????
Alavaris, city off the dead.

---

“Oh maiden of Blood…” A womans voice echoed through the streets. The wails of the undead briefly silenced from the soothing hymn as it echoed across the darkened city. From within the rundown buildings, claustrophobic alleyways one could almost hear a choir of people joining the voice in chant.

“You give us succor…” Footsteps amidst the darkness as a single flame was lit, guiding the singer through the cowering undead.

“We are forsaken…” The woman, continued her prayer, steps slowly descending from the street into the squalid excuse of a slum below. The insects and beasts driven to insanity by the maddening darkness bothered her not, the light from the torch causing them to flee as she continued on her way. A bloody sack trailed behind her as she walked. “Unheard by the serpent…”

“Oh, maiden of red…” The prayer continued, traveling from the grimy underside of the city towards the barely illuminated cathedral. The choir had become louder now, following in time and in line behind her as more of the undead joined the prayer.

“We give ourselves to thee…” Faster the steps traveled as the prayer continued, the chant only briefly interrupted by breaths of exertion as the woman started to run.

“Oh maiden of violet,” The doors to the cathedral were shoved open, the figure making it just inside as the choir of voices muffled, none daring to enter the darkened cathedral yet still, they sang.

“You give us purpose…”

“Rise, rise. Rise those given succor…” Before a statue of Ichor did she fall to her knees, hands clasped in prayer as the ghostly choir would join hers. “The serpent laments…” A knife was pulled from her robes as she’d lay it on the altar.

“Farewell, farewell…” She’d heft the sack onto the altar, hoisting it onto the surface with some difficulty as she’d pull the object within out. It beat slowly, rhythmically as she’d raise the knife over it. “The serpent bids farewell to thee, forsaken… ”

“Rise, those given succor…” As she reached the end of the chant, she would plunge the knife into the still-beating heart. “Rise from the blood of the Serpent…and be granted succor once more…”

And so, her body would fall limp over the altar, blood from the heart slowly dripping off the altar, seeping into the ground below…

---

Location: Alavaris
Ancient Garden
@Pyromania99@VitaVitaAR@Click This

---

All at once, your existence came back into being.

Ripped from whatever afterlife that had awaited the undead in this cold, lightless world your senses would suddenly snap back into reality as though you had been in a long, deep slumber. Each of you were laying in a rather lovely sarcophagus it felt like. The interior was crafted of the finest materials and the stone which had made it expertly carved. It would be a simple matter for any of you to pry open the lid, rising from your slumber and observing the world around you.

You were in a garden. Well, what was once a garden. The plants had long since withered, the branches from the tree withered and decayed, only a scant few leaves upon the ancient leaves indicated any form of life from the plant. Old stone paths led out of the garden, towards what looked like a main road. The place you had woken from seemed to have once been a rather luxurious looking bed of violet flowers that were growing into and around the sarcophagus you had woken from.

The garden itself was entirely walled off, a number of buildings and other structures surrounding it and preventing normal exit by all but the main gate which seemed to lead into a main road of sorts.

In fact, this place seemed familiar. Following the skyline, at least what remained of it, up one could see a familiar sight - the Alavaris cathedral, looming over the city some distance to the north. One could easily see light from within the place, indicating some life of some sort there. Your memories were hazy, but you’d vaguely remember a sweet, lovely red voice telling you to go there. Even for those who had never heard it before it was an almost instinctual understanding of who that voice had belonged too.

Ichor, was telling you to go to the Cathedral.

You were also…so very, very hungry, yet not a single drink to be had from the looks of things. All you could hear was the occasional groaning from a nearby undead just outside of the garden. You weren’t alone either. In fact, there were two others here you’d instantly recognize.

Location: Alavaris
Squalid Ruins
@Psyker Landshark@Asuras@Erode

---

All at once, your existence came back into being.

Ripped from whatever afterlife that had awaited the undead in this cold, lightless world your senses would suddenly snap back into reality as though you had been in a long, deep slumber. Each of you were laying in a rather lovely sarcophagus it felt like. The interior was crafted of the finest materials and the stone which had made it expertly carved. It would be a simple matter for any of you to pry open the lid, rising from your slumber and observing the world around you.

It was not a pleasant looking place.

Dirty, muddy water would welcome your feet as you hoisted yourself out of your sarcophagus. If not for the bed of violet flowers enreathing your tomb, this would be quite a pitiful looking place. You were at the end of a narrow street, old buildings to your right, and to your left a balcony that overlooked the rest of the squalid looking slums. It seemed much of the refuse and dirt had drained here at the end of the street.

Looking outwards down the balcony, you’d see ancient houses sunk slightly into the ground, as though they had simply become one with it leaving only the once second floor accessible. The only building that seemed entirely intact was at the far end of what was likely once a street, standing above every other pitiful building was a three story manor of some sort…but it was quite a long ways down, and something called for you to go elsewhere.

Looking to the west, though, one could see the familiar landmark of the Alavaris Cathedral. A place you were familiar with, and meant you were in the former city of the Undead. This at once, had been a poorer section of town, but it had certainly fallen quite a bit.

Your memories were otherwise hazy, but you’d vaguely remember a sweet, lovely red voice telling you to go there. Even for those who had never heard it before it was an almost instinctual understanding of who that voice had belonged too.

Ichor, was telling you to go to the Cathedral. To get to the cathedral though, was a simple enough matter. Follow the road as it’d curve upwards towards the Cathedral ward.

The buzzing of insects and the howls of creatures though, meant that might not be so simple in effect. At least you might have some blood to sate this thirst of yours for a time if one didn’t mind dining on a beast.

