Thread: The Havens

The swamp smelled putrid, overbearing. Each step was hindered by mud made thicker with blood and corpses over the years. It seemed to crawl up the legs of wanderers as if willing the trespasser to fall to their knees. But, the advantages of the swamp were immense for those who knew how to use it. Yes, For those who were hiding the swamp offered solitude. The smell masked her presence, the mud filled in her tracks- the terrain offered small morsels, the very water sources flowing with plagued blood. But, to an ancient this meant littleBlood was blood. Her hair was matted, coated brown with mud and slim. Her face was darkened and dried with the grime of years. Red eyes flicked under eyelashes clumped together in dirt. Her 63 stature held little vantage to the ground that seemed to pull at her as if she were Persephone- beckoning her to fall to Hades, where she surely belonged. Twenty years of hiding in a swamp while the council she had once been a matriarch of hunted her. She was a Goddess, yet she was reduced to wallowing in the grim of her domain. Her armor had become bulky and she struggled she was less graceful under its massive weight. The bronze plate was coated in the same grime, dirt filling in the links, making it less manageable more excruciating under the pressure of constant movement. The cumbersome armor slowed her, hindering her trekked ever onward. It had been twenty years-- twenty years since that day. The day she had retreated into hiding. The first time the ancient have ever fled from a battle ground. She bore an unmistakable scar now that crossed her features. Curling down from her right eyebrow across her forehead and down through her left eye lay the proof of the encounter. A choking mist began to settle over the swamp. The mist that seemed to coil into a journeymens lungs, threatening to choke him with poisonous moisture. Moisture that felt as if it were lead coating your innards. She turned, wiping her mouth with the back of a dirtied hand. She had long ago discarded her massive axe, trading it in for a simpler weapon but just as deadly the spear. It was more fitting for the huntress and allowed her to move swiftly through the underbrush. It allowed her to run more hastily from any wandering vision that may catch a glimpse of her.. The ancient vampiress growled, panting as she walked on. Artemis lurched, heavily taking a knee as her hip disappeared into mud. She looked like a half consumed warrior. Her hand grasped her spear desperately, using it for strength, but it plunged ever deeply into the soggy terrain. Slowly disappearing along with her. Turning her angled face to the side she could see the castle in the distance. Overgrown and unkempt she had given little thought to returning there. It was unknown if anyone still occupied its halls. Yet, she roamed the outskirts, never seeing any who ventured past the forest and swamp. She had made circles around the property, taking humans as her meal from the nearby village. Adults, elderly and children alike, anyone who ventured to the edge of the cursed boundaries. Blood was blood. It mattered not to the ancient if she fed on the sick, the weak- the plagued or the innocent. However, her body had begun to deteriorate, the flesh of her face was sunken, causing her cheek bones to jut out with less majesty. Her body had become slimmer, less bulked with muscle acquired over the years in wars and travel. Twenty years of drinking plagued blood and running through mud in desperation took a toll on even the most powerful of creatures. Despite Artemis god complex she had been humbled by her circumstances. A story that unraveled, one death at a time Only decades before a terrible plague ravaged the lands of his Lordship, Julian Netrophs. Julian was a successful knight who was granted lands and a village of his own to manage. His lordship was admirable ruler. His reign marked an age of ethical and moral evolutions. Julian brought forth an age of law and with it, an age of peace. But, soon a strange illness began to befall the people of his lands and soon consumed the lord himself. The town tore its self apart in madness and panic. Chaos spread unbridled from estate to hovel. Even his lordship fell into the insanity that resulted from the unidentified illness. He tore apart his manor as others tore apart the very land. All who were in the quarantine of the Manors territory were left to die slowly in isolation forgotten. After all life was scourged from the land it remained abandoned some did try to inhabit it, but were soon discouraged by their feelings that the place remained haunted... It was a land never to be traveled by mortal caravans again. The Manor of Netrophs was an old Castle. The many stones that made its walls were corroded and wind blown. The rocks were smooth, but fragile as if they would shatter with a mere touch of an attentive hand. The area around the estate was weed ridden and the soil seemed soggy and wet as if the blood spilt upon the lands was never fully absorbed. Inside the Castle itself many of the room are sealed off, and still others were merely empty parlors. Parlors that held little interest save for the liquor and wine still skewed about. The Manor seemed untouched except for the thick layer of dust that lined all the empty rooms. This left only the dungeon, main parlor, upstairs, ball room, torture chamber, and wine cellar unsealed. The main room was a large area with few furnishings besides art and a half couch that sat unused in an open doorway. Within the main parlor nestled in far corner were double doors the announced a stair case. The steps lead to a hallowed hall of doors. Each door opened to the same basic environment. However, paintings and fresh flowers adorn the cold stone walls. Thick, lush draperies enfolded the rooms within constant darkness. There were many beds about with pillows and candles. The manor of Netrophs did in fact look habitable, despite its less than adequate upkeep. Most of the walls were colored an earthly warm pigment. The richness of paint gave a sense of beauty and prestige to the cold Estate. The main parlor room lay before the Manors entry threshold. Here, candles and a fire place provide dim lighting that hung about like a curse. The illumination portrayed an almost lustful setting as it reflected through glass and around darkened corner. Many tables were scattered about, as if prepared for many guest. An old tavern bar made of fine