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| Betrayal of Betrayers | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Oct 9 2015, 10:49 AM (44 Views) | |
| Lucian | Oct 9 2015, 10:49 AM Post #1 |
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Cadaver
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Prague Castle Rustov The stench of death was stagnantly overpowering within the gothic sub-level chamber of the castle. Most of the furniture and finery had met a destructive end, all except an oversized chair constructed of an old and rare wood, ornately decorated with various trappings significant and representative of clan Tzimisce. Within the chair sat Danislav Rustov, Voivode of Prague, and if any of his contemporaries were to see him at this moment, they would surely chuckle in silence at the coming loss of their competition. Danislav was bound to chair and floor by many rectangular, tapered silver spikes. One thru the back of each hand, one thru each forearm, one thru each shoulder, thru each thigh and thru each foot, and finally, one thru his throat into the thick backing of the chair he had once called his throne. His eyes had been sewn open so as not to miss a single detail gone to by his subduer. Hanging from knotted ropes in a circular fashion around his restrained form were the bluish-purple bloated corpses of his retainers and ghouls. Each had had their abdomens cut open allowing their entrails to spill into a bloody pile below their dangling feet. Flies and carrion feasted on the carnage. Each, likewise, had had their eyes and tongues removed, precisely arranged on a large silver platter which sat on a small table before the Voivode. The gruesome display held a macabre mocking semblance to its design. At Danislav’s feet lay the heads of three of his 4 childer. All were males who had had their penis’s cut from their bodies and shoved in their mouths. Their eyes as well had been removed so that empty blood stained eye sockets stared upwards at their former sire. The rats had gathered to gnaw away at the flesh. The last childe, as recent and prized addition to Rustov’s brood hung from bound wrists just beyond the tray of eyes and tongues, which naturally sat just beyond the heads on the floor. And beyond it all, standing on the stone steps leading up and out of the chamber, stood Lucian Dane. But beyond the precise design of the created view lay a symbolic statement, and at it’s end was the Baali, from which it all began and ended. “Danislav,” Lucian said in a voice that echoed throughout the chamber. “Danislav…you greatly disappoint me.” The Tzimisce Voivode felt the horrible chill of betrayal coursing thru what little blood remained in his veins. The nature of the spikes burned relentlessly and the wounds he could not stop from hurting, let alone heal. The trauma of his surroundings, the vile nature of his childer’s deaths, and those of his faithful retainers, these were enough to fulfill the paranoia that consumed him, but the sight of his prized possession, the young and beautiful Ivanna, just a mere fledgling, hanging before his eyes, naked and scarred from the ravages of Lucian’s minions who had had their perverse ways with her relentlessly for the last 6 nights…this threatened to devour any sense of reason he still maintained within his mind. But even moreso, Rustov’s eyes were filled with fear for his remaining childe, his pride and joy, his sole reason for existence. All else had succumbed to time and ennui yet this beauty was to carry him well into the 21st century. He was to rise above the Voivodes with this prize and stand in envy across and throughout the Carpathians. Lucian descended the steps and came to a stop just in front of Ivanna. His demented stare and the look on his face, a look that spoke in volumes of the vile limitless ends he would willingly go to with Rustov’s Ivanna were more than Danislav could contend with. He tried to scream out, but only this sickly gagging sound escaped his throat. “I entrusted you with a simple task. I gave to you that which you asked. There was no hesitation…no questioning, yet now…” Lucian said as he turned and looked up into the face of the lovely Ivanna. “There is a saying. One that you are obviously either ignorant of or of the mind to ignore,” Lucian said, turning back to face the Voivode, “To the devil his due shall be paid.” Lucian’s demeanor suddenly shifted as he walked straight towards the Tzimisce. The swipe of his hand sent the table and its contents clattering to the floor to one side. The sweep of his foot sent the heads rolling in awkward thumps across the floor. He slammed his hands down over each of Rustov’s forearms, digging his claws into his flesh; deeper and deeper with each word he spoke. His eyes radiated the vehement pits of hell within their glassy orbs. “Know this Danislav Rustov, Voivode of Prague, I will take great personal pleasure in the abuse of your remaining childe until she divulges the whereabouts of the Grimorium Verum. Her blood is of yours, and through it I shall find my property.” Lucian turned away from the Tzimisce and climbed the steps leading out of the chamber. At the top awaited one of his own servants. “The sun will be up soon. Collect the girl and make sure our host has a front row seat.” “Yes my lord,” the servant answered. Lucian’s minions soon had Rustov’s childe down and packed within a sealed crate. The crate was taken to a waiting carriage outside. As for Rustov, they simply cut off his feet at the ankles and carried the chair to the upper reaches of the castle, setting it before an opened window facing to the east. Within an hour, Lucian, his cargo and minions were hurrying thru the cobblestone streets of Prague, making for the train station. Behind them, they left the Voivode to contemplate his sorrow one last final time. As the sun began to rise, Lucian lay in his own protective compartment, closely guarded by his devout followers. A smile crossed his face as he drifted into his daytime slumber at the thought of how the sun’s first rays would find the Voivodes legs, working slowly upwards as the searing agonizing pain of final death burned away the Tzimisce from the face of the earth. |
