his blades with a flourish and turned towards the battle raging upon the walls. Tilting back his head and roaring Alexander paused for a second, his eyes flicking left and right, before charging towards the ramparts. Without even pausing Alexander swung his blades and the head of an Elf fell to the floor. With a final roar Alexander threw himself of the edge of the walls.

Just as he had judged Alexander landed heavily upon the back of a Great Eagle, which fell for a few seconds with the new weight before climbing slowly again. His first strike drove one of his blades deep into the chest of an Elf. His second slit the throat of the second. And his third strike sliced the chest of the third and final Elf. Turning once more he drove his sword into the neck of the Great Eagle before leaping once more into the air. Landing upon another Eagle Alexander paused only to cut the wing of the Eagle before somersaulting backwards off the plummeting bird and landing once more upon the castle walls.

Not even a second after landing upon the walls Alexander turned and threw his blade across the battle. With a sickening thud the sword impaled an Elf with his bow drawn who fell to the floor. Charging towards his sword a solo elf stepped into his path, his spear levelled at the charging vampire. Not stopping his run 
Alexander grasped the shaft of the spear and drove it forward into the stomach of the Elf. As the Elf doubled over in pain Alexander broke his neck before reaching his embedded blade and pulling it free. Turning back to the battle Alexander smiled and ran his tongue along the blade of his bloody sword.


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## Captain Stillios (Mar 8, 2009)

Khalidel saluted Klaus as the call to arms sounded. "It seems that we are attacked sir knight, I highly enjoyed this bout but for now it seems we must see to these foolish attackers" He turned and ran for the battlements racing ahead of his 'brothers' but was brought up short when he saw that Radu was walking beside Mordred, more at ease in each other’s presence than Khalidel had ever been with Mordred. Disgust curled Khalidels face into a sneer but he quickly turned it into an arrogant grin as he went and stood on Mordreds opposite side. 
"What forces assail us?" Khalidel deliberately left out any title but looked out over the walls to see the army arranged before the castle and shivered with the anticipated bloodshed. He turned to see Mordreds banner as he realised that he was not the only one visibly relishing the approaching battle, Khalidel looked away from the banner as the first boulder impacted the gate. Drawing his sword Khalidel stepped up onto the ramparts and bared his fangs. 
"Come on then you fools!" He roared as he held his sword above his head "My blade and I thirst for your blood!" as the gates crashed down and the eagles swooped in Khalidel turned back to the assembled vampires and bowed mockingly “Well brothers there seems to be someone at the gates, shall we go and greet them?” without waiting for an answer Khalidel leapt from the battlements. As he fell he raised his sword above his head in a two-handed grip. He smashed down onto the back of a great eagle as his sword plunged vertically down through the spine of the elf rider, the eagle struggled under the weight of Khalidels armoured form and began to fall. Khalidel waited until it was nearly at ground level before leaping into the courtyard, crashing down onto the shoulders of a dryad splintering it into a thousand pieces. He snarled and threw himself forwards through the ranks of dryads whirling and slashing as he went with his sword and dagger lashing out with bloody mayhem, one dryad he decapitated with a flourish while another impaled itself on his outstretched dagger, Khalidel parried an outstretched claw and then kicked his foot into the offending creature shattering it to kindling. As he looked around him he noticed that he had been joined by some of the other vampires and smiled at the destruction they were wreaking. He span around to face an oncoming elven rider as he bore down on Khalidel who dropped into a crouch. Just as the spear was about to impale his heart he grabbed it in his left hand and wrenched it forwards dragging the unfortunate elf off of his mount and onto Khalidels outstretched sword, as the elf died Khalidel drew him closer until they were only inches apart. “You have failed here little elf” He hissed “The Crusade shall wipe this pitiful army from the face of the world!” with that he lunged forwards with his fangs and tore out the elf’s throat.
Finding himself at a lull in the combat Khalidel raised the still twitching corpse above his head and cried “This is the fate that awaits each and every one of you!” He threw the corpse at the other elf riders and looked around for more challenging foes.