If only... Brigitte...

It had been her last thought before the end.

A hope, a desire, that if she had to die, then perhaps there was some way.

How many times had her body been pierced? It was practically inconceivably she was still moving. So small, so frail, and yet she was on her feet.

The flesh of her arm split, ruptured blood vessels spraying red. Her internal organs were breaking down. She'd pushed herself harder then she ever had before.

Harder then she ever should have.

And yet, she smirked.

Very well. If they were to kill the Rime-Winged Vermilion Angel, she would show them exactly where their dedication ended. The destination at the end of their journey of zeal.

She stood in a field of frozen dead, forever locked away.

This cold place was her graveyard. The final spot she could recall anything before all faded to darkness.

If only...

And yet Aleksiya Ravennart found her eyes open.

It was strange. She certainly recalled her death, even if, obviously, she didn't remember dying per say. She remembered her entire body falling apart, the field of ice and dead she had created.

And yet now, here she was.

At least if she was going to awaken within a sarcophagus, it seemed to be one that befit her status.

She raised one hand to push at the lid.

Her thin, pale arm was entirely unblemished, not a single sign of her death. Certainly, she didn't expect scars, but given the state of her body on death, it was almost strange to see it fully intact once again.

Raising her other arm, she pushed the sarcophagus lid up and to the side.

"... How dismal."

Perhaps she should have been more grateful to be alive(or rather undead) once again. But the small vampire's thoughts, incohesive as they were, found themselves resting on the deplorable state of the garden. What a shame. It had been lovely, once, but now it was withered and decayed. It would have been far nicer to awaken in more upbeat surroundings.

Awaken.

She placed a hand to her chest, running it all over her body.

As her thoughts steadily cleared, Aleksiya's grasp of her situation began to solidify. She was well and truly undead once more. She could move. She could think.

And the yawning pit in her stomach indicated she could most certainly feel hunger.

Her entire body felt stiff, tightened up. Just as if she awakened from a long nap in an awkward place, the childish vampire stretched her arms, trying to ward off the stiffness. Indeed, she could feel the tenseness almost immediately dissipate.

A dismal location, to be certain. But she could see the familiar silhouette of a familiar place in the distance.

The vampire hopped to her feet, brushing herself off as she did.

"Ah, after such a long nap, I was hoping there would be breakfast," she complained, jokingly, to herself. Though to be truthful, her lament wasn't entirely a joke. She could feel the hunger eating away at her, no matter her composure.

Aleksiya stepped out of her coffin, running her fingers through her silken hair as she adjusted her clothing. They'd even preserved her favorite dress? She was certainly pleased by that. It was far better then the alternative.

That crimson voice that leaked into her thoughts could only be one person. Or rather, one goddess.

Ichor's call, to guide her to the Alvaris Cathedral. Hopefully, she could address her hunger on the way. She was not eager to lose her composure by failing to feed quickly enough.

Ah, but she wasn't alone, was she?

@Rune_Alchemist@Pyromania99@Click This

The Last Age

The lord of this land fell to one knee, his mace clattering from his hands as battle wounds, silver, and holy smites took their toll upon his ravaged form and rent armor. Numerous paladins surrounded him in his throne room, each mightier than he had been in his mortal life.

"It is over, Death Knight." One particularly mouthy champion uttered from within his bucket helm. "The shame you bring upon your church, upon your brothers, upon my order, shall be ended at last."

Ah. That explained it. They'd been pledged to the same deity at some point in time. Separated by centuries, of course, but the sentiment apparently still stood. Self-righteous fools.

"Allow me to extend my congratulations, brothers and sisters." Dragan chuckled mockingly, ripping his helm off his head. It wasn't as if he had any need for it anymore. Not with his unlife fast approaching its end. "In slaying me, you have doomed the people of this land. In assauging your precious egos and pride, you have stripped away any bastion of safety and security that any person within this kingdom could have had. After I butchered their mad tyrant of a king, this is the first time that this realm has seen stability and peace within decades. And you've all just stripped it away. No armies defending their borders. My presence stayed the hand of vampires that would have been worse than myself eyeing this territory."

A bitter, rasping laugh escaped his lips even as his vision blurred.

"But by all means, crusade onward. Leave the shattered lives of an entire kingdom behind. You've more creatures of the night to slay, after all..." Dragan spoke his last, the final dregs of his strength expended as his body succumbed, collapsing.

___

Present Day

Dragan rose, and was given succor. An unfamiliar setting greeted him, and he frowned from...beneath his helm? A quick inspection of his body revealed that he was still wearing his armor, damaged as it was from his final battle. How odd. He could have sworn that he'd at least died without his helmet on. Still, while the plate was servicable in its current state, it was far from acceptable. That would have to be fixed after he got a handle on his surroundings and dealt with the thirst creeping up within him.

He was in...the middle of a city slum? This certainly wasn't where he'd died. Someone had moved his body. Their bodies, judging by the forms of the occupants of the other two sarcophagi rising from their torpor as well. And yet...ah. A familiar sight at last. The Cathedral. They were in Alavaris, then. Safe ground, at least in theory.

The Death Knight removed his helm as he beheld his two compatriots, tucking it under his shoulder. Well, well. He was at least familiar with the other two. The love martyr, and the shadow witch. Dragan certainly could have had better companions at the moment. Still, he could also have had worse. After all, neither were the Blight Lord, though that was certainly an admittedly low bar.

With no one else saying anything for the moment, it fell to him to break the ice.

"Well met, the both of you. Our goddess has given us a call to answer. Shall we oblige her?"

