Thread: Havens

The swamp smelled putrid and overbearing. Each step was hindered by mud made thicker with the blood of accumlated corpses. It seemed to crawl up the legs of wanderers as if willing the trespassers to fall to their knees. But, the advantages of the swamp were immense. Those familiar with its ways could call it home, and lose themselves to the world at large. The rancid scents of decay masked her presence. Terrain, which was constantly shifting filled in her tracks. Small indigenous creatures fell prey to her ravenous hunger. The tiny morsels offered as much sustance as the water sources. Stagnating pools of plagued blood. But, to one as old as she, an ancient, this meant little. Blood, was blood. Her hair was matted, coated brown with mud and slime. Her face was darkened and dried with the grime of years. Red eyes flicked under eyelashes clumped together with dirt. Her 6'3 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 forgotten swamp while the council she had once been a matriarch of hunted her. A Goddess in her own eyes, she was sullen in the current cirumstances. Was the almighty huntress truly 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 crust, dirt filling in the links, making it less manageable more excruciating under the pressure of constant movement. The cumbersome armor slowed her, hindering her pace as she continued ever onward. It had been twenty years since that day. The day she had retreated into hiding. The first time the ancient have ever fled from a battle. 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. The proof of an almost fatal encounter. Her left eye was now disfigured, gnarled and scarred, no longer functional to the ancient. It was a hefty malformation on her once unblemished flesh. Heavy mist began to settle over the swamp. A mist that seemed to be haunting the land as it coiled around foliage. Thickening in the lungs it threatening suffocation with poisonous moisture. A moisture so miasmatic that it was akin to 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 one just as deadly the spear. It was more fitting for the huntress and allowed her to move swiftly through the underbrush. Enpowering her to run more hastily from any wandering vision that may catch a glimpse of her... Artemis lurched, heavily taking a knee as her hip disappeared into mud. She appeared to be a half consumed warrior. Her hand grasped her spear desperately, using it for levearge, but it merely plunged ever deeper into the soggy Earth. 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 fleeing 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. Over two milenium before present 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 and 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 which 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 disease. He tore apart his manor as others tore apart the very land. All who were in the quarantine of the Netroph's territory were left to die slowly in isolation forgotten. After all life was scourged from the land it remained abandoned. Over the years many tried to claim the land but soon found discouragement in unexplained deaths, disapperances and what can only be explained as hauntings. It was a land never to be traveled by mortal caravans again. The Manor of Netrophs was an old Castle. Once grand the many stones that made its walls were now corroded and wind blown. The rocks were smooth and worn, appearing fragile threatening to shatter with the barest of touch. The area around the estate was weed ridden with neglect. Forever shifting soil was colored rust as if the blood split upon the lands never fully absorbed. Inside the Castle itself many of the room were 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 vacant rooms. 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 Manor's entry threshold. Here, candles and a fire place provided dim lighting that flittered to even the darkest corners. The illumination portrayed an almost lustful setting as it reflected through glass and crystal. There were many tables 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 within 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, there was the majestic Ballroom which was only accessible through a pair of orinate stained glass doors from the main parlor. The room was large and extravagant. Sporting a chandelier that decorated the high dome ceiling. Large windows allowed moonlight to fall onto the rich marble floor. An echo of song could always be heard whispering through the ghostly space. Outside laid what was once an abundant garden, but now was merely a gnarled maze of shrivled bushes. Any traveler had access to the rather large library that resided upstairs. But, they would have had to travel down the very long hall shadowed with pictures of ruler's 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 lite the room dimly for there were no inlets for natural light. Connecting to this was a very confined space where a stock of old armor and weapons were stored a paradise to please any warrior. Shields of all sorts, along with an assortment of strange and foreign weapons. The room was dishelved, 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 with 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 as if a natural spring forever churned the dusky liquid. 