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> Order Vampyrum: Daughter of Coldharbour
Darkness Eternal
post Jul 22 2019, 01:10 AM
Post #1

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Joined: 10-June 11
From: Coldharbour

Author's Note: Order Vampyrum is one of the first stories I have written here in the forums, and Raven and Draken Decumus were among the first Elder Scrolls characters I have created. As usual I try to stay close to lore as possible, and thankfully, Elder Scrolls:Online and Skyrim have introduced new and awesome additions to the Elder Scrolls world. Of course I want to make a unique and different take, and I won't be exploring Main Quests or side quests, as the time period in which this story takes place is in a certain unexplored time. But since our protagonists are undead, well, we'll see familiar time periods and crisis further along the road.

Bear with me, since this story is mostly for fun and to get back in the swing of things. I am a little rusty hehe.


Raven Decumus: Raven's a young Nibenese noblewoman. She's a Daughter of Coldharbour, a pureblooded vampire. She's a sorceress and a necromancer. Worshiper of Molag Bal and Clavicus Vile.

Draken Decumus: Draken's a young Nibenese nobleman. A pure vampire and brother to Raven, and son to Crassus. Follower of Molag Bal and Clavicus Vile.

Crassus Decumus: Crassus is a nobleman from the Second Era. A vampire patriarch of his family, members of the Order Vampyrum Clan.

Ornery: A Daedric Banekin. Serves as Raven's bound familiar, and loyal companion.

”On Our Order:
Know first that we are no simple tribe of savages, tearing throats with the orgiastic abandon of our scattered, tribal brethren. Ours is a civil fraternity, to which we are bound - every one - by our dual hunger for flesh and influence. By the virtue of Imperial structure and bureaucracy, Cyrodiil has become our stronghold in the third era, and we suffer no savage rivals within our boundaries, reveal ourselves to none, and manipulate the hand of society to mete out our agendas.”

On Our Conduct:
To preserve our ideals and way of life, two primary edicts shall be observed. Above all, reveal thyself and our Order to no other, for discretion is the greatest of our virtues. Do not feed where you may be found out, or on those who may not suspect your passing. Avoid daylight by lifestyle; dispel common belief in our kind, and maintain supple appearance through satisfaction of the thirst. Second, devote your pursuits to the procurement of influence, political and otherwise. Our strength is not in physical numbers, but in skillful manipulation of society. Always be mindful of our Patrons, and preserve the Order. Devote yourself to these ideals always, and the Order shall count you amongst our own.
-Manifesto Cyrodiil Vampyrum.

"There was but one tribe in Cyrodiil, a powerful clan who had ousted all other competitors, much like the Imperials themselves had done. Their true name was unknown, lost in history, but they were experts at concealment. If they kept themselves well-fed, they were indistinguishable from living persons. They were cultured, more civilized than the vampires of the provinces, preferring to feed on victims while they were asleep, unaware.”-Immortal Blood.

“However, romantic notions of noble, virtuous vampires persist in Imperial traditions, and vampires are thought to pass unrecognized in the Mages Guild and the Imperial aristocracy.”

~Chapter 1: Journey to Coldharbour~

"When thou enterest into Oblivion . . ." I whispered as my eyes burned upon reading the names inscribed in the ritual circle, covered in glowing symbols. My hand also burned with the names and markings etched on the flesh of my palms. Sower of Strife. Lord of Brutality. Corner of the House of Troubles.

Holding the bitter taste of splintered Daedroth tooth, and the bone of an unfortunate specimen, as a draught in my mouth, I inserted a purified needle in my left ear at the pace of a snail. The sick feeling in my innards turned darker as the portal opened beneath my feet, and the worldly sounds around me made way for the cries of those in Oblivion.

I have been waiting for this for a long time.

"You forgot knapsack. Your potions. Here." A voice said at my feet. "My Mistress. Ravine!"

"Gratitude, Ornery, but I quite honestly believe these are unnecessary. And my name is Raven," I corrected.

