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> WG- Another Shadow Over Hackdirt
Elisabeth Hollow
post Aug 11 2013, 09:28 PM
Post #1


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Joined: 15-November 12
From: Texas



I apologize for clogging the free-roaming Wobbly Goblet thread with our mission, as neither of us thought about making another thread(Until I did this morning.)

Once we get a hold of an Admin, we'll see abut putting the rest of the mission here. Until then our Hackdirt posts will be kept here.


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Darkness Eternal
post Aug 11 2013, 11:44 PM
Post #2


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Joined: 10-June 11
From: Coldharbour



Kayla’s focus began to wander, and her eyes shifted from him toward the ceiling. It was as if a veil descended above them. Drathen already saw the symptoms of sleep coming down upon her. It was late at night by now and by the looks of it she didn’t have a horse. She must be exhausted from the walk.

A shower would suffice, though.

Drathen’s brows raised and he put a light tone in his amused voice. “Plenty of places to seek refuge from the stress of combat,” he said, and then turned his neck to the empty spot on the bed. “I will not keep you in conversation any longer, Kayla. I too must sleep.”

He stood and walked over to the candle and blew out the fire with his cold breath, the flames he created extinguishing almost immediately upon contact with the icy air he produced.

The room was in total, complete darkness. The only light that came in was the very, very faint illumination from the opening beneath the door. Without any attempt to startle her, Draken walked to the bed, pulled the covers aside and then brought them up to cover half of his body. The warmth of the fabric wouldn’t do any good; the temperature of his skin would be the same regardless of any blanket or tunic.

Though there was no light in the room, Drathen could see Kayla clearly: the flesh that smoothed over her well-developed arms, the length of her unbound hair and everything else about her that might have been desirable to a common man and everything that wasn't. And he was a man with particular tastes. He couldn’t blame it, for it was rooted to his nature. Everything had to be just so.

Instead of looking at her now, he stared up at the ceiling and letting out a slow, quiet exhale. He closed his eyes, though he wasn’t tired. He yawned, though he wasn’t sleepy. But he waited, because he could afford to be patient.

The night would be slow if uneventful, and for reasons unknown he felt that this night would yield some manner of excitement, positive or negative. For his benefit, or at his disadvantage. He knew just how well dangerous suspicious people can be, and this town, though seemingly empty, were filled with all manners of these individuals. Most likely due to the single fact that everyone he encountered so far, with the exception of Kayla, were openly hostile. He did not doubt that they hated him and even entertained murderous fantasies in their mind. But that was another problem, for another time.

Drathen disengaged his attention from the shadow of his closed eyes by reopening them. Sleep would not come to him this night.

This post has been edited by Darkness Eternal: Aug 11 2013, 11:48 PM


--------------------
And yet I am, and liveā€”like vapours tossed.
I long for scenes where man hath never trod
A place where woman never smiled or wept
There to abide with my Creator, God,
And sleep as I in childhood sweetly slept,
Untroubling and untroubled where I lie
The grass belowā€”above the vaulted sky.ā€¯
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Elisabeth Hollow
post Aug 12 2013, 12:16 AM
Post #3


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Joined: 15-November 12
From: Texas



Kayla blinked in the sudden darkness and sighed.

I can take a hint.

She waited for an invitation to join him in bed, and when none came, she resolved to sleep in the chair. She shifted in her seat, her left cheek numb from the hardness of the wood. She shifted again, then let out a surprised yelp when something cracked. It was the back of the chair, causing her to fall backwards onto the wooden floor.

She huffed. Graceful, Kayla.

She cursed the chair in Nordic and kicked the remains across the room in an irritated gesture and stood up. She brushed herself off.

"I was going to try to not bother you, but it looks like I'll have to be inappropriate and sleep in the same bed as you. I'm sorry." She hesitantly slid under the covers and folded her hands primly across her stomach, making sure to be on the edge of the bed. She sighed and realized she would have to answer fro some things in the morning. Though she was a bit prudish in her waking life, when she slept, she tended to cuddle, throw her legs over people, and spoon.

"I apologize if I touch you at any point during the night." She said in a soft voice. "I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

When he didn't answer, she assumed him to either be asleep or apathetic about the whole thing. She sighed. Eventually, she drifted off and shifted into a more comfortable position, sliding her legs over to him and propping one arm behind her head. She pressed her rear against his hip and fell into a deep sleep.


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Darkness Eternal
post Aug 12 2013, 02:01 AM
Post #4


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Joined: 10-June 11
From: Coldharbour



Discarded.

This post has been edited by Darkness Eternal: Aug 12 2013, 03:16 AM


--------------------
And yet I am, and liveā€”like vapours tossed.
I long for scenes where man hath never trod
A place where woman never smiled or wept
There to abide with my Creator, God,
And sleep as I in childhood sweetly slept,
Untroubling and untroubled where I lie
The grass belowā€”above the vaulted sky.ā€¯
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Darkness Eternal
post Aug 12 2013, 03:16 AM
Post #5


Master
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Joined: 10-June 11
From: Coldharbour



Kayla’s breaths of slumber whispered through her lips and nose. That was the only sound in the room. Everything was so quiet now, so provocatively silent. So silent that he can hear the flow of blood pumping through her veins that were hidden but not entirely, beneath that tender flesh that could break with the simplest of bites.

She had moved her legs closer to him, and her backside touching against his hip. The proximity was enough to make his mouth water. He longed for a few sweet drops upon his tongue. Fresh nutrition to moisten the throat.

Altmer were naturally thin-blooded, despite their red elven fluids. Drathen was in no position to complain, however. While he preferred young virgin women, this one will do just fine. High elves are very much resistant to diseases and he was sure this one wouldn’t contract vampirism. He hoped she wouldn’t. He didn’t want any of his creations prowling about to cause trouble. He had patience for anything, anything but that.

Whether she had the desire to share a bed with perverse intentions or no did not matter. She was there, and she was sleeping. Her exhaustion was so great that she had slipped into a deep slumber, one that Drathen wasn’t bold enough to interrupt without the proper spell. The mask that was his face at last cracked and a malicious smile crept around the corners of his mouth.

Drathen sat up slowly as if rising from a grave. He turned his head slightly to the side and stared at the sleeping woman. Though consciously unaware at that moment, she had all the signs of life in her. She breathed. Her heart was beating. Her blood was flowing. Her organs worked. Him, on the other hand, was a mockery of life. Neither living nor dead, but in between for the sole purpose to spite Arkay. And he was content with that.

While Imperial culture regards vampires as destructive monsters to be hunted and destroyed. There still exists romantic notions of noble, virtuous vampires that persist in Imperial traditions to this very day.

