That's one dead bitch.

[Pony Swag]

Main Characters.

Aquaria Allivitiar.

Regnier Allivitiar.

Chapter 1
"That's one dead bitch."

Much time had passed since the once wayward brothers united under a single cause. For decades the ashlandian elven vampires wandered this world in search for inner peace and purpose. But instead of finding respite, they received a rather unsettling epiphany. That those who have lived and basked under the raven can't simply drop the sword and retire. For fighting was an art to the brothers, much more then a job rather a way of life itself. And no matter how hard they tried to clean their hands and sheathe their blades. They realized that some men can't change their ways. And so happily they returned to their own vomit as one might say. A long time ago their family once ruled zoir and their race once inhabited these lands. But as they withdrew into the shadows and faded from their families minds. fate had brought a tempest upon their old way of life. destroying everything that once was, leaving nothing but ruin in it's wake.

The weight their family name once held was gone. and with it the perks and influence. However both artist were not foreign to doing much with less. And so they made do accomplishing whatever Jobs paid the bills as they searched to right the sins their father had left behind. An evil that dwarfed even their most vile of deeds. A swarthy blanket stirred almost silently within the belly of the earth. But soon it would be awakened and unleashed upon the surface world. But for now they weren't in search for answers or aid in the inevitable struggle. Rather work or perhaps simply a good time.

Now Aquaria was a renown assassin who was surprisingly religious for his trade. And much like any ashlandian vampire he was fast, strong and used the life force of nearby organisms including himself to launch devastating attacks upon ones flesh and mind. While Regnier was more of the brute, and being a spell thief only strengthened his lethality in combat. He was not one to sulk in the shadows for the kill. He would simply kick down the door and cut a mans head clean off not caring what consequences such an action might have. However that is why they worked well together despite being total opposites. One watched the other, and luckily neither was stubborn enough to cast aside sound advice. Aquaria tend to wear light leather armor and was a master at hand to hand combat. A devote martial artist who could kill a dozen of men with ease using nothing more then the greatest weapon, ones body. While Regnier used blades and never wore a shirt. His body riddled with scars each telling a tale of an error in judgment.

These marks upon his flesh allowed him to stray from making the same error twice. And rather then be humiliated by mistakes of days past. He was proud, for they reminded him of how much stronger and intelligent he had become. As well as spoke well of his ability to survive and endure. Why did these sibling enjoy killing so much? Because each kill made them stronger and the way they saw it with each corpse added to the body count. Their odds of survival went up, and hell any body count was fair. Plus killing was a business, an art. And business was always booming and their art never went out of style. It was a secure Job for people always wanted other folk dead. In this regard the world would never change they supposed. And though they have traversed this realm somewhat for pleasure. They were also here on business. For a couple of weeks ago they were contacted by a regular customer of sorts. He wanted a certain noble dead.

And it was their policy never to question why for so as long as the gold was good. So were ones reasons. A bit barbaric grant you, however it was simplistic. Guilt never plagued them. At least guilt toward their kills. For in their eyes and the eyes of their people. When ones body and soul are disconnected during a job. Then the soul can't be blamed for it's action. They were merely extensions of their contractors arms, like a sword. Does one blame the weapon for the sins committed, or the one who wields it?

Now the job was going well. Their two front assault strategy was working beautifully. Regnier stormed the house and made lots of noise so that the noble and his men were focused on him. So that Aquaria could sneak around the estate freely. It was the old effective magicians trick. a simple art in which one stares so hard at the right hand that they totally are ignorant of what the left one is doing. Regnier's blade sliced through the men like a hot knife does butter. And the mages who tried to take him down using magic quickly discovered how inefficient their attacks were. For every spell launched his way Regnier would simply devour it. Only to use their own energy against either them or their brothers in arms. The once fine estate was stained with blood, as was regniers defined frame. The scent of death filled the building as broken furniture and the shattered remains of the fallen soldiers decorated the scene. If one were to wander in now they would see only total chaos.

The Noble hid within his study on the third floor. Surrounded by the best soldiers money could by. However hired hands though useful also had their disadvantages. They lacked the passion for their cause and only fought for survival. Much like an animal. This lack of spirit made them weak when compared to a soldier who fights for a belief. Or so Regnier's and Aquaria's experience dictated at least. Now as the noble man prepared for his last stand against the brute. Aquaria would be waiting in the shadows themselves. Clinging the the roof near a corner, watching and waiting for his brother to do his bit. Suddenly the door would fly open as the defined spell thief stepped through the threshold. His eyes burning with delight. For it had been a while since he was able to kill so many men. his gaze locked with the noblemans as the soldiers drew their blades. preparing for the inevitable charge of the bull.

"Wait! Before you kill me tell me who sent you? And whatever they are paying you I'll triple. Just allow me to live." The desperate nobleman pleaded. sadly though his gold was tempting if they betray one contract then they lose all credibility. Harming all future profits no doubt.

"Your deal is tempting. But I am not going to kill you. That is reserved for another. I am here for a different cause." Regnier stated with confidence. His hand clenching his blade firmly. The Noble mans face now becoming riddled with confusion and doubt.

"Bull shit! Why else would you have charged here cutting my men to size you ogre!" he bellowed as Regnier began to stretch. Showing his arrogance towards this man.

"I was bored.." Regnier concluded as his brother Aquaria crept down from the ceiling. Inching his way towards them. their were five guards in all. Which disappointed the assassin, for this would hardly prove a challenge.

"Go to hell! Kill him!" The Noble replied. But before the men could react Aquaria had closed the distance between them. Standing behind them. Quickly he would draw ten throwing knives. Tossing each with great speed, force and accuracy. The blades would pierce the neck and backs of the four farthest guards. Without hesitation he would grasp the neck of the final guard, snapping it instantly before rushing the nobleman. The Noble would turn and swing his blade towards Aquaria out of fright. Aquaria would grab his sword arm, turning the blade towards the noble and shoving it into his stomach. "Son of a bitch." The man whispered as his ghost left his body. Now this all transpired in what seemed like mere seconds. And he did so with such grace and elegance for a killer. The noble would fall forward into Aquaria's arms. Aquaria would Place him body on his desk. Closing his eye lids and placing the mans hands upon the hilt of the blade which pierced his flesh.

Regnier would sheathe his blade, the hoarse whisper of steel rubbing against steel echoed throughout the room, his arms shortly folding across his blood stained chest. Meanwhile Aquaria would close his eyes, take a knee and fold his arms as he silently offered the man a prayer.

"Well now, that's one dead bitch. " Regnier concluded.

[Lucretia Macabria Dracul]

With every eddy and churn in the atmosphere. Smoky tendrils of shadow and equilibrium of moon-fire and darkness seemingly giving unto each other’s properties and darkest whims; blending perfectly to form the mystique and sinister ribbons gyrating around this broken and battered place. Energies were spinning faster on the outside yet indeed calm and tranquil within the centre, like the eye of the storm- that soft dainty hand exploring the features of metal beneath coat. Enjoying that cold rapture from the palm of her hand, wrapping around the hilt in honourable grasp; gentle at the same time... no effort would be made to remove her hand from that embrace. The hunt provoking her to take a step closer, and closer again to the bringer of such pandemonium, the harvester of ‘death’ amongst the rubble of broken rock and debris. So close, she could feel its black gaze staring through her and into her soul. Heart enthralled by this dark libertine of elucidations, entrapped in some scene of destruction as if in slow motion. Basking in the shredding horror befalling a world where the walls of mortal reality were being stripped away piece by fleshy piece, the ‘hungers’ of the night- the monsters beneath the bed. She enjoyed flaying the fears and terrors from this nightmarish world embraced by an abysmal Leviathan. Worlds crumbled, haemorrhaged, inverted, gnawing upon the tail of its own bitter end, darkness untied in a perfect tryst like lovers beneath the black silk matricide, shift parent flesh to birth a land of darkness, plague and ashes.


Sometimes there was little she could do, other than... breathe. Beneath the billowing veils of ravenesque and silvered strands those black emotive eyes peered, staring outwards across the land in a static effervescence. Eyes like ebonite daggers reflecting unfathomable curses... astringent revelations where evil lurked beneath the perfection of striking flesh, suggestive winks and amicable gentry- to score the sultry flesh marking the world in the crux of witchcraft intent. The blackest of intricate magicks- spinning ebony webs of reaping atrocities around her figure of rectitude, virtue and justice. Chaos spitting its hatreds from the wombs of Lemuria... drowned by storm choirs gathering in a pestilential choke hold, hissing, breathless. Awaiting that blackened and brooding sky to burst open like a knifed orifice, sinking the sin from the ivory towers of Saturn. Crashing against the elements like a thousand suns dying. The grinning winds of odium harmonizing with the screams of blasphemy, worlds colliding in howls of passion and fury, rouse the disease of biblical litanies before sending ‘final death’ hurling towards the gaping jaws of purgatory by the shimmer of silver. Evisceration, cutting through paper lilies amongst the poppy fields. What Gods rained such terror?


