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« on: January 23, 2015, 08:54:26 pm »
Anton Petrov Veranin, Ashen Knight of Sofia
The Domain of Basilio the Elder,
Prince of Sofia
Anton's eyes are closed. He sees darkness. Endless, deadening darkness that extends as far as can be seen. He can see nothing, feel nothing, hear nothing - not even the sound of his heart, which had stopped beating long ago. He feels cold - even now, when the intricacies of warmth and cold mean nothing to him. He's felt cold ever since he came back from the Abyss - it's nice, he thinks sometimes, that he is so cold. Warmth is comforting, and he has no right to such pleasures. Not anymore.
His eyes still closed, Anton feels darkness filling him, merging with him. He feels his soul turn a dark shade of black, tainted as what he imagines a demon's soul would look like.
Anton opens his eyes. They are black as the darkest night.
The adulterer lies in front of him, bruised and battered. She had screamed so loudly, confessed so surely, promised so much - but her penance was not done. Not yet. Only through great pain may one repent.
Then he hears the knocking. Someone upstairs? Who could be visiting him now, at this time of night?
Steeple Carson Olaf Trevesky The Fourth, Cash Cow
Domain of Rudolf Brangl,
Prince of Prague
Steeple sits attentively, staring at a rock on the table before him. The rock is decent-sized - about the size of one's hand, and is quite smooth; round but with a slightly flat bottom so that it always rests on one side. It is also a light shade of grey, but more importantly, it is incredibly intelligent. Indeed, Steeple is sitting attentively as he listens to the rock - Prince Maurice - 's stunning business acumen at work, as he discusses the current economic situation in Transylvannia and the way current vampiric influences might affect it. He councils investing in salt mining particularly.
Prince Maurice goes on to say - "You may feed now."
Steeple, finally allowed to stop listening to the Prince's boring speech about salt vampires or whatever, has his maid Nadia (who had been sitting there for the past half hour, listening to the one-sided conversation) lay her neck bare. He reaches over with his one arm and grabs her by the back of her neck, bringing his fangs to her throat. She groans ecstatically as the sweet sensation of the Kiss washes over her. Licking the wound closed, Steeple lies back contentedly into his comfortable, velvet couch/throne in his silken robes - only to to treated to extremely loud knocking. Angrily loud, one could say.
Lucien Lupei, Fleshcrafter
Domain of Sandor,
Vovoide of Arad
Lucien sits at his haven, thinking idly.
Sandor had left hours ago without notice - the mighty Koldun had melded into the wind and disappeared into the night, temporarily leaving the Voivoidate in Lucien's hands.
He feels honoured that his sire would trust him so, even if ever so briefly. Ennius stands silently to his right, as he always has since entering the Tzimisce's undying service. The knight errant does not shift an inch, as still as an empty suit of armour.
He traces his finger lightly over the table in front of him, and feels it shudder. A mouth that has been sewn closed near the inkwell tries to scream but is unable, producing only light, muffled sounds. The eyes by the table's edge are always uncovered though, they stare, bloodshot, at the vampire in front of them.
Sandor knew quite well how to punish disobedient ghouls.
Lucien then hears the telltale snarl of an approaching schlatza - the slight shuffling limp of a new ghoul who struggles with their radically changed body.
Kiril Petrov Veranin, Imposter
The Domain of Basilio the Elder,
Prince of Sofia
Kiril stands in a patch of shadow cast by a large pear tree. He remembers the pear tree - or rather, he remembers Kiril talking about how he loved the pear tree. Walking around it, tracing his hand along the edge of the wooden thing he identifies a small, wooden knothole at around head-height where Kiril told him he kept all his secret things. Kiril's hand brushes briefly against a silver coin and a small dagger that the boy had said he used to keep in the knothole. Kiril put them back when he returned from Byzantium.
He looks over his old estate, breathes in and takes in old scents. Along with new.
The Cullar Revenant family established itself some few days after Kiril was turned. Basilio requested firmly that his servant move his estate to a different place within the city, as he needed Kiril's current estate for the revenants who would be coming from Spain to help oversee the elder's operations in the city. Kiril hated them.
He was forced to agree, lest he disappoint the elder, but every night the knowledge that the land he won was taken from him burned in the back of his mind, an urgent, painful needle constantly burrowing itself ever-deeper into his mind. Things had escalated when he killed one of the family members a month ago when they'd approached him. Trespassing over his sacred ground.
There had been no further conflict, but he knew the family was only bidding its time.
Kiril turns away from his land and returns home. His family should asleep at the moment, it is fairly late in the night. Carinus has obeyed his master's command to stay away from his family, and has been out tonight. Kiril has an unpleasant suspicion that the mild-mannered man was out hunting.
As he returns home Kiril notes an enclosed wagon - such as those used to transport vampires - pulled by two black horses - waiting. The driver is nowhere in sight.
Did Basilio come to visit? No, it couldn't be - the Prince had left some weeks prior to this, saying he had to handle some clan business. What was this?
Heldric Haikans, the Diseased Rat
Somewhere
It's dark, and cold and damp. It always is here.
Heldric hears growling and snuffling in the dark - it's Andreas. He hears the crocodile reply, a low rumbling snarl can be felt running through the albino creature's body under Heldric's hand.
No, just another rat
Heldric thinks back to Constantinople, the city's towering spires, beautiful churches, he thinks of Michael, the glorious vampiric archangel and his lover The Dracon. He misses the city, but he remembers Malachite's directives.
Spread the Dream my childe. Build beauty in the world, let all know that greatness can be achieved by us, a lasting greatness that will endure the ages.
Here he is now, in his dark, dank cave in the depths of Transylvannia.
There is a sudden very loud crash as Andreas growls in frustration and strikes the wall - his fist crushing stone into powder and making the walls shake.
He then roars loudly. The albino's body vibrates slightly in response.
He is frustrated with this. We are doing nothing here, he says.
Then the Albino and Andreas both Freeze - and Heldric can soon sense why. The sound of horses, a carriage, footsteps through the muck.
Someone is coming.
Sylvian Bastian Beaulieu, Divine Artist
Domain of Count Radu Bistri,
Prince of Bistritz
Sylvian sighs.
The painting is imperfect, as always. The green is never quite the right, lush shade that he needs it to be to capture the vibrant life of this beautiful land's forests.
He feels inflamed. This land seems to have that effect on him - it's so beautiful, so enticing, and makes him feel so possessive. He feels impotent when compared to it, when his works are shown beside it.
Aldric knocks at the door - opening it soon after. He sees Sylvian's new painting and sighs - though unlike Sylvian, not in disappointment. He rushes forward and closes his eyes, taking in even the scent of the drying paint on the canvas before opening his eyes and enjoying the painting. Sylvian can tell that his servant is using his intensely heightened senses, as he always does, to take in the painting.
"Perfect my lord. Dazzling."
Sylvian is not convinced. The happy fool's reaction to every single work he made was universally the same. He still failed to capture Transylvannia.
After a small while, Sylvian hears a rough voice call up - it's Odi.
"My lord, someone is here for you."
Sylvian suspects that Aldric had been sent up here with that purpose, but had been distracted of course.