Undead Princess, de Farry

---

Her eyes opened to an unfamiliar ceiling.

However long her slumber might have been, the fall to her was just yesterday.

Just yesterday that she had failed her most sacred duty as a sovereign, to that of her people—to protect and lead them in their time of need. Just yesterday were those darkest days, in which every safeguard, carefully cultivated and shepherded over countless centuries, came crumbling to an end as the men of the hundred paladins finally came thundering through the mountain passes, the rivers, the fields, the trenches, and finally, the city walls.

For all of her overtures of peace, to gain an understanding, to bridge the gap to a… careful coexistence, with a deft blow, they had shattered what she had so carefully built.

In doing so, in their ignorance, they had doomed the last sliver of land untouched by war and the blight of a dying age.

By not stopping them, she had damned the people of her land, humans, vampires —her friends-- to a shattered, pitiful end.

She had made a last, futile stand in the field. As a vampire and a great lord, she would not debase herself to selfishly await death in a throne room, long after her loyal subjects had expended themselves in her name. No; they had come for her, for who she was, perhaps what she represented, but not, perchance, her cause.

It was a fight she gave, and if her end gave her enemies a reason to spare who remained, or to even allow them to escape, then all the better to die with a sword in her hand.

Yet the bitter regret of failure remained. It could have all turned out so differently.

Giselle de Farry had died, along with those that she had failed to protect. Yet now, she existed once more, within this elegant, but poor substitute for a proper bed. Why, then, had her goddess deigned to grace her with undeath once more?

She remained still for some time, staring up at the carved lid above her long after she had awakened, a single teardrop falling from her eyes and down the pale skin of her face.

It was only then that she rose, somberly, lifting the sarcophagus lid aside so that she could figure out where she was.

Devoid of light, and ruined as it was, she was in some manner of courtyard garden. She could tell, once upon a time, that it had been a grand and beautiful one, a fitting sepulcher for a vampire lord –or lords, for who else could lie in tombs as elaborate as her own had been?—to lie in state. That this place existed at all, with those dying, awful days, was a complete mystery to her. By the very end, there was precious little to give respect to the lords of the undead, let alone their desecrated remains in the aftermath of the paladins.

Yet, as she examined herself, running her fingers over the cold, pale, and unblemished skin that she knew from unlife, it was clear that this was not the broken body that she had left in her last hour. Even her favorite dress, woven by her own hands, remained untouched, something surprising but welcome, considering such artifacts would likely have been put to the torch after her death. Would it be that the same could be said for her maids and loyal friends…

It was obvious that some manner of sorcery had happened, but the magnitude and manner of it, she could not yet fathom.

Standing up, she took in the rest of her environment. A dead city greeted her, emphasized by the lightless world that she found herself in. How much time had passed? Yet this place remained familiar. She was in Alavaris, with its cathedral in its rightful place in the northern skyline. She even remembered a familiar voice as she gazed upon it, though she frowned as the vague feeling coalesced enough that she could recall the curt form of address that she had been given in that memory. She had to make a wry smile at that. She gave her goddess her due respects, but they hadn’t always seen eye to eye philosophically.

Giselle replaced the lid where it belonged, before taking a seat atop her sarcophagus. Hungry and melancholic as she was, she was not alone, after all, as she watched the nearby lids of her counterparts open.

It seemed her counterparts for this lovely evening was to be a certain annoying cleric, and the Rime-winged Angel. Unfortunate, perhaps, especially given the presence of the former, as she had wished to be alone with her thoughts for longer, but she was glad all the same to see former allies and compatriots in this new undeath.

“Greetings, and good morning. It seems we have been summoned once more, for better or for worse.”

Another night...

The reflections of the moon had long been dimmed. Ripples of white upon a wide lake before Luna were naught but faded, thin veils now. In the scant light, auras of blue and violet emanating from mystic flowers illuminated a path that lead up to the very edge of the lake. She took one step. A second. A third. Slow, heavy, and shaking. Each step left behind a print of blood where the soles of her feet pressed into cold stone. A thin, frail arm was lifted aside, beckoning to an unseen audience in the waters she approached. The other arm held tightly to a blade thrust clean through her body.

She was defeated, but now alone, for naught but true dead lay nearby.

The corpses of knights rested in the garden, their gleaming plate armor reflecting flowers' glow. Each petal lightly kissed at their forms with the wind, gently guiding them to eternal sleep. Their rest was reward for completing their duty: Luna Emeraltide, Vampire Siren, was run through with a half-dozen weapons, and left to slowly die; truly and finally this time.

Luna lived only to love life, even in an undeath, and yet now was robbed of it by fearful fools and tyrants. What was it that had earned her this spite? A spurned advance? A misconception of her intentions? Mere prejudice? The paladins could not answer her, now bereft of air in their lungs to speak. The keep from which they rode, wherever it originate, was too far to travel to now that she held only minutes more of life. Luna cursed this state of the world. The pallor in the moon, her namesake. The darkness in mortal hearts. The silence of the divine. Beauty was turning to dust at every corner.

The lake before her was to be the last vestige of goodness in her unlife. Luna sang to the skies, to the waters -to the tiny beasts of the night who scurried within the gardens.

"♩ He longs for his green fields. His feathered bed.
He longs for his lover's voice. Now hears the dead. ♩"

She neared the water's edge, and began to step into the lake. Her legs sank below, and then her body, dispersing unending blood into the inky blackness. Her hair, which trailed at length beyond her heels, spread across the surface of the waters.

"♩ Battle cares not for wishes. It sees but red.
Turn now to your own lands- ♩"

...