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## Santaire (Feb 13, 2011)

Despite my loathing of him I found myself walking besides Ulric’s towering form as we left the great hall. The silence was palpable, the loathing between us so obvious to those with the eyes to see us and the intelligence to process our stances that one would be surprised that one of us was not already dead. But alas, the blood called. And when my father played, even kings danced to his tune.

Hienrick joined us as we stepped through the doors, matching our stride and speed. It must have been an impressive sight. Alone, we would fail. But when the Sons of Mordred stood as one even Emperor’s need feel fear. Then though, standing together would be folly for my hatred of Ulric and his of me could only spell death for one or both of us. After all, in battles accidents happen all too frequently. I had been the victim of attempted ‘accidents’ before, particularly when a single Blood Dragon decided he deserved to stand in my place. Having a small talent with illusions he thought the best way to do this would be to kill me and then literally taking my place. He used other vampires to attempt it and thought me dead after a roof collapsed on me.

He learned that von Drakenblood’s are not so easily killed facing the blade of Blood Gold which I then proceeded to drive through the back of his skull.

But enough of the memories, for we had a battle to win.

It was Hienrick who broke the awkward silence between the three of us. “The elves once again seek to test their strength against our father and remove him from his own castle. Did you both know they tried this once before over three hundred years ago before out father turned Ulric? Back then Father stood in front of the gate house with his sword planted in the ground before him daring them to come and kill him. Naturally they were repulsed and their corpses used to rebuild fathers army, I’m pretty sure some of these skeletons were once some of the Asrai.” Hienrick shrugged and looked at the sky. “We have just over nine hours before the sun rises and we are forced back inside the confines of the castle’s keep, we will need to make this battle bloody and short, will you stand with me brothers?”

“I will be with you brother,” I said, my voice clear and strong. Ulric also grunted assent. And so we strode to see the enemy who dared strike against Mordred...
__________________________________________________________

The Elves truly were determined to wipe us off the face of the Old World I reflected as I gazed over the swarm that covered the land. Skeletons manned the walls as well as others of my kind and all stared unwaveringly at the Elves. Several Vampires chose that time to hurl insults at the enemy and some spoke with their fellows. I simply stood, taking it all in. I had learnt long before that a warrior has to study every detail, has to be ready for every eventuality. As my gaze switched from the Asrai to the Woodland spirits that had accompanied them my eyes were taking in weaknesses of both the massive lumbering Tree-men and the Dryads. I was utterly still, not even a finger twitched.

Elves had always been arrogant but to attack the very same castle from which they had been repulsed when it was much more crowded with the Aristocracy of the Night, it was foolishness that bards try to hide behind words of heroic sacrifices. I had watched far too many so called ‘heroic’ sacrifices to believe those tales. But still, the Elves were numerous. There would be blood enough for all in the castle to drink of it.

Rocks flew from the hands of Woodland spirits to crash against the ancient walls of my home. The battle it seemed, had begun. A huge stone crashed through the main gates and several Vampires jumped down into the courtyard to fight those who came rushing for the gaping hole in the defences. Eagles landed Asrai warriors on the ramparts and other Vampires ran to greet them. Blood sprayed. I walked calmly to stand atop the gate, drew both swords from my back and howled at the moon.

Then I leapt over the battlements.

My boots hit the dirt just as an Elf warrior was sprinting for the gate. My swords impaled him, one on either side of his spine. I lifted the struggling, screaming Elf and tossed him down. His lifeblood vanished into the soil around his body. Now the dance could begin. It was Wardancers who came for me. Of course it was Wardancers. I would have been insulted had it not been.

I watched the glittering spinning of their blades as they leapt for me. I did not move as they surrounded me. Then one lunged.

It was the last mistake he would ever make.

I swayed aside from the lunge, moving with a speed that made the Wardancers look like old men. They didn’t even have time to blink before the Elf that had lunged was dead, his head rolling on the floor. Another Wardancer cursed in amazement, and then looked down to see Blood Gold reddened tip jutting from his chest. I ripped the blade free and was moving again, just a flicker in the moonlight.