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 rosey lips which contrasted 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 woman's facial features. Dark winged eyebrows sloped over a high forehead an interesting, unique beauty. She was tall, most of her bones protruding from her 5'10 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. A sash of golden silk wrapped itself from bodice to hip, causing the loose material to pucker over her almost skeletal frame. The rain was always unyielding. As if by nature's tears the past of the land would be cleansed. Makaylah stood unmoving in the shelter of the threshold, contemplating her reasoning for opening the doors to 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 Immortal's brow. The council had set ablaze to the Haven the church. An unlikely Haven from the outside unless one entered. Within 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 an excellent example to all. Their traditions were reinforced by the death of her beloved haven the death of her. My Darling--my dear sister... Makaylah whispered mournfully. Melancholy etched her features 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 it 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 a 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 Makaylaha's 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 memory of Mistress Kali. Makaylah lived on memories, thrived on the ghosts of deaths' past. 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..s she uttered sweetly with a tilt of her head. She reached out for the fledging, long tapered fingers brushing over the hem of the cloak's hood. I couldn't find him. Came the sullen reply. Stepping inside past Makaylah, Neferys lowered the hood of her dark cloak. The weather was tolerable at best. The heavens, if one believed in such things, seemed to be reaching out liquid finger tips, brushing reverently over the Earth. As if to sooth the deep wounds that rippled over its surface. The cloak, leaden with water, swirled around leather boots. Both articles of clothing adding to the pool of water around the fledgling's feet. Short ebony tresses were plastered to a small rounded forehead. The immortal was a mere girl, at the age of fifteen. Crimson eyes, scanned the surrounding, searching for a familiar entity. A pert nose twitched as she reached out with her inexperienced senses. Nothing. Sighing between parted lips Neferys turned towards the Elder. At 5'4 she appeared as any child would, however, there was a deepness in those uncanny eyes. In the depths of ruby curled a couple centuries of life unhindered by time. It seemed like only moments ago that Neferys had stood next to Laetitia as her only home burned. Shaking her head vigorously a spray of tainted water fell to the floor which was already sheltering the puddle under her feet. Already making a mess young one? Makaylah asked playfully as she strolled once more into her home. She had seen Neferys once or twice before and only knew her by face rather than soul. Dark eyes studied the small woman-girl, wondering how she came to be cursed so young. Most sorry Milady! Came the light reply as Neferys giggled woefully, The rain is very heavy outside, Miss. Perhaps blame it on the world? she suggested with a twinkle in those scarlet eyes. Shifting Neferys removed her cloak from her shoulders. She folded the long, wet material over her forearm. Without the heavy mantel it was easy to see her form. A dark linen shirt clung to her child-like body which was matched with brown fitted breeches of a young boy. A small smile planted itself on her moist lips as she pressed her boots together, creating a sudden squeak of leather across marble. Makaylah smiled in turn at the young girl, Ah, but there are many other problems I wish to blame on the world, M'dear... It was said sweetly, but a contrasting hint of bitterness edged into her voice. Moving forward she stopped only to peer over her shoulder at the self amused vampiress. Come M'darling, you must be cold and hungry. She paused only a moment before she paced away. Obediently the youngster followed. A soft giggle echoed against the walls as she entered the tavern like room. I'm always hungry, thirsty. Her voice drifted off for a moment. Peering around the new shelter she gave an absent smile. Neferys gaze lingered on the raging fire, warming