"My vision..." Luna croaked to herself. "I am tired." Luna swayed in the water, now chest-deep in barely-shimmering darkness. Her eyes fluttered, struggling to keep open. "Atmeria... I had left you long ago, but now I return to you in final moments. I can say naught but... Goodbye..."

The vampire's light left her eyes, and lids closed upon blood-red irises. Luna's body fell to the side in the lake with little else than a gentle rippling of the waters.

---

Below the lake... No, it was not cold. This was a different sort of darkness. Luna's eyes opened to a lightless interior, and slowly became aware of the satin cloth that lined the cloistered walls around her. Her fingers extended, touching its surface lightly. She was in a coffin -an ornate one. It was certainly not her own, and she was quite dry. Someone... or something, had spirited her from her watery grave. But had she truly died, or something else? Luna pushed the lid aside, and sat up in the sarcophagus, looking about.

Alavaris. It was effortless to recall the place she awoke in now, dilapidated as it was. Luna stepped outside and felt the moisture of stagnant puddles splash upon her feet. As a once-cleric of Atmeria, she nary had to look down to intrinsically know that it was quite unclean. Two others were with her, she had similarly quickly realized: other vampires.

Luna stepped away from her coffin, eyes turned to the cathedral. Her hands clasped in prayer before her as she strode lightly forward.

"To awaken here, her voice crystalline in our minds... Yes. There is no question of our path forward," Luna replied to Dragan, each word of hers steeped in melody. She looked to Dragan and Illena with a pleasant smile. "Though we've not had each other's company much, I am glad to see your faces once more."

Where was the blood, to grant her her mind?

Where was the shadow, to grant her her flesh?

Where was the goddess, to grant her her succour?

Nowhere. Nowhere. Nowhere.

Her ichor leaked freely from her gargantuan body, a hundred maws heaving with bloody spittle as the air itself was replaced by the searing of her flesh. Whatever sorceries she wove could not compare to the sacrifices of the Silver Saints in invoking the presence of their God, and the purified metal that this mountain had become bore down on her with the weight of a meteor forever in descent. Crushing, pulverizing, offering no respite. Long gone was any thought of escape, any strategy to deliver her from her end, the monster reverting to infantile memories as the demons that sustained her thoughts blinked out one by one, contracts revoked before the brilliance of that mercurial flame.

So she crawled, like a beast. Shadows sloughing off, a snake molting with no hope of renewal. Deeper and deeper, seeking the blood of mortals to stave off agony. Praying, that within dark depths, she could outrace the silver veins. But the hundred maws screamed for a hunger unsated, and the hundred limbs were scorched, reduced to miserable stubs. In caverns, her lament became a newborn’s wail, clawing at its mother’s womb.

But the womb was a prison. And the mother had expired.

…

How long had it been, since shadow was shadow?

Within the embrace of the sarcophagus, Ilena struggled, naught more than a palm-sized bundle of flesh and bone. Memories bloated within her undeveloped brain, and she pulled at thoughts as if they were clouds, pudgy hands opening and closing onto skyborne dew. She remembered her death, and she remembered her life, but most importantly, she remembered her Goddess. Of Vermin and of Blood, the Patron of the Sanguine Cohort. Was this how her prayers had been answered, the last utterances she made before she devolved into a wretched abomination?

What did it matter.

Thoughts became strings, teasing at the material around her, pulling in the darkness that hid her pathetic form. Contracts were re-established, eldritch beings of wit and intellect pulled out from the aether to fill her mind once more. And from a shadow as viscous as mud, she forged her body anew.

And yet, there was resistance there. Limitations unnatural and unbecoming. The child frowned, feeling the putrid blood of her veins struggle, the might of her spirit wane. It was lacking. Her resurrection, by means unknown, had not restored the entirety of her capability, the arcane might she had forged to make up for the weakness of her natural flesh. To push further than this current state would be to gradually exhaust her vigour. So this undeveloped form then, would be what she would have to settle with.

Disappointing. But the Goddess’s will must be done, no matter the current state of her capabilities. So the remnants of shadow wove itself around her vernal form, devoid yet of the monstrosities that once dwelled within, and Ilena pulled herself out of the sarcophagus slowly, testing still the new range of her body.

The two that awaited her was the Death Knight, Dragan Meszaros, the Deathraising Conqueror and the Stain of the Paladins. His visage was noble despite his barbaric armor, though Ilena herself had no right to judge barbarism, especially when that songstress was there to put both of them to shame. Even freshly resurrected, weakened, perhaps, like the rest of them, the charisma of Luna Emeraltide clung as thickly to her as honey would leak from a smashed hive. And as a being of artifice herself, forged once by the buzzing flesh of craven insectoids, Ilena too could recall a time where she was fascinated by this woman.

The memories of her youth disgusted her now, even if her current form was many ‘years’ more immature than when she had ever truly encountered them.

“It appears the Goddess does provide,” Ilena remarked, her gaze turning towards the cries of pests and vermin. “And so, it will do well to oblige indeed. But as for our lesser kin on the path to Her cathedral, will you two slake your thirst or await finer meals?”

The Garden. Akyasha's little public place to show off her collected Blood Lilies. It was saddening to see such a wonderful place being used as a gallery of fire. The battle that was currently taking place mattered little. The summoned creatures of Ichor battling Paladins weighed only slightly on her mind as Akyasha watched all of her precious Blood Lilies burn. She frowned as she turned to see a small swarm of Gore Bats harrassing one of the Paladins. Thirsting Sisters and Savage Priests savaging a corpse... The fighting was intense but the end result is what mattered and without said Blood Lilies, the result was clear in the vampire's mind. Akyasha was impaled, battered and broken. And still, the Cleric of Ichor had the will to spit in the face of her murderers, cursing them in the goddess' name.