Another Wardancer fell, both blades thrust clean through his torso. I jumped and thrust both feet into his chest, using it as a springboard to leap off and spin in the air.

A female Wardancer took the opportunity to lunge at my belly and my flickering right hand hit her blade and snapped it. I gripped the shard and as I landed turned and threw it at another Wardancer. Now there was a truly skilled warrior that knocked the spinning shard of metal out of the air. He attacked, all ferocity and speed so that he too was a blur. I dodged most of the blows and blocked the rest with my vambraces. Then I sprang into a backwards flip, kicking him in the chest to give myself extra speed. As I flipped I reached down and grasped the hilts of my swords that were still embedded in the chest of a dead Wardancer.

As I came up one of my swords was already rising, held loosely in my left hand.

The Elf brought his blade down, expecting resistance that he could use to propel himself round into a gut opening slash but instead the sword slipped freely from my hand and his sword over swung. He was already recovering, already beginning to twist away but he was far too slow. Blood Gold took him clean in the chest. It was a merciful death, a mark of respect from one warrior to another.

Evidently the female Elf whose sword I had broken didn’t think of it as such. She ran to the falling Elf screaming that he was her father. As she caught him another Wardancer came at me. His swords flashed furiously in the moon light, a dazzling combination of moves that nonetheless proved pointless as Blood Gold half severed his head.

The Elf crying over her father’s corpse rose and charged me. I threw Blood Gold down, the point sinking into the dirt and knocked aside her swords. My touch as I cradled her head was almost gentle before I pulled her into an embrace and sank my fangs into her neck. I drank deep of Elven blood and felt its strength permeate my veins.

I dropped her lifeless body to the floor and retrieved my swords before plunging back into the chaos...


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## High_Seraph (Aug 28, 2009)

Continuing her conversation with Natasha, Nuso moves slowly over to the chairs inside the room. Listening intently Nuso cannot even pick up the barest hint of what Elizabeth is talking about with her diminutive guest despite her enhanced hearing. Seeing Elizabeth straighten sharply Nuso feels a stirring in the winds of magic before Elizabeth proclaims, *“Powerful magic gathers to the south and those of the forest seek to oust us from this castle like they tried to three hundred years ago. The elves moves against us Natasha, Nuso, make your way to the southern rampart where my husband and his sons, and the others gather to prepare to defend the castle. I shall be with you shortly as I have some surprises to prepare for the elves.”* Rankled at the short dismissal Nuso nonetheless bows to her before turning towards the door thoughts turning over the spells she has learned and perfected over the years that would help her in coming fight. Descending the stairs Nuso turns toward her chambers quickly ducking inside to put on her Nightshroud armour and fumbling a bit with her sword as she exits and continues down the hallway. Coming into the great hall and seeing it completely empty Nuso cocks her head to the left while following Natasha towards the southern exit. 

Coming upon the battlement with most of the castle there Nuso moved to a position overlooking most of those gathered there already. Looking over the assembled might of the Von Drakenblood vampires atop the battlements, Ulric, Heinrick and Gaelan standing straight and proud next to their "Father", the Von Carsteins loosely grouped with the one standing closer to the Von Drakenbloods, the lone Necrarch standing about by himself and the undeniable stench of the Strigoi assaulting her nose causing her face to contort in disgust. Turning her thoughts toward the Asrai Nuso looks from the battlements to figure out what would be the wisest course for her. Surveying the battle lines of the Asrai Nuso saw among them treemen and dryads hallowed spirits brought to war, stifling a laugh at the thought she raises her eyes as shadows flit past the lines of elves to see giant eagles carrying some on their backs. Eyes narrowing at the thought of having to actually fight Nuso blinks and turns her head downward at a horrible screeching of tortured metal giving way to a massive object. 