the room from the hearth. I'm always cold... A little sorrow entered her voice. Turning towards Makaylah she gave a brave smile, You can call me Neffy if you wish everyone does. Makaylah moved towards the bar and turned as she retrieved a glass, pausing thoughtfully, Neferys... That's a strange name. Peering up with a questionable glance she continued, Where are you from, young one? The origin of the name escaped her an Elder Immortal. Neferys sauntered over to the bar, placing her sodden mantle upon the wooden surface. Settling herself prettily on a stool she grinned cheekily. She began to spin ever so slowly on the seat like a small child as she crossed her ankles before propping her elbows upon the bar. Well, she began, swinging her legs back and forth. My real name is Jane. I come from the territories around Salem. I can't remember precisely.. it's been so long. Neferys tilted her head, I'll take some lettuce if you have any. Makaylah almost frowned at Neferys' strange request, The lettuce is in the back of the kitchen-- I'm sure you can manage. Fingering the rim of a delicate glass she contemplated, But, if I may so inquire, Salem? The city was cursed with human fear fear of Lucifer. A fear that transpired into many unwarranted deaths? With a quick, unexpected leap Neferys left her seat to slowly skip towards the kitchen. As she reached the doorframe she paused, Yes, around Salem. Turning with a small, haunting smile Neferys curled her finger around a straight ebony strand. I became that which I am due to the torture. The accusation of the Devil's child had me bound to a stake in the middle of a summer night. Her crimson eyes began to blaze with remembrance of that night. I was left until morning to contemplate my fiery departure from this world. At times through the night I would surrender to my fate, only to renew my hopes for escape moments later. In the morning I would surely burn for witch craft. But, it was not to be. My sire, if that is what you call one who turns you-- He came to me, in a starving rage and fed from me. I remember how my fear enveloped me... She paused in her story to look towards the flames of the hearth, dancing like the most lusty of gypsies. After his fill was taken from me I was nearly dead. My world spun and my hands were pained by the weight they bore. Only the strength of my bounds held me in place. Swallowing the youngster mustered a smile as she ran a finger absently along her wrist. He gave me the choice Death or Unliving. The frown replaced her smile as her thin eyebrows creased in a concerned expression, I surely didn't want to die! But, I knew not the fine line that lay between death itself and the life of an undead. I was left upon my stage of death. To greet either the light or the villagers. But, in the time it did not matter.Peering up crimson met black, As I'm sure you remember, the death of one's soul, heart and spirit is the most terrible of tortures. To die, and still live... Neferys turned suddenly, pushing the door of the kitchen ajar. Just a wee bit of lettuce! Makaylah was left to frown alone in the parlor. Turning the empty glass upon the bar she considered the tale. The story itself had some blank spots, possibly due to the child's lapsed memory. The Elder reflected on her possible escape from the morning light. Possibilities careened around her mind until she ventured onto the girl's sire. There were rules on how young one may sire an immortal. Obviously, there was no identifying the perpetrator. Makaylah assumed that Neferys' sire was a fledgling himself, unable to control the thirst. Neferys entered the parlor once more, the green vegetable grasped tenderly between nimble fingers. She made a small clucking sound as she maneuvered to her stool. Reaching into the brown linen shirt, still drying from her previous search she produced something strange and alive. Out came a very small, very wet rodent. Pink eyes flicked about nervously as it shivered under the white fur which was matted in wet clumps. Shuddering slightly in Neferys' small hands she placed it onto the counter. The rodent rocked itself onto tiny hind quarters, sniffing the air at the smell of fresh green. The young girl smiled as she placed a small handful of lettuce upon the bar for the mouse. There, there, Dracula. Her voice was soothing as if she were talking to her child. Consoling it as if it were a being or a dear friend. Looking up towards Makaylah, Neferys twittered on as if everything was natural, I don't believe I caught your name, Miss. Stroking the spine of the tiny creature before her she continued to coo, Good Dracula. Makaylah eyed the mouse suspiciously, as if it were more of a bug under her heeled boot than a mammal. Giving a hearty laugh at the young girl's reference, Dracula? she questioned with glee. I hardly think that name befitting a