((NPC Post))
The moment Krevster's palm touched the disc on the wall, the cavern was flooded with light. Several magical globes illuminated around the cavern, causing reflections from the myriads of white and clear crystals embedded in the walls.
Other than the tables, chairs and desk, there was not much in the room. Searching the moldering papers on the desk would reveal little; written in a foreign language nearly none knew any longer in a script hardly used, in black, flaky ink, they felt like they might crumble if handled too much.
The vampire moved into the light behind Krevster, though keeping to more shadows than light. The light didn't seem to adversely affect the vampire, but it was obviously uncomfortable for him.
Further into the room was a small wooden chest and what appeared to be a workbench. Arrayed across the bench were many baubles and trinkets, looking as much like a gnome's work shop as anything else. In a corner, piled amongst moldering and rusting bits of armor was an armor tree, upon which sat an ornate, black metal breastplate with a deep red blood drop engraved on the breast. The armor was gilded with red lines at all the seams.
There was a large lock on the small iron-bound wooden chest beneath the workbench. A feeling of power seemed to radiate from it when one got within ten feet.
After getting near the bench and chest, one would be able to see what amounted to a small shrine; an altar with a rather plain knife atop it, and what looked like a woman etched into the wall. The etching was too faded and worn to properly tell what the woman looked like, and the fact that it was a woman was only made clear by what were obviously naked breasts.
Cemetary Crypt
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Shadowsong
- Citizen
- Posts: 193
- Joined: Sun May 14, 2006 3:28 am
- Race: Human
Having little need of it now, Krevster unslung his shield from his back and handed it over to Morsoreg, allowing the vampire a portable shelter from the light source. Then seeing his prize obstructed by the binding chest, he kicked at the lock with a steel boot, stamping at it with fury.
By the second or third stomp, the lock had come off, mostly because the supporting wood had been broken through. Krevster simply pulled the lock clear of the frame, and opened the lid, to find two ornate golden boxes in front of him. One gave of a hearty allure, a sense of vigour and potency and might to come. The other exuded a chill presence very akin to the grave, one which Darkheart would probably leave even were it not so well suited to the vampire.
One was clearly his prize, he claimed that. The other belonged to his companion.
Opening the box, he saw a pendant resembling a crystallised blood drop, worn on a black cord he could not identify. Again, unknown beckons sounded in his mind, and he donned it there and then.
In an instant, he felt an innate bond. With the altar, the armour, the dagger. What was more, he felt a purpose for them all. No longer was he part of the city, no longer did he have a post. Now he was a Champion, a sword of darkness, a shedder of blood and bringer of woe.
Everything felt so clear in that moment.
Shedding metal pieces, he began replacing his Guardsman armour with the black shell hanging from the tree. Each piece seemed to fit snugly, far more comfortable than he expected from armour. More reason to believe this was a gift. By the time he was through with his new attire, stood before them as an ebon colossus.
Resting on the ground behind the armour tree was a sword. One taller than nearly any man in the room. A grande flamberne with the blade waved like a tongue of flame trapped in hewn black iron, the burning life captured in the crimson glyphs inscribed along the length of the blade. Looking at the hilt, it appeared simple ivory, although the macabre nature of this place would suggest that it was carved from the bones of the slain. Probably remains of a human sacrifce... a perfect child given in offering to the dark goddess.
Human sacrifice. That was an idea.
Not stopping to consider the new insights which had struck him, the dark colossus took the sacrificial dagger and approached Morsereg, who had presumably received his own dark joy. "These were gifts from a power that favour us." whispered Darkheart, "We should give thanks. An offering of blood and souls so she favours us further. It appears there is still a use for these others down here. I suggest getting their spears from them and trapping them within before we start."
These words were for the vampire's ears alone.
By the second or third stomp, the lock had come off, mostly because the supporting wood had been broken through. Krevster simply pulled the lock clear of the frame, and opened the lid, to find two ornate golden boxes in front of him. One gave of a hearty allure, a sense of vigour and potency and might to come. The other exuded a chill presence very akin to the grave, one which Darkheart would probably leave even were it not so well suited to the vampire.
One was clearly his prize, he claimed that. The other belonged to his companion.
Opening the box, he saw a pendant resembling a crystallised blood drop, worn on a black cord he could not identify. Again, unknown beckons sounded in his mind, and he donned it there and then.