"Like the bird." he said.

"Ye—not quite—More like the Direnni sorceress of old."

Amidst the shifting air, I heard a snort. "I forget Mistress. Mortals have dumb names. Unmortals, too."

"Immortal, but I appreciate your candor." I said, preparing to cross over. "If it closes, you know what to do. You are still bound to obey my orders, remember that."

"Yes, mistress."

As I said these words I was aware that Ornery had handed me my knapsack with the potions inside, as he hovered around my legs, murmuring something I could not comprehend—the incomprehensibility being, in part, due to my heart pounding like battle drums in my ears and perhaps also to the fact that, both abstracted and petrified, I paid small heed to anything save for the extraordinary jellylike weakness in my legs and hands, which had begun to spasm beyond control.

And yet I moved. The Ritual of Resonance worked.

When thou enterest into Oblivion . . .

The portal devoured my cold breath, my strength, my boldness; it swallowed everything that went through, and it was emptier and hungrier still. Where all my desires, all my love, all my dreams, all my conviction that had ever been was now a void, filled at the fullest with the inanimate voraciousness of this door. I did not even have the will to even cry out.

I hung in the azure vortex for a second, exploring the spectrum of a new reality. In such a transition, I found cinders of thirst that scorched my throat as I fell to the left, right, up and down all at the same moment.

Seconds passed, or perhaps eons. Within Oblivion, difference was not found between the two. The twisting corridor condensed in my sight, ignited, exploded, burned, and withered as I went through, all between one breath and the other. Eternity began.

Oblivion entereth into thee.

The familiar chambers where I stood was replaced by another landscape that was alien. On the precipice of Oblivion, I looked up to a dark, haunted burning sky and an infinite expanse of cold, dead ground. The clothing I wore felt dank and freezing, and piercing air blew through the shrouded forest, but I barely noticed the gusts. Tall wind-wrenched trees, bare and skeletal, reached out like claws to me as I made haste into the woods, wasting no time.

They must be here. Somewhere.

I did not stick that needle in my ear for naught.

Though my instincts that told me to avoid danger were screaming at me, and all I longed to do was to find some nice dark room in which to fold myself and sleep—preferably a sturdy but cozy coffin, with a locking mechanism from within, that could be welded shut—I found myself nonetheless skulking through a foreign wilderness past what appeared to be a perfectly macabre banner of Molag Bal made of human skin and fleshly remains. It evoked the horned image of the long-tongued Lord of Domination, the Prince of this realm. I was not deterred. This was, in fact, an outrageously dangerous decision for any sensible young mage be doing, but I kept going because I needed to find her.

And many sensible and successful young mages were often gifted with a modicum of madness.

My heart pounded so loud I felt certain it would burst from my breast. Glancing back over my shoulder, I saw vague and indistinct figures moving through the mists. An azure light, distant and ethereal, shone through the barren tree branches overhead, yet my sight was limited here, even more with the dark clouds drifting across the scorched sky like a veil. Sharp, floating stones dotted the heavens, these dark promontories. Inconceivable islands shrouded in crackling storms.

Is it night or day? It was hard to tell.

I raced over a carpet of dry, veiny ground cracked with markings and glowing fissures. Even the landscape itself and the ragged rocks that had sprung from it, like the spine of a Wamasu, seem to have felt the brand of torture. Thunder grumbled off somewhere, and a jagged bolt of lightning severed the sky in two. Snow fell all around me, freezing the air, covering me. The ground turned to mud beneath my feet after several careful steps. Sludge oozed between my pale toes and I had to battle to maintain my balance on the slippery dead leaves.

Bloody damnation! I cursed myself for my recklessness as I struggled through the mud. My father warned me on end against carelessly trafficking with Daedra, and even thinking of traveling through the planes of Oblivion at my young age was enough to incur his ire, yet the longing desire to flee the claustrophobic confines of my castle, as well as the constrained proprieties and expectations that came with being a nobleman's daughter, had driven me to ignore his advice on plenty of occasions. This hour, it seemed, I had tempted fate once too often. By the Maker, I shall not hear the end of this . . . should I be fortunate enough to survive.