It didn't take much longer for the fire to engulf her. Her existence had come to an end. Or, so it should have been.

Now... The Cleric had found herself inside... A box? Rather... She felt fairly weak as if she had slept for many years too many but more importantly something familiar had awakened her. A voice. A wonderful, beautiful voice. One that she had dedicated the near entirety of her undeath to. "Goddess!" Akyasha exclaimed from her confines. "Goddess! To the Cathedral!?" With a good hard kick, Akyasha launched the lid of the sarcophagus off of on top of her and it sailed through the air for a few seconds before loudly and rudely hitting the ground with clatter. The Blood Lily Cleric hopped out of the sarcophagus and looked around to catch her bearings. "A... Garden... Or was." No, this wasn't hers.

The frantic look on her face changed to hope when she turned and saw the cathedral. It was probably her favorite place on this world, after all, though, she wondered what had happened. This place didn't seem to be in the shape she would expect it to be, though, perhaps that would be expected. If she had fallen, what of everyone else? If there was no one to take care of things, of course they would fall apart in disrepair and lose the beauty they once had. Regardless, the Goddess' voice echoed in her ear. The Cathedral. She took a breath and paid attention to the things at a more grounded level. Specifically, the two other vampires that had also been in the vicinity.

The cleric's face warmly converted to a friendly smile. "The Goddess is quite merciful, is she not? Aleksiya? Giselle?" Everyone else in the past had been somewhat evasive of her for some reason or another but how could she not remember her fellow vampires? Akyasha moved in closer to the two an put an arm around each, bringing the two in for a hug. "How glad I am to see some of my sisters after reawakening." She brought the two in close to her with a tight squeeze before releasing the two. "You two have heard the Goddess' voice as well, I hope?" The cleric said, doing her best to remove a somewhat melancholic look from her face. "Shall we away to her command? I for one would wish to check on the state of it... What with those lights... Are they friend? Foe? Or, perhaps, feast?" Akyasha mentioned, licking her lips, her hunger speaking of it's own accord on what it had emphasized more than the other options.

Location: Alavaris
Ancient Garden
@Pyromania99@VitaVitaAR@Click This

---

As Akyasha made the mistake of earning Aleksiya’s likely annoyance from a simple hug, the trio would be interrupted by a horrible, ghastly shriek from somewhere to the south, towards what was supposedly the city's main gate. It was loud enough to temporarily deafen, and immediately following it the other undead in the area would too, shriek, filling the air with the wails of the undead before they’d quietly fall off into the darkness.

Whatever it was, did not seem friendly from that alone.

It also seemed to rile up the undead in the area. Several skeletal piles of bones would shamble towards the entrance of the garden, though they didn’t seem to immediately concern themselves with the vampires, but they were likely hostile as uncontrolled undead, without a master or lord to give them purpose. Lacking intelligence or sapience too. It’d be a mercy to put their souls to rest, really.

Location: Alavaris
Squalid Ruins
@Psyker Landshark@Asuras@Erode

---

As the three recently resurrected vampires stood in the sorry excuse for a city street, the occasional howl of a beast or buzzing of insects would shortly be interrupted by a loud, somewhat familiar sound echoing across the ancient city walls. A sound that perhaps, was familiar to some of them more than others. A sound Illena would certainly found familiar, as her ‘father’ favored that sort of weapon.

Gunfire.

A single shot, silencing the cries and buzzing briefly as the vampires, were they so inclined to look below they would notice that perhaps, they were not the only beings currently in the city. Far below, further within the slums that the balcony was overlooking, the three would see a fire light up within the darkness casting long, black shadows against the nearby buildings. They were too far away to really get a good look at the person in question, but they were moving at a fairly quick pace and the only identifiable feature was the torch they were carrying.

Judging from the way the direction hey were heading towards that Manor and soon they’d disappear into one of the half sunken buildings, perhaps, to take some cover from the sudden noise the gunfire brought.

A curious happening…but perhaps not too important right now. You had other places to be, after all. The still lit braziers of the cathedral called to you in the distance and it seemed that the gunfire had indeed alerted some of the cities current residents. Not far up the path, where the road opened up just a bit more the vampires could see what seemed to be a ragged looking humanoid, shuffling across the street. Wounds crossed its body, small bits of…fur? Growing out of them. It looked like some sort of…zombie, but smelled heavily of rotten blood, like what might happen to a vampire if they go too long without feeding or one that had been marked for death by Ichor.

Nothing more than a beast to be slaughtered, really.

Moments before greeting Giselle in kind, Aleksiya was quite dismayed by the sudden embrace of a certain overly-zealous cleric.

How irritating.

Perhaps hate was far too strong a word, and Aleksiya did truly believe in Ichor, but the fanaticism displayed by Akyasha had always rubbed her the wrong way. That, and her lack of concern for personal boundaries. In spite of the situation, the diminutive vampire felt there was absolutely no reason to tolerate this invasion of her space.

Small hands latching onto to Akyasha's arms, she irritably pushed them away and took a step back at the same time.

"The fact we have returned to undeath is no reason to ignore personal boundaries," she complained with a huff, running fingers through her silvery hair, shimmering strands drifting into the air, "So refrain from invading mine, thank you very much."

And that was that.

Clearing her throat, a smirk crossing her lips as she had a moment to introduce herself, Aleksiya curtsied, bowing her head slightly.