What Gods would tear the firmament asunder to wreck havoc and torments upon the faithful swine that had done nothing but serve? When in reality, nine were unmarked by sin, the corruptive Vis generated by the energies of this master were of far darker spheres than most she had ever crossed before, and whom had now created these diverse effects over these lands. Darkness seeping slowly into the realms beyond, bleeding the darkness like one would remove a cancerous abomination from flesh and bone; sinking its roots deep into the earth, corrupting the very whispering flower, or the waves of grass bowing in submission. Foul quintessence garrotting terra firma... until even she lay still. The realm still as if no longer holding sacred life, all had been rendered to stillness, as if held in the cupped hands of Atropos- lamented in reference. Dead quiet... except for the whimpers and sobs in ascension from the cities and countryside, the victims of these ‘destroyers’. Mourners screamed to the skies, hands pleading in gesticulated motion as if that would bring down the sword of justice, protecting the lands from these foul malignant beings which held no heart save for the death of whom they saw fit to point a finger upon. Cries arose of abandonment, the fleeting hope of salvation- the tattered remnant of faith slowly oozing from the cavities of realization for what God would allow such suffering?


What God or Goddess of man would allow the exsanguinations of babes stolen from their cribs, writhing and contorting in defiance of the tongues which licked along the soft succulent limbs before knives sunk in to prick away the purity? Delicate rose-buds left lifeless by ravenous fiends, drained of creamy hues and candied cheeks- pitched to the fires, purging the deed by fumigation of innocence? Twisted facades of torment bent into hellish expressions, flesh peeling away from bone as the fatty substance evaporated over scorching coals leaving nothing but black smoke and the stench of burning corpses. Burn the ignorance; hide it behind the facade of superstition and hysteria. It was this pungent perfume vexing her senses. Cranium lifted; chin pushing upwards inhaling that disease... repulsion... to impulsion... bathing in cinders like ‘Dies Irae’ (Day of Wrath)... Mors stupebit, et natura, cum resurget creatura, Iudicanti responsura. Nostrils inhaling, air rushing in to fill lungs, pumping the energies throughout her entire form before allowing it to exhale in ghostly wintry plumes. Frosted tendrils dancing into the tempestuous atmosphere... kissing the frosted tongues and intermingling into a sinister parody of lover’s tango- coalesce. Spiralling like miniature tornado's before evaporating only to welcome yet another invitation to a haunting, murderous dance.


Death blossomed, its black hankering wings unravelling to gyrate within the very atmosphere, colliding against the elements as they cashed upon the mortal shore inwardly. Rearranging not just the physical appearance of the realms but also the molecular structure of the very atmosphere creating a heavy and jagged effect; oxygen harder to respire, causing pain- resembling pins being pierced through lungs with each mouthful of air and wheeze. These were the essences of Death released into the atmosphere. Provoking a sense of change in every other being within its radius, there was no place to hide within the shattered remains of what remained, leaving the tenebrous embrace of shadow. The ‘huntress’ would prevail in full view- petite stature moderately tall, draped in the equivalent shades of glistening ebony, clinging to salacious and supple curve. Darkness swept in reminiscent of brooding tempest eclipsing the natural elements of the world, speaking to the unfurling winds that carried her mellifluous voice to the dark and musk of crypt. “Amusing is it not, how you revere life so, yet scathe it with the burning brand of ‘Death’, oh how empty it must be to eternally thirst, but ever sucking on the air of Death’s scorned wings?”


The words sung so profoundly through satirical rubicund lips tinctured with the lustre of moistened appeal, features exquisite past the blood splatters of opiate puppets. Death fallen to the blade, the banners of her hunt simply left there to serve as a reminder for all those who rose to avenge their kindred. This event would not inspire any desecration of another’s powerful influence- cut one down, another seven rise from filth, Hydra-spurred to triformis. Dust covered boots scuffing against the rubble as she motioned through the ruins and broken citadels. Delicate hand leaving the cold embrace of hilt only to extend outwards whilst elongated fingernails traced the smashed memories, parapets of sorrow. Lissom, agile physique swaying through artistic seductive pendulum motion, silent and deadly, light-footed across even the most fragile of foundation- prowess conformed to the feline grace of predatory elegance. The first influence of what she could determine as a confident voice coaxing her into its serpentine charms- the serpent that tempted Eve. None would illustrate benevolence to debility, considered less than a puppet or pawn to seduce with nefarious promises... an accent of brutality and obsession. One that caused her attention to directly shift and compel her to seek these passionate one's who wished to bear the name of the marked. Who so craved ‘eternal’ slumber beneath the mourning tears of the angels.


... Now moving through the elaborate groves of gardens and monolithic statues, amid the rubble of opulent estate, just as dark-liquored eyes studied surroundings by close scrutiny, using perceptions and intuition to guide through ruin... would they meet her face to face by mere chance or would other fractions and equations come into play? Sleek leather-clad tourniquet form slid through the cracks of piled stone and wood and eventually finding herself within the centre of what could only be determined as the shattered heart of a fallen legacy? Remembering how her family had been lynched and ‘Ravened’, bled dry till nothing but water flowed from the gaping wounds of incision. Mercy was not shown for child, woman, man or elderly- strung like perverse wind-chimes, their faces still stung her mind with rawness. Decay rife in the stale air. Figure rotating, backing sure that her back was never exposed to blind attack... slowly extracting blade within right hand, using the guise of shadows and overture of candle to silhouette, casting illusion. Each direction was artfully scanned, senses reeling outwardly, tendrils whipping against the blustered and piquant elements in the aid of her search. Stepping over sharp remnants of broken glass until finding a place allowing awareness to drift and pursue. Arch of spine resting against marble column, finding a moment to acquire bearings whilst exploring the many vistas’s of plethoric obscurity. Perhaps she had buisness here... perhaps something drew her here, like a moth to its flame, the scent of blood...death?

Mirrored eyes concealing themselves beneath film of eyelids, controlling her breath and regulating her heartbeat to a slow, near non-existent din, ideal for the subterfuge or masquerade, trickery her mentors had instructed. Zephyr inspiring the ravaging of raven and moonlight cascades to gently billow, reaching out to find and discover, after all she was here so why not explore these energies further delectably? For a moment she would remain here waiting, listening to the clamour and any last gasp of breath. A muffled murmur escaping twixt ruby apertures, tongue sweeping over lower crescent, moisture causing lips to shimmer, anticipation... it is always a game of cat and mouse . Camouflaged in the half-darkness of the room plush with extravagance. A whisper flung to the elements, words floating in salacious dulcet tones for any to hear should they care to listen, a synchronized cacophony of Romanesque timbre... coercing or casually demanding notice. "Adversary of light, long bereft of this forsaken world, it has been long since a taint such as yours has embraced my senses, and incensed the purification of silver. Intoxicating to say the least for the fervour your corruption brings to the vices of man... however, I am not frail to succumb to those charms, but if you indulge me; perhaps we can suffer together?” with that she chuckled, the sound rising through the murky shadows like another revelation, one not as proud to incite death, but one to tempt the challenge of survival.

Theme song by my friend Morrigan StormCrow aka Gary Mackintosh White

[Pony Swag]

Her words resonated within the room. Like a distant scream. And though she lurked behind swarthy walls, her presence was not fully obscured from their senses. For long before she spoke they felt her influence. Much like paper and the ink that stains, her aura clung to their souls. However this being said neither brother feared this woman. Some might call it arrogance, but in their eyes it was merely being aware of the facts. Regnier would turn towards his brother and speak, failing to address the woman at first. "Why do you pray after each kill?" He inquired into as his brother rose to his feet. Aquaria went to the position of attention as he opened his eyes and stood upright. "Prayers for the wicked should never be forsaken..." Aquaria stated as he lowered his head. Staring down upon the noble mans body. "I don't think he was worthy of your pity or prayers brother." Regnier replied as his hand drifted toward the hilt of his blade, resting there for a moment.

"Not for them, but for me." Aquaria stated before doing an about face, pacing back and forth as he finally addressed the woman who called out from the shadows. "The actions of a person can be hard to interpret. For every action there may be a thousand reasons for it. Take your intrusion for an example." Aquaria would continue to speak as Regnier simply sighed. His arms now folding across his bare blood stained chest. Waiting for when he could say his piece. "Why reach out to us using well posed words woven with elegance from the shadows? Offering us a tempting notion without so much as gracing us with but a glimpse of your beautiful face? Why the mystery and intrigue as it were? Riddling us with perplexity regarding your true intentions. Even though honestly if this was intentionally your ploy; then I must admit young lady, I am enthralled." Aquaria concluded as his potent gaze fixated upon her general direction. "If it is a dance with the raven you desire, or perhaps something as simple as company all I have to say is...well here I am."