Several steps ahead made me realize that the surface beneath my feet was was no longer composed of sludge, but was a hardened bed of skulls, from Man to Mer to Beastfolk. A heap of charred bones, with empty sockets and deathly grimaces, stared at me from the dirt. They clattered their teeth as if in mock laughter, like a macabre audience, as I danced and skipped over and about them.

The wilderness made this stroll seem perilous, there was no doubt about that, and I felt— for a fleeting second, that I had been traipsing in a negligent abstraction, a lengthy evening’s walk—now, however, I felt concrete dread inch away into my bones, accompanied by the chill of the realm. I shuddered, and felt both surreal and disoriented.

Perhaps I was just so tired. Freezing Azure PlasmChaotic Creatia—moved beneath my feet as I traversed through the preposterous cold in the midst of Coldharbour. The black mountains cast titanic, distorted shadows against the impermeable landscape of the realm in a sight so sinister that, when the wind blew, its raging noise had the sound of a storm at sea preceding complete devastation.

Where am I? North? South? I blinked at the questions I asked myself, thinking: in Oblivion, does such a thing even matter? The notion of any sense of true direction made me feel juvenile and absurd. This is eternity. This is infinite.

Father is going to kill me! I thought. If something doesn't get to me first. Either way I am already dead.

A loud, lost wail of something struck my ears, joining with a roar of some reptilian beast, much closer now, to the shriveled tree where I stood by; another chill wind sent dry twigs skittering across the wilderness as if even the dead debris wanted to flee this place, and as the leaves went, the screams came. A tortured multitude of cries of souls in anguish filled my ears, and if I concentrated closely enough, strident cracklings, roars, cackling and shrieks—a whole forest full of noise an inch from my ears and across which, like a thread of madness, was played like a song—blown in from whatever prison in this realm, someplace beyond reckoning. Many charnel houses and slave pens dotted this realm, and if I was not careful, I would be thrown in them.

My reality was now contained even more: I was tired. Worse, something weighed on my mind like a mountain; there was something I had forgotten, something I was meant to do . . .

"Was it this bad the last time I came here?" I murmured. "No . . . I was here for only half a minute."

I shuddered, and felt as if I was adrift at sea in a shadowy, windowless crate, unaware of direction or of kinds, and with no manner of discovering. What I had been and had for these last years—daughter, sister and home—seemed to have existed in the infinite past or, in a lost dream. What I had done just now, moving with caution through one peculiar forest to a field and through the blue depths of some even stranger pool, had no sequence, like the fevered nightmare of one fraught with calenture. Time and space seemed for a period to be distant, unanchored and deprived upon a vast and compassless ocean.

Ahead of me in the distance, moving about in unison, was a gathering of people.

I approached in haste.

There you are!

Decrepid husks. All of them. Emaciated, skeletal . . . dead. They were many. Empty bodies, driven only by distorted purpose instilled by the masters of this realm. The wind brought their words to me, they spoke slowly and with timorous whispers; their tongues were cut in half. Daedrats scurried and nipped at their feet. Forms beyond saving, but with the flicker of a living soul. Pathetic shells. Afraid, sad, and lost.

They were laboring away with pickaxe and shovel.

Eager to find the information I sought, I approached a cadaverous adolescent with a beanpole of a frame. The lost souls stood idle, watching me as I advanced toward her. I noted a black smear on her lips; she was offering gloomy, almost inaudible speech in a raspy, hoarse voice, telling me to leave her to her work.

I ran a limp hand down her wizened back in wonder. A tactile impression of this creature: the osseous outline of her spine, each vertebra open exposed, an entire sinuous length operating up and down in rhythm with her tortured breathing. Fascinating specimen, I thought. The woman bared her teeth, rotten and broken, at me. It seemed she wasn't pleased with my necromantic inclinations.