Drathen reflected on the beauty of his unlife. There was a certain pride he took in walking among the sheep dressed in their clothing. Say what they will about romantic undead or the glamorization of immortality and eternal youth. Of virtuous undead who long for love. There are blood-thirsty monsters with fangs and shriveled skin and glowing eyes, and monsters just the same with finer garbs of flesh and cloth. He was blessed, by Vile, to have been born in the later. Blessed, by Bal, to have the blood of ancients flowing adrift his veins. As a vampire lord, he could take what he wants and right now he wanted the cattle sleeping beside him.

With the low voice that was naturally his, he sechoed her words with a hint of mockery: “I apologize if I touch you at any point during the night. But I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

By law, he must maintain a supple appearance through the satisfaction of the thirst.

He stretched out a slightly pale bony hand to Kayla’s mind while another remained above her breast. With vampiric seduction at his disposal, he cast his dark power over her mind. Whatever fear she had was allayed through his fear through that spell. Her mind, already anchored down with sleep, was further dragged into a perfectly pliant condition.

With his own will, he opened a fantastic portal that would manifest in her dreams, revealing a fantastic landscape so bright and deep that only her most venereal desires would see realized. Oh how malleable the mind can be . . .

Drathen felt her sleep intensify and her body warmth and heart beat change in rhythm. His ringed fingers slipped underneath those covers and began to explore forbidden territory that he longed to discover through touch. Though quite inhuman, he was still every bit the resemblance of a man, both in body and of course, desire.

Red eyes stared intently at the creature before him, and he gently pushed aside her head to expose her succulent jugular. His mouth opened, his teeth elongated into vicious fangs meant to pierce and also draw in the red nectar.

She won't feel a thing.

If she only realized how lucky she was that she was losing her own lifeblood peacefully rather than by brute taking such as the countless victims before her. They were unwilling donors who put up a struggle until their final breath. While they are six-feet under the earth, Kayla would potentially walk free without any mind to what truly happened.

Part of him did wonder if he had the courage to turn her into a thrall and put her into one of his subterranean cattle cell in his castle to join the other catatonic prisoners. If she tasted well enough, there is a possibility.


--------------------
And yet I am, and liveā€”like vapours tossed.
I long for scenes where man hath never trod
A place where woman never smiled or wept
There to abide with my Creator, God,
And sleep as I in childhood sweetly slept,
Untroubling and untroubled where I lie
The grass belowā€”above the vaulted sky.ā€¯
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Elisabeth Hollow
post Aug 12 2013, 03:47 AM
Post #6


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Joined: 15-November 12
From: Texas



"Kayla, what are you doing?"

She turned and smiled at the nude man on her bed.

"It's freezing here. Come. Warm me up." He waggled a finger at her and she giggled, crawling onto the furs-covered bed with him. She drank him in with her eyes before tasting him with her lips. His fiery red hair contrasted his pale skin sharply, his muscled body looked as if it was etched in stone, but was warm and moving under her fingers.

Her legs slid along the furs as he pulled her to him, setting her on his hips.

"Why are you still dressed?" he asked, gingerly brushing aside her own red locks as his bright green eyes locked on her own brown ones. She opened her mouth to reply, but he shushed her by pulling her into a passionate kiss. His slid his hands deftly up her thighs before resting them on her full buttocks, giving them a light squeeze. She swatted his hands away, grinning.

"You're such a tease!" He mock-pouted. He traced her jawline momentarily before sliding his hands up her thighs again. She grinned and silently unbuttoned the top of her dress, slowly, button by button. He'd had enough, she could tell by the growing pressure of his grip on her thighs. She yelped in surprise when he pulled at her top roughly, popping the rest of the buttons.

he drank in her body, then gave her a playful smile.

"I've got a surprise for you." He said, piquing her interest.

"Oh?" Her brow raised.

He slid her forward and, to her surprise covered his face with her and began exploring her. In the darkness of the room in Hackdirt, Kayla's body responded to Drathen's touch, her back arching and her hips bucking slightly. She gripped his shirt with one hand and the covers with another. Her legs slid against the sheets as her mounting pleasure gave way to a sudden rush, and from her lips escaped a small, quiet moan.


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Darkness Eternal
post Aug 12 2013, 06:50 PM
Post #7


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Joined: 10-June 11
From: Coldharbour



Kayla’s body responded all too well to his vampiric seduction. He could practically see the fresh rush of blood running throughout her veins. With just the correct pierce, he could sink his way into her neck and draw out the red nectar. His thirst would be wet with hunger just as she is with desire.

He didn’t waste anymore time. Draken bent over, his mouth wide, his large fangs exposed. The warmth of her skin felt so tempting that he wondered if he would be able to feed without orgiastic abandon. Right as his fangs touched the tender flesh without cutting into them, he heard something quite disturbing that took his attention away from the prey beneath him and toward the entrance to the room.

Footsteps. Many of them. Coming in all at once.

Draken’s face contorted into a deep, hateful snare. This wasn’t good.

The door creaked and he could hear and see half a dozen heartbeats through the thick wood. He could see the outline of the men standing outside with clubs in their hand!

Before he could even react to that sight the door had burst open and the intruders ran inside, screaming out as they invaded the chamber. Each of them were shirtless and each of them brandished wooden clubs with metals pikes etched on the top. But what was oddly disturbing about these men were the size of their eyes. They were large. Too large. These weren’t normal men at all. They were pale, as if they'd lived their entire lives below ground. But they weren't undead. They were living men.

“Outsider! Kill, kill!” they said in almost unison.

That was enough for Draken to leap off from top of Kayla’s sleeping body onto the side of the bed. His sword was just a few feet away but the men were in large numbers and they came in on all directions at once. There was no room for him to fight them all lest he scorch this entire place to the ground and he wasn’t willing to do that for the sole purpose that he needed to speak to the proprietor and preserve his station. But it was painfully obvious that the old buffoon was involved in this, too.

This moment Draken decided to offer these men a peak of what he was capable of. He hated when things went sour in his negotiations but savored that sweet moment when he would be allowed to properly defend himself. And the best defense is a great offense.

He gathered his arcane abilities of Blood Magic in a single indrawn breath that summoned power given by Molag Bal himself, child’s play compared to the real whirlwind of power that contained his other form; the slightest whip crack of that power, negligent as a flick of his wrist, sent one of the shirtless barbarians who nearly clubbed him in the air. Invisible hands choked at the man’s throat, cutting away all circulation of blood and air and his feet dangled in the air, large eyes appearing as if they would pop out from his skull at any moment.

Sad little creature, thought Draken as he guided the strangled man a few feet above the ground in front of his brethren.

I had enough of this!

Draken flung the man across the small room to where he crashed hard against the wall. But the vampire nobleman didn't have time to enjoy it. Sounded like he'd broken his neck. Wouldn't that be lovely?