Looking back at the lines of Asrai Nuso sees that the treemen have started flinging giant boulders at the castle with one hitting the gate below them. Watching as some vampires leap down to engage the elves below Nuso shakes her head in exasperation Nuso looks back up at the eagles who have moved a lot closer since she last hazed upon them. Clearing her mind of everything Nuso begins channeling the winds of magic to use a spell. Calling upon the winds of magic Nuso's clothes started flapping around her as she drew more and more to her while concentrating on the spell. Coming close to completion Nuso felt another mage trying desperately to take the winds of magic away from her. Engaging in a battle of wills over the power Nuso and the elven mage the conflict wavered before Nuso wrested complete control from her opponent and unleashed the curse of years into the eagles and elves riding them with a simple wave of her small right arm flicking her wrist at the end for a flourish. Watching it connect with one eagle and taking pleasure in seeing it shrivel its very muscles before her eyes. The flaps of its wings becoming more and more frantic as the flesh drew taut and muscles faded, feathers falling out before turning to dust before reaching the ground, its eyes shriveling into desicated prunes before finally falling out of the air. 

Seeing it affect another eagle Nuso turns to the first to see one rider also affected by her curse. His skin pulling ever more taut hair going pure white before falling out in patches, the skin over his stomach inching closer to his spine as organs were revealed before turning to ash inside, muscles failing to keep him up as his bones crack when he slumps to his knees, eyes rolling backwards as flesh peels away rom his face showing the skeleton beneath as he succumbs completely. Unsheathing her sword Nuso walks over to the four other elves who had witnessed such magical horror. Quickly slaying the first one with a thrust through his throat Nuso tries to kill another quickly but is interrupted by another elf who blocks the attack with an angry snarl. Regaining her balance that was upset from the block Nuso simply drops to her knees as his return attack whistles over her head impaling him right above his naked navel elicting a shriek of pure agony before pushing him over and withdrawing her swor dthrough his mortal wound. Standing up she stares innocently at her intended second target throwing him off gaurd long enough to pierce his heart with the tip of her sword. Looking over the carnage she sees an Asrai with her back turned to her. Silently making her way towards her Nuso reaches her target and calmly inserts her sword through the elf's back dropping her to her knees before opening her mouth wide and biting the now acessiable neck. Drinking deeply of the elf Nuso feels envigorated as she wipes the remaining blood from her chin as she lets the elf fall to the ground bleeding her last onto the cold stone.


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## BlackGuard (Sep 10, 2010)

Klaus growled as the blade dug into is pallid flesh. He felt the tip of it graze across one of his long-dead ribs and for a moment he remained still trying to grapple with the reality that this upstart, Khalidel, had somehow managed to get around his defenses. With a roar he brought his shield down, finally breaking the other vampire's hold on it, and threatened to send it into Khalidel's ribs but was only greeted with air. The other undead moves away nimbly in a flourish and stood smiling a few yards away. The joy was clear on his face.

_'I claim first blood sir knight,'_ he said smiling before going in a delicate bow. Klaus glowered at him in something approaching hatred. How had he got past his defenses? Was he not as good as he thought? Surely centuries of warfare and countless duels in the frenzy of battle had been worth something? No. The fault did not lie with his skill. It laid squarely upon his underestimating this Khalidel. He's assumed him a fool who'd been lucky enough over time. This obviously wasn't the case. This was one of Mordred's sons and obviously skilled with a blade.

The mistake would, hopefully, not be repeated. He gave Khalidel absolutely no warning, giving up both honor and courtesy, as he charged forward with his shield forward. The other vampire's eyes arose to see his opponent within a meter of him and quickly threw up his defenses. Their shields smashed together in a violent display. Back and forth they went pushing brute strength against brute strength. Klaus continued to apply pressure, forcing his opponent to do the same. He could see the fierce fire in Khalidel's eyes. His cold soul pondered for, what for a mortal would have been, a few heartbeats as to why anyone of their kind would ever have a spark of life within them. Regardless an example of it stood before him as he strove to push Klaus back.