In an instant, he felt an innate bond. With the altar, the armour, the dagger. What was more, he felt a purpose for them all. No longer was he part of the city, no longer did he have a post. Now he was a Champion, a sword of darkness, a shedder of blood and bringer of woe.
Everything felt so clear in that moment.
Shedding metal pieces, he began replacing his Guardsman armour with the black shell hanging from the tree. Each piece seemed to fit snugly, far more comfortable than he expected from armour. More reason to believe this was a gift. By the time he was through with his new attire, stood before them as an ebon colossus.
Resting on the ground behind the armour tree was a sword. One taller than nearly any man in the room. A grande flamberne with the blade waved like a tongue of flame trapped in hewn black iron, the burning life captured in the crimson glyphs inscribed along the length of the blade. Looking at the hilt, it appeared simple ivory, although the macabre nature of this place would suggest that it was carved from the bones of the slain. Probably remains of a human sacrifce... a perfect child given in offering to the dark goddess.
Human sacrifice. That was an idea.
Not stopping to consider the new insights which had struck him, the dark colossus took the sacrificial dagger and approached Morsereg, who had presumably received his own dark joy. "These were gifts from a power that favour us." whispered Darkheart, "We should give thanks. An offering of blood and souls so she favours us further. It appears there is still a use for these others down here. I suggest getting their spears from them and trapping them within before we start."
These words were for the vampire's ears alone.
If violence is not the answer, you have asked me the wrong question.
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Morsereg Dindaedel
- Citizen
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- Joined: Sun Jun 11, 2006 3:26 pm
- Race: Vampire
Morsereg had entered quietly, and almost at once felt something in the room - it was powerful, and it was old...and it almost felt cold. He could hear whispers...but they were not the voice of Krevster, nor that of any of the slaves. The voices had come upon him the moment the door had opened, and every step brought them louder. Screaming at him, screaming to him, screaming about him...he couldn't hear what they were saying, he just knew they were saying something.
He glanced at the shield offered to him by Darkheart and grasped it, shielding himself from the light that he had not actually been aware of until that moment. He still refused to speak, eyes glancing around the room as if searching for the cause of the voices. When his eyes passed over the chest, they froze and would not budge - it was obvious that was where they were coming from. Krevster kicked the lock free, and opened the lid.
The vampire was not sure when he had abandoned the shield, but idly noticed that there was light shining on him, as he had dropped it to the floor. As Krevster claimed his prize, Morsereg strode forward with intent, everything else having disappeared from his mind. As his companion went to don his new armor, Morsereg picked up the box. The voices were louder than ever now - they were screeching at him, but he couldn't bare to back away from the box. He set his hand upon the golden lid, and opened the box.
There was a pendant in there, similar to Krevsters - though it was blackened, and gave off an unsubtle aura of death. The screaming was almost deafening now, though he was quite aware that it wasn't physical - no one else was able to hear it, it was all in his head. He lifted the pendant into the air by its chord - which was in fact many small pieces of vertebrae, human and non-human, somehow bound together - though considering it was in a Battle Mage's tomb, he surmised that it was magic that bound the bones together into a necklace.
As he gazed into the pendant, holding it in his grasp - all was silent. The screams were gone. For a moment he thought that the screams had gone so loud that it had caused him to go deaf, until he heard the steady breathing of the slave closest to him. He slipped the bone necklace over his head, settling it on his neck and glancing around the room.
He was suddenly aware of Krevster standing next to him, and turned his head to look at him as he suggested human sacrifice for the power which had led them here. Morsereg silently nodded, looking at the slaves. "Would you prefer they be under my control or not as we kill them?" He whispered back to Krevster, but he did not wait for his reply before doing what was asked of him.
"Drop your spears in front of me," He spoke, voice raised and firm. The slaves walked towards the vampire, eyes looking mindlessly ahead as they, one-by-one, dropped the spears at his feet. A few of the ones who had been stronger-willed than the others when entering the cave now looked thoroughly broken and beaten, having lost all of their independence. As the last spear was placed before Morsereg, he stepped over them and kicked them behind, getting them out of reach as the slaves looked at him. "Get before the altar."
They lined themselves up neatly in a row as they stood before the altar, arms hanging uselessly at their sides.
"Kneel." Morsereg demanded, and as one the slaves fell to their knees, heads staring now at the ground.