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| Lucian | Oct 9 2015, 10:52 AM Post #2 |
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Cadaver
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Northern shores of Spain A small village along the northern shores, whose name remains only with those who inhabit the handful of buildings, settles in for the evening as the sun descends along the horizon. For these people, centuries have marked their existence, living off the land and sea, never enthralled by the modernization of the world around them. Generation followed generation in a tradition dating back to an age much darker than these. With the exception of electricity and running water, little else had changed this small community. Darkness swallowed the village with only the glow of a light here or fire there, seeping from closed shutters. There were no streetlights, no vehicles or pedestrians moving about. Here, the sun ruled life and darkness was left to those things better left to such. Lucian and his four Dhabi quietly made their way to the skiff that awaited them along the shoreline. The skiff’s oarsman stood silent as they approached and boarded the boat. Lucian sat in the middle of the middle seat and the four Dhabi cornered boxed his position with their own. The Dhabi were a revenant ghoul line bred by the Baali, not unlike the ghoul families of other clans. The four in attendance of the master were bodyguards. Mercenaries trained to the height of their skills, who knew their role and the sacrifice that role would exact if need be. Their eyes always watched, their ears always listening, their senses always in tune with their surroundings. Their charge this night and this journey was no ordinary master. The oarsman cast off the rope that held the skiff and began guiding the boat out into the dark waters. Whether by nature, natural or otherwise, or some unseen force, the waters on which they sailed were near glass like in calmness. None spoke, as their journey would take them exactly two nautical miles north northwest, to a point where another vessel would retrieve the travelers and carry them to their destination. The oarsman raised his oars, letting the boat glide to a halt, ever so gently rolling on the waves beneath and around them. Lucian stared ahead, into the darkness until he saw the first traces of fog rolling in towards them. It came like a silent death, growing in volume and mass, tentacles stretching out ahead of the main body, consuming the air in its path. Within minutes, the small boat was shrouded in a heavy fog, and still no one spoke. Then, the subtle sound of water being cut through came to their ears and the domineering prow of the Dark Magister came into view. The ship came to a stop at mid ship to the small boat. A netted rope ladder fell along the ship’s side and the Baali and his entourage climbed aboard and were received by the Dark Magister’s captain. “Al-Shaitan,” he said in a coarse voice. “It is an honor to be of service.” |
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| Lucian | Oct 9 2015, 10:52 AM Post #3 |
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Cadaver
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The Dark Magister was a vessel dating back to the 1400’s with a bloody and heinous history stretching for as long. The captain, a Lasombra, was only the ship’s 3rd captain and had held the position for over 300 years. The crew was made of a mixture of vampires and ghouls, all pledged to the loyalty of the infernal ranks. The ship never docked except for on moonless nights. Wherever the ship came to rest, it was a certain that upon the following dawn, more than one complaint of a missing person would find the constable’s attention. The Dark Magister have evaded capture all but once, and on that fateful night, had any of those boarding the ship had a chance to do things different, they would never have began their pursuit of the infernal sea demon. Tonight, the Dark Magister made its most important voyage. In the aft of the ship, a special compartment had been constructed. A chamber stretching the width of the vessel and just as long played home to those passengers who saw fit or need to use it purposes. Adorning the center of this chamber was an organ pit, eight feet deep and with a circumference of just over twenty feet. A sealed cover kept the contents relatively unspoiled during times of non-use. Within the chamber as well were volumes of tomes and books sacred to the dark arts and infernal beliefs. There were several specially constructed racks and implements of torture as well, all meant to serve the needs of their special cargo. It was here that Lucian made his way and upon entering, found five very interesting guests awaiting him. Lucian turned and looked to the Magister’s captain. “We thought you might enjoy a few special guests for the voyage my lord,” the captain said with a rye smile. “They are all members of the clergy,” he whispered. Lucian’s brow lifted with interest while staring at their naked bodies. Each was affixed to a wooden cross, which leaned inward over the organ pit, allowing each a close intimacy with the nauseous odor that rose from beneath. Blindfolds kept them from seeing the truth, and as such, each was left to reflect upon their situation in their own manner. Two priests, two nuns and an alter boy had all taken several turns at regurgitating, emptying their stomachs into the pit, until only the non-productive strains and pains of dry heaves were left. The two priests showed signs of being put to the lash and Lucian questioned the captain on the reasoning. “We grew tired of listening to their quibbling cries to their God. It didn’t take much to convince them to kept their whimperings silent,” the captain replied. “How long until we reach our destination?” Lucian asked. “Without storms, two weeks my lord,” the captain answered. “Very well. I have many preparations to make. We shall speak in more detail upon my summons to you,” the Baali stated, entering deeper into the chamber. “Yes my lord. Any need you have we will make available,” was the captains bidding reply. He stepped out and closed the door, leaving the Al-Shaitan to his desires. |
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6:54 PM Jul 10