The snow continued to fall, which collected in piercing flakes against my face. Then I heard her say, "Leave this realm . . . leave!"

I tried to get her attention with an assertive voice. "Lady Decumus! Daughter of Coldharbour! Do you know who she is? Where is she?"

"Leave!" The soul shriven uttered with a sneer. "Or die."

The others were gathering bones and remains that littered the landscape as others seemed to be building some manner of construct. Their arduous labor allowing them to acquire a haggard, bizarre-looking fellowship of wan and shrunken flesh.

A raddled, slab-shaped beast with a prognathous jaw and great hands was the only one that looked at me now. He was weary from the task of gathering the stones. He was an Orc late in his years, perhaps sixty, perhaps centuries. His face was worn and thin, as if this terrible task had drained his mental reserves along with the physical. His eyes were white sockets that regarded me with pity and then looked back at the stones he was meant to carry. There were dead people amidst the rocks.

"You should be there with them," the old Orc mumbled, though whether he was talking to me or himself, wasn't clear. "You should join their ranks. You belong there . . . All of the dead."

The man turned his head, fixing his vacant stare at me. "You look just like her. The undead sorceress."

Mother? I thought. Could it be her?

To my total chagrin at his words, I found that I could offer no reply. I was demoralized for a moment as his cryptic words. I made a queer sound in the back of my throat and closed the distance between us in a weak-kneed manner, a graceless flounder. Feeble and vain, I struggled for words that would not come.

The knot in my gut, after awhile, had untied itself, and I looked at the Soul Shriven in his empty, milky eyes. "Where is she?"

The orc bared his teeth, a grimace or a facsimile of a smile, and said no more words. Something above cast a grim shadow over us. A huge and terrible creature flew above, weaving between the floating plateaus, unfurling great tapestries of wings, swooping and circling above only to disappear somewhere over the black mountains.

A behemoth, a Daedra titan; keeper of the black soul gems for the Father of Vampires.

All at once a kind of shudder passed through my body, and I realized that I had to return home lest the portal closes, trapping me in Oblivion. I still had a family out there in Tamriel, after all. They wouldn't want to lose another member to Coldharbour.

There was power in this place, I could feel it in my bones: the source of Oblivion that covered me in billows like vapor down a path of frozen air. Within me, I could feel the even colder wave of power, colder than the frost on an ice wraith's teeth, that slithered over me like a dagger of ice into my spine.

A moment passed, and I found myself using the Dark Gift adrift my veins, the realms of power introduced to me beyond my most spectacular fantasies. I gathered and wrapped the ancient power of night around myself, and held it as it turned within my core, seizing down upon it until I could feel the whirl of the realm around me.

The real power vampirism, the gift I had suspected even as a girl, had longed for through my adolescent years until my parents had shown me the way. The power of Oblivion within me. I drew on this power that was the essence of my innermost being until everything and anything out there existed only to serve my will. Once the Dark Gift enveloped me in a powerful hold like the fists of Molag Bal himself, my entire vision blackened for a fleeting second, and my form took upon that of a swarm of bats—and I was gone, taken to flight to jump from floating stone to stone until I came to a pause atop a floating black island covered in blue lichen.

Taking the measure of the landscape around me with exhilarating precision, I knew I had to keep moving.
The view of Coldharbour was vast, though I saw the uncanny portal in the distance. Yet open.

Do not close. Do not close. Do not close!

From floating rock to floating rock, I at last came to the final one closest to the portal.

A frosty wind rustled my long, sable locks as I took a step at the very edge.

And do not look down, I thought.

In spite of my sage counsel to myself, I was unable to resist peering down from my elevated perch on the skies of Coldharbour. Any mortal who would leap from these precarious heights would be smashed asunder beyond any doubt.

Thank the Prince of Rage, I was no mortal.