Aquaria concluded as he came to a halt, shifting his position to parade rest. He spoke with a sense of sophistication and class. For an extension of ones arm he was obviously well educated and versed. And his words seemed riddled with both sorrow and depth. The sort of weight that can only be gained through time and wisdom. Regnier however was not so long winded. He was a bit more direct when the situation warranted it. And in his opinion a direct response was deemed necessary. The seven foot tall brute would step over the dead bodies as he drew his sword. The hoarse whisper of steel scraping against steel echoed within the room. As suddenly he slammed the tip of his blade into the skull of one of the dead guards. using his corpse as a weapon stand of sort. Showing his confidence by addressing this stranger unarmed.

"I am no siren. My actions merit not such attention. I am merely a tool, like ones blade. And through me my contractor paints his influence upon the canvas that is flesh. This loss of life is not my fault, no more then it is the fault of the tool you choose to slay with." Regnier spoke as he sat upon a blood drenched chair. He was already painted with the blood of his foes, and so the bloody chair would simply phase through him on a metaphorical sense of course.

"You speak like you are not from our plane of existence. Honestly it is of no importance where you come from or who you are. You have merited a response from me. And I do not speak often. As such, I will gladly indulge you." Regnier concluded as he waited for this stranger to step forth from the shadows. At this time Aquaria would peer through the windows down to the scene developing outside. "Brother. We have lingered too long. The locals are fleeing, no doubt to inform whatever authority these lands might have of our deed. I suggest we prove intangible as ever." Aquaria concluded as his eyes shifted to a feral yellow, his peoples being stretched like that of a wild cat. "There is a tavern not so far. Go wash yourself and we shall blend in with the locals. As usual we are but ghost. None have seen us." Aquaria concluded. "Please excuse me ma'am." Regnier stated as he stepped into the restroom. Grasping a nearby towel, slamming the door shut behind him. Dampening the towel with water the Brute would begin to wipe his scarred upper body from all blood.

In the end he would pick up the entire contained of water and pour it upon his head. Quickly he'd open the door as beads of water traced down his defined frame. Removing whatever little blood might remain. His eyes would lock with his brother as Aquaria replied with a simple nod.

[Lucretia Macabria Dracul]

“Mens sibi conscia recti.”
[A mind concious of its own rectitude]

How could a girl refuse such an eloquent offer? Words exchanged in elegant gesture, rebellious contrary to the nature displayed, across the room, adorning walls, ensanguined carpet, and corpses strewn parallel of crude puppets. Even the murderous had time for praying, smooth-talking, au corant appreciations and hauteur- vainglories were always an intoxicating event to witness? It hung within the luxurious atmosphere, far from a fairytale; displaying all the vile ornery of another’s nature descending before her eyes like the final curtain... would the applause demand an encore? Their theatrics of dramatization, singing through the turrets like velveteen serenade of crimson dawn and blood imbrued moon. Hunting their pound of flesh, blood money was always such an honourable profession. Watching their interactions with a keen observation, finding paradox within the affirmation of litanies and prayer relatively droll... had they seen enough, or were their pockets not fat enough where their decadents tastes lingered to seek out hell, a curse upon this tragic kingdom? None are ever exonerated of their sins nor shone resplendent on the rubies decorating rippled chest and strong physique that easily towered above hers; behemoth towered above the beauty with poisoned heart. Curious was its palpitation, steady and slow in rhymed pulse not the rapid and frantic beat, no doubt they grew accustomed to before their blades sunk deep to garnet cascades.

Striking as they were, this sanguine angels decked in the glories of their slaughter, Adonis immersed in the ’Wines and fires of Pompeii’ scorching to the sight. Glistening eyes sparkling with the effervescent candle overture, survey enfilade over their physiques ignorant not to any blemish, scar of mark... recording their faces and identities to photographic mind, never forgetful of a handsome face. With the collapse of diminished youth to war and the crusades, brawny males were significantly uncommon and their beauty seemed quite ’odd’. As one of them spoke, chiselled features inclined to the side, facial features obscured by the ravenesque rivulets of silken blackness, except for the gleams to the pupils of her eyes- shining, cutting through the darkness like daggers. His hair was like autumnal fire, accent resembling Dryads tongue tangibly caressing papery leaves- musical and compelling. In kind she responded, Romanian enunciation honeyed with the richness of Carpathian mysteries. “Well posed words are what carve us divide us betwixt savoir vivre orchestras or philistine inarticulateness.” Was she insinuating a touch against them? Perchance the sardonic tones trickling into the honey aided them in exposé, even if her vernacular idioms were not a condemnation against the honour, just incensed in their double-meaning. “The company of shadows seem more... wholesome.... given the circumstances.” Eyes hinting towards the fallen guards and Goetic sacrifice of life.

Noticing the other draw his weapon of choice, her eyes rolled in semi-arch, right digits splaying only to hold around the elaborate hilt of her weapon, extracting it lovingly, the very sound of silver scraping against scabbard something to cause a delicate shiver along her spine. She was not shy, nor was she intimidated by their height or proficiency, but the odds were against her merely for she knew they were not... human. They were good enough to get past so many guards without detection, killed all these men with eloquent blade, silent with the stealth of assassins... what was there remaining to presuppose? The other was audacious in his gallantry, cheeky considering the situation. Bone crunching as his weapon embedded itself deep into the concrete of cranium, crystalline eyes following his movement, seating himself... blood glistens far more brightly when it begins to stain, blending and merging with the flesh. With his transformation of location, she took a single step to left flank, out of the comfort of shadows to expose and uncover her integrity, revealing her identity. Miniscule, only 5ft7, sylphlike in petite build swathed in ruffles of black lace beneath tourniquet of Victorian Corset, compressing curvilinear waist and accentuating cleavage- a trim to the midnight leather clinging to shapely toned legs. Lengths of raven-black plummeting over shoulders in iridescent rivulets framing her statuesque features as she were Venus herself cloaked in the darkness beneath monochromatic complexion provoked by the solicitation of waltzing fulguration provided by candlelight. Opalesque-crystal eyes coruscate with absorbed flames provided by the amber-hues of luminary and hearth.

Hand flexing around the ornate hilt concealed in her hand, the silvery smile of silver gleaming in the same mitigation of her eyes, right wrist twisting the ‘katana’ until the cutting edge positioned screening the metal fittings decorated with roses. Fine and polished blade devastatingly effective by the combination of hard steel edge infused with silver, a softer and resilient core and back. Dominant hand held fast, fingers curled below the ‘Tsuba’ (Guard) while smaller fingers applying the strongest grip while the pressure decreased up her hand until index finger rested on the hilt; holding her weapon with the utmost respect and reverence. Next retort referring to the darker haired male in response to his articulate, fluent speech while offering a nonchalant smirk imprinted over dahlia tinted apertures. “Perhaps I should feel honoured to receive your words?” Left hand feigning a gesture of flamboyant swivels and twists “Your actions merit much attention for the only evil I see within this room is what you brought. Boorishly dull it you wish, dissociate yourself from it as you will. But, the fact remains, words represent your intellect. Sound, gesture and movement represent your nature.” Gaze languidly moving twixt the two then coming to rest upon the noble with a raised sculptured brow “You always were a tight-assed bastard, shame gold doesn’t buy you passage to the celestial vaults or demons dull the pain for a pretty penny from trembling hand. Oh my dearest angels, go pray to God for me” Attention returning to the two, brow arching even higher as if questioning their next move, “Death is only a matter of... a little pain.”

Balsamic anathema conflagrated, there was no sadness, no repentance or shame in her voice or actions, she simply stood stalwart. Glances synchronized from one to the other, and then towards the outdoors hearing alarms resound and the calamity that typically accompanies these dealings. Remaining silent though her eyes locked onto the one who remained, “Yes, you have lingered... as for the authorities; take your pick betwixt Grand Inquisition, Djadadjii, Strigoi Vânător, Hunters and enthusiastic bounty-hunters eager to make a name for themself. But I would you both... mere minutes.” Shrugging nonchalantly, knowing their strand of time remaining here was being burnt at both ends- she playfully jested within her own mind, enquiring if it was customary of them to leave survivors? Her purity did not engage in recreation, her innocence didn’t betray her wit and intelligence, or her beauty corrupt of gullibility- her skill was not artlessness or stupidity. With the return of the other who had excused himself, rhombus jewels of water beading over his strapping physique, catching every reflection like prisms of diamond-infusions- locking upon his form while ascending upwards to his face “For my passion and my somnolent pleasure... it is to desire to be quit of this world, in which there is nothing but misery, perhaps you shall indulge me, some other time? For only in the grasp of darkness will we dance amidst the bedazzlement of incandescent stars.”

Musical words rolling off her tongue like poetry...