mouse. Her black eyes lingered on the creature nibbling languidly upon her counter. Nonsense! Neferys retorted, Some believe Dracula was just a blood thirsty man. I, however, believe he was cast into loneliness at the lost of his beloved. After all, that is what led him upon his heartless path. In my opinion he is much like a mouse. Tilting her head in contemplation she considered with a small, thoughtful smile. Tender, gentle, solitary and fragile-- though, Dracula was fragile in a different sense not so much fragile physically I imagine. He longed for companionship much like my pet. With two creatures that long for companionship the reasoning for company is very logical... Trailing off as she often did Neferys peered up at her hostess through dark lashes, Again, Miss, I haven't received your name. The elder nodded her agreement, I concede young one. Laughing nervously she brushed her neck absently, her eyes still wary of the rodent. Let me apologize. I've been rude. I am Lady Netrophs, Mistress Makaylah. With an aristocratic wave of her hand she tried to dismiss the coming questions. Glancing once more at the empty glass she frowned, not knowing quite yet what to fill it with. Lady Netrophs? The fledgling questioned, surprised widening her eyes. The Lady of the Manor. She stated to herself looking a bit bewildered. They said you were dead. Swallowing she shrugged slightly pressing her chin to her collar bone. Then again, I've never been to this place before. Even so, stories still reach ears of the immortal. As if that was explanation enough she ventured a shy peek towards the woman who called herself Makaylah. Averting her gaze Makaylah pressed her lips into a thin line. Staring patiently at the pretty young fledgling, Yes, but I AM dead little one.She said matter-of-factly. An easy dismissal of the topic. I need to find a bite to eat. Even as she spoke the last word she was half way out the door her figured slowly disappearing into the darkness. Nodding at Makaylaha's departure, Neferys gazed fondly on her companion. She wasn't hungry herself, just a little cold. Soon the rodent sped off into the parlor. The small pitter-patter of his feet were barely audible above the crackling hearth. Laughing slightly at the situation the youngster turned her gaze upon the enrapturing flames. Looks like everyone is leaving you, Neferys. One of these days- she spoke to the empty room, One of these days you'll be the one leaving them. She moved towards the fire and stood in front of it. The flamelight cause her skin to appear dappled the light licking at her pale creamy flesh before skittering into her own fiery eyes. Wrapping her arms around her frail body she sighed brokenly. The wounded sound echoed through the abandoned room as she pondered.. Would the chill of death would ever leave her body? The fledgling stood there for hours alone staring repentantly at the flames. Her final moments piercing through her memories. The sun began to rise over the placid slopes of her village. The same villiage that had condemed her to a firey demise. Glowing tendrils of light sprang forth from the horizon before creeping along the shadowed ground, consuming its darkness. Excruciating pain shot through her tiny body, each pore was expanding into a chasm before tightening and shriveling on itself to escape the rays. Her skin contracted, attempting to shield itself from the warmth of morning. Withering in pain against her post her eyes slammed shut against the agony. The villagers had yet to set fire to the stage, but it felt as if she would combust into a blaze that would rivale any earthly eruption. As she tried to focus darkening blue eyes she saw a figure approaching. In all likely-hood a jeering neighbor. But, as the desperate screams caught in her throat her vision faded. Nodding to clear her head of pain she gave one last shaky glance towards the rising spectacle. Only for a moment more did that brown figure enter her fading sight before darkness consumed her. In the darkness she swam where there was no sense or concept of time. Deep in the subconscious where memories of a recent child hood swept along with echoed laughter. A haunting remembrance of what once was, but what would never be again. When the dim lit shelter finally came into being around her a parched moan climbed from deep within her chest. Confusion, agitation and the sense of loss were but a few of the many emotions that bore down upon her. Something unidentifiable had been lost an undeniable presence in each mortal being. Without definition--The spirit had left a soul gone with the morning light. The hollowness was almost as unbearable as the pain of death. Still. Came the rough, strange voice. Confusion etched the battered girl's features before darkness once again gave her a peaceful slumber. Months passed before she awoke again, in the