Myrken Wood By Night

[Varian]

From this place he could watch over them. A protective shepherd staring down into the roads and poorly lit alleys of the township. Noises were subtle and hard to depict for anyone who might have had the mind to listen. Dark by then, night had claimed the sky and the moon had ceased the sun's throne for its brief reign over the landscape.

The familiar, copper flavor was on his tongue, and usually pallor lips were now an astounding rouge. A startling contrast, his youthful features were, compared to the normally lifeless tone of his skin. The Ventrue smelled of stolen life and, although the effects were fleeting, the resonant warmth reminded him of the addiction he was helpless against.

Orchid eyes were dulled and despite the obviousness of his perch, his lithe and crouching figure was blotted out by the lightlessness of the higher ground he'd chosen to observe his midnight world from.

Piece by piece, this puzzle had fallen back into completion. No longer plagued by madness, he was slowly preparing. Dancing precariously between sunset and twilight, there was a war on the horizon, unknown to his day dwelling flock.

Convinced he was their only salvation, it was time to reclaim the place that was rightfully his. The viper was coiled and poised to strike. A moment longer, he watched those scattered creatures that still milled about the shadowy streets. An almost imperceptible smile touched his otherwise solemn expression just before he teetered forward and thin fingers released their hold, allowing the cloaked and cowled vampire to descend toward the earth.

[Lucian]

Even amongst his own Cainites, he was considered a fiend. A devil who dwelled in darkness uncharted by even Caine's childer. A vampire, tainted even blacker by the touch of the devil; a diabolist.

The village of Myrken had been his domain to hunt in for longer then he cared to remember. Trapped within this land, the Tremere made good upon his exile by finding cattle worthy enough for his pallat. Varian may have been the shepherd, but Lucian was definitely the wolf, and he hunted upon the farthest recesses of the town, to the southwest, away from the prying eyes of passers-by.

Within the mountain called Devil Ridge, he made his haven within an abandoned mine. It's labyrinthian caverns offered the warlock much protection from the harmful rays of the sun. The massive, maze-like structure confounded the enemies who had the ability to break through the runes and wards placed all about the caves. And within the forest, he prowled upon gypsies and stray merchants who had lost their path, easy picking for the ruthless Lucian.

Upon this particular night, he fed off the vitae of a weary, clanless gypsy who was foolish enough to take refuge in a clearing near the mountain. The kill was quick, his blackened claws had dug into the man's back as he rested comfortably on the grass-covered ground of the clearing. Finger tips had dug through the muscle and vital organs, searching for the man's spinal column has he awoke from the pain of digging fingernails.

Upon finding the bone, the Tremere raised him up into the air, and bit down hard within the side of his neck, severing the jugular and coroded arteries. The screams quickly turned into quiet gurgling as blood began to erupt from the poor Gypsy's mouth, trailing down his chin while Lucian supped heavily upon his writhing body, as he struggled futilely -- though much to his credit, desperately -- to sustain life and fight off the attacker.

It only took a few fleeting moments, and Lucian used this time to yank heavily on the column of bone and nerve endings that he had a hand on. With the quick flick of the wrist, the spine snapped in two, painfully killing the man instead of leaving him for dead.

Withdrawing his hand from inside the Gypsy's back, he let the body slump backwards against him. Leaning in again, he quietly brushed the blood-soaked hand against the man's forehead, wiping raven-hued hair from his victim's dark, glassy eyes; all while he whispered, "Good night, sweet prince..." within his dead ears.

Within his other hand, he held a long pike, and after his quiet words to the corpse, Lucian proceeded to shove the head of the spear into the wound he just caused to the man's back. Growling softly, he struggled at first to send it through his body and after a few moments of working it, was able to send the head of the spear out through the poor stranger's stomach.

A soft chuckle arose from Lucian's blood-stained lips while he hoisted the pike upwards, and dug the other end deep into the ground, allowing the corpse to hang precariously upon the thick, wooden shaft. Another chuckle followed as he raised his hand to his lips and lapped at some of the excess that even now began to clot. Let that be ample warning to any who explored so close to his domain...

Shaking his head, he turned sharply away from the man on the pike and moved back within his lair -- the abandoned mine shafts. He would allow gravity to do it's work, and when the body finally touched the ground after a few days of journeying down the spike, then Lucian would be ready to hatch his fiendish plan upon the realm of Myrken Wood, and after, all of Trae Kellsa.....

[Rattrap]

Damien stopped to ponder the body-on-a-stick. He wasn't surprised to see it there, if only because he had seen it from quite a ways away. Of course, when sighted from a distance, it was unclear as to what it was. Distance closed, details became more firm, and...well, the rest was plainly in front of him.