[Pony Swag]

The sins of the fathers will be passed down upon their children. And the chapters that the previous generation left unfilled or forsaken will be up to the next generation to complete. And in our own absence, we too will leave chapters untouched of which our own children will have to decide how such acts end. It is an endless cycle in which even the simplest of actions take our world down a different path. But for every future forged by our choices, another is destroyed. An infinite amount of possibilities and lives destroyed or forever changed. Often we fail to fully comprehend the reach our actions truly have. Instead we happily tread down the path of ignorance and simplicity. Perhaps it is better to remain short sighted. Easier for the soul to rest that way. However these brothers have seen with their own eyes in the sea that is eden how different our world would of been if the players played the cards they were dealt differently. An entire world lost, and those potential lives fade from history long before their conceptions breath.

Just by slaying this noble man the brothers unknowingly set into motion a serious of consequential events. Woven in a web of complexity and deception. They would soon be force to ride the spiral of chaos they forged as well as their father. And if they rode this spiral to the end they may just go where no ones ever been. Now as this woman spoke to them in an almost ambiguous manner. The tempest that is fate had begun to make her descent. Setting into motion a serious of unfortunate events that will forever change all possible future for the brothers, save for one. Now it was unlikely that this stranger would linger once they crept forth from the belly of the earth. At least not in any long term sense. However their arrival for the moment would be delayed. However rest assure, it will not be thwarted. For they simply watched and waited for the right moment to shower their will upon the land.

Aquaria could feel the subtle influence of fate at play. Assuming that such an abstract concept could truly be grasped, for it was intangible by nature at best. His eye began to narrow as he drifted into thought. His eyes deepening with mystery and lore as his brain began to process the scenario at unfathomable amount of speed and detail. Now the ashlandian Assassin had done the math enough to know that while placed in such a situation that at least a single local would attempt to do the moral thing or at least investigate. But none of the folk cared to. They simply fled. This struck him as queer to say the least. A moment of silence would stale the air, before the elven vampire spoke. Revitalizing the atmosphere. "The shadows bring many things. Some pleasant some not so much..." He spoke as he lowered his head. His eyes widening as he seemed to slip into a dream. "A storm beneath the earth. Woman lamenting, children burning. The fathers watch as worlds collide. Astral blue heavens plagued by the smog that is the chariot of war. Blood stained eyes gaze to heavens, silence is all they find as flesh once whole is stripped of soul. The spice that once filled spring wind is over powered by wintry breath. Frigid...frigid.. "

He spoke before snapping back to reality. Regnier turned to gaze at his brother. A worried look upon his face. He would not address what had just transpired, for it was not his place. If anyone were to elaborate on what had just happened it would be his brother. Aquaria shook his head as his palm rested upon his forehead. A pounding head ache did set in as he looked up to the woman. Regaining his composure as he returned to the position of parade rest. "I'm sorry. I did not mean to plague you with my...Third eye." He stated as he held his head high. His normal sense of confidence and elegance as well as a swarthy mystery once more became pronounced. "Evil...Yes that describes me perfectly." Aquaria spoke as he turned his back towards her. His hand pushing aside the curtains so that the sun set shined through the glass. His eyes resting upon the beautiful scene. A sigh parting from his lips. "I have taken many lives and have committed many sins. Yet I feel little regret for my actions."

He spoke before tearing down the curtain. Clenching the fabric tightly. "Death is rest for the weary soul. No mind can handle the burdens and worries of this world forever. Not without eventually losing ones sanity. Our minds are finite, this universe infinite and hostile. We do not belong, this is not out home. We are merely parasites, unwanted travelers passing through and devouring as much as we can before we pass on." He finished speaking before quickly turning around to face the woman. His bright yet riddling eyes locking with her own. "I do not need to look for death. I see it everyday yet despite my familiarity with it. I can not avert my inevitable date with it..." This was his way of hinting toward a dark secret. something he kept from his brother even. Regnier turned to face his sibling, arching a brow as he seemed confused. His brother spoke of death as if he was fond of it. As if he accepted it. This was troubling indeed, but only if one understood the man that was his brother. "Aquaria...what are you saying? He inquired into.

"I, I'll tell you later brother. When the walls have less ears." He stated before turning back towards the sun set. Eye closing as began to meditate. Finding but a drop of inner peace. Regnier wouldn't press the issue further. In due time he knew his brother would elaborate. But for now they had a guest and problems brewing under the surface. "It does not matter who stands in our away under the guise of justice or revenge. For their greatest resistance is vain, and can be likened to dust in tempest winds. This concern carries little weight in my eyes." He concluded as he Walked over to his blade which rested quite nicely in the skull of the soldier still. Her words were like poetry and song. This only spoke well of her character. And in Regnier's eyes, this was a rather enthralling and welcomed trait of character. He found it, refreshing to say the least. His dark hues locked watched as the woman traced her eyes so blatantly up his defined frame.

A devilish grin now plastering itself upon his face. For he found it to be quite flattering. "Perhaps sometime I could show you how misery can quickly be transformed to pleasure and dare I say, perhaps a glimmer of respite." He stated whilst his grin became more pronounced. "One day I might have the pleasure of "indulging" you." Regnier spoke as Aquaria finally broke his meditation. Shaking his head as he heard his brothers dreadful attempt at trying to be flirtatious. It was almost enough to make him sick. Though Aquaria wouldn't hold it against his brute of a brother. "Tell me something Oh Siren. What do you perceive us as? Clearly we aren't human. So what would you define us as?" Regnier tossed a question her way.

[Lucretia Macabria Dracul]

Asphodel Meadows, is what one of the males eyes reminded her of- where the souls and essence of people who lived their lives in equilibrium (equality of goodness and evil) dwelled, given of choice to imbibe the waters of Lethe (Rives of Forgetfulness/Forgiveness) - forgetting their once human lives and forgiving all the wrongs done or received. Moonlit auriferous illuminations, shone with their own evanescence to draw souls in as if to promise an eternity of luminosity and calefaction. She found them quite alluring, spell-bound in captivity yet in the same instance, disturbing and ruthless in their beauty; not directly looking into them for fear that is where she too would lose her quintessence, in those glorious ‘Summerlands’ before all goes black to darkness and midnight. His hazy speech appeared to have caught her off guard, blinking once before snapping her eyes in his direction, transfixed in the words and in turn seeking her own definition of them to interpret; some had already come to pass these lands... nevertheless... did this golden-eyed prophet speak of another fall yet to transpire? It caught in her lungs and ultimately in her throat, trapping even ghostly breath to capture in its wake producing a tremble of gasp, not from trepidation just revelation.

Clearing her throat from the conglomeration of exhalation behind secure apertures, "Evil describes the majority of all, perfectly. We are each our own Devil, and we make this world our hell." Head tilting to see the streaming sun revealed from behind parted curtain, it was quaint how the night formerly appeared fewer hours and the days stretched for an eternity- these days, to the contrary, the days were shorter and the night stretched for an eternity under a guiltless moon and mocking stars. "It is not my place to condemn you, Sir. We all posses needs and vices, for whatever reason, survival, pleasure or nature. Numerous crucify themselves amid two thieves, regret for the bygones and dread of the imminent. Perhaps they question their own confidence of deliverance? And what is sin for one, is vice for another, I do not ponder any definition of sin- it is a frivolous thing to me, for there is no such thing as sin, there is only life and anti-life." taking a moment of respite then continuing in honeyed accentuation "If I believed in sin, I would be consumed by it." Leaving the statement hanging, lingering as if caught twixt dream and nightmare; for the obsidian maws of darkness to devour and spit out against the phosphorescent sunrise torn down with the plush drape of burgundy; symbolic.

Permitting eyes to interlock, "Some people are so afraid of Death that they actually never get to live, then for others, it can be perceived... as a blessing!" To her life and death was balanced in the edge of a razor, intricately, eternally weaving and entwining with the gilded threads of fate and doom- constantly engorging on itself while the world succumbed to death-kneel... she was not without her own torments and stigma. "Some say that graves are the footprints of angels. And with the aurora of broken first light... those seraphim faces smile, which I have esteemed lingering since and misplaced for awhile." Inner sentiments bore their own meanings, engraved in those fateful words, akin to those both spoken in lucid adage. Permitting the mystic his inner quiet without interruption of her responses as upper ivories nibbled on lower embouchement, caught in the contemplations of individual reflection, making a mental note of those phrases and elegant panache. Attention listening to their exchanges, though also not impending to intrude, instead, reverting back into herself while pondering her own circumstances seemingly out of her influence. Askance her crystalline gaze returned to the other, re-sheathing her blade back into scabbard; after all neither had shown her hostility- therefore it were only hospitable to return the same principle. Lithe arms crossing into fold against the bodice of leather and lace while shoulders remained rigid.