There was no sense in taking chances, however. While the man’s bonelessly limp body was still dancing in spasms in the floor, he sent another surge of energy through Blood Magic. The man struck the floor this time at a steep angle, skidded along it, crashed into a handful of his brothers, and then slammed into the wall so hard the heavy furniture buckled and collapsed onto him. This Draken found exceedingly gratifying.

But all humor comes to an end, no? Like right this moment.

More of them spawned from the corridor into the room with clubs and Draken found that there would be too many to fight. Too many for a single man to slice them into shreds with a single blade. Draken wasn’t going to risk it. This was the folly of proud. He'd only recently re-awakened into the world. No sense in ruining his reputation with over-the-top displays of ancient dark power.

He glanced once more at Kayla and knew she was sure to wake up at any moment. If he killed them all he would have to take her life too, and the proprietor as well, and that Imperial woman and all of the townsfolk for that matter. That would be too problematic. How could a man profit if he slaughters all of his cattle before the appointed time?

There was only one way to win this. Draken raised his hand and shouted: "I surrender! I am your prisoner! I surrender!”

He would find the root of this problem, and what enabled these pests to crawl out of their hiding place. There was a bit of hope that they would lead them into wherever they hide themselves . . . where he would kill the pestilance in their cribs.

Kayla would wake up the sound of the crash, but surely she would only be aware of Draken standing there with his hands raised to the ceiling while eight murderous men stood there.

He knew they wouldn’t take them dead. He knew that they would want Kayla alive for whatever bloody desires they had, and if she was to be taken alive, he could too because he was worth something. And he couldn't help but notice that there was another shadow over Hackdirt.

These men never forget, do they?

This post has been edited by Darkness Eternal: Aug 12 2013, 06:57 PM


--------------------
And yet I am, and liveā€”like vapours tossed.
I long for scenes where man hath never trod
A place where woman never smiled or wept
There to abide with my Creator, God,
And sleep as I in childhood sweetly slept,
Untroubling and untroubled where I lie
The grass belowā€”above the vaulted sky.ā€¯
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Elisabeth Hollow
post Aug 12 2013, 10:00 PM
Post #8


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Joined: 15-November 12
From: Texas



Just as suddenly as her body swelled and rose, it fell, with an all too familiar disappointing downward arc. The illusion Drathen had inspired in her mind flitted away as the men attacked, leaving the sleeping Altmer suspended between dreams and a deep sleep.

She did indeed wake when the crash sounded, although slowly and incompletely, the spell still in effect. She heard a familiar voice surrender himself, and the painful grips of dirtied hands pulling her across the wooden floor. The scraping of her feet against the rough wood made her open her eyes momentarily.

Her head lolled as she summoned the will to look at her surroundings, but through the haze, all she could see were the bound hands of Drathen, white in the dark hallways of the inn, the menacing eyes of one of her captors, and one of the men inspecting her sword.

"Not Dawnbreaker," she mumbled. "I need that." Her head fell forward again as she slipped back into the trance of the spell. Her next sensation was the sharp pain of rocks biting into her back and legs as she was tossed onto the ground. She regained consciousness to hear the squeak of a cage door swing shut.

After that, it was all black.


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Darkness Eternal
post Aug 13 2013, 12:24 AM
Post #9


Master
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Joined: 10-June 11
From: Coldharbour



Draken stood there as Kayla started to wake, still under the mind-altering effects of his spell. The group of bug-eyed men dragged her from the bed with rough hands, and one of them secured her sheathed weapon.

"Not Dawnbreaker," mumbled the dazed altmer. "I need that."

Dawnbreaker? He hasn’t heard the name of that weapon in ages. It appears in old notes and forgotton books and in Tamrielic legend along with the Mace of Molag Bal and other artifacts. He’d personally had his hands on one of these fabled weapons centuries ago during the days of Cameron the Usurper.

Draken looked at Kayla not with the lustful eyes of a predator but the heavy gaze of an enemy. Anything connected to Meridia was dangerous, for he is the Daedric Prince of Infinite Energies and the bane of the undead. As far as Draken was concerned his very existence was enough to spite the prince. A weapon like this was not easy to come by and it took Draken considerable effort to discern if this was the actual blade or some farce. As the blade glowed with unearthly light, he was inclined to agree that it was legit.

Of all people he had to find one who held this weapon in her hands. He knew she was a killer, but one of such magnitude? It’d be best to kill her now as she’s dazed, and somehow send that blade to the depths of oblivion where it belongs. But he couldn’t help but think as he was escorted along her dragging body that if he enforced his will against a possible servant of Meridia . . . her wrath would be set upon his shoulders. He couldn’t afford to spite a Daedric Prince now, not when so much was at stake. That’s not to say that he didn’t already do so by attempting to drain this woman of a few precious pints.

Draken walked with his head bowed, hands grasped tightly and yanked to the small of his back. Wrist irons snapped and clamped around his wrists, securing his arms behind him. All of these men looked at him with an equal measure of curiosity and hatred.

He finally came down the stairs where the bald proprietor was nowhere to be seen. They then led him into a trapdoor on the side of the inn and shoved him down a hole where he landed into a cavernous floor. Dust lifted from the impact and Draken groaned and was hauled to his feet by men already waiting below.

“Keep walking,” said a male voice.

Because he wasn’t facing the man, Draken could not see the speaker. He obeyed and kept his head down, but with a rueful expression hot upon his countenance.

“Now turn here,” the gruff voice commanded. “Slowly.”

Draken passed through a doorway and entered a low-ceilinged corridor. He looked about him, collecting the surroundings and writing them away in the journal of his mind.

“Keep moving,” threatened the voice from behind. At the end of the corridor, a barred door was built into the cavern wall and Draken was urged to step through the open passage and into a makeshift cell. As soon as he entered, the door closed shut and locked him inside. Kayla was placed on the cell opposite of him and was awake until her mind collapsed once more.

Draken remained erect with hands locked behind his back as he studied the faces of his captors. The man that guided him into his cell was no older than fourty-seven, he had dark circles under his eyes as if he’d hadn’t slept in months. There was a foulness of ale coming from his breathing and his face was full of soot and grime and hair that hadn’t been shaved in weeks. His hair was short and tousled but otherwise wild and unclean.

He looked at Draken with fiery hatreds, and then his expression turned in what appeared to be obvious recognition. His mouth hung open slowly, and his eyes searched Draken’s face and body. He wasn’t so demanding now. He swallowed, backed away and retreated into the darkness.

What that might have been about, Draken wondered. And how might this almost splendid night unfold?