He couldn't but help notice the teeth marks. That made things rather easy; vampire. Didn't look like he'd do any sleeping tonight. Or for a while, until he'd entirely cleared Devil's Ridge. Hmm...that would be a while...ah. Ah! A thought came to Damien - the entire reason for taking Devil's Ridge in the first place was cover. This struck him as a warning sign, the way it was placed in the location it was placed - he'd seen similar before, albeit less gruesome. Perhaps Devil's Ridge wasn't providing the cover he thought it would - cover for somebody else.

Damien looked to the full semi-circle horizon he had easy viewing of. Going around would...well, it would mean having to go through the Wekslos. He'd never been through there, actually; he didn't know what to expect. Had to be better than havin' yer innards sucked and pulled out, though. Poor fella.

He stuck his index into the mess, withdrawing the smudge-bloodied finger which he then licked clean. Tasted like death, all right. Then again, life and death didn't taste so different. One was dry, one wasn't. He spat it out, not particularly wanting to be tainted this afternoon. Judging by the looks of the poor fella, the deed had been done...well, probably yesterday. Maybe the day before.

Devil Ridge would have to be skipped. The going was more or less open meadows to the Wekslos - if anything tried him there, he was perfectly confident he could take it down. Then again, Damien had the confidence to think he could take down anything that moved. Surviving an encounter with a rather large dragon didn't help dim his spirits much.

[Lucian]

He could feel the presence of another upon his domain as he rested within the earth, deep down in the bowels of the labyrinthian caves. But it was daylight, and he had to settle for sensing the man as he moved upon this unhallowed grounds around Devil Ridge.

As if his eyes were watching from the very mountain itself, he perused the area, and truly wished that it were evening, so he could venture out and take a blood tithe from the interloper who did not heed his warning of the man on the stake. He would collect the toll required to venture forth through his mountain if it had been the night.

But the vampire did not stir within his earthen resting place, instead slept soundly in a physical sense, knowing the man would not likely be able to pass through the entrance into his lair, due to the runes. However, if the man were to make the same mistake again, Lucian would be certain to collect, even if it meant tracking the man at night....

As the stench of decomposing flesh permeated the area of the glade just before the mine's entrance, so did Lucian's mind. He had a firm control over his own domain, and he guarded it jealously, for he knew that one day, some might be boldly foolish enough to lay siege upon the mountain, what with the army readily approaching .. but he cared little, for he was hidden deep in it's maze-like tunnels, encased under ten feet of dirt and rubble, hidden from slayers and prying eyes.

The magus exerted his will as he slept, and the very land seemed to groan in pain as a gentle, eerie breeze seemed to blow out of the mouth of the cave, stirring some birds from their perches on the outlining trees of the forest. Frightened by the evil noise which seemed to come from everywhere.

Oddly, no animals dared entered the grassy glade, for they knew what lurked within the mines ... even they were smart enough to not venture forth, though others had not heeded his warnings before. Thus, they had ended up much like the rotting gypsy on the pike, who was now one-quarter of the way down the wooden pike. A macabre hour glass, for when the body touched the ground, that is when the night would spew forth evils that Myrken Wood had not seen since rebel angels fell to earth from the sky so many millenia ago.

Soon, the time would come, and evils would be brought up to fight against the approaching armies, as good would be tainted into evil by the twisted magister. Soon, an army of a few fallen souls would come forth to lay siege on those who sought their demise. Soon, his plan would come to fruition.....

[Varian]

For but one night the watchful gaze of the shepherd was absent from his flock. While the townsfolk of Myrken Wood milled about in the streets and the square, accomodations were being made for the newest guest within the ruined Manor DuMonde.

Dilapidated and vine ridden, this once majestic house was formerly known as The Storm. Now, the gathering place for all of the realms Kindred was a haunting reminder of what Varian's fiefdom once had been.

Now, through the shadows, subtle candlelight ebbed from between the cracks in stained glass and aged oaken doors. The Prince of night roamed the halls to refamiliarize himself with the place he once called home.

Sat upon his broken throne, he pondered the evening's events and those events that have yet to take place. A devil's smile upon his pallor, youthful features. So much to do, and he had all the time in the world to do it in.

It was close now, the first step toward repairing a chaotic kingdom. He could feel the province once more within his grasp, and he need but close his fingers to strangle out all those who would oppose him.

His law would be established as it was before he left Myrken Wood to the fools and caitiffs. If there was a cancer within his land, he would be its remedy.

It crept closer, night by night and all the Ventrue could do was smile. He stood from his exalted seat and again stalked through the corridors of his keep to pay a visit to his most recent and, needless to say, unwilling guest.