As I took a deep breath to calm my rising nerves, I closed my eyes, and stepped off the floating rock with an impulse. Gravity seized me and I plummeted downward at breathtaking speed past a hundred feet below.

Stone-Fire—Molag Bal—preserve me!

The cold air rushed past me, bellowing in my ears. Snapping my eyes open, I saw the ground surge toward me like a battering ram until a surreal mist covered the skies. I raced through absolute fog; there was no telling how far I might be, nor even which direction might be up from the rate I was going. My fleeting, nugatory life raced before me as I feared that I had become a victim to some cruel joke on the behalf of my Daedric Lord. Would it amuse Molag Bal to suspend my abilities in his realm and see a pile of my bloody ashes and dust splattered on the ground?


Through the thick fog, gathered perception, and absorbed within me the instinctive, precociousness intuition that was the among the boons of my condition. Seconds before impact, my entirety became a mist that surrounded me like an aura, and my physical form vanished away. The impact didn’t even knock the breath from my body, let alone destroy me. As my body materialized again, I looked down at my preserved flesh and blood in astonishment, gasping in relief.

I am yet here! I rejoiced. Thank Lord Molag for small favors!

My jubilation was cut short, however, when the last of the fog dispersed, and the gateway ahead began its final throes. At this range, all I could see was the glowing door on the ground within the center light up with disintegrating energy. In horror, I stared as the crimson shimmer of energy begin to wink. I registered belatedly what I was was looking at.

The portal to Oblivion that I had opened was closing.


I thought, Oh, this is bad. With a slight push, I burst into speed; my limbs moving me faster than the the mortal eye could see; when my leg moved after the other, I was no longer in the same spot. . . and appeared three feet ahead . . . six feet ahead . . . momentarily expunged from existence by sheer mind-numbing velocity as my magicka reserves were all but depleted. Until I relied entirely on my physical prowess to move . . .

There was so much for me to learn and yet this was a moment between life and death. I could go home or be lost in Oblivion . . . just like her, if she is indeed here.

I was closing the distance between me and the portal with rising speed and intensity, in an sloppy, unpredictable broken rhythm of jumping, teleporting, rolling, of which every single second could save or condemn me.

Closer . . .

Closer . . .

Closing . . .

I screamed, coming in too fast, too steep, pieces breaking off from physical form to spread apart and stream my own contrails of black vapor as I launched into the portal head-first.

Gasping, I lurched upright from atop a desk, screaming, staring into the darkness. Those sights thundered inside my head, blinding me to the contours of the night-shrouded room, deafening me to every sound. I sat motionless, my heart in uproar, pounding so hard and racing so fast. My hand found unfamiliar coils of sweat-damp silken cloth around my body. Finally I realized where I was.

My library.

I teleported here.

Utterly surprised by life, my life, I could only laugh. The jaws of Oblivion had not closed upon me, nor the jaws of its denizens. No tentacle, blade or claw had ripped flesh from my bones. Nor had I drowned in slimy pools, asphyxiating on some poisonous fumes. No Dremora warriors or Xivilai swarmed around me to drag me into Coldharbour's countless prison cells to carve my unlife from me with their infernal tools.

I returned safe and sound.


I am home.

After I settled on my desk, I at once snatched a parchment and began to chronicle today's memorable visit with utmost diligence on an unrolled sheet of paper, ready to copy its contents on my journal. Inkwells and goose quills crowded my desk, alongside rogue scraps of paper, tomes bound in leather, and other scholarly paraphernalia. A flickering candle had burned away close to its base, the melted wax oozing out like a greasy fungus across the bottom of the holder. A small blade waited to sharpen the points of the quills as needed. An empty crimson-stained goblet required filling.

Hundreds of books lined the walls, some were written purely for entertainment, but the majority, however, hosted a collection of studies, guides authored by experts in more than three dozen widely varied fields, written by people with vast knowledge and numerous talents from the Second and Third Eras. The shelves had cried under the weight of countless ancient books and scrolls of yellowed parchment.