same hobbled hut. Edgar, who was the local plantation slave , had cared for her during her coma. Faithfully he had remained at her side. The slave seemed to have had more of a position than the others. Nefery's learned due to his ways of adaptation and obedience he had risen as high as a slave could. Even when considered a piece of equipment, Edgar remained ever loyal to his owner until his obedience was broken. Taking a white child into his care was a crime punishable by death. Ye he still harbored an unnamed monster in his corridors without any bond to her. As long as she remained dead and hidden during morning hours there would be no suspicion. But, within those heated evenings she would whisper to her companion in the candle light. An old medicine man of his foreign land he had little to no communication skills, but a friendly smile and warm brown eyes eyes of a friend. The young woman would often whisper to him in the darkness as he smiled knowing he would never understand but merely enjoyed the ever presence companionship. Well, old man, she would say with a giggle every night. They say without suffering there would be no compassion. She paused as he blinked slowly, a unspoken word of desire which asked her to continue, Well tell that to the suffering! She would whisper loudly as she compared the difference of their hued flesh. Mice eat seeds, snakes eat mice, birds eat snakes, while the birds are eaten by cats. The food chain is obvious to all. So, why should those that eat Humans be punished? Should mice be punished for eating seeds? Child-like logic swirled around her evening chatter. One part of nature can not be punished without harming the others... Edgar would merely smile and tap his chest thoughtfully. His large weather beaten hand would caress the silkiness of her cheek before he would lay her down, covering her on the cot with care as if she were his child. The difference in their color irrelevant. Edgar?She called as he turned to banish the flame of the candle. Must I be punished for something I can't even acknowledge as a flaw? I'm still me... As if understanding her situation perfectly he'd sooth the ebony bangs from her forehead before the whisper of hay indicated his intention for slumber. Soon she left his ministrations, feeling stronger yet still naively without. Many days she felt ill, empty and lonely. She would visit her friend often, until one night when she returned to the hobble he was gone. The tales of a horse-thief whispering through the plantation. If only to be human once again. Even to die and suffer in years to come with sickness or age... Neferys mourned her friend as she retreated from the familiar. Without anything to hinder her but a memory of a friend young girl had traveled. Never wishing to return to a land so corrupt and unfair. She remained a wanderer decades, watching the changes for society from an outside perspective. Neferys snapped from her memories, her eyes lingering a moment more on the flames of the hearth as the licked the stones. Finally she walked towards the bar once more. The comforting warmth of the hearth leaving her dead flesh. Once again she was enveloped in perpetual loneliness. Gathering her now dry cloak she was about to leave when movement caught her attention. Laetitia was a young, delicate woman. Much like Neferys she sported more of an adolescent body, however she was sired long before the fledgling. Her eyes were a dark chocolate, her hair a similar shade reflecting a soft hue of red in proper lighting though at this time it appeared black as oil. The elder's skin was slowly nearing that of an Ancient's marble white flesh. Her entire body was wrapped by a simple vine tattoo, stemming from underneath her fingernails as it slinked up her arms and legs in leafy green pigments. As the design reached her back, it bore roses in various states of bloom. The center of her body sporting the most ripe of flowers. The artistic design was sadly hidden by most of her garments. Frills and lace filled out her tiny frame in soft silken garments. A tightly bound cream corset swept in an already small waist. Her loose curls were secured from her face with a simple ribbon. Laetitia had just risen from her coffin. Her slumber still evident in her ghostly pallor as she slunk into the main parlor. She had been worried sick since the fire. She had bore the guilt of watching Kali's death. She had seen precious life give way to smoldering temperatures. When Laetitia had fled in panic from the flames she had stopped to peer at all she loved consumed in hellish heat. But, only when the fear had left her aching limbs did she remember the presence of Talbar. The Elder had sprinted towards the inferno as it engulfed the church, panic once again gripping at her breast. But, he was no where to be found. As she escaped with searing welts upon