"As it has been far too long, allow me to reintroduce myself. I am Aleskiya Ravenn-"

Her greeting was interrupted again, this time by the screech of some sort of terrible beast or undead. It was promptly followed by the cacophony of even more undead, screaming their withered lungs out into the night.

"How dreadful," commented Aleksiya, crimson eyes narrowing, "I won't abide-"

Pausing for a moment, the small girl placed her hand at her side.

Nothing was there. For a brief moment, panic clutched at her heart like a fist(though she did her best not to show it), aand she immediately turned back towards the coffin she had departed from and quickly looked inside.

Nothing.

Aleksiya's small hands clutched, curling into fists, but she showed not a single sign of her frustration when she straightened. Instead, she chose to resume her reintroduction as if nothing had happened.

"Now, where were we... Ah, yes, I am Aleksiya Revannart, the Ice Princess."

She curtsied again.

"I believe it's for the best if we depart, unless you want to languish in this dismal grave much longer rather then discovering what's going on," she added, her smirk having returned.

Now she could leave, and find her precious belonging as soon as possible.

Even if there were those mindless skeletons in the way.

Aleksiya turned towards the gate and began to approach, with little care for the undead that lay ahead.

They were no threat to the Rime-Winged Vermilion Angel. Even in her current state, her body feeling weakened, her hunger impossible to fully ignore, she had no doubts.

The first of the skeletons turned to face her, jaw hanging open as it lurched towards her, one arm raised.

"Out of my way."

Her pale arm flashed, and she felt it briefly come into contact with something firm. At least, until the object broke apart, crumbling under the impact of the back of her hand.

The skeleton flew apart as it was lifted into the air, Aleskiya's backhand having shattered the side of its skull.

@Rune_Alchemist@Pyromania99@Click This

Undead Princess, de Farry

---

Sitting cross-legged atop her sarcophagus, Giselle’s left eye imperceptibly twitched as she watched a nearby lid launch itself into space, before coming back down with an almighty crash. She frowned in displeasure at the interruption, lamenting once more the company that she was forced to keep on the day of her resurrection. It didn’t quite help that she was still ambivalent about being brought back to unlife.

Although in normal circumstances she was not too against receiving hugs and skinship from her trusted friends and certain acquaintances, in this moment of time, it took almost all her willpower to not scowl at the overenthusiastic vampire cleric as she was embraced. “Akyasha. Perhaps,” she allowed, speaking curtly, before responding with more warmth to the younger looking of the two vampire lords that she had awoken with.

Hopping up from her seat on her would-be sepulcher, she smoothed and fixed the hem of her black dress, teasing a thin strip of bare skin where her thigh highs met.

“From my perspective, it has only been some weeks or months since we’ve last corresponded, no matter the real gulf in time, Aleksiya. Though, from princess to princess—"

This time, she genuinely scowled, even as she spoke through the dreadful screeching that broke the dead peace of the garden. Giselle had wanted some more time to truly get her bearings, but it seemed even her fellow undead would not give her the proper peace and solitude for such a thing.

“I believe we can save any formalities we wish to pursue for later. As much as I wish to wallow in despair of my own loss, perhaps I would also be better served doing so elsewhere,” she dryly agreed, nodding at the smaller vampire. She was at least somewhat curious to see what awaited them at the cathedral, after all.

Glancing towards the gate where hordes of mindless, feral undead creatures were beginning to gather, she probed herself, searching within her for her power reserves. With the hunger she felt, Giselle found herself wanting, very much so. Nonetheless, she reached out to the side as she materialized a blood-red lance to fall into her grip. Despite her unrivaled efficiency in blood magic, she felt the toll on her recently awakened body. Strained as is, she didn’t dare attempt to transmutate the blood weapon into something less fleeting and more metallic, lest she needed the blood before she was able to feed on something in this cursed world.

“Well, girls, let’s clear the rabble, shall we?”

Spinning her polearm in her hands, she stepped out to join her counterpart at the gate. This city had really gone to the dumps in the intervening centuries, if somebody was letting unshackled hordes of skeletons and goddess knows what else roaming about. Perhaps it needed some personal reorganizing.

Advancing with a sweep of her lance, she smashed into a small group of shambling undead, the force of the blow tearing through their bodies and sending their bones clattering against the nearby stonework.

A somewhat familiar sound clattered through Dragan's ears after he returned his fellows' greetings, with him taking but a moment to recognize what it was. Firearms. He wasn't exactly unfamiliar with them, but they'd not factored into his tactics much. The kingdom he'd conquered had made use of a few, but they hadn't been enough to turn the tide against his undead hordes. Still, that meant the city was populated. Not much of a safe haven as it once was, but it was something, at least.

"I believe it would be best for us to recover our strength, even if we must resort to beasts over man for the moment. We can hardly serve the Goddess fresh out of torpor, weakened as we are." Dragan replied to Ilena, deciding on pragmatism over taste. He could already tell that his abilities were heavily diminished from what they were. In his current state, Dragan doubted he could raise more than a dozen undead in an instant, where once he'd be able to reanimate several times that number.

Unfortunately, the being that appeared before them was hardly a viable candidate for being fed from, even with his lowered standards. For one, it was a fellow vampire. The smell of rotten blood at least meant that this wretch could be slain without issue, whether it be from degenerating into a lowly beast or having incurred the Goddess's disfavor. Or, quite possibly, both.

"Pitiful. I'll dispose of this one, and we can be on our way." Dragan sniffed down at the undead, forming a crimson rapier with blood magic to clutch in his hand. Not his preferred choice of armament, but a smaller weapon meant less blood used, and he needed to save as much as he could at the moment. He lunged forward, intending on staking the lesser undead through the chest.