This was my own little Apocrypha. My own little realm. I had thirsted for understanding, for wisdom, in the same manner others yearned for stuffed coffers or prestige, and with each new adventure or daring escapade, I was quick to document it all, adding to the innumerable works that crowded this chamber.

"Ornery!" I called out. "I have returned!"

A moment later I heard something scuttling, and then something jumped on the table before me: a tiny piece of Oblivion. I looked at the creature in front of me. Ornery was a wingless banekin. He was a cruel and inquisitive, impish in his prancing form: the bound Daedra was gray and shrunken like a little man, a hunched homunculi, bearing sharp wings without the mass to carry him. His back was scaly and spiked, and he stared at me with those cold, azure eyes and bared sharp little teeth, pointed like a slaughterfish.

"Welcome back!" he said. "Were you successful?"

Considering the safe return, I would say this endeavor was successful. Not certain it was entirely a victory, though; I was not certain my mother was still in Oblivion.

I observed the distinguished company with a slight smile. "I came back in a single piece. But I have not found my mother . . . Something tells me she is still there. Somewhere."

"Have you faced Sthorha the Crazed? Nolagha? Keggagiha?"

I frowned. "No—"

"Menta Na? Ozzozachar? Kathut—"

"No. I fought none of your Daedric cousins, none of note anyway. I have spoken with the Soul Shriven of Coldharbour. They weren't as helpful as I imagined."

"You spoke with the Soul Shriven? Kynreeve Xalxorkig would be most furious if the slaves are not working."

"Oh, I am undoubtedly shaking in my boots at the thought of his displeasure," A sardonic tone slipped into my voice. "I have collected the castle's fattest rodents for your own personal gratification, Ornery, and yet you ignore my efforts in favor of needless concerns."

"Never needless, mistress," said the Daedra. "Since the beginning of time, I have seen many a mage fall to the hordes of Oblivion. Coldharbour is a dangerous place, and it has devoured and digested many unfortunate—"

"—Souls, yes." I breathed as I crossed the room to place away my journal. "I shall be sure to visit Coldharbour again, either by a portal or by my death, but knowledge is paramount, because knowledge is power, and as long as I am of this world, I will devote my pursuits to that."

"As you say." Ornery sniffed.

"Where is my father?"

"He slumbers, my mistress." Ornery said. "It is yet day. Past midday. The sun burns in the sky."

"Oh? How long was I gone?"

"Three minutes."

"Three minutes . . ." I breathed. "It felt much longer in Oblivion. What of my brother? Is he back?"

"Not here. He is yet in the Imperial City."

"Splendid! You shan't speak of this to anyone." I said. "Now go on, fetch me a bar of sload soap."

Rubbing irritably at my temple, I rose from my seat. My eyes were red and bleary from soot and dust. "I need to indulge in some libation . . . get some sleep."

Indeed, the spiritual connection I felt to Coldharbour at first was freighted with terrible and fiery logic; it was challenging to conceive the most peaceful of thoughts regarding Molag Bal's realm after exposure to scathing visions and truths felt firsthand with such ardor and precision. Experience, without a doubt, is a great cleanser of my intellect, purging me of innumerable lethargic ideas, and through some of the most unsettling despondency I had ever encountered. Whatever the afterlife in Coldharbour had to cast at me, I knew I had been through worse on Molag Bal's summoning day. I longed to find confirmation of such a belief, through the proof of the well-being of my mother, a Daughter of Coldharbour, though I have not yet found her to come to a full satisfactory conclusion.

My frequent visits to the realm had caused me to be aroused anew by life’s esoteric promise: immortality, and what I had done to obtain it. Nothing is more precious than time—and everyone knew, the more precious the gift, the higher the price.

Now, all I could hope for was to continue on.

And to wash off the whiff of lavender and foul stench of rancid meat and offal of Oblivion from my body.