oak curled in the far corner of the room. The floor itself was dark with age and creaked under the slightest of weight.. Behind the bar laid pewter dishes and fine wine glasses lined up in beautiful cabinets that hung about the wall. A door leading into a small kitchen was camouflaged in shadowed corner. Set here as well was a narrow stair case that lead into an abundant wine cellar. To the other far corner of the room near the burning flames were two doors on either side of the hearth. The left lead into the Dungeon, the right into the traditional torture chamber. These doors were locked however, to keep out any and all inquisitive guests. Finally, the ball room which was accessible through another pair of double doors. Doors of stained glass that lead out of the main room. The room was large and extravagant. Sporting a chandelier that decorated the high ceiling. Large windows allow moonlight to fall onto the rich marble floor. An echo of song could always be heard whispering through the space. Outside lays an abundant garden that lead into a maze of brush. Any traveler had access to the rather large library that resided upstairs. But, they would have had to travel down the very long hall haunted with pictures of rulers past. The Library carried an assortment of books, and towered four stories to create the largest tower seen on the estate. The armory was on the second floor as well. This unique room was rectangular with old wood and beautiful weapons adorning the walls. Old lanterns were used to light the area for there were no windows. In the room there was yet another small door which lead into a very confined space. A stock of old armor and weapons could be found there. A paradise to please any warrior. Shields of all sorts, along with an assortment of strange and foreign weapons. This room is even more dirty than the others attesting to its lack of use. It even appeared that the lanterns had not been set ablaze for some time. The treasury was downstairs. Any curious patron could reach it by taking a right after first entering the Estate. Its entrance was marked has double doors heavy oak twined with gold. Inside all sorts of jewels and treasure sparkled across the walls. Pillars held up the ceiling and scattered about were mounds of gold still untouched. Even so it was truly pleasing to the eye and would make the most greedy gasp in awe. The marble floors reflected everything with their shine and no dust littered this room. All the piles seemed to have been organized and accounted for. On the walls laid shelves of luxurious and foreign oils, lotions and essences of all sorts. Also on the main floor laid a small hall, usually unnoticed. But, down this corridor lay the most beautiful asset of the Manor. The hall ended in a large opening shrouded in heavy silk curtains. Polished marble steps lead down into a lovely lagoon, private and secluded escaping all prying eyes. The water was murky, though looked soothing and refreshing Indeed, the Manor was inhabitable, but far too big for one individual to keep even an immortal. Upon the front stoop, she stood. All the bit a welcoming presence with a smile upon her thin lips contrasting with pale features. Dark, luminous eyes wide with short eyelashes searched the night. A slender nose added a severe slope to a very angular face. High cheek bones and a narrow chin finished off the womans facial features. Dark winged eyebrows sloped over a high forehead an interesting beauty. She was tall, most of her bones protruding from her 510 frame. Clad in a green velvet dress she cared little that it hung loosely from her lithe frame. Her long black tresses swayed around her like thick oil as the small breeze flittered past her body. The rain was always unyielding. As if by natures tears the past of the land would be cleansed. Makaylah stood in the shelter of the threshold, contemplating her reasoning for opening the doors of the Manor. Only a few hours ago did the Haven burn to the ground. The old church creating a new foundation for civilizations to come with its ashes. She imagined the chaos as the occupants fled with their belongings, trying to grab all that was precious to their sentiments. A frown creased the Immortals brow. The council had set ablaze the Haven the church. An unlikely Haven from the outside unless one entered for in its basement lay the shelter for all wayward travelers. But, the council had motivation for the devastation-- A reason that, in their eyes, was just. The Detest of Mistress Kali. She was always a floundering vampiress. The ancients had rules Rules that were meant to be obediently and blindly followed. But, as usual the Mistress had broken the law. Their revenge was swift and without warning. To make sure their blow was remembered an example was made of Kali. Their traditions were reinforced by the death of her beloved haven the death of her. My Darling--my dear sister Makaylah looked saddened, melancholy as her mind ventured to her fallen kin. Sired by the same obscure master the Vampiress had an undeniable loyalty to each other. A bond of such strength and surpassed any expectation of a sibling relationship. Therefore, it did not take long for word to reach the Immortal. The stories consisted of flames. It was said many watched mournfully along the outskirts of the territory. As fires consumed the building in rage. Kali stayed inside, trying to displace the flames. Unfortunately, the ravaging heat met with the wine cellar. Makaylah smiled weakly in the darkness as she brushed through the memorable rumors once more. It was said that after the eruption those that survived returned to the abandoned site. A swirl of dust enclosed a mass of bones which still clasped a crystal cup untouched by the flames. Kali always loved her wine Makaylah let a small snort of laughter roll through her at the circumstances. So now, it was Makaylahs responsibility to pick up where her sister left off. She had opened her families estate to the patrons of the lost haven. For those without home or shelter, but mostly for the thought of Mistress Kali. A movement to her left caused her to start, leaving her thoughts behind her eyes lifted to focus on a tiny figure clad in a black cloak. She was already harboring some of the lost immortals within her house, and she relaxed when she recognized the figure. Neferys.. she uttered sweetly with a title of her head as she reached out for the fledging. I couldnt find him came the sullen reply.