He glanced at the shield offered to him by Darkheart and grasped it, shielding himself from the light that he had not actually been aware of until that moment. He still refused to speak, eyes glancing around the room as if searching for the cause of the voices. When his eyes passed over the chest, they froze and would not budge - it was obvious that was where they were coming from. Krevster kicked the lock free, and opened the lid.
The vampire was not sure when he had abandoned the shield, but idly noticed that there was light shining on him, as he had dropped it to the floor. As Krevster claimed his prize, Morsereg strode forward with intent, everything else having disappeared from his mind. As his companion went to don his new armor, Morsereg picked up the box. The voices were louder than ever now - they were screeching at him, but he couldn't bare to back away from the box. He set his hand upon the golden lid, and opened the box.
There was a pendant in there, similar to Krevsters - though it was blackened, and gave off an unsubtle aura of death. The screaming was almost deafening now, though he was quite aware that it wasn't physical - no one else was able to hear it, it was all in his head. He lifted the pendant into the air by its chord - which was in fact many small pieces of vertebrae, human and non-human, somehow bound together - though considering it was in a Battle Mage's tomb, he surmised that it was magic that bound the bones together into a necklace.
As he gazed into the pendant, holding it in his grasp - all was silent. The screams were gone. For a moment he thought that the screams had gone so loud that it had caused him to go deaf, until he heard the steady breathing of the slave closest to him. He slipped the bone necklace over his head, settling it on his neck and glancing around the room.
He was suddenly aware of Krevster standing next to him, and turned his head to look at him as he suggested human sacrifice for the power which had led them here. Morsereg silently nodded, looking at the slaves. "Would you prefer they be under my control or not as we kill them?" He whispered back to Krevster, but he did not wait for his reply before doing what was asked of him.
"Drop your spears in front of me," He spoke, voice raised and firm. The slaves walked towards the vampire, eyes looking mindlessly ahead as they, one-by-one, dropped the spears at his feet. A few of the ones who had been stronger-willed than the others when entering the cave now looked thoroughly broken and beaten, having lost all of their independence. As the last spear was placed before Morsereg, he stepped over them and kicked them behind, getting them out of reach as the slaves looked at him. "Get before the altar."
They lined themselves up neatly in a row as they stood before the altar, arms hanging uselessly at their sides.
"Kneel." Morsereg demanded, and as one the slaves fell to their knees, heads staring now at the ground.
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Shadowsong
- Citizen
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- Joined: Sun May 14, 2006 3:28 am
- Race: Human
How considerate of the vampire to make that offer concerning his mental control, one thing which Krevster would never have thought of. Again suspiscious notions of being subjected to such mental dominance flooded the mind of the dark colossus, but nothing appeared to be so, and he would soon be transcending such petty issues of mortality.
"A good thought, but I suspect it makes no difference." he answered, perfectly relaxed about the discussion of mass murder. Briefly, he considered the possible effects to Morsereg, there had seemed to be none when the others died. "However you see fit. Releasing one at a time should work well, perhaps encourage more participation among the others." The grin was wolfish.
Presumably each death would tax the vampire's mental control. So releasing the victims as they were held down for sacrifice would free up the imposing will of the undead lord to better control his remaining chattel. First man was guided atop the altar, which bore attatched shackles. Unlocked, but rigid and requiring a free hand to open. So they would serve. The corrosion was depressing, as if unfitting of the dark glory to whom this altar was dedicated.
Following the guidance that seemed to touch the edges of his instincts, he plunged the dagger in once, twice, three times. Each strike severing a major artery near the heart. Blood fountained forth upon his armour, then with a mighty swing he cracked open the ribcage and pulled free the heart. Flowing crimson ran down his armour, fading into the shell of blackness as if greedily devoured by the darkened plates.
The heart was placed down carefully as a gift, and sprayed blood had fell upon the altar. This was good.
A second was hauled more roughly into place, to also give his blood and soul to the dark mistress. Blood poured forth from the gaping chest like the tide of an ocean, drenching the shrine and adding to it's glory. Screams and pleading filled the darkened caverns.
Reaching for the third was done more warily. Sooner or later the command to obey would be overcome by the need to survive, rather than wait to be killed by a comrade of the master. Already the twisted mind of Darkheart was making ready for that fight.
"A good thought, but I suspect it makes no difference." he answered, perfectly relaxed about the discussion of mass murder. Briefly, he considered the possible effects to Morsereg, there had seemed to be none when the others died. "However you see fit. Releasing one at a time should work well, perhaps encourage more participation among the others." The grin was wolfish.