This post has been edited by Darkness Eternal: Aug 19 2019, 12:06 AM

And yet I am, and live—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 below—above the vaulted sky.”
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post Feb 10 2020, 05:28 PM
Post #2

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Joined: 14-March 10
From: Between The Worlds

I might have gone a different way on the decorations...

This was a nice way of bringing us back to where Raven died and was reborn (unborn) as a vampire, and the lesson that all power comes through sacrifice.

I loved the description of Tamriel as a winepress!

So Raven is hoping to find a way to escape from Molag Bal after death. A way for her mother to escape. Now that is a lofty and worthy goal.

And we begin to see what Gaubert's future will be. Which is more than I expected. It is really fascinating how you have written him, and the effects of Raven's mental domination over him. I like that he is not a mindless zombie. He can think, but he has no agency of his own.

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Posts in this topic
Darkness Eternal   Order Vampyrum: Daughter of Coldharbour   Jul 22 2019, 01:10 AM
SubRosa   The Order sound like the Ventrue. They certainly h...   Jul 22 2019, 05:52 PM
Acadian   Welcome back to the fanfic Arena, DE! I not...   Jul 22 2019, 08:48 PM
Grits   Great to see you posting again! You brought Co...   Jul 23 2019, 02:43 AM
treydog   Wonderfully descriptive and evocative; I could fee...   Jul 23 2019, 01:46 PM
mALX   YOU'RE WRITING AGAIN AND DIDN'T TELL ME? ...   Jul 30 2019, 10:14 AM
Zalphon   I found the depiction of Coldharbour to be crisp a...   Jul 31 2019, 09:49 PM
BretonBlood   To bandwagon on what everyone else has said, your ...   Aug 2 2019, 05:44 AM
Darkness Eternal   Subrosa: The Order most definitely match the Ventr...   Aug 4 2019, 08:16 PM
SubRosa   I really liked the Ventrue a lot in VtM, and loved...   Aug 5 2019, 01:56 PM
Acadian   ’Struggling up from the seaweed-depths of a nigh...   Aug 5 2019, 04:53 PM
treydog   Again quite excellent descriptions and background,...   Aug 10 2019, 03:16 PM
Darkness Eternal   Subrosa: On vampires casting no reflection: it has...   Aug 19 2019, 01:53 AM
SubRosa   I have to admit that I was a little confused about...   Aug 19 2019, 01:35 PM
Acadian   Draken shows that he is a long way from obtaining ...   Aug 19 2019, 06:37 PM
Darkness Eternal   Subrosa: Sorry. Ever chapter will either have Rave...   Aug 31 2019, 03:20 AM
Acadian   This lengthy episode revealed much about the histo...   Aug 31 2019, 07:01 PM
SubRosa   My father stood tall and imposing, like a king ove...   Aug 31 2019, 07:58 PM
BretonBlood   Just caught up with these chapters. Loved them...   Sep 4 2019, 03:04 AM
Darkness Eternal   Acadian:Both being creature of deception, they thr...   Sep 13 2019, 12:59 AM
Acadian   The pair of vampires found plenty, but not the suc...   Sep 13 2019, 07:58 PM
SubRosa   I found a good song to listen to while reading thi...   Sep 13 2019, 08:38 PM
BretonBlood   Simply amazing! Easily the best chapter yet...   Sep 17 2019, 05:08 PM
Darkness Eternal   Acadian: Not exactly what they were searching for....   Sep 21 2019, 05:23 AM
Acadian   Wonderful job! What made this fight work was...   Sep 21 2019, 06:03 PM
BretonBlood   Indeed the fight was very well written. I get the ...   Sep 23 2019, 04:14 AM