--------------------
And yet I am, and liveā€”like vapours tossed.
I long for scenes where man hath never trod
A place where woman never smiled or wept
There to abide with my Creator, God,
And sleep as I in childhood sweetly slept,
Untroubling and untroubled where I lie
The grass belowā€”above the vaulted sky.ā€¯
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Elisabeth Hollow
post Aug 13 2013, 02:13 AM
Post #10


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Joined: 15-November 12
From: Texas



Kayla awoke to blackness, blinking several times in the dark to adjust her eyes. After a few minutes, she was able to make out shapes. She felt along the walls blindly until she was sure she wouldn't knock herself out on the ceiling of the cell. She stood up to her full height and lit a light spell in her hand. The white, stationary orb hovered just above her palm. She peered through her cell bars and saw what one of the shapes was.

Drathen.

"Hey." She whispered, tossing the light towards him. It floated lazily towards him and stopped inches from his chest, high as his midsection.

"You don't look hurt. What happened?"

She lit another ball of light, lighting up her own body. She bit her lip and tasted blood, and hissed in pain.

Whoever did this wasn't gentle.

She licked the blood from her lip and looked around. Low ceilings made of dirt and rock told her they were underground. She carefully rattled the call doors, inspecting to see how old the locks were.

"You know, I never saw the appeal of being a thief until now. I heard they can hide lockpicks on their bodies when they get captured. Suddenly, the details of where don't seem so important now." She sighed and slumped against the cell wall and crossed her legs and arms. She studied the door again. her eyebrows shot up.

"Drathen. Check the hinges of your cell. Mine look weak."


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Darkness Eternal
post Aug 13 2013, 02:38 AM
Post #11


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Joined: 10-June 11
From: Coldharbour



Light came from the other end of the cave from where Kayla was kept. The source of the light was the woman herself who cast a spell to illuminate her surroundings.

Draken didn't need a torch or a spell. But he did act as he did. He saw that she saw him, and she whispered a simple greeting as the light, that infernal light, floated just inches away from his chest.

"They ambushed us as we slept. I surrendered myself when I was surrounded," Draken explained casually as he looked past the light and at Kayla. "I refused to put up a struggle. There were too many of them, you see and I am not ready to die just yet. You were fatigued, and dragged here."

Kayla spoke about her sudden desire to have been at least introduced to the art of thievery and that thieves had a manner in which to conceal lockpicks in their body.

Draken put on a false but convincing smile. "Hmm. If only . . . "

Now that he looked at Kayla, the current wielder of Dawnbreaker, all he could think of is how much she was worth? There were few ways to leave this cavern. He could wait a day and enthrall one of these savages to open the gate for him. He could kill one of them and raise their corpse to do his bidding by killing the others as he escapes. The idea of turning into a swarm of bats or mist and passing through the bars were not ignored, either. But all of these methods would put him at risk of being exposed.

Or he could be subtle and make use of the small stealth abilities he had honed in his brief year of tutelage under Greywyn Blenwyth and the Crimson Scars before their unfortunate demise. Nay, that too, was too bold.

"Drathen. Check the hinges of your cell. Mine look weak."

Draken realized that he was staring too much at Kayla as he thought about his plans for escaping, and it even though he turned his head to look at the hinges of his cell, his almost elastic-like gaze refused to look away from the woman. He couldn't fathom that the champion of Meridia was standing across from him . . .

He finally checked the hinges and began tugging at them and at the bars as well, and he seemingly struggled with them as he shook them. Finally, he sighed and shook his head slowly. "They're too strong for me," he lied.

With a diet from blood for seventy-four hours, he could manage to rip open the cell. But he had a feeling that he didn't have that much time and neither did Kayla. He saw it best to reveal to her what he believes is happening.

"They're going to sacrifice us," he said, quite unemotionally. "Cut open our chests and pull out our hearts to offer it to their gods. If we don't leave now . . . we might not live to see tomorrow."


--------------------
And yet I am, and liveā€”like vapours tossed.
I long for scenes where man hath never trod
A place where woman never smiled or wept
There to abide with my Creator, God,
And sleep as I in childhood sweetly slept,
Untroubling and untroubled where I lie
The grass belowā€”above the vaulted sky.ā€¯
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Elisabeth Hollow
post Aug 13 2013, 02:55 AM
Post #12


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Joined: 15-November 12
From: Texas



"If we don't leave now, we might not live to see tomorrow."

The light spell chose to end at that moment, leaving the two in darkness. Kayla blew out a calming breath and relit the spell, this time keeping it on herself.

"We'll live. Calm down."

She wasn't sure why she felt an irritated edge in her mood towards Drathen. The man's probably so scared, he's numb. She told herself. She, however, kept calm. She'd been imprisoned several times before, in cells not too different from these. She inspected her hinges and found she wouldn't be able to take them off, not without raucous noise, bringing about who knows how many people to their cells. The last thing they needed was a huge fight, especially when she didn't know where Dawnbreaker was.

"Meridia's going to kill me," she said to herself, low enough to where she was sure Drathen wouldn't hear. "You don't lose a daedric artifact, Kayla. You just don't!" She looked up at Drathen. "I can't take the door off, not without causing a lot of noise. There are splintered bones over here, but I'm not sure if I could use any of them for a lockpick." She pressed her face between the bars, her head sliding through easily. She blinked, then slid one arm through, then a shoulder, until her upper body was through the bars completely.

She clenched her fists as her rear got stuck.

"Godsdamnit!" she cursed, trying to pull herself through. She tried sliding one leg through, but to no avail. What was worse, was she couldn't get back in. She let out a slew of curses in Nordic that would make a pirate blush.

"Well...this will be really funny later on." She offered.


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Darkness Eternal
post Aug 13 2013, 03:50 AM
Post #13


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Joined: 10-June 11
From: Coldharbour



Draken remained in the darkness. Patient. Thinking everything through. Kayla seemed more irritated than he was at this point, and even going as far as to mutter words that Draken's keen ears could pickup.

"Meridia's going to kill me."

Good, she'll do the task for me

Kayla muttered other words before placing her face against the bar, her thin upper body managed to go through the bar and out, but the heavier part of her body got stuck. She was caught in the bars like someone in a trap. She started to curse in foreign words Draken could only guess was Nordic, comfirming his initial speculation that she lived with Nords.

"Well...this will be really funny later on"

Providing there is a later on, Draken told himself. These men aren't merciful.

She's lucky not to have a desperate death-fearing man as her cellmate in this particular moment. That would be something.

Not soon after Kayla was trapped Draken heard bare feet smacking upon the cavern floor, and a heavy panting. Due to the cell he couldn't see what it was, his head wouldn't fit through the bars to give him a view.

One of the shirtless men ran down the corridor, club in hand as he began to shout over Kayla. "Elf bad! Elf bad!"