Presumably each death would tax the vampire's mental control. So releasing the victims as they were held down for sacrifice would free up the imposing will of the undead lord to better control his remaining chattel. First man was guided atop the altar, which bore attatched shackles. Unlocked, but rigid and requiring a free hand to open. So they would serve. The corrosion was depressing, as if unfitting of the dark glory to whom this altar was dedicated.
Following the guidance that seemed to touch the edges of his instincts, he plunged the dagger in once, twice, three times. Each strike severing a major artery near the heart. Blood fountained forth upon his armour, then with a mighty swing he cracked open the ribcage and pulled free the heart. Flowing crimson ran down his armour, fading into the shell of blackness as if greedily devoured by the darkened plates.
The heart was placed down carefully as a gift, and sprayed blood had fell upon the altar. This was good.
A second was hauled more roughly into place, to also give his blood and soul to the dark mistress. Blood poured forth from the gaping chest like the tide of an ocean, drenching the shrine and adding to it's glory. Screams and pleading filled the darkened caverns.
Reaching for the third was done more warily. Sooner or later the command to obey would be overcome by the need to survive, rather than wait to be killed by a comrade of the master. Already the twisted mind of Darkheart was making ready for that fight.
If violence is not the answer, you have asked me the wrong question.
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Morsereg Dindaedel
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- Race: Vampire
"Keep looking down," He had ordered them when Krevster took the first one. They would not see the death - and thus they would not have reason to fear it. He released his control upon each designated slave as Krevster brought them to the altar - many of them were shocked into submission immediately afterwards, their minds already haven been broken thoroughly by Morsereg's forced entrance, and then afterwards by finding themselves suddenly waking, as if from a dream, in a crypt about to be slaughtered like lambs.
So it was that he released nearly all of his slaves to be killed in payment to the Dark One whom had so gifted them. There were five left - they were beginning to struggle now. Even in their broken state they noticed the lack of companions, some family members to the others. But, with such a small group, Morsereg held a firm iron grasp on their minds - every one of the five was rooted to their place, feeling as if strong hands were pinning them to the floor. "They're starting to fight it, Darkheart," He warned him, "I can hold them but they're starting to become aware of the Death that is taking place."
So it was that he released nearly all of his slaves to be killed in payment to the Dark One whom had so gifted them. There were five left - they were beginning to struggle now. Even in their broken state they noticed the lack of companions, some family members to the others. But, with such a small group, Morsereg held a firm iron grasp on their minds - every one of the five was rooted to their place, feeling as if strong hands were pinning them to the floor. "They're starting to fight it, Darkheart," He warned him, "I can hold them but they're starting to become aware of the Death that is taking place."
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Shadowsong
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- Race: Human
Grateful for the advice, Krevster found his usual solution to most problems.
Extreme brutality.
"We only need them alive for this. Mobile is not required." On that note, he tucked the sacrificial dagger in his war-belt, which held it secure in place, then grabbed the next victim by the front of the crude smock and yanked him forward to be met with a powerful knee driving into the fellows gut. As the poor soul was doubled over, a hammer fist from the metal gauntlet was swung down onto the man's back, striking the curve of the spine and causing him to crumple to the floor.
As the next person in line began to recover, the tips of a steel boot swung in towards the ribs. Such a vicious strike would wind the target easily enough, and the next effort to prevent him from leaving would be to grab the victim by the ankle and haul him bodily into the air, driving his knee-cap into the stone floor with all his immense might. A delightful crunch echoed in the dread chamber, the sound of bone yielding under a hideous strike.
Mental influence having exhausted it's usefulness in this situation, the rest was covered by sheer force. Surprise and the overwhelming violence of the attack served to keep the targets stunned and incoherent for the brief moments needed to inflict serious harm.
Third man was starting to rise, and attempted to fend of the colossus garbed in bloody steel. Arms flailed against the steel vambrace as Krevster caught him by the throat and hoisted him from the ground with the strength of one arm. Feet dangled and danced, kicking helplessly like a hanged man before the incarnate destroyer dashed the poor soul with great force against the nearest wall. The sound of snapping shot from the shoulder, then a metal fist slammed into the man's side, followed by a stamping metal boot which crashed down on the shinbone with effects much similar to as with the lock so recently.
Confident that Morsereg had crippled the other two without effort, Krevster allowed himself a laugh at the agonised groaning before drawing his sacrificial blade and resuming the sacrifices.