"There is such a fine definition between justice and injustice, so nebulous is the meaning but open for interpretation by the one on the receiving end, and the morale or intention of the bringer. My eyes have seen much reddish work done in the guises of either consequence. I have witnessed evil done by holy men, and the wicked sacrifice their own souls to emancipate another. Their avarice fuels the dogs they feed. Conversely... out of all the seven deadly sins- they forgot the eighth, love. For even it can deliver the fires of hell, or cast the angels from their lofts to crash blindly against the luminaries of Astraeus. It can annihilate worlds or traverse dimensions by a solitary flurry of the heart." Rubicund arches of lips fashioned into a smile, emphasizing chiselled fine cheek bones and indentures to the sides of naturally rouged cheeks. Clearly her intelligence surpassed the apparentness of her age, indicatively leaning towards late teens to early twenties. She spoke not only of experience but applied that erudition fluently and confidently, finding amusement how her own words were incongruous to her upbringing and intrinsic bequest- but they were vocal in legitimacy to her own ideologies and philosophy. There was no attempt made to conceal where her eyes gazed, or the manner in which they lingered, admiration should never been conducted in disguise; that cheapens the approbation to infatuation... a transitory penchant whim.

Left corner of her mouth ascending higher, highlighting cheekbone even more definite, matching his devilish smirk with a coquettish leer full of many possibilities "Oh, really... you’re capable of such things? Pleasure comes and it goes, yet misery remains constant- pain is inevitable, but the suffering is optional. I cannot run from misery or death, there isn’t a place far enough, that luxury is not at my disposal nor is an option. Should I not be acquainted with these things, then I cannot mourn it after it fades and wilts, I have turned my wounds into wisdom. Sometimes in calamity we unearth our life’s reason - the eye sheds a tear to find its focus." The smirk mitigated, softer in its convergence against his, perhaps her words beared with barbed dysphonic reproach... shaking her head as if mocking the emotion boiling in her speech, and this meeting of chance or fate. Finding comfort in his question, though not knowing exactly what they were, other than obviously non-human, but certainly not one of her descent. Glancing over the dark haired man, and then the other, scanning across the floor to the broken soldiers and the other fallen against the desk, taking it all in and chuckling amusingly to herself in the process while shoulders shrugged casually "Ah! I don't technically know..." ‘techincally’ being accentuated by rich harmonic cadence... "... nor shall I formulate ignominious assumptions. What I do perceive- is you certainly are no mortal nor of the garrotte shadows which seize these lands, and flay flesh to charred effigies. Now that I would discern intuit." Finding comfort in the day’s rebirth dismissing those plethoric wreathes of eclipsed paramounts and smoky tendrils.

Continuing, though voice quiet in muted status "That old wild hunt, danse macabre to the funeral march... but you and him" gesturing towards both "... are so exotic to these lands it intrigues me, and thus no doubt will intrigue those burning shadows once the talons of their tongue get a taste of you." Taking a moments contemplation, expression placed across picturesque features clearly for the discern, "You are what you are, does it matter what I perceive you as?" Tilting her head to the side, as if her soul empathized already with whatever the answer may be.

[Pony Swag]

Her words were as true as they were elaborately posed. Pleasure could be hearken to a gentle summer breeze. It provides comfort for but a single moment. And after it subsides the heat of summer is set anew. This was something Aquaria knew all too well. The red headed ashlandian had cast many swarthy spells in his lifetime. And honestly he should be dead due to his illness, let alone fighting with such proficiency and grace. However one thing kept him going, One person kept him bound to this world. His daughter, the one good thing he brought into this world. And before he slipped away into an eternal state of torpor he wished to leave the world a little bit brighter. So that she may know peace and not be forced to endure the unfinished chapters of her father. Aquaria remained silent observing and listening to the womans every word. One whom was far wiser then her physical frame appeared to be. But the assassin knew all too well that people were never what they seemed to be. For better or worst.

After she had finished speaking he would muster up a befitting response. Not wishing too take up too much time less he ruin his brothers chance to totally strike out. for though Regnier may have the body a lot of woman found to be soft to the eyes. He had the worst luck when it came to woman. Who he is only appealed to but a small percentage of women. Though he had no trouble getting one night stands, just relationships. However aquaria wondered if his brother even wanted a relationship. For like most tall, overly ripped men with an alpha dog presence. He was far too "masculine" to ever convey his thoughts. That is unless you get enough liquor into his system. But I suppose this is true of most. "Do the flowers of the field fear the change of seasons? No, they bloom till they can bloom no more. and when winters first frost comes they wilt without remorse. They know the change of seasons is dawning, but they do not fear the changes and all that they do. I am no different."

Aquaria stated, the red headed assassin was poetic by nature for he was a poet. He enjoyed spending his free time reading and writing. He was a simple man in this regard. He didn't need much to be happy. And judging by how he carries himself few would ever suspect him of being an assassin of such caliber. "I have no qualms regarding my life. I know that everything is in order and my child will be taken care of. not that she needs to be watched over, for she is much like her father..." he stated with a chuckle. At this point Aquaria would retract himself from the conversation until she responded. He didn't want to come off as rude and exclude his own brother from the conversation. Plus the more one talks, the greater the probability that he'd end up looking like a fool.

This was the first Regnier heard of his brothers impending death. Aquaria had done his best to keep his fatal illness a secret from Regnier and his daughter. For he was far too pride to accept pity from anyone, especially his own flesh and blood. "Brother?" Regnier stated with confusion and shock riddling his voice. "I am sorry. I should have told you but I didn't want to have the concern for my health to impact our mission. We have an agreement I will finish the job." Aquaria concluded. 'Forgive me, both of you. Brother, Va'shera." Aquaria stated as hypnotizing as ever as he offered both of them a bow. Va'shera was a term of flattery in their native tongue. In the common tongue it could be translated to, beauty that endures. Regnier sighed as he began to rub his forehead. He would later have to speak to his brother about this subject. "We will speak about this later, in private brother." He spoke, afterwards removing his hands from his forehead. Aquaria would merely nod before turning his back towards them, staring at the sunset once more.

Regnier would finally turn his attention toward the womans response. He didn't want the flow of the conversation to retard or deviate from it's flow too much. Though it may have already. "In this regard you and I are no different. We've both learned much from falling." He spoke as he looked down at the scars which covered his body. "Each scar is a story. Some are from those I trusted betraying me. Others are from my crimes. boring stuff like arson, murder, kidnapping, the destruction of a naval vessel. Some from not being fast enough or smart enough. And the others, a few special ones are from certain encounters." His voice hinting towards a sexual nature. "A few you can't see. Some are emotional others aren't visible due to well being clothed." he finished speaking as aquaria shuttered at his brothers words. He was glad to see his brother was such a ladies man. Nothing like talking about bodily mutilations to score with a lady.

"Every time I look in the mirror they remind me that I am alive. That I am still here while those who were weak are not. But at least they were strong enough to try. I will grant them that much honor." Regnier finished speaking for the moment as he held one scar, as if he was fond of it. A scar on his abdomen. Right in the middle of his abs. "I am what I am not due to my race. I am what I am thanks to those who scarred me and were crushed beneath my feet. I can't change this from being true. Nor would I want to. For I am what I am." Regnier finished speaking as his eyes for the first time in a while deepened, giving off but a hint of emotions. "God I need a drink..." Regnier concluded.

[Lucretia Macabria Dracul]

The future holds secrets only the past can reveal, the undreaming is unchained...

She moved closer to the window, allowing her back to prop itself against the filigree frame, eyes glancing out as if in a state of trance, combing over the landscape in the predatory eloquence of her own prowess. Certainly there was something ‘off’ about this particular day, then again, the days had been everything but predictable. Not even the gilded streams of sunlight bore the typical warmth attributed to it, rather, it was like icy needles piercing through her flesh, the sensation caused a shudder along the length of her spine- resembling the scurry and spawning of spiders. A visible shudder paroxysm echoing throughout her inner core, conjuring forwards intuition and pure common sense. Never faltering to perceive their elegant words, it was quite enjoyable to share a conversation with intellectuals who responded in musical tone not blankly as if lost in the wilderness of wisdom, of lack thereof. As much as those words captivated her so, her eyes never lifted from the panoramic scenery across the rose-scented gardens and Greco-roman statues to the wooded areas- even the winds did not make those leaves dance with obeisance. Nature itself was in conflict with itself, no equilibrium to the currents of elemental influence... impasse.... not willing to surrender to one in order for the other to exist. Unfurled winds licked at the architecture of the manor, except no influence was born through the forest where not a lone leaf waltzed or enthused by the wintry atmosphere of embittered squall and Dryadic song. But it breathed with a life of its own.