Akyasha took a few steps back from the seemingly irritated Aleksiya and Giselle. "My, such thorny roses." She complained a small bit. Perhaps time had made her forget this rather thorny side of her fellow Children of Ichor. Then, there was that awful screaching. How vexing was that noise? Really now, whatever made that noise could be nothing good. The only good screech was from something she had summoned at one time.

Still, she couldn't help but feel the other two vampires were looking down on her a small bit. Perhaps she was just a small bit irritable from just having woke up. Perhaps it from the hunger instead but the feeling irked on her a little. Really, such thoughts made her not feel quite like herself and she prayed in her heart to Ichor that this was just a temporary negativity inside her. Really, just because she was happy to see the both of them and gave them a hug it didn't mean that they had to be so negative about it.

With a small sigh, she looked on to the horde of skeletons shambling at them. She really didn't feel like using Blood Magic to create a weapon since that would just make her hungry so she just looked around for an improvised weapon. As she turned around, she saw the perfect weapon. She smiled to herself and mouthed a word of thanks to Ichor.

Behind her was the lid of the sarcophagus that had, at one point, imprisoned her. She dragged the heavy stone over her behind her, as one might expect from the woman that sent it sky-high in the first place. "My apologies, but I'll have to ask you all to go back to rest." The woman said to the group of skeletons as she made her way over towards the mob.

When she got close, she took a swing at the closest few and bisected them fairly cleanly before the stone quickly dropped and smashed back into the ground. While this was fairly effective against these skeletons, she could tell it was going to tire her out quickly so she might as well use it to clear as much as she could. She swung it again and spun around once before releasing the slab and tossing it toward the horde of skeletons. Might as well take out as many as she could with that before she had to resort to slamming them all with her fists or something of the like. "Those stones can get really heavy when you're feeling under the weather." She commented, more to herself though loud enough for the others to hear.

Gunfire, but no nearby ricochet. There were others within the city after all, but perhaps that was no particular surprise. Ilena’s gaze turned towards that flickering torch in the distance, catching its light movements before it disappeared into the shadows of a Manor. Perhaps it was being hunted. Perhaps it had missed by such an embarrassing degree that it decided to retreat before any retaliation was to be had.

Dragan, pragmatic and warlike, took it upon himself to slay the wretch closer by, weaving a rapier from his blood to skewer the beast. Ilena pointed her own index finger downwards instead, and allowed the first digit to fall off. Flesh melted into shadow as it fell, before splattering against stone. Black ink reconstituted itself, the ball of shadow-substance growing tiny limbs and a mouth that opened up to reveal an amethyst eye, oh so similar to her own.

Ilena clicked her tongue, and the familiar darted off like a cockroach, scrambling to investigate the manor that the torchbearer sought. And for the shadow witch herself? She strode on, for the winding path and the destination her Goddess called her to.

It will take time still, to arrive at the church. Time enough for the mud-doll to scout out, and perhaps even track down, the distant stranger.

"Oh dear. Explorers... looters, perhaps? Or but another of our kind? Hm..." Luna blinked, her yet-adjusting eyes nevertheless keen in the gloom, and focused upon the misshapen body that had stumbled out into the street. The vampiress merely nodded passively as Dragan took the lead, before watching curiously as Ilena sacrificed her digit for the summoning of an arcane eye. It's horrid little skittering anachronistically put a smile on Luna's face, and she watched it scurry off.

"Sending it to investigate? A good idea. Given the state of this place, I imagine it is long for the dead, and longer for the living. If the bearer of that light is the only blooded creature around, we might do well to find them quickly. Not to mention..." Luna looked upwards, and sighed.

"We may not be the only other disciples risen, and much as I detest the idea of devolving into quarreling with others so soon, we may wish to find some food before we're left with nothing."

For her part, Luna fought with tangible steel; a curved saber that dangled behind her. With no need to spend time summoning her means of combat, she did not feel compelled to arm herself just yet. Striding forth behind Ilena, Luna began into a little hum, filling the streets with a lightly echoing tune. Her hair dragged behind her and through the murky puddles, no doubt tracking dirt and grime -a fact that Luna seemed to care little about.

Location: Alavaris
Ancient Garden
@Pyromania99@VitaVitaAR@Click This

---

The skeleton was indeed, thrown backwards from the force of Aleksiya’s backhand. The pile of bones crumbled near instantly, whatever magic holding it together falling apart as its body clattered to the street below. Giselle was not far behind, her bloody lance sweeping through the horde of skeletal remains before they even had a chance to react if they were even capable of it.

Akyasha’s less conventional weapon proved to be just as effective. The ornate stone lid was heavy to be certain, but it was merely a trifle for a vampire to lift with relative ease. The first few fell easily between her strokes, and launching it towards a remaining distant group was just as clean. The heavy stone lid hurtled through the air before slamming against the skeletons with a loud, rather cacophonous noise that echoed along the buildings of the street that they would find themselves in.

This had at one point, been one of the main roads to and from the city. It directly connected with the cathedral…all they’d have to do is follow it towards their objective.

Unfortunately, it seemed as though the noise from the fighting had alerted the entire undead in the immediate vicinity to their presence.

Several more skeletons would shamble from the alleyways, the doors to the buildings, even pulling themselves off the ground. A dozen? Two? Whatever fell magic was keeping these things going didn’t seem to be in short supply as they’d shamble towards the vampires. Thankfully the skeletons, while perhaps possessing supernatural strength, were not too quick. They were not armed very well, either. A handful were clutching rusty, old weapons - cleavers, sickles, pitchforks and some seemed to be clutching clubs that were slightly charred.