Extreme brutality.
"We only need them alive for this. Mobile is not required." On that note, he tucked the sacrificial dagger in his war-belt, which held it secure in place, then grabbed the next victim by the front of the crude smock and yanked him forward to be met with a powerful knee driving into the fellows gut. As the poor soul was doubled over, a hammer fist from the metal gauntlet was swung down onto the man's back, striking the curve of the spine and causing him to crumple to the floor.
As the next person in line began to recover, the tips of a steel boot swung in towards the ribs. Such a vicious strike would wind the target easily enough, and the next effort to prevent him from leaving would be to grab the victim by the ankle and haul him bodily into the air, driving his knee-cap into the stone floor with all his immense might. A delightful crunch echoed in the dread chamber, the sound of bone yielding under a hideous strike.
Mental influence having exhausted it's usefulness in this situation, the rest was covered by sheer force. Surprise and the overwhelming violence of the attack served to keep the targets stunned and incoherent for the brief moments needed to inflict serious harm.
Third man was starting to rise, and attempted to fend of the colossus garbed in bloody steel. Arms flailed against the steel vambrace as Krevster caught him by the throat and hoisted him from the ground with the strength of one arm. Feet dangled and danced, kicking helplessly like a hanged man before the incarnate destroyer dashed the poor soul with great force against the nearest wall. The sound of snapping shot from the shoulder, then a metal fist slammed into the man's side, followed by a stamping metal boot which crashed down on the shinbone with effects much similar to as with the lock so recently.
Confident that Morsereg had crippled the other two without effort, Krevster allowed himself a laugh at the agonised groaning before drawing his sacrificial blade and resuming the sacrifices.
If violence is not the answer, you have asked me the wrong question.
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Morsereg Dindaedel
- Citizen
- Posts: 61
- Joined: Sun Jun 11, 2006 3:26 pm
- Race: Vampire
Morsereg had taken Krevster's hint when he suggested that they didn't need to be conscious, just alive, and went forward. He lifted the first to his feet by his hair, looking into the man's fearful eyes for one moment. The man had a wife, and a newborn child. Yes, he could see the child behind the man's eyes. "I'll be sure to eat him after I'm done with his blood," He whispered into the man's ear before dealing one quick punch to the side of his face, downing him as he was already half there from the shock at the mention of his child.
The last one was his. He took his sword in hand, holding it like a bat with the flat side of the blade ready to swing. He stood, and was met first by a blow to the stomach with the flattened side of the blade, and then to the head, knocking him to the ground, stunned. He sheathed the blade before looking to Krevster.
"I do believe we can resume," His lips curled into a crazed, malicious grin as he threw his head back to laugh at the groaning - a shrill, cold laugh. "Continue the sacrifices." He nodded, tossing one of the slaves towards Krevster.
The last one was his. He took his sword in hand, holding it like a bat with the flat side of the blade ready to swing. He stood, and was met first by a blow to the stomach with the flattened side of the blade, and then to the head, knocking him to the ground, stunned. He sheathed the blade before looking to Krevster.
"I do believe we can resume," His lips curled into a crazed, malicious grin as he threw his head back to laugh at the groaning - a shrill, cold laugh. "Continue the sacrifices." He nodded, tossing one of the slaves towards Krevster.
((NPC Post))
The last sacrifice was made, and as the blood flowed over the altar, the very air within the cavern itself seemed to change. Magic flowed, but not enough to touch what was kept down here, not enough to set things in motion that couldn't be undone.
The light in the cavern dimmed, then brightened. A few seconds of light passed before the cavern was plunged into darkness for another few seconds. Suddenly the light flickered on and off so rapidly it was like a thousand lightning strikes in the darkest night. Shadows danced and capered around the cavern, and the walls and ground rumbled and began to shake.
At every other flash of light, a small congregation could be made out behind where Krevster and Morsereg stood. The congregation faced the altar, and the faint sound of chanting could be made out. The words were in a foreign language, a language that only few people still alive in Pal Tahrenor could speak or understand. The people themselves wore dark, hooded robes, so that their faces were hidden, although the flashing light glistened off their bright, feverish eyes.
It all lasted barely fifteen seconds before the light went out completely, leaving the cavern in darkness.
The last sacrifice was made, and as the blood flowed over the altar, the very air within the cavern itself seemed to change. Magic flowed, but not enough to touch what was kept down here, not enough to set things in motion that couldn't be undone.