Plethoric embodiments possessed their own phantasmagoria, animate of separate life, being of substance, far more than an opaque object placed in the route of subtle vibrancy. Narrowing smouldering pellucid starless eyes to conical slits, concentration enveloping her delicate features, disentangling the natural occurrence of shadows to those which were manufactured by a ’presence’ or ’presences’. She never really enjoyed the sensation of being ‘observed’, like looking in the mirror only to have ‘something’ stare directly back at you, a novelty for a short time before another feeling sinks in lowly to the sinews of the nerves. Frosted plumes of cold breath fogged a poignant image of death and life upon that glass, "And the flower that is beautiful today, tomorrow shall be dying." Far-away words ushered, barely even a whisper over ghostly breath’s feathered caress. "You may discover the perfect flower half-buried and half-exhumed in the snow, and within your eyes its fate dwells. Loving beauty, you caress its velveteen bloom though knowing soon enough you’ll be weeping and sweeping the fallen petals from the floor. Terrible to love the lovely so, counting your own years... to see a flower half-buried and half-exhumed in the leaves, and come face to face with what you are." Knowing, she did not wish to interlude in such a close and personal matter, which should betwixt brothers and not for the perceptions of a stranger, so, she removed herself as far from the situation as she possibly could.

There she remained staring outside, watching and waiting for the golden rays to vanquish behind the horizon- she could have left, though there was something she felt she needed to learn or ‘see’ here. The question arose... what was it? Returning back to her audible sensory perceptions, speech of diminishing, scars, being alive and existing for whatever foundation destiny had deemed itself to serve- on a silver platter or a bed of cinders. "There is a prophecy predicted within these lands, the coming of the ravens turning the skies black; smothering this imaginary of dream, nightmare and distorted heaven hidden from the rest of the world. A discovery unknown to the mortal coil for it is too fragile for its own sake, unable to save itself from this rare composition of icy landscapes that separate life and death." Taking a moment to poise herself in that grandeur of haughtiness and deportment.

"Humans fear both life and death, for accepting one is to accept the other, inviting it across the threshold, letting Death share the mirth and wine. Mistakes, they make us see the reality of this dark and distorted world; brand it upon the flesh by scar or scourge- as a disfiguring memento. I do not see it as a blemish, I see it as being unafraid to stand true, for what one believes, questioning the expected conformity that families can have, mine is no exception." Remaining, staring outwardly, noticing that not a single soul was present... peculiar... unless superstition had gotten the better of their intelligence? "My scars run deep, just not visible to the eye. Lies are my scars, they devoured me, and I wasted it all on an ancient lore not enough to save anyone’s soul. The search for perfection... leaves me numb. I am not a pawn in their suicidal game, my mind is my own and they shall never take away what is rightfully mine. But, the eulogy of my mother’s dying soul as it were carried away by those frozen waters torments my mind forevermore... nevertheless... her sacrifice will not have been in vain.” she drifted off again, eyes becomming vacant "But I did not come here to share my life's story....amusing and dramatic as it is."

Eyes returned back toward the one who just spoke in reference to a drink, extending index finger towards an oriental encasement, "The house’s finest reds, vintage, Brunello or Băbească Neagră would be my personal choices, depending upon your... palate. I have been here before to listen to mundane business between a tyrant and a monster, so I know all its sordid little secrets and opulent treasures of depravity and wealth."

[Pony Swag]

Our nightmares and dreams are but a glimpse into the creativity and ingenuity of our psyche a wise man once said. And before this moment I would of thought him to be a bullshit wannabe philosopher. However time and experience has shown that seldom are wiser words ever uttered. Our tale, our story no longer was our own. And no longer was it the tale of two brothers seeking answers. What would of been considered a thriller was about to evolve into a horror story. And in an horror story the threat should never be truly explained. For that mystery, the unanswered questions are what keep the readers eyes glued to the pages till the very end. When the climax puts at ease all prior questions and shed's light on all previous swarthy secrets, twist and turns. However the problem of a good horror story is that no one is safe. Everyone could die, their fate uncertain. Even the protagonists aren't exempted from such rules. When I was younger I use to think that the supernatural, the unexplained phenomena in our world were but stories meant to reflect our inner angels and demons. A way of sedating our curiosity into the unknown as it were.

However my brother, this stranger and I had found ourself stuck between the pages of a supernatural horror story about to unfold. And we were all blissfully ignorant of what was to transpire. If only we knew, maybe then we would of fled and averted this path.

A sigh parted from Aquaria's lips as his eyes reflected the golden light of the setting sun. The glass magnifying the rays of light, warming his flesh. The sensation it generated was far from burdensome, rather relaxing. Providing but a brief moment of respite. The thought of conversing with his brother about his illness coursed through his mind like a poison. Causing shivers to rundown his spine. However Aquaria knew this was unavoidable. He had to confront this issue before it was too late for his time in this world was limited. However whose time wasn't finite? After all, even Gods die. Why should any other immortal be exempt from this fate? The ashlandian assassin was not frighten of the concept of death. For he had walked the path of the raven for sometime. His hands and soul stained with the blood of many. Some innocent, others not so much. However it is different when your hands are the ones turning the knob of brass that is deaths door.

The vampire had tried to full himself that he had lived his life well. But like all nearing the end, he begun to realize how much time he squandered away. It is funny, how even to an immortal time is valuable. It's the one thing given to all for free, yet it's the one thing that may never be bought back. How poetically ironic, no doubt the Gods have a sick sense of humor. Still perhaps it was best this way, for even immortals minds were not infinite. And if ones body never rotted. Then one's sanity and soul would inevitably wilt. For the worries of this world will undoubtedly burden the soul and mind, corrosively eating away at our psyche bit by bit. Leaving nothing but madness in it's wake. Our bodies, this plane of existence would become a hell to is in due time. It was this thought that brought him comfort when it came to accepting the fate dealt to him. Finally, this old killers mind and hands may rest. And an eternal state of torpor sounded lovely.

But before he could accept death with open arms. he had one last goal, one last mission as it were. To leave the world but a bit brighter for those who followed. The sun setting was a befitting metaphor for the death of one generation. The sun setting was us nearing our end. The night is the darkness that befalls our souls. But the sun rise, that is the warmth of knowing our children will endure to leave their print upon our world. And hopefully be better stewards of this world then we have been. "I have spent many years traveling the world. And never during my travels have I beheld the sun set. It is...Spectacular. Never have I felt as awestruck, as small and insignificant as now. It puts our role in this cosmos into perspective doesn't it." These were the only Words Aquaria could utter for the moment. He would remain silent and at peace until he felt as if he had something prudent to say.

Regnier turned his head, narrowing his eyes as his brother spoke ever so elegantly. Ever since they set off on this journey Aquaria had been speaking rather deeper then usual. No doubt a byproduct of his illness and ever dawning demise. Regniers eyes slowly drifted downward to the floor as he turned his head to face the woman. His eyes slowly following suite. Her words were much like that of a muse. It had been a while since his mind felt so revitalized. However he knew like everything in this world, the moment would pass. and no doubt he would find himself ever so elegantly hitting the booze till he ended up bringing home a wench. having his way with her only to wake up next to her with his pants missing and a rash. And of course he wouldn't be able to remember how he got there but more importantly where his pants was. This was the story of almost ever other night in the exciting life that is Regniers. However he knew this was his way of dealing with his inner demons as well as character flaws. Truth was, the spell thief was a borderline womanizing alcoholic.

And the only reason why he didn't commit fully to such demons was simple. He had a problem committing to anything that didn't involve work. And in some regards he had no problem with this. However it did create a void, a hole in his soul as it were. Assuming that such an assassin could even possess a soul. So naturally as she mentioned liquor, the thought of self intoxication once more became as enticing as ever. and he was one to never turn down a drink with a beautiful woman. No matter how benevolent or insidious her intentions might be. "Your words cast a well woven spell as usual. You're no doubt far wiser then your appearance might lead one to assume. But luckily for us, I am far too stubborn to assume." Regnier stated as his brother Aquaria turned back to his prayers and meditations. as if he was preparing for something. Though what exactly would elude all for the moment. "It would be rude of me to turn down a drink with such pleasant company to say the least. However unlike you my taste aren't as refined as it were. I drink anything, probably due to the fact that my taste buds are fried from all the foul cheap beer we drank at home." Regnier jested before turning his attention to her mention of metaphorical scars.

"I may appear to be a rather masculine killer with bit a glimmer of a soul. If you might call it that. However I too have had steaks driven into my heart. Though my ex did it literally not metaphorically...." He spoke as he held a scar above the heart. "But that's beside the point. What I am saying is this. The wounds make you stronger as cliche as that may seem. But also wiser. For wisdom and experience often go hand to hand. In the end you have becoming more evolved as it were from said experiences. And for that I envy you. Even if you do not envy yourself." Regnier spoke as he sat upon a frail table. The wooden, battle scarred table would break under the influence of his weight. The giant fell flat on his ass. Quickly he would rise to his feet and run his figners through his hair. "Now that, that was defiantly cheap furniture. It's ok though, I tested it for you so now you know not to sit on elven made furniture. Plus it did look tactful as a piece of this room so.." Regnier coughed.