More of them rushed in, blocking Draken's view of her face. Their capture of him was insult enough, but their limited vocabulary and constant shouting was just begging for him to retaliate.

The Hackdirt Brethren surrounded the outside of Kayla's cell while the same man from earlier returned to stand right outside of Draken's celldoor. He held a torch and approached to find his prisoner standing with the same look, and the same stance: arms behind his back, head up, eyes alert.

"What is your name?" the man asked with eyes that revealed suspicion, fear and a bit of unwavering hatred.

"Drathen."

"Drathen what?"

Draken wasn't sure where this was going, and before he answered, the man uttered another word.

"Decumus."

Now it was Draken's turn to look puzzled. How does he know me?

The man, recognizing Draken's expression, took a step forward. If there were no bars there, Draken was sure the man would have tried to strike him. "This isn't real. This has to be impossible. I . . . I know you! You were here thirty years ago. You helped the Legion burn this village. That face . . . those eyes . . . You haven't changed one bit. Not a single wrinkle. Not a mark of age."

Draken studied the man's face and tried to discern his identity past the grime and the madness and found . . . oh my. He found the man's face thirty years prior in the form of a young fatherless boy still living under his mother's house. It took a minute and sheer concentration and focus despite the constant raging of the barbarians around who tried to shove Kayla's head in the cell. But the memory came:

The soldiers torching the village, pulling out accused cultists by the well, executing them through the noose or by the sword while Draken stormed in house after house to enforce the law, and his own will, against one particular widow who believed that hiding her son in a barrel would help him.

In those days Draken had a trace of overconfidence and truly believed the boy would be buried beneath the rubble. He remembered the child staring from the hole as his mother fell victim to Draken's cravings.

"A tale that has been told to death," Draken said. " Young child see's his mother killed and vows revenge. Save your delusions, madman. I have done no such thing, for I was not born all those years ago."

"Don't deny it. I know. I know," the man whispered. " I know it was you that day. I don't know how this is possible but you're that same outsider that came with the soldiers. You killed my mother and burned our village to the ground."

Draken remained silent.

"The Deep Ones have blessed me by delivering you into my hands," said the man. "Your blood and the girl's blood will make Hackdirt prosper."

The man continued to look at Draken in disbelief, as if he was the nightmare made into reality. A spectre of the past returned.

"I will compensate you for this. Provide me with the proper means of liberation and I will arrange for any ransom to be paid."

The man didn't answer. Reluctantly, he backed away. Draken thought absently: It was you're mother's beliefs that got her killed.

This post has been edited by Darkness Eternal: Aug 13 2013, 03:56 AM


--------------------
And yet I am, and liveā€”like vapours tossed.
I long for scenes where man hath never trod
A place where woman never smiled or wept
There to abide with my Creator, God,
And sleep as I in childhood sweetly slept,
Untroubling and untroubled where I lie
The grass belowā€”above the vaulted sky.ā€¯
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Elisabeth Hollow
post Aug 13 2013, 07:19 PM
Post #14


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Joined: 15-November 12
From: Texas



"Bad elf! Bad elf!"

We got caught by these guys?! Kayla thought to herself as the man with bulging eyes came towards her with his club raised. Another man was behind him, positioning himself in front of Drathen's cell. Kayla yelped and dodged the older man's swings as he came down on her head in a downward arc, causing him to stumble forward and few steps. He turned around and, with rage in his features, swung at her again.

Stuck in the bars still, she bent her body backwards, dodging the swing again, but this time she caught the man's arm and with no hesitation, pressed her open palm against his elbow and bent it the opposite way as she extended his arm. The snap of the bones was sickeningly audible in the dark cavern, and the man's large eyes became impossibly larger as he pulled in a breath to scream.

Kayla landed an unmerciful punch to the throat to the man with the dangling right arm, causing him to make a choking sound. He fell on her, his weight causing the bars to slide painfully up her buttocks, but ultimately popping her loose. By this time, the man behind the bars had noticed what was going on. He turned to see her on the ground with the other man writhing in pain as she frantically grabbed his club and hit his head repeatedly. She cried out in pain and surprise when a handful of her hair was grabbed. She narrowed her eyes and waited for the opportunity to knock her opponent out so they could escape.

The man attempted to drag her by her hair away from the bars, but Kayla resisted. She pulled against his grip, causing him to stumble forward. She used his own imbalance to drive the force of her punch as she twisted around and landed a powerful punch into his sternum. His breath escaped in a whoosh as a panicked looked came over his features. He fell to his knees, clutching his stomach and desperately tried to breathe.

Kayla jumped up, her bare feet and legs bloodied from the struggle. A long gash on her left calf leaked blood onto the cave floor, wetting her toes, but went unnoticed by her, despite the throbbing pain edging its way into her consciousness.

She grabbed the man from behind and, with a determined look, wrapped her left arm around his neck and created a vice grip with her right arm pushing his head forward, cutting his air. She pulled him upwards slightly, and within three seconds of futile struggling, he was knocked out.

She leaned her hands on her knees, panting. After composing herself, she ran her blood-soaked fingers, (her own blood, it seemed) through her hair, streaking her forehead. She looked at Drathen and gave him a brief nod.

"I'll get the keys from him." She searched the pockets of both of the Brethren, but found nothing but lint and a familiar bottle. She cursed in Nordic and Cyrodiliic.

"He has my potion!" She seethed. The paralysis potion she'd worked hard on. The one strong enough to paralyze a vampire. She had no pockets, and padded feet were emerging.

"I'm gonna find the key, and my sword. I'll look for your weapons, too." She gestured towards the man interrogating Drathen. "He should be out for a good while, but-"

An enraged groan echoed through the cavern as another bug-eyed man appeared from the darkness. Kayla's hands, slick with her own blood and sweat, dropped the potion near her cell as she took off running. Two more Brethren appeared and followed suit after the Altmer.

This post has been edited by Elisabeth Hollow: Aug 13 2013, 10:00 PM


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Darkness Eternal
post Aug 13 2013, 10:53 PM
Post #15


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Joined: 10-June 11
From: Coldharbour



Draken was utterly pleased at the struggle Kayla was going through, and the fight that she had put up. In just those minutes she had answered Draken's question if she was a capable fighter. Her fighting skills were uncivilized, however. She'd fought like a panicked animal, a skilled animal, but a beast nonetheless.

At this rate, she'll do all the work and I won't have to lift a finger.

She single-handedly knocked two men out after keeping up the struggle and managed to escaped with the promise that she would locate the keys and her and his weapon, too. Her victory was short-lived when more of the locals caught sight of her. She fled, and they passed in front of his cell to chase her, paying no heed to the unconscious man on the ground.

This. Is. Good.