The light in the cavern dimmed, then brightened. A few seconds of light passed before the cavern was plunged into darkness for another few seconds. Suddenly the light flickered on and off so rapidly it was like a thousand lightning strikes in the darkest night. Shadows danced and capered around the cavern, and the walls and ground rumbled and began to shake.
At every other flash of light, a small congregation could be made out behind where Krevster and Morsereg stood. The congregation faced the altar, and the faint sound of chanting could be made out. The words were in a foreign language, a language that only few people still alive in Pal Tahrenor could speak or understand. The people themselves wore dark, hooded robes, so that their faces were hidden, although the flashing light glistened off their bright, feverish eyes.
It all lasted barely fifteen seconds before the light went out completely, leaving the cavern in darkness.
You have no where to hide, nowhere to run, your village will burn like the heart of the sun. With infinite glee, it is going to be me who slaughters your world.
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Shadowsong
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- Race: Human
Success.
A surge of triumph accompanied the eldritch chanting. Although he hardly understood the effect, he had done this. Done what was not important, simply the fact that such dark and dreadful power had been in his hands. Krevster Darkheart had wielded it.
Power was his.
Breaking the silence in the dark was the harsh rasp of a drawn sword; his flambard. Whatever the presence joined them would not be faced unarmed. Careful steps were taken towards the exit, in case of enemies near. The blade pointed upwards in mountain stance as he made his way from the room. Spoils achieved, if there was more danger he had no reason to stay.
Full light returned without warning. Mostly from instinct, he swept the air around him with his sword to clear away any potential dangers. Once his vision cleared and he knew there were none, the great blade found a place on his back.
Staring at the altar, he saw no blood, and the great mound of corpses he had created was shrivelled and blackened. Bones poked through torn skin, and his experience with corpses suggested they had been there for weeks... had he not made the dead within minutes. Even his armour was cleaned, the splashes and stains of the blood of the slaughtered now absorbed into the metal plates, presenting a figure clad in a shell of solid crimson, bearing a bone-handled sword upon his back. All he would need to complete the look was a black tabard with a blood red teardrop as the crest.
"Thank you." stated Krevster to Morsereg in his joy for what had come, greeting him now with a warrior's grip, wrist to wrist and hand briefly grasping the forearm. "We have done well." he announced with conviction. "What are your plans? My newfound power ends any future for me with the Guard." It had not escaped him that the vampire lived as a nobleman. "Perhaps you have a use for a warrior. The path to power is crowded with enemies." he advised, speaking like one who knew, "Best to have further defences during daylight."
A surge of triumph accompanied the eldritch chanting. Although he hardly understood the effect, he had done this. Done what was not important, simply the fact that such dark and dreadful power had been in his hands. Krevster Darkheart had wielded it.
Power was his.
Breaking the silence in the dark was the harsh rasp of a drawn sword; his flambard. Whatever the presence joined them would not be faced unarmed. Careful steps were taken towards the exit, in case of enemies near. The blade pointed upwards in mountain stance as he made his way from the room. Spoils achieved, if there was more danger he had no reason to stay.
Full light returned without warning. Mostly from instinct, he swept the air around him with his sword to clear away any potential dangers. Once his vision cleared and he knew there were none, the great blade found a place on his back.
Staring at the altar, he saw no blood, and the great mound of corpses he had created was shrivelled and blackened. Bones poked through torn skin, and his experience with corpses suggested they had been there for weeks... had he not made the dead within minutes. Even his armour was cleaned, the splashes and stains of the blood of the slaughtered now absorbed into the metal plates, presenting a figure clad in a shell of solid crimson, bearing a bone-handled sword upon his back. All he would need to complete the look was a black tabard with a blood red teardrop as the crest.
"Thank you." stated Krevster to Morsereg in his joy for what had come, greeting him now with a warrior's grip, wrist to wrist and hand briefly grasping the forearm. "We have done well." he announced with conviction. "What are your plans? My newfound power ends any future for me with the Guard." It had not escaped him that the vampire lived as a nobleman. "Perhaps you have a use for a warrior. The path to power is crowded with enemies." he advised, speaking like one who knew, "Best to have further defences during daylight."
If violence is not the answer, you have asked me the wrong question.