[Varian]

A soft mist had settled just as the night had quieted. The streets were near barren, with the rare occurrence of a passing carriage or some homeless vagabond rummaging through some garbage for a free meal.

The Ventrue was dressed in his best, and the cloaked and cowled Prince was accompanied by another. Silhouettes in the fog as they proceeded through the streets. The smaller, frailer of the two figures was clinging to the taller. Girlish giggles echoed when there was no other sound and it was obvious the man's companion was quite inebriated.

He cooed back in but a whisper, sweet nothings to some degree. His quiet poetry was drowning the young creature's already dulled senses.

Too charming, the young man's features were. Too sweet were his words, and too alluring that lilac perfume. Everything about her would be suitor was too perfect. Every detail was exagerated and made to be too human.

They were soon at the end of their procession, at some corner of town where the buildings had gone black and only the ghosts of the mists populated the streets.

Varian took a step back, placing his hand against the cold stone wall there. He reclined, feigning his own struggling condition. He murmed a few, incoherent words and the girls followed suit. As she touched her hands to his chest, she leaned to stand upon the tips of her toes. Her lips found his throat and he lifted his chin to allow her access to the cool, soft skin there.

His opposite, gloved hand crawled upward along the length of her back, sinking its fingers into her hair. There they stayed for the moment, combing gently through auburn locks until he grew tired of her affections. Fingers curled quickly into their palm, grasping her hair tightly.

The girl's head was yanked back fiercely and she yelped in pain, but the alert was soon followed by unknowing laughter. He laughed as well, but his was a melody more malign. He sucked air through his teeth when they were revealed.

Carefully kissed in kind, the hollow between her chin and throat. A fleck against warm flesh, contradictory to his own, with the tip of a deep crimson tongue. His grip relaxed, but for a second only before her hair was wrenched again.

He turned her head sharply to one side and as jagged canines tore through virgin surface, the warmth of the drink he sought soon welled up around his fangs and filled his small mouth. He swallowed heavily of this life-giving vitae, causing orchid eyes to shudder shut in pleasure.

His second arm circled her waist to keep her from collapsing to the street prematurely. One last mouthful, that was all that remained before the stutter of her mortal heart became too weak to properly feed him any longer. The Ventrue pulled away, lapping at the small wounds left in his passionate onslaught.

The subtle pink rushed back to his ashen skin just as the body of his victim slipped through his arms into a huddled mass upon the corner where they once stood together. His gaze followed her downward and he watched her, just to be sure.

Gloved hands gathered his cowl and lifted it to drown his face in its excess and overcast. The Kindred Prince turned from the corpse and vanished into the depths of the shadow ridden alleyway behind him..

[Rattrap]

Damien just couldn't help it - he needed to show his lack of fear. It wasn't just for show, either - he really was rather without much fear. Where that emotion ought to be was probably just more unneeded doses of hubris and arrogance, which could be argued to sum up to about the same thing. Regardless, the man on a stick...well, Damien just wouldn't let the poor fellow stay up there. Only a fourth of the way down, gravity was taking far too long.

So Damien gave the fellow a good solid flying leap kick.

Dirt was wrenched from the ground, and the pike's angle was dramatically altered. Ah, but the deep dug foundation didn't let go with just one blow.

So Damien, snickering as he did so, gave it another.

Then, ah then it fell, and then Damien continued on with his journey. It was his revenge for having to skip Devil's Ridge. A mischeivous grin was given to nobody in particular in the high sun as the traveler headed off to his detour, sack and ranseur in hands.

[Varian]

It seemed his popularity was begining to grow. He had seen the postings and he knew just who it was that was responsible. It caused him no worry, after all, his name had been whispered within Myrken Wood long before these new faces were even a glint in their mothers' eyes.

Upstarts. Children pretending they know so much about the world that surrounds them. They establish themselves above the rest, not because they are brilliant, or awe worthy, but simply because they exude their arrogance upon the weaker minded. These were the thoughts of Prince DuMonde, and nothing more.

Even as he told himself so many times that the words and worries of his flock would not distress him, still he sat upon his broken throne and stared into the shadows.

Much like his mind, the manor about him was leaning in the wrong direction upon the line between ressurection and complete collapse. Varian had battled madness a number of times, through the pain and anguish of the Frenzy, but even that did not compare to the torents that struck him now. However, just as he had always been, the Ventrue was a master of the masquerade and lead none to believe that the brink he walked so precariously even existed.

He was pressed now, to continue with schedule and proceed to the next step. The Guard had found itself a new captain and it was that upon which the vampire prince's mind currently dwelled. He knew very little of this man, but it was a fleeting aggravation. After all, Prince DuMonde was a sociable man and always more than willing to mill about with the lesser man.

He nodded slowly in the darkness, smilling ever so faintly to himself.