The Blood Dragon was devoid of all such fire. Only the cold-burn of bitterness and regret filled him ever since that dreaded day in the Chapel of Ulric, mockingly the Warrior-God of the Empire. Feeling detached from the entire situtation, Klaus pushed once more with all of his strength forcing Khalidel back a few feet. In a mixture of smiling arrogance and primal rage Khalidel pushed back and this time found absolutely no resistance. Klaus spun around and Khalidel back to stumble forward. His spun continued as his blade cut out towards the other vampire's neck -- decapitation clearly his intention. What might have been a minor bout between potential rivals had quickly esclated thanks to Klaus. 

Khalidel was, to his credit, much faster than Klaus predicated as his moved deftly out of the way of most of the blade -- the tip of it did cut into the other undead's ear. Khalidel began to recover by bringing his shield back around but Klaus had prepared for it and finished his spin by slamming his shield into his opponents and knocking it back. His blade flashed forward and drove into Khalidel's, now, unprotected shoulder. He withdrew the blade and prepared for another strike, this time to the neck, but Khalidel quickly surged forward knocking him off balance before shield-slamming him back a few steps. 

Klaus righted himself and resumed his posture as Khalidel held back for a moment -- no doubt taken aback, even if slightly. Suddenly roaring of the call to arms come and echoed around the vast Great Hall. Klaus looked around for a moment trying to see if anyone in particular had given the shout. He never loosened his stance and stood ready to fight. 

Khalidel was the first to break off the duel, _'It seems that we are attacked sir knight, I highly enjoyed this bout but for now it seems we must see to these foolish attackers.'_ With a slight bow Khalidel rushed off down the Great Hall.

Only after he was a safe distance away did Klaus yield his position and stood up straight. Under attack? In all the infinite hells, who could have possibility known of this convenant? Surely their movement would have drawn some attention but enough to bring a concentrated assault? Even as these questions pushed through his mind he quickly made his way to the exterior of Mordred's castle. As he exited the Great Hall and made his way towards the wall itself he could literally taste the necrotic magic being worked into the air and saw the shuffling forms of skeletons, ghouls, zombies and worse making their way out of the ground and the catacombs. Mordred's power was impressive afterall if he could command this many of the undead. It only made Klaus grin to think of the power his potential master would have once the Blood Crusade began in earnest.

Klaus reached the top of the walls and got a look at his opponents for the first time. He took his place somewhat away from the others, but on the crowded wall there was no room. Even though he stood somewhat apart from the others, the undead around him were many. His cold, uncaring eyes saw the host that was arrayed against them even as the first boulder smashed into the walls. The Asari, or Wood Elves as he would have called them in his mortal years. They stood in still ranks as their Treeman allies pelted the walls with boulders. Klaus, along with his other allies, stood unimpressed upon the walls as the stones bounced harmlessly against them battlements. 

He noticed the standard brought by a large armored skeleton that stood beside Mordred and could see the changed expressions upon the faces of some of his allies. He remainded unaffected, perhaps due to his distance from the banner itself, and shrugged. Then came the deafening sound of an explosion of wood and metal and he instantly knew what it was. This wasn't, afterall, the first siege he'd been apart of. The gates were obviously destroyed by the Treemen's boulders. Suddenly the Asari host charged forward as their way in was now clear. 

Klaus turned to jump down into the courtyard where the fighting would no doubt the bloodiest. He saw several other of his kindred jumping down below to mark war on the elves and even a few remaining atop the walls -- still most of them were simply waiting to pounce he could tell by how their eyes followed the first wave of Wood Elves. Klaus' instincts told him to jump down and follow but then he heard the screech from above and saw the Great Eagles of the Wood Elf host swarming towards the castle -- upon their backs groups of Wood Elves with bows already notched. 

An arrow flew by his skull and knocked a zombie off the walls. Klaus couldn't tell where the hell it came from, by then there air was filled with seemingly random volleys of arrows. He used his shield to deflect all of them until finally he saw a Wood Elf drop onto the walls and began loosing arrows into the surronding undead. Klaus roared suddenly his bloodlust rising to fore. He charged forward, knocking undead aside himself, and caught the Wood Elf by surprised. Bloodmourne lashed out and removed one of the elf's hands while the Bulwark of Terror smashed him to the ground an instant later. Klaus was upon him and his fangs bit deep into the exposed neck of the disoriented elf. He bucked for a few moments as Klaus began to drain him dry but his life finally gave out. Klaus rose from the corpse the blood running down his chin and staining the front of his armor. 