"Sorry about that." He concluded. Revealing a bit more comical side of himself. Not the serious, no emotion side that awakens only during and after a fresh kill. or when the scenario merits it.

Aquaria suddenly fell to the ground, as Regnier soon followed suit. They felt something call out to them. Sweat running down their faces as they shivered. Their mind and soul seemed to be pulled out from their bodies, as they felt an unearthly presence and connection. It's influence and words could be heard and felt by all those in the room. However it's face could only be seen by the brothers.

"The road to ascension has been laid out before us. Our mother has spoken and we are her instruments of your perfection. The universe is hostile and everything contained there in is but dust in cosmic tempest. Despite your grandest efforts and accomplishments. You're all but foot prints in the sand, soon to be claimed by the sea of change. Your society is lost, your species no longer necessary. Fight as you will, it makes no difference. For the wheels of the universe are against you. Your species will be destroyed, for you have reach your apex. And like those before you, you will be smitten down. Your legacy will be but petrified bones buried in endless dunes of sand and rock. All life is a mistake, an accident, a mutation. One that in due time is remedied so that the next chain of life may rise and progress. And when they too reach their apex their mother will ask for the ultimate sacrifice. Through your deaths, she will become perfect. Resist as you will, but by the end your people will come begging to be one with mother. So resist, play your role puppet. For in the end you face that which is infinitely your greater. We rise as messengers of your deliverance!"

As soon as it's words faded from the room the earth would quake. Something vile was soon to transpire.

[Lucretia Macabria Dracul]

Dusk, the ebony veil slowly descending to blanket the lands in night; where the gloaming imbued the landscapes with golden radiance before the hues of indigo swept in like a fugue of Unkindness- the beating wings of the Raven to the symphony of darkness. It was rather captivating how those bright colours diminish, the dying day as it prepared for its descent into the Underworld, to grace the gates with alabaster lilies and scarlet poppies... from the womb to the tomb. The blackness burying them softly to this world, where rain falls like the grains of sand through the hourglass. Even the wolves in the depths of woods arched their dissonant napes releasing the cacophony of their lament beneath the sombre moon; howls echoing, amplified by the reflection of their sound in the reverberation of echo. A requiem of the night-tide sorrow, as if to clutch at the heart and plunge it into the sea of tears... a repertoire amalgamated with whimpers, and the withdrawn hymn of their sadness. O’ what is it to be, completely free? To this harmonic calling to the darkness, tugging at the inner-strings to pull oneself away from the glory and pride of charades, to release the barriers, cast aside the shame that is flesh and let those ravenesque wings fly, scathe the moon to ruptured crimson and scourge the land of all enemies and weaknesses- what an intoxicating notion to entertain. From behind dew-lidded eyes, ebony lashes resting against the bridge of chiselled bone, pensive in expression. Thoughts reeling of softly lit nights, wine and the warmth of breath in ardent pangs, caught half twixt excitement and seduction. All danced so perfectly in rhyme to the words of the prophet and the killer; burlesque.

Prayers and purification often came hand in hand with the purging of life, or retribution, though she would not assume which one it was to be, after all, it seems they were all caught in the trap of this decadent nightmare where all demons would manifest to entice or dissuade their ravenous hungers for pain. For a short time she remained silent, listening to the elements surrounding, knowing something was amiss though not knowing exactly what- she heard it in the winds, and with the abrupt silence of the wolves which came afterwards she knew, not all was at peace with the world. Reawakening from contemplative trance as eyes shifted to reveal those ‘hidden’ natures within thought and elucidation, both shared with the phantasm of disquiet and attentiveness. "Lucky for both of us, my determination is, persistent, and I never assume and nor am I stubborn. I simply know what I want, and how to get it." A suggestive smile transgressed over vermillion candied apertures, leaving room for him to assume or take that statement in whatever way he wanted, it was all to entertain the notion of such things- attraction and the spare of the moment randomness where the cards could fall whichever way. "As erudite and educated as I am. I have barely had the liberty to breathe let alone live regardless of travel, wealth and all the perks which come with title... I can genuinely say, I do not call that living, merely only existing to dance when told, to speak when told, to dress the way I am told, act in a manner which I am told, to jump when told and to ask how high. My life has been more like a pet, preened and perfected but I am no man's puppet, that I assure." Words were spoken with such venom, a diplomatic loathing, not disrespectful of her Father, but not paying him any glories just the same.

Listening to his words, while slender nape tilted slightly to the side, allowing the raven mantle of tresses to plummet with the motion, and intently paying heed to each and every single word, motion of his stature and even the way his lips moved when he spoke; every detail no matter how great or how small. [color=red]"A stake through the heart? How divine."[/colour] Chuckling melodiously as the words did strike a comical impression, left hand elongated fingernails ascending to rest upon the tiered edges of her ivory teeth, caught between teeth and the pillows of lush embouchements, resting there before returning to periphery of hip. The entertaining the thought how relatively unscarred her heart was. "I am yet to have the pleasure of a broken heart, then again, I am yet to indulge in the act of love... but I think, that is an experience I shall never have to evaluate or entertain. Perhaps the sins of the father are passed on to his children, after all in the form of debt or duty." Moving from current position and towards the polished wooden cabinet where she had gestured to only moments before, fingers opening the double doors of wrought iron filigree. Physique bending, couching down, leather hugging each miniscule curve while searching for the object of her desire, a rare and sumptuous vintage of merlot, a taste of, home. Reverent left hand wrapping around the bottle, one around the neck while the other supported the base in the palm of her hand. Withdrawing it from the dusty darkness only to turn and face him as the table shattered beneath him, she found it hard to stifle the laugh that threatened to etch itself over lips in a sound of unsuspected humour and amusement. Right hand instantly removing from the carafe to covet mouth with the length of her fingers pressed against the temperate contours of her lips.

Removing the wax covering the stopper, fingernails of thumbs pressing against the flexible cork pushing upwards to remove it, "I hope that was much more fun, than what it actually looked from my standpoint." smiling to herself at his attempts to play it off cool, and redeem himself in his own eyes of pride and mannerism; she found it somewhat, alluring. Looking around the room for a couple of goblets, finding some to the further quarters of the room, elegantly stepping over bodies in the process as eyes looked down upon them and a snicker escaped. Grabbing three gilded chalices of gaiety and pouring the wealth, a cold chill entering the room... causing her to cease in mid-pour as the silence of the room in sudden contempt caused her to spin around, eyes resting on the two men on the ground and an intruding voice resounding out of nowhere, only the darkness which crept around the manor and the thick plethoric tendrils enveloping the exterior. Stygian eyes narrowing, bottle in left hand placed upon the mantle behind her while right searched for the cold kiss of silver hilt residing from its scabbard. Remaining silent, letting whatever speak without interruption for to pay respects to unknown things was far more wiser than speaking out with no semblance of wisdom; for the honourable typically always were given that admiration of esteem, and it was far better to be silent than interfere in the affairs of others. Waiting until the voice sung no more of its revelation or doom- she uttered her own words in frosted plumes of breath "LUPII de noapte, am sunat la tine, şederea gata să vă dinte și gheara, ravagiu aceste fiare pana ei canta nu mai." Unless they knew her homeland tongue, neither would understand the cacophony of discordant tones like a sketal choir, wintry and detached but the wolves would understands it compel.

The earth trembled beneath her feet, as if Tiamat herself threatened to unleash the wraiths and torments procured by her voracferous fires. Legs slightly parting, adjacent to the other in order to stablize her posture, as the ceiling began to crumble above her, copious fractures appeared in the stonework of the walls parting to reveal the opague darkness asphyxiting, choking the foundations. Instantly her weapon drew from its stable position within right hand, sweeping it back while left moved in front of her, cat-like balance impressed against her bearings. Extension of her quintessence and vitae expanding forwards, intensifying every aptitude and proficiency her blood possesses. Persuading this energy through the core of vampiric being, weaving and spinning these arcanes through the tapestry of her being and awareness to the echelon capable of her royal blood, generation and knowledge. She did not know what to expect, but she wasn’t about to stumble blindly into its clucthes without a damn good fight.

[Pony Swag]

Everyone had their cages, in this regard the swarthy beauty reminded Regnier of a bird. However despite her cage she still sung beautifully. Her song may not be that of utter content. However it was still potent, alluring all to it's call. Regnier could sense much depth in her eyes as he attempted to peer into them as she drew her blade. Readying to face the unknown ever so valiantly. This was commendable, an honorable trait which spoke well of her character. This bird as it were, seemed to be as venomous as it was soft to the eyes. However this was no time for such idle thoughts of lust, nor was it the time to be flirtatious. Such moments are now well behind them. For though she was ignorant of what was to transpire in a moment. Both brothers knew all too well the vicious nature of the entity that spoke. Only the ignorant would hearken it's arrogant and crude approach as a sign of weakness. for this entity was far from weak, and was confident it could back it's words up with actions. For the first time a hint of dread crept on Aquaria's face. Only to be buried once more in the near emotionless expression he usually had plastered on.