her flesh she could only hope and pray to the Goddess that he found another shelter. Mournfully, she strode through the Estate, moving to the exit to renew her search. Her empty eyes reflecting the very definition of the walking undead. Neferys hadn't known the Elder long before the council struck down the shelter she had come to call home. Recounting their first greeting Neferys frowned they hadn't started their companionship off on the best. Laetitia seemed restless at the loss of her human lover. The fledging exchanged a sympathetic expression with the woman. She would never understand. Or perhaps, Nefery's didn't wish remember the feelings of love. To love would be a plague to the young one. A disease that would ravage her body and soul and eventually destroy her. She, after all, was unworthy of love now that she was a monster. Biting her lip with a shake of her head Neferys resumed her visual interaction with the other vampiress before speaking, You will find him, Laetitia. As if to add truth to the false hope, He escaped war--Surely he can escape a fire. Humans are not as meager nor as unresourceful as we are led to believe... Her soft, pleading voice trailing off within an ellipse of sorrow filled silence. Laetitia paused at the threshold as she gathered her red cloak. With a small smile and nod she vanished into the shadows of the night, her sweet voice echoing inside the castle after her. Tainted with sweet despair, Oh, I hope you're right, little Neffy. I truly do. II Dance with me, love? Clear blue eyes twinkled with the request. Smooth lips upturned into a mischievous grin. A mouth she had kissed so many times in passion. Oh, but I couldn't possibly do that, Julian. I'm here to entertain and be a hostess not to actually take part in the festivitie! Makaylah uttered plaintively, a flush spreading across her warm skin. Love... Makaylah sat within the empty ballroom. The visions of dancing figures clad in extravagant gowns fading from the room, leaving it once more dusty and desolate. Green skirts fanned around her as she hunched brokenly, her head bowed. Inky hair hung just as dejectedly about her. My love... songs of love floated hauntingly around the moon lit room. An old hand, without evidence of age swept dust from the floor revealing the shiny marble below. Reflecting the darkness of her eyes Makaylah gazed meekly. This had been her home since her arranged marriage. Her first encounter with her husband was not remarkable. His arrogance was charming, however. The more she resisted the more she was consumed. With a heavy sigh the Elder frowned, brushing ebony locks from her unfocused vision. She supposed that is the way of the world even with a cursed life, the more you resist your existence, change, or hunger, the more it will envelope your thoughts your very being and soul until it depletes all recognizable spirit. Makaylah snapped from her musings, peering around the empty space in horror. Suddenly rising she shuddered. The aurora was almost painful in its strength. Shivering against the tendrils of power she paced with quick, heavy steps towards the main parlor to meet with either a guest or intruder. Fear flashed over her as her body clenched with preparedness. Rarerly was there being older than she who was not part of the council. The ancient had wandered the marsh lands for far too long. She was weary but her voice still carried like that of a siren's, ever enchanting. Chanting softly she beckoned the few remaining souls attached to the lands to free themselves from their earthly shackles. The ancient priestess allowed the spirits of the forgotten to swoon around her like serpents before turning her hazel-green gaze upon the curious castle. Lips curling into a wicked grin she trekked through the weeping earth with her bare feet. Silently coasting through the territory she unleashed her aura. Tentacles of power licked around her curling about her like smoke. The regal vampiress was greeted at the door by Makaylah who looked upon her with skepticism. Without faltering the ancient walked within the Haven, past the elder who remained ridged. Turning she gave a polite bow this was not her domain after all, I wish to speak to the master of this...Coven? She murmured, realizing that she didn't know what to call the leader of a place such as this. The woman's husky voice was a melody of accents. It would nearly be impossible to place her origin if it wasn't for her physical appearance. The woman appeared to be in her early twenties, though her eyes spoke of the ages. She was tall and curvy, reaching only an inch above Makaylah. Her hair was just as straight as the Mistress' save for the texture. It was of such lusciousness that it shun like the purest of oils. The tresses were thick and abundant falling to her wide hips. Her skin was unlike any other immortal Makaylah