Draken pondered on how he could escape, but he wanted to know the reason for his capture. Years ago he heard of the Deep Ones. Some said they were daedric, others said they were something else. One survivor who escaped his kidnapping from the townspeople came to the Legion for help and informed them of the rituals that had been happening. He was the third man in two weeks in that time, and the Legion saw an opportunity to bring justice to the land by torching down the village.

They cared not for who the Deep Ones were or why the cultists did what they did but Draken wanted more, and so he set upon his own agenda. He didn't get the answers he sought. Not was the opportunity.

He waited for the man to regain his consciousness. Surely he knows.

****


Arentus came to his senses sometime after. He'd underestimated the woman and now as he looked around with confusion he saw that she escaped. The sounds of the brethren screaming after her bounced off the cavern walls in a long echo. They would find her, they always do. They can see extremely well in the darkness and they would not allow another survivor to lure the legion dogs into his town again.

As for Arentus himself, he was limited. Not yet there, but someday he would. Someday.

He got to his feet despite the pain in his sternum and turned to see that the Imperial was still in his cell. Hands behind his back and eyes that seemed to glow in the darkness. The sight of this monster brought back unwanted memories:

The cavern below reflected the opinion most outsiders had of Hackdirt; they saw it as an ugly, grimy pit. Arentus knew that those who lived in Chorrol felt the same. But he had seen the village’s true beauty. And there was simplicity in that beauty.

Hackdirt had no need for extravagant buildings made of polished stone, nor did the members need fantastic cloth to warm their bodies. Things here are kept simple and humble and yet something so normal brought the wrath of outsiders.

Though he feared their arrival thirty something years ago, he now felt stunned and even glad that an outsider had ventured into the cave. Not the woman. The woman was just any other explorer eager to help out a woman crying false tears and though she ran away, she would be dragged back into the cavern for the sacrifice.

But the man . . . this fiend. Arentus instantly recognized the face from his nightmares. He was older, but his features were unmistakable and unchanged: the thick head of black hair; the pale skin, long nails; the cruel set of his eyes and jaw. He recognized him as if the horrific event happened yesterday and not three decades ago.

The memory was familiar, yet still terrifying:

He is a young boy old again, huddled behind a set of barrels that contained most of their stored food. His mother staring out the stained window of their home, mouth clamped over her hand. "By the Deep, they've come! Arentus, they've come!"

There were screams of warning outside and hooves of horses pounding on the dirt and the smell of smoke and fire coming from outside. She’s ordered him to stay inside, hidden from view, until the attackers leave. But this was painful to do. As he hid he could hear more screams that were of pain and shouts of Imperial soldiers.

He was frozen in place, so rooted to the floor that it took his own mother to pick his little body and set him inside the barrel with haste. “Stay here, my son. Don’t make any noise. No matter what happens, you stay here!”

There was a sense of urgency in command that he wouldn’t dare disobey. “But, mamma. What is happening?”

The door burst open and a tall man entered, a young man. No older than twenty-five. He can see him through tiny holes dotting the barrel: He's fully armored in a soldier’s outfit. His head has a full set of hair; his armor is silver but tainted with red. He knows he’s an outsider and he’s come to burn down this village.

“Why do you come to this place?"

“Hackdirt is condemned by law to be torched to the ground,” there was authority in this man’s voice that seemed it did not belong coming from a prince-like face. “You know the reason for my presence." There was an amused smile behind that cold-stone countenance.

His mother knew of this, and was partially responsible, but she stood her ground. Unwilling to apologize, negotiate, or change her ways for the likes of this man.

“Do you surrender or will you resist?”

“Take what you want, outsider,” his mother said with pride. “But I won’t surrender. I was born here and I’ll die here.”

The soldier ‘s hand drops to the hilt of his saber and he takes a half step forward, eyes darting around the small home.

The door opens again, and another soldier steps in, looking directly at his mother with disinterest and then to the other outsider. “Lord Draken, Decumus, sir, the commander has ordered the accused for execution.”

The younger-looking man nodded and raised a hand. “This one is under my control. Give me some time.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll tell the men to save this house for last,” said the other as he left.

The man begins to inspect the house, flipping over cupboards and tables with impossible strength. He seemed so focused on his task that he ignored the ear-piercing cries from outside or the collapsing houses.

“Where are the Deep Ones?” the man said softly now, as if trying to soothe his way to information. "Who are they?"

“I am not afraid to die,” Arentus’ mother tells him without answering his question. “As I have said, take what you want.”

"I won't ask again."

"Take what you want."

Infuriated the man whirls around and begins to search through chests, reading through old pages and books and with frustration, he burned them with his own hand!

Arentus sees his mother slip a sharp knife from the kitchen table into her sleeve. The man is bent over, throwing papers around. She runs to him, knife raised and heart surely pounding, and brings the blade down for the kill. But the knife never struck. The blade never pierced flesh.

Arentus heard choking sounds and risked a peek to see the man hold her in the air without touching her. She clawed at her throat and managed a pitiful squeal.

“As you desire, I’ll take what I want,” he hissed through clenched teeth and dropped his mother on the floor, and then . . . Arentus couldn’t see what else happened, for she was taken somewhere else. But her pleas were terryfing and heart-breaking.

After she stopped struggling and her screams died, the soldier cast fire all around the house, engulfing wood, paper and everything else into flame and then he left. Just like that. He left.

Arentus remembers falling from the barrel, running to his mother where she lay with torn clothes, bruised, ravaged . . . and dead. Wounds on her neck. But he had no time to mourn. The house was crumbling down upon his head.

And so Arentus escaped through the hidden passageway into the caverns . . .


The caverns which he now stood with the very same soldier from that day.

"I have you to myself now."

The man, knowing he was alone, at last cracked an all too familar frown. "Yes. Yes you do."

This post has been edited by Darkness Eternal: Aug 13 2013, 10:54 PM


--------------------
And yet I am, and liveā€”like vapours tossed.
I long for scenes where man hath never trod
A place where woman never smiled or wept
There to abide with my Creator, God,
And sleep as I in childhood sweetly slept,
Untroubling and untroubled where I lie
The grass belowā€”above the vaulted sky.ā€¯
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Elisabeth Hollow
post Aug 13 2013, 11:53 PM
Post #16


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Joined: 15-November 12
From: Texas



Kayla ran, tossing fireballs behind her as she did. Some caught, others whizzed just past the faces on the enraged Brethren. There was a gnawing fear in her stomach, and it made her moves erratic and clumsy. So clumsy, in fact, that she didn't see the dangling sharpened rock as she turned her head. The stalactite sliced the top of her head, easily creating a four inch gash on her scalp. She let out a loud, pained scream, and the blood quickly obscured her vision.