Other Wood Elves began dropping around Klaus, some coming directly for him while others ended up there trying to kill undead. It didn't matter to him. A Wood Elf came rushes forwards, perhaps to avenge his drained comrade, his blade lashing out at Klaus whose shield block the blow, following a thrust of Bloodmourne into the elf's chest. Klaus moved onto the next foe cutting him down with ease, he already locked into a sword fight with a skeleton. A arrow flashed by him again and he caught a group of Wood Elves who were clearing out a section of the wall. Two of them were behind the archer cutting down undead, and one of them was in front of him doing the same. Klaus' smile was sadistic. 

_'Bloodmourne thirsts ... the blood of a dying race will sate it but for a moment,'_ he called out to them knowing that even over the chaos of battle their Elven ears would hear it. No surprise when the Wood Elf in front of the archer angled himself between Klaus and the archer who loosed another arrow. The Bulkwark of Terror was raised and the arrow bounced harmleslsy away. The Blood Dragon gave a roar and charge forward. 

The Asari warrior stepped forward ready to cross swords with him but Bloodmourne did not hunger for him -- not yet. He moved aside of the blade and used his shield to create a wall between them, which several more blows bounced off of as Klaus moved for the archer. Another arrow was loosed, this one actually finding it mark in Klaus' chest plate but thankfully only penetrated his pallid flesh by less than an inch. Bloodmourne, however, was already rushing out towards the archer, Klaus had taken the risk of some pain for the kill. The blade found its mark in the Wood Elf's throat. The obsidian blade did not sink very far into the neck, only just enough to cause death. Klaus was annoyed at this fact but it was a moot issue now, the archer stummbled backwards clutching his throat before tumbling off the walls into the courtyard. The Asari whom he'd avoided slashed as his shield again and again trying to move it aside. Klaus surged forward knocking the elf back a few feet. 

One of the other Asasi moved away from fighting the ghouls and zombies on the walls, leaving his friend to fend for himself as he rushed to attack Klaus from behind. For several minutes the three of the danced across the walls. Klaus was clearly on the defensive for most of the fight as the two were trained, even if they weren't particularly skilled with a blade, no doubt they'd perferred their bows. The turning point came when one of the Wood Elf's over-extended himself by taking Klaus' bait and came within range of Bloodmourne, his head was quickly severed from his body. The other Wood Elf's hatred could be felt as the two squared off. The Asari, filled with anger, lunged forward with quick, precise strikes intending to force Klaus backwards. The Blood Dragon did no such thing and stood his ground allowing the elf to come dangerous close before shoving Bloodmourne into his gut and throwing him over the walls into the courtyard. 

The last Wood Elf in the, now collapsed, pocket glanced back at Klaus and knew he was doomed. He had several cuts across his face from near misses and blood ran down his stomach from a rather grevious claw wound from a ghoul. He turned back to deflect another attack, and Klaus could read his body language. He intended to jump from the walls and land in the courtyard where his comrade fought. A wise plan, there was even a likelihood of success if he managed to make it. Klaus rushed forward with post-mortal speed and was behind the Wood Elf just has he made to detach from the engagement. 

One of his cold dead hands grabbed the Wood Elf firmly by the shoulder, _'Friend surely you don't intend to leave? I was just getting the taste of your kind.'_ 

Bloodmourne was shoved into his back and the elf gave out a desperate gasp as his spine was severed. Klaus never underestimated the elves and he wasn't surprised when the Asari didn't die immediately but sank to his knees. The ghouls and undead in front of him stayed back out of unthinking and unknowing respect of Klaus. He looked at them and found only disdain. 

_'Feast you filth ... it is all you're good at,'_ he said with a sneer as he released his grip on the still living elf. He turned away and began to walk even as the first ghouls sunk their teeth into him and the elf's cries could be heard.


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