had seen. Such a deep golden tone that the Elder was left to assume a southern heritage. Her tilted eyes were shadowed in darker pigments of gold accentuating each curve of her face. From the high cheekbones and the strong jaw to a lush mouth that quirked into an opposing smirk. A beautiful, slightly square jaw smoothed into an elegant neck. She was bountiful in her curves, each swell and dip adding to her generous sex appeal. Makaylah didn't know what to make of the ancient. The older vampiress seemed to not have any sense of current fashion. Wearing a woven piece of cloth over her abundant bust she left her lightly muscled abdomen open for hungry eyes. Slanting low on her hips were tight silk pants, splattered with mud. The white of her garments seemed to deepen her golden skin, causing it to glow radiantly in the light. Returning her elder's bow, Makaylah finally responded, a fearful edge in her voice, I am Makaylah Netrophs, Lady of this Manor. What is your buisness here, Madam? Painted lips turned menacingly into a smirk. The woman inclined her head as her hazel eyes danced like that of a raging ocean. A pleasure, I am Isetnofret of the Temples. Tilting her head to the side the ancient studied the bony woman from under her winged brows. With a heavy sigh Iset shook her head, Calm your suspicions. I am not here to continue the Council's vengeance. The statement was harsh her eyes seeming to crest in silver with anger. I do not bow to the laws made by those younger than I. Their rule is but a blink in my eternity. Makaylah smiled and nodded, her nervousness still present while being in the shadow of one so old. The elder was not dimwitted, the Egyptian priestess could easily reduce her to a pile of dust. Welcome then, to the Manor of Netrophs. She murmured stretching her arms wide to add a gesture of universal welcome and submission. Iset merely turned away, her tread a light echo in the halls, I merely seek a place to remain for some time. Traveling has grown weary. I'll not impose my authority, you are Mistress and I'm naught but a Priestess. Pausing she cast a stormy glance towards Makaylah from over her shoulder, Here you rule and no one will dare question that..should I have a say in the matter. Laetitia, miles away from the castle, stood at the remains of the old haven, her face tear streaked and stained in her despair. Still she had not found Talbar and she was fast losing hope. Rather than returning back to the empty halls of Netrophs, she found herself embraced in the arms of the Good Mother and there she lay, sobbing until sleep took her away to blissful memories. When Laetitia rose from the ground a few evenings later she was covered in dirt. More so than usual due to her unrest. Ruffling her tangled tresses a few leaves fell from her hair. She moved towards the sound of water in an apathetic trance The gaze of the dead. Glancing at the river, she shrugged, stripping to just her underclothing before wading into the icy depths. Her dark eyes held regret, not even the frigid liquid provoked a reaction from the woman. Her sorrow was colder than even the winter's bite. She bathed in awkward silence for a while, only the rippling water her comapanion. Finally she emerged, fetching her clothes. Spending a decent about of time ridding them of dirt she finally immerges along with the articles of clothing. Her normally red lips took on a slightly purple color due to the temperature, but still she seemed not to notice. She stood for a time, looking like a forgotten statue within the forest. After both clothes and body seemed satisfactorily clean and dry she redressed. Pulling on her boots, she took to wandering aimlessly once more. She choked back a sob, at a loss of where to search now that she had lost hope. Trudging despairingly deeper into the thick forest, she stumbled over a fallen log, but caught herself against an uprooted tree. Pressing her face into the rough bark she let herself lean into it's girth. Leaning against the tree, Laetitia murmured a quiet question to the empty air, Where are you? For a time she waited, as if she really expected an answer. Finally regaining some semblance of control she turned and continued on her unknown path. When she too exhausted to continue, Laetitia easily scaled a willowy tree. Resting in it's leafy embrace she began to hum a soft, soothing lullaby. Nature was her audience, with her sad melody the leaves did sway. Her only two loves of the world, lost to her in that blazing moment. Her beloved violin had easily combusted in the flames. But, more importantly, Talbar. He was still no where to be found. She was unsure of what actions to take. Laetitia choked on a woeful gasp, she had never looked at waking each day for an eternity as such a bleak burden before, My love.The whisper melted on the breeze, carrying its hope upon chilled