The Brethren descended on her like a pack on animals did on wounded prey. And that's exactly what she was as they grabbed at her, trying to calm her kicking legs, their faces bewildered at her enraged screams. I can't fight them all/ She concluded. But I can sure take as many out as I can. She summoned a fireball and shoved it into the chest of one Brethren, a blood-curdling scream escaping from his lips as he stumbled back. That left her right arm free.

Her weight quickly shifted, and she caught herself with her newly freed arm, balancing herself. Her strength wavered, however, after a moment of trying to kick her way free. She felt dizzy all of a sudden, then pressure on her cheek, then pain. Someone had hit her.

Her eyes glowed menacingly in the light of the conjured flames now resting and waiting in both of her hands.

Someone was going to pay for that.


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Darkness Eternal
post Aug 14 2013, 02:42 AM
Post #17


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Joined: 10-June 11
From: Coldharbour



Arentus knelt down and picked up a bottle that he did not remember any of the Brethren carrying. She must have dropped this . . .

He opened it and sniffed the contents. It smelled like poison, and the label said paralysis.

Arentus unsheathes his rusty blade, pours the liquids upon his blade and opens the gate with the key stored in his boot. The man before him did not move. He didn’t even flinch.

He’s confident.

****


Draken laughed inside his head, mocking the man with his eyes. He read the label from afar. What good will that poison do? He sees the rusty blade in his hand and wonders, will that thing even cut me?

And with Kayla free from sight, with none of the savages near his cell, Draken only waits for the man to make his move. Anticipating the look on that depression-colored face when it registers confusion of poison not working or a rusty blade not doing what it’s meant to do.

So when the man attacked Draken and ran him through with a shortsword, he almost laughed and nearly sought to kill him then and there except when . . . his legs lost their touch. His hands, followed, too. His entire body went limp and though he could manage to move a bit . . . the paralysis worked against him. Never in his four hundred years.

Impossible! What sorcery is this?

He slumped backwards into the fetid chamber of his cell. Arentus standing over him.

“You don’t know who I am, do you?”

“An enemy from the past.” Draken’s answer came slowly. The poison clouded his mind, dulling his focus and concentration.

The words were a bit slurred, and it was impossible to read anything into the flat, emotionless tone. Arentus couldn't tell if he actually recognized him, or if he was just making a generalization based on the fact that he had taken him prisoner.

“My name is Arentus. You came here years ago and burned this village. You entered my house and you killed my mother,” he told him. He wanted him to know. He wanted him to understand who had done this to him.

“Is this revenge for her,” he asked after a long moment, the poison making his mind lethargic, “or for what I did to this town?”

“Both,” he replied, sticking the blade further in Draken’s shoulder.

His eyes rolled back in his head and his teeth slammed shut, narrowly missing his tongue.

“Do you see the kind of punishment I can inflict on you, outsider?” he asked. “Now do you understand what it is like to be at the helpless mercy of another?”

He didn't answer right away. His breathing was ragged, his face and hands covered in sweat from the potion.

“You have nothing to teach me,” he gasped. “I understand suffering in ways you will never fathom.”

“Why did you return?” Arentus asked, pulling out the blade and holding it in front of Draken to see.

“I am here to make an investment.”

Arentus stabbed him once more, and repeated three times before stopping. He expected him to pass out from the pain, but somehow he managed to stay conscious.

“Don’t lie to me,” he warned him.

“I tell the truth,” he insisted, though his voice was so weak he could barely hear him.

“You haven’t aged. How is this possible?”

“You’re mother was weak,” the man muttered. “She cowered in submission before I turned your house to ash.”

Arentus raised the blood-dripping blade.

“This won't bring your mother back,” he said. “But it feels good, does it not? The power. The dominance.”

“You’re not enjoying this. I want you to see what it's like to be helpless and afraid,” Arentus hissed. “I want you to understand what it's like to be a victim.”

“Quite the hypocrite,” Draken said through whispers as he lay frozen. “You prey on the innocent and offer their blood to your deities. You of all people should understand the weak will always be victims.”

Arentus was quiet for a moment. The man before him was not like other soldiers fighting for justice or honor. This man was impassioned by something else and Arentus knew what it was.

“Always will be dominated,” he added, his voice growing stronger. “That is the way of life. The will of Lord Molag Bal. The strong take what they want and the weak suffer at their hands. That is their doom; it is inevitable. Only the strong survive, because only the strong deserve to.”

“You only believe that because you don't know what it's like to suffer.” Arentus barked.

“I understand what it means to suffer,” he replied, his words no longer thick and slurred. “I used to be a victim. But I refused to accept my lot in life. I made myself strong.”

There was a blast of fire somewhere in the cavern. The altmer woman was still fighting, but Arentus was focused on the man before him. Drops of blood from the gashes on his shoulder fell from his chin and splashed to the cavern floor.

Draken raised his cold eyes to Arentus. "Those who are weak have no one to blame but themselves. They do not deserve pity; they are failures because of their own faults.”

“But it doesn’t matter how strong you were!” Arentus said, suddenly giving in. “You’re still are a prisoner at my mercy.”

Only because I willed it so, Draken thought. To Arentus, he said: “This is the way of life,” he countered, a fierce crimson burning in his eyes. “If I am not strong enough to escape, I will continue to suffer until I die. But if I am strong enough to escape…"

Arentus slammed his shortsword into Draken’s wound and turned around.

“You will never leave this dungeon alive,” he promised as Draken’s eyes lolled over and his head remained staring up. “We’ll give the woman’s blood to the Deep Ones when we catch her, and then you’ll be next. You wanted to know about them? You'll get what you desire."

The man left and locked the cavern as Draken remained there. Paralyzed and wondering just how in Coldharbour’s name such a thing happened. He realized just how dangerous Kayla is, and just how important it was for her to be destroyed.

Feeling slowly returned to him, as his pureblood began to counter the effects of the poison by divine blessing, and he managed to move a finger, then a hand then an arm and soon enough his entire body felt normal. He yanked the blade from his shoulders and blood started to seep from the wound. But he didn’t fret. There was no tissue that could be repaired with a bit of feeding or a bit of energy-draining.

If she survives these creatures, I'll have to kill her myself. Meridia be damned.


--------------------
And yet I am, and liveā€”like vapours tossed.
I long for scenes where man hath never trod
A place where woman never smiled or wept
There to abide with my Creator, God,
And sleep as I in childhood sweetly slept,
Untroubling and untroubled where I lie
The grass belowā€”above the vaulted sky.ā€¯
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Elisabeth Hollow
post Aug 14 2013, 04:13 AM
Post #18


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Joined: 15-November 12
From: Texas



Several of the Brethren screamed as soon as their mind registered what was happening. Firebolt after firebolt was tossed at them, the sound of bubbling flesh overpowered by the screams of pain of the Brethren, the nauseating aroma of burnt and cooking flesh overpowering all other smells. She was dropped, and the three remaining captors met grisly ends as she cooked them alive, spending her magick. On one of them, she found two keys. She hoped they were the keys to Drathen's cell.