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Morsereg Dindaedel
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- Joined: Sun Jun 11, 2006 3:26 pm
- Race: Vampire
When the light initially brightened, a faint hiss escaped Morsereg's lips, though that was the only time - he refrained from showing any weakness afterwards, waiting out the flickering lights until they were plunged into darkness again.
He seemed frozen as he watched Krevster - he was one of the few to reach a level near "equal" in Morsereg's mind, but that did not mean he would put his unlife in danger when the mortal was so willing to go ahead and look. He did, however, let out a loud hiss when light returned without warning. It was too bright.
Once he could handle sight, he too noticed the lack of blood...anywhere, and the state of decay the bodies were in. Powers like these worked in strange ways, which was something Morsereg had become familiar with, however, so it was nothing new to him.
He shook the former Guard's hand, a sadistic smirk corroding at the rest of his face. "I am not sure what my plans are. Noble or not, whatever power I've found here opens up many doors for me. Use for a warrior? Indeed." He paused, looking into Krevster's eyes. "Yes, I do see your point. A secondary defense in daylight." His thoughts wandered elsewhere...to beings he would like to overcome. One particular face played through his mind as he decided who was his prime target.
"Shall we depart? We seem to have been stripped of our cattle, and have gathered our spoils...to the surface? To a new, more dominating existence?"
He seemed frozen as he watched Krevster - he was one of the few to reach a level near "equal" in Morsereg's mind, but that did not mean he would put his unlife in danger when the mortal was so willing to go ahead and look. He did, however, let out a loud hiss when light returned without warning. It was too bright.
Once he could handle sight, he too noticed the lack of blood...anywhere, and the state of decay the bodies were in. Powers like these worked in strange ways, which was something Morsereg had become familiar with, however, so it was nothing new to him.
He shook the former Guard's hand, a sadistic smirk corroding at the rest of his face. "I am not sure what my plans are. Noble or not, whatever power I've found here opens up many doors for me. Use for a warrior? Indeed." He paused, looking into Krevster's eyes. "Yes, I do see your point. A secondary defense in daylight." His thoughts wandered elsewhere...to beings he would like to overcome. One particular face played through his mind as he decided who was his prime target.
"Shall we depart? We seem to have been stripped of our cattle, and have gathered our spoils...to the surface? To a new, more dominating existence?"
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Shadowsong
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- Posts: 193
- Joined: Sun May 14, 2006 3:28 am
- Race: Human
Everything was going perfectly. A lasting alliance with an undead lord, freedom to pursue the power he had just found, the favour of darkness and the promise of countless glory and bloodshed.
"Definately."
Heading back to the armour tree, Krevster hoisted it up and began carrying the vast weight from the chamber. Leaving the Guard would be far, far easier if he were to return the equipment that they had supplied him.
With that, he began his ascent, ready to enjoy the thrill of triumph under the night breeze.
"Definately."
Heading back to the armour tree, Krevster hoisted it up and began carrying the vast weight from the chamber. Leaving the Guard would be far, far easier if he were to return the equipment that they had supplied him.
With that, he began his ascent, ready to enjoy the thrill of triumph under the night breeze.
If violence is not the answer, you have asked me the wrong question.
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Morsereg Dindaedel
- Citizen
- Posts: 61
- Joined: Sun Jun 11, 2006 3:26 pm
- Race: Vampire
He followed Krevster, eyes always watching as they began to ascend towards the surface, however he felt little danger from opposition - they had been called down here by the items hanging around their necks, and those beings they encountered along the way were to test if they were worthy. They had overcome their tests, and collected their bounty...He believed it would be an uneventful trip to the surface.
The screaming had indeed been silenced by him taking hold of the pendant, but the air around him did not feel empty. In some instances, perhaps torch light playing a trick on him, he thought he saw faces staring at him from the dark, walking with him on all sides. They were there one second, and they were gone the next.
Morsereg's eyes always were focused ahead, waiting to feel the cold night air run over them as they stood in victory. He knew, subconsciously, that this was a small part of something much larger...and he was eager to find out what it would detail...
The screaming had indeed been silenced by him taking hold of the pendant, but the air around him did not feel empty. In some instances, perhaps torch light playing a trick on him, he thought he saw faces staring at him from the dark, walking with him on all sides. They were there one second, and they were gone the next.
Morsereg's eyes always were focused ahead, waiting to feel the cold night air run over them as they stood in victory. He knew, subconsciously, that this was a small part of something much larger...and he was eager to find out what it would detail...