air into the darkness of night. Time continued to roll ever onward as late evening gave way to early morning. The waning moon however, threw no light upon the stranger. Despite the fact that his colossus shadow enveloped the area. His silhouette was unmoving as he regarded his target like a terrible sentinel The Manor. The early hours usually passed without remark. Too early for most humans to be about too late for immortals to roam without direction. This was no ordinary mortal however, which was evident in his confident yet unnoticed entry to the haven. His massive form filled the empty halls, his tread light despite his hefty weight. The dark coat he wore encouraged shadows to embrace him, his face obscured not only by the high collar but by the dark cloth stretched over the bridge of his nose. Piercing blue eyes glittered with the righteous ambition of murder. The long silver-grey locks remained unbound past his shoulders. The straight tresses were the color of a senior mortal however it had the thickness of a young man. It was bountiful, falling below where one would suspect his shoulder blades to be the only identifying feature about him besides his chilling gaze. He loomed for a moment in the decorated halls, eyes sweeping over the dusty artifacts. The flicker of candlelight highlighted the high portion of his cheekbones and brow as he unclasped his overcoat. The glittery of weaponry refracted unto the floor in the half light. Implements of murder and torture hung from his body, bound by leather straps. Stakes, knives, crossbows, rows of bolts and a very large sword clung to him. The sword resembled the symbolic cross, sharpened to perfection by a fine craftsmen. Long tapered fingers grasped a heavy stake, pulling it idly from a long row of similarly crafted items. Closing his heavy coat once more he peered towards the halls, empty of any occupants. His large calloused hand coiling around the spike as he casually sauntered forward, hiding his deadly intent within deep pockets. The large male strode like a ghost to a door before reaching for the brass knob. He faltered as his fingers brushed the metal, his head tilting. Far away, echoing through the halls of the empty and desolate manor there was a small clatter. A whisper of evidence hairpins crashing to the marble floor. Lurching the man twisted like some monstrous, silent predator. He loped down the corridor, slowing his gate to slip into shadow as he came upon a library. The heavy door proved to be straining, not because of its mass, but because it was almost impossible to slip within without a sound. However, the hunter was experienced, gliding into the brightly lit room without advantage of shadow. Lurking behind rows of books he scanned, glacial eyes falling upon the small immortal. This immortal had encountered him once before. The small child-woman was crouched on the floor, hair unbound as she reached for a book that had slid under the couch she had been lounging upon. Her fingers brushed the worn cover before she grasped it with a triumphant smile, her lips puckering in her pleasure. Rocking back onto her heels the girl was delayed in her response, crimson eyes peering towards the entrance of the library. Neferys frowned, her smile disappearing as she scanned the many rows of books. With a soft shrug she turned only to find her gaze level with a dark material. The smell of bronze and blood caused her to recoil. Her head lulled back against her small shoulders, her gaze sweeping upward with barely restrained fear. Upon recognizing the intruder she relaxed, relief washing over her, Hello.Her smile returned, brightening her features as the light played off her ruby eyes. She licked her lips in the silence as she rose from her kneeling position. Her gaze lingered over his form, each regarding the other with mutual silence. She peered at his sleeve, her fingers curling into her palm as she fought the instinct to reach for him. How is your arm? she questioned tentively. The man remained silent, allowing her inquiry to settle neatly upon the foundation of muteness. Finally he chuckled, the rich male sound muffled by the layers of cloth that hide most of his features. Drawing back the woolen sleeve of his coat he revealed his right forearm. The stranger's forearm was heavily muscled, tanned and rough but adorned with a rather large wound. Tooth marks were gauged within his skin, the incisions a staggering 7 inches apart. A mass of white scar tissue puckered his skin, leaving unsightly pockmarks and fissures across his skin. Verevolf, He speaks suddenly, the deep tone rumbling with his German accent, caught me in the open during the peak of the moon. It vas six hundred pounds... He paused, azure eyes scanning the fledgling's expression, I hate verevolves.As the young immortal frowned he chuckled her concern was unwarranted.