She knew that the sounds of the Brethren screaming in pain would bring more to her, so she acted fast, wiping the blood from her eyes and splashing a healing potion over her bleeding scalp. It knitted together quickly, and she kept hold the the bottle as she searched the rest of the dead men. She looked up and saw a door and rattled it.

Locked.

She tried a key, then the second. It popped open to reveal a room full of disturbing sights. Shoe piles, clothing piles, and trinkets littered the floors and shelves, as well as weapons on racks and armor in a half open chest. She recognized her armor as she turned her head, pulling Dawnbreaker off the shelf.

No time.

She grabbed Drathen's sword and her pack and slid out the door, backtracking to the cell. She saw Drathen lying on the floor, five or six stab wounds in his chest.

"Gods!" She said, unlocking his cell. Her blood-smeared face showed genuine worry as she pulled her strongest healing potion and tilted his head back and poured the potion down his throat. "You're already as cold as ice!" She looked over at his sabre, which he had set gently against the cave wall. "My potions work quick, and you can kill whoever did this to you. Just bear with me for a minute? Okay?"

Dawnbreaker pulsated and glowed, unbeknownst to Kayla. Heat emanated off of it as its focus trained on Draken. Kayla paid no attention and gave Drathen a sympathetic look.


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Darkness Eternal
post Aug 14 2013, 08:31 PM
Post #19


Master
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Joined: 10-June 11
From: Coldharbour



The tunnels sent Draken messages of scream and pain and even the faint smell of burning flesh. Kayla once again dispatched her foes, and he heard her running through the tunnels to where he was, her gear in hand and his as well.

As she helped him, his father’s words of everlasting wisdom echoed in his mind.

She leaned down to help him, her throat only inches away from his face. Draken's hand just begging him to take his sword.

Come across one with more patience and you’ll fail to block the dagger at your throat.

The woman was oblivious to Dawnbreaker, who’s radiating light was like a frantic warning unheard. To Draken it was as if the blade was trying to alert Kayla, vying for her attention to warn her by saying: he’s a creature of the night. A vampire. An undead. Smite him! But she paid it no need. She was here, now, helping her greatest enemy.

Come across one with more cunning and you’ll hold the knife that takes your life.

Her blade’s call was thankfully ignored as she devoted her attention and heart to saving him. This was the bane of every soft heart in the world, for it resulted in just this scene. Mawkish pity for another one barely knows will lead to death and this was a potential flaw and weakness in most warriors of the light. For her concern for him spoke greater than her sword.

If she only knew . . .

If she only knew, he would be dead as dead can be. Laying in the ground as a pile of ash and blood for the limited, narrow view of the slayers thought: dead must stay dead. But to Draken the simplest response was: every living creature must die eventually.

The wounded nobleman drank the potion and gulped down its contents with rapacious zeal but the liquid to him felt bitter and empty, not as thick, sweet and warm as blood. But it served its purpose. This he could not ignore.

Draken did not return a smile but rather an acknowledging nod of false approval as he was led to his feet. His hand reached for his saber and he mumbled his thanks. He felt his blood purge the paralysis away like fire scorching fabric. He felt his enhanced abilities return to him. If Kayla was a tad bit more distracted, Draken thought:

Come across one that is quicker and you’ll fail to dodge the sword at your back.

“You earned my gratitude, Kayla,” he said with normal voice. “I’ll be fine. Go on. I will only hold you back.”

He wasn’t sure if she would go or remain but he was inclined to believe in the latter choice. Her selfless choices only pointed to her trying to aid him through the caverns. He believed this because he’s been through it before in an all too familiar situation. The voice in his head whispered:

Come across one more intelligent and you'll never see your end.


--------------------
And yet I am, and liveā€”like vapours tossed.
I long for scenes where man hath never trod
A place where woman never smiled or wept
There to abide with my Creator, God,
And sleep as I in childhood sweetly slept,
Untroubling and untroubled where I lie
The grass belowā€”above the vaulted sky.ā€¯
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Elisabeth Hollow
post Aug 14 2013, 09:50 PM
Post #20


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Joined: 15-November 12
From: Texas



Kayla gave Drathen an incredulous look. "Leave you behind? You're insane. Look, you're coming with me. No arguing." She grabbed his hand, her brow furrowing at the iciness of it.

The potion should've warmed him a bit.

He's probably gripped with fear so badly, he's lost his sense AND his nerve.

She shook it off, still ignoring the glowing heat Dawnbreaker was giving off at the close proximity of the vampire. Not just any vampire. A pureblood. Dawnbreaker hadn't tasted the blood of an ancients in centuries, its appetite ripe and gnawing for such a treat. It whined and pulsated, vying for Kayla's attention as she gently gripped the hand of the vampire.

It seethed as she pulled the wretched being along the dark cavern, its fury gone unnoticed by its wielder, but not unnoticed by the fiend. It sang and breathed, finally, as she pulled it from its sheath. Its victory was short-lived as she sank it into the gut of a mortal man, its disappointment shown by its light ebbing and fading. When it was knocked from her hands, landing at the feet of the bloodsucker, its light strengthened again, nearly lighting up the whole room.

The fiend lifted not one finger to save her when the blade of a Brethren found its way into her gut. He did not struggle when they grabbed him by his arms, nor when they began to drag her by her hair. Dawnbreaker's wielder fought as if she was uninjured, throwing fire and snarling curses as she kicked and punched. The bewilderment on her face wasn't lost on the sword's lack of eyes. It felt her confusion as the murderous being's calm demeanor began to weigh on her nerves.

"Do something!" She pleaded to the Nosferatu. She looked into his cold eyes, her own widening as one of the cruel men stuck his thumb into her knife wound, a laugh sounding as she screamed through gritted teeth.

Dawnbreak waited. It had eternity to taste the blood of this ancient. It had gone through countless wielders, and one more, or ten more, wouldn't make a difference.

Kayla kicked more before resolving to spend what little magick she had left on blasting the face of her opponent in the face. He dropped her, and she fell on him, punching his face as the other two let go of Drathen and came after her. She elbowed one in the nose as her jaw set, her survival instinct kicking in. She launched herself at the other Brethren and, with a burst of strength, snapped his neck. She fell to her side, holding the wound in her stomach.

"Missed...a major organ, I think." she panted. She began to crawl towards her pack. "Hand me a potion...please."


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- Lo-Fi Version Time is now: 19th July 2019 - 11:26 AM