Regnier's mannerism were not that of fear or dread, rather excitement. Finally they would cross blades once more, metaphorically speaking. For the entity was far too much of a coward in his eyes. It would not engage them directly. Instead it would send a legion of it's soldiers at them as it played God within the haven that lingered within the belly of the earth itself. Leading the attack like one would pawns at chess. An accurate if not cliche analogy. Slowly the brothers would rise to their feet. the sweat and paleness dissipating from their faces as they quickly regathered their eloquent composure. Both Regnier and Aquaria would not draw their weapons. Instead they waited, patiently, as if staring into the eye of a storm. Though it was more then that. The brothers were calculating, not how they would escape or crush it's grasp. Rather on how many would die this day. The loss of their own lives did not concern them as much as the loss of innocent lives. Though these men were far from saints, they however had no intent on being blamed for the destruction of this town. However blame seemed dare we say, unavoidable.

Aquaria would step forward as the quaking earth seemed to relax, but not before further damaging the paintings, furniture and overall structure of the manner. "The extent of a mans character can be hard to perceive. You know as much as we permit you to. Falling prey to the illusion of helplessness. Do not insult us. So hide behind your throne coward. And watch as we face your forces head on without fear....without remorse." Aquaria went silent as he closed his eyes. Offering yet another prayer as Regnier took charge. "Maybe you're right. Maybe this is in vain. However none of that matters to us. You know why? We endure, we adapt and we survive. You and your Mother is nothing more then another cycle. A winter. Though you may be more frigid then most, no matter how often scythe or frost tear ground. Hope and beauty always abound. So bring your armies, bring your so called ascension. If we face oblivion then we face it united and with a smile." Regnier boldly proclaimed. as the earth stood still, yet the darkness that engulfed the room seemed to thicken.

"Speak in your colorless tongue woman. Draw your blade and fight. Be crushed in vain as those before you have. For a million years, we have prepared this world and it's species for the ascension. Every 100,000 years the harvest arrives. And every 100,000 years those who think themselves as mighty resist. Only to fall. You can not change your fate. Your flesh is but our canvas. You will feel the glory of her coming. Your bodies will serve as instruments to her perfection. This is your purpose, this is the reason you are. Deny it as you may. Speak with courage in the face of certain demise. But know now this...your species will know of spring no more. The time for the harvest is now..." The voice spoke as it left the room. As the earth quake picked up ocne more, only more vehemently. All across town jagged organic spires would erupt from the earth. Blooming shortly afterwards as creatures whose faces the shadows danced for to obscure stepped out. Clad in some sort of dark, organic tissue.

Their eyes glowed yellow, yet they seemed empty. As if they were but emptied husk. Flesh and blood without a soul. They knew no fear, no pain. They knew no death, they were perfect killing machines in this regard. Twelve spires in all danced toward the heavens. as a horde of these creatures stepped out. screams followed as the locals panicked. They would try to flee but to no avail. "Prepare their flesh for the evolution! For the gospel..." It's voice echoed throughout the town as if it were reaching out to ones mind. The organic spired would vibrate and twirl as spores began to pour from the heavens. anyone not under cover would instantly become paralyzed. However they were aware. Instead of killing the locals, the soldiers would drag their inanimate bodies into the spires, taking them deep into the belly of the earth. Where they would do only God knows what to their victims. It was a frightful sight indeed. The spores covered the town like snow. And soon they had begun to slip through the cracks the quake left on the manor.

Regniers eyes would glow as a purple haze engulfed his frame. His tattoos emitted a warm and comforting amethyst light. As tattoo's once buried under flesh, branded not on skin but rather his soul had begun to burn themselves onto his flesh. littering it in a colorful array of art. Regnier was feeding off of the magical properties of these spores. using their energy against them. A barrier would form around the group. "Brother!" Aquaria bellowed as he rushed to Regniers side. Regnier was in pain, no doubt this would have dire consequences down the road. "Do not fret, the flesh is strong. And my mind is resilient." aquaria would simply nod. "We can exchange this barrier duty whenever one feels drained. However we must make haste...this village is lost. And if we do not escape soon then our fate will become one with it's fate." Regnier spoke grunting. For a brute he had quite the mental fortitude. "Brother....I remember seeing a ship docked. If we can reach the port we'll be fine." Aquaria replied.

"I am sorry that we couldn't of had that drink together. But perhaps another time, when monsters aren't devouring towns and spores don't freeze a man dead in his tracks. For now we must focus on escaping. I apologize if we somehow dragged you into this." Regnier concluded as he looked back at her. Aquaria would offer a bow. "Ill tienta va'shera." Which translated to "Much regret beautiful." in their dialect. Aquaria would not break the bow until she replied. He was one never to forgot proper etiquette. Even when the world is going to hell so to speak. Now as they conversed the soldiers would be making their way to them manor. However they expected to find paralyzed corpses, not animate killing machines.

[Lucretia Macabria Dracul]

To her it was all the same, just another thing try to extend its will over an already enslaved race, quite pathetic in its cliché purpose- all she could do was roll her eyes at the insult of a ’colourless tongue’ and its assumptions for lesser superiority proven in its egotistical narcissism; where vanity bled itself for the sheeple to falter and fall. But it sure loved the sound of its own voice, asserting its desire over the fickle. It was not merited any response, other than a smirk and the mockery of her eyes languidly rolling in a bored fashion. Stepping to the side away from the fissure in the roof where these snow-like spores showered, her own influence acting as a shield to momentarily protect her flesh, and applying fortitude to harden that pliable exterior to a harder exterior. There was always a time and place for everything, and no sooner had their paths overlapped they would part; such was the manner of Atropos’s hand or the paths one chooses for themself by their own will and mind. Head lowered in an act of honour, blade coming to a more relaxed position within her hand, knowing the way of her own action but never surrender or abandoning her own pride and principle. Her father had taught her, to fight her own battles, and the coward who allows his trepidation to overcome his sense of duty has already lost. She had come to the conclusion that whatever it was that spoke was trapped in a delusion of its own insanity- perhaps it had gone mad from its time within whatever darkness crevice of the subterranean worlds? It was neither her place nor interest in trying to decipher, she left it in its praise of triumph over mortals, no better than the wolves that hunt down lambs and yet howl in the moonlight of easy glories. She did not fear it, nor trembled at its quake.

Permitting her head to bow in obeisance towards both men, simply smiling as the body language genuflected in a manner of nobility and refinement. When she responded, it was only in short phrase, not lingering words of poetic silver-tongued melody- the serpent had long forgotten its charms, ”Perhaps we shall, and there is no requirement for an apology, for what situation I am dragged into, it was by my choice to pursue it, my actions and that of my own.” Exchanging the nod towards the other, an amicable smile still displayed over rich cerise arches, though not understanding his dialect but replacing whatever stated with a phrase of her own parlance, ” Nu există nici o frumoasă suprafețele fără o adâncime teribil” [Translated: ”There are no beautiful surfaces without a terrible depth” the words drifting of her lips with such a regret it would sink deep into the heart of even the most resistent warrior, regardless of expertise and experience. Then replacing it with another idiom of flowing cadence, ”When the heart weeps for what it has lost, the soul rejoices for what it has found. May you travel well from the crysalis to the butterfly.”

She too had lingered long, and now it was time to bid adieu, though sure enough the word would have been far sweeter said than thought. Majestically pivotting upon heel, she left them there to explore the depths of their own fates, to flee to remain, whatever it was they desired to learn the lessons of life, or death- to shower and sate their blades with the blood of fallen foes, or the sever of bloodties. These events reminded her of her own, back to the dark cold comforts of her land, and what fate awaited her to exert will in a challenging battle of wits and virtue. Maintainging the potency of shield and barrier, the eldritch type glimmer of necrotic luminosity, reflecting those small snowflakes of ruin and disaster from entering the pores of her flesh or even gracing the mantle of her hair like glimerring tiara. Her pace was purposeful but not sudden in rapidness to abscond these shadow drenched feilds and miasma swamped valleys as she faded into the arms of another abyss. No doubt death did not hang thick in the air like a harange of melancholy, bewailing in lament of soul and mind- a macabre banquet of thoughts that hang between the past and present coiling around her lithe body like heavy chains. The cold reality of a future that doesn’t entirely belong to her sinking into an oblivion. Flashes of faith ripping from the firnament of crystal sleet and non-existence while the blazing inferno burnt the lullabies floating under the bridge of sighs. Lost in the madness of her own darkness... of this perversion, this nightmare... balancing herself on the razors edge of a sharp dream that makes her soul bleed.