SubRosa   The monster lurking in the ceiling rafters made me...   Sep 23 2019, 03:06 PM
Darkness Eternal   Acadian: Draken and Raven have been trained in swo...   Oct 6 2019, 06:02 AM
Acadian   Once the pair of vampires got the situation under ...   Oct 6 2019, 07:58 PM
SubRosa   I love the minstrel remark. A nice touch of the ...   Oct 7 2019, 04:23 PM
BretonBlood   Another great chapter. I really enjoyed all the va...   Oct 9 2019, 05:29 PM
Darkness Eternal   Acadian: Being a stage-four vampire grants them pl...   Oct 16 2019, 03:39 AM
SubRosa   Draken has some nice ruminations on the nature of...   Oct 16 2019, 02:34 PM
Acadian   Wow, Fort Wooden hand – home to a blood orgy. I...   Oct 18 2019, 08:03 PM
Darkness Eternal   Subrosa: I was concerned whether or not it would...   Oct 30 2019, 06:38 PM
Acadian   At first, I was thinking Raven was going to be lam...   Oct 31 2019, 08:06 PM
SubRosa   The title of this episode was very appropriate to ...   Nov 1 2019, 10:28 PM
SubRosa   I found someone who reminds me of Draken in a load...   Nov 14 2019, 10:45 PM
Darkness Eternal   Acadian: Gaubert is an interesting character and v...   Dec 5 2019, 10:09 PM
SubRosa   Perhaps not the wisest decision indeed! But as...   Dec 6 2019, 05:26 PM
Acadian   Nicely done! I quite liked that Draken’s fi...   Dec 12 2019, 08:31 PM
BretonBlood   Just caught up on Chapters 9-11 and all I have to ...   Dec 14 2019, 12:02 AM
Darkness Eternal   Subrosa: Wise words indeed. The majority of Draken...   Dec 23 2019, 03:51 AM
SubRosa   I would also not be surprised if Raven probably re...   Dec 23 2019, 04:23 PM
Acadian   Nice job portraying Draken’s disorientation and ...   Dec 23 2019, 06:00 PM
BretonBlood   Hmmmmm. An interesting observation by Raven wonder...   Dec 24 2019, 06:45 PM
Darkness Eternal   Subrosa: Raven does have preferential treatment fr...   Dec 31 2019, 06:10 PM
Acadian   Whew, the vampiric siblings pulled it off! Ra...   Jan 1 2020, 07:02 PM
SubRosa   Raven plays the vampire-hunters like a harp from h...   Jan 2 2020, 02:49 PM
BretonBlood   I had forgotten about that questline in Rivenspire...   Jan 2 2020, 07:41 PM
Darkness Eternal   Acadian: Raven has learned a thing or two from her...   Jan 13 2020, 02:34 AM
Acadian   A fascinating interchange among the ancient and hi...   Jan 13 2020, 08:06 PM
SubRosa   Uh oh, now it is time to face the wrath of their f...   Jan 16 2020, 06:23 PM
BretonBlood   Oohhh another great chapter! I share the sen...   Jan 19 2020, 06:52 AM
Darkness Eternal   Acadian: The relationship between father and son i...   Feb 9 2020, 06:28 PM
Acadian   Raven again shares more details of her transition ...   Feb 9 2020, 09:02 PM
BretonBlood   This was a great chapter just getting more insight...   Mar 7 2020, 06:00 AM
Darkness Eternal   Acadian: Becoming a Daughter of Coldharbour is a g...   Mar 22 2020, 06:32 AM
Darkness Eternal   [size=5][center]~Chapter 16: Chess Pieces~ [u]Rav...   Mar 22 2020, 07:41 AM
Acadian   The summary you provided of where we are to date w...   Mar 22 2020, 08:18 PM
SubRosa   As Acadian noted, I love the Bloody Mara. Now we j...   Mar 25 2020, 04:24 PM
Darkness Eternal   Acadian: I think it was necessary to update it sin...   Apr 8 2020, 11:45 PM
Acadian   ’…surreptitious serving of caramelized goat ni...   Apr 9 2020, 07:52 PM
SubRosa   Draken grapples with some serious issues about the...   Apr 11 2020, 07:07 PM

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