The horde would lunge towards the vampires in an uncoordinated mess, two leaping towards Aleksiya, a slow overhead swing with a cleaver while the second made a clumsy attempt to grab her. Three engaged Akyasha, one making a slow thrust with a pitchfork, the other making an attempt to club her over the head with a well, club. The third merely ran at her with surprising agility. Giselle would find herself being attacked by a skeleton trying to slice her with a sickle while a second approached from behind attempting to whack her over the head with its makeshift spear.

Another ghastly wail from down the street in the opposite direction they were heading. Perhaps it might not be a good idea to be out in the open like this for too terribly long with whatever that was skulking about.

Location: Alavaris
Squalid Ruins
@Psyker Landshark@Asuras@Erode

---

Dragan’s rapier found its mark on the unwitting dead. The shambling creature lowly gurgled as its heart was quite easily pierced by the bloody weapon…but it was not quite deceased. It grasped and grabbed at Dragan, the face of the once man contorted with fangs and patches of fur on its wound and filth covered body, its webbed fingers attempting to find purchase.

The other two began walking, Illena sacrificing a digit in order to form a small familiar to scout with. It took quite a bit out of her to do it, surprisingly. Had she really become that weak? Regardless, the creature did scurry off, skittering down the balcony and heading towards the even more squalid looking area below. It would take time to return, if it even did…but useful information could be gleaned either way.

The two would soon make their way to the end of the street, the entire place still as dark as ever…and it seemed just as treacherous. A group of the foul-smelling humanoids were shambling around the street accompanied by what seemed to be some sort of large…mosquito like insects that were dining on several deceased bodies. Their abdomen were swollen with the same putrid blood as the things they were feeding on…but at least they’d make for a slightly better meal than the beastly corpses themselves. The street continued down into the swampy, murky area below or continued towards the Cathedral.

Unfortunately, these things were standing in their way. One of the beastly men turned to face the women, a low gurgle coming from its throat.

Putrid was the blood that stagnated within the corpses and the undead, while the air itself was abuzz now with the vibrations of the mosquitos’ wings. Fortunate, that in such a ruined, desolate world, her servants would present themselves to her unbidden.

Unfortunate, then, that her magic had been so drained that the creation of a single familiar was felt by her. Fallen from grace, fallen from might, fallen from stature. Ilena would pace herself then, and allow her kindred to exert themselves. One hand raised up, fingers wrapping around the form of two of the Exsanguinating Skeeters. She clenched her teeth, amethyst eyes burning with a dominating light, and then let out a quick shriek, one too high to register in the ears of her companions. The large insects shuddered for a moment, then immediately launched themselves into the first beastman to approach Luna, their proboscises piercing into his back while their wings lifted him airborne, even as he swung in vain to dislodge himself.

But every movement caused his blood to quicken, caused his heart rate to rise even as his life essence was drained further and further. A drained corpse fell, bones clattering loudly enough to signal the rest of the vermin to the two vampires’ presence.

Ilena motioned for her new thralls to descend, their abdomens bright as apples, and she drew a small incision in each, drawing the blood out. “A sip to wet the tongue?” the shadow witch spoke, gaze turning towards her martially-inclined companions. “If not, then feast as you wish on those beasts.”

"My, having to use my bare hands like this is so distasteful. I could really use a meal."

One skeleton's arm was caught. Such a slow, crude swing, with a rusty old cleaver. Aleksiya's dainty hand twisted, snapping decrepit bones and redirecting the undead's swing, bringing the edge of the cleaver into the path of the other attacker's skull. With a crunch, worn and yellowed bone crumbled as the cleaver buried itself almost all the way through the undead's head, sending it stumbling backwards.

The diminutive vampire finished off her attackers by swinging the armbones in her hand downwards sharply, crushing through their decrepit structure and sending them crumbling to the floor.

She was hardly among the most physically powerful of the Lords, but at the same time these opponents were old and barely more then dust. It didn't take much to destroy them.

And while she was weakened considerably...

Raising her right hand, Aleksiya focused. She channeled the magical energy to her fingertips, her palm, and the air just in front of her immediately lowered in temperature as a circle of light materialized. At its center, moisture gathered, coalescing and condensing as it was chilled even more, a spinning orb of ice assembling itself. Ah... this wasn't quite as easy as it was before she died, but at the same time it wasn't particularly difficult either.

A solid orb of ice drifted in the air, much the size and shape of a black powder rifle slug. Frigid mist drifted off of it, as it began to spin rapidly, its form blurring.

And then, with a flash of blue light it rocketed from the center of the circle, directly into the head of the next nearest skeleton. The force of the impact from the dense ball of ice was sufficient to shatter the skull on impact, fragments of bone and dust scattering into the air.

The shriek she'd heard was in the back of her mind, but she'd hardly admit to having any concerns.

"I have little interest in remaining here any longer, so let's finish this rabble off, shall we?"

@Rune_Alchemist@Pyromania99@Click This

Disgusting. No matter how much Dragan was willing to ingest such putrid blood to regain his strength, it didn't change the fact that the smell alone was revolting. Regardless, he watched Ilena create her thralls, nodding in polite thanks as she offered the first sip of blood.

"My thanks." Dragan gestured the blood his way with an application of magic, sipping slightly. He couldn't help the grimace that crossed his face at the taste of this vitae, but as he'd already told the other two, they had little choice in the matter at the moment. "In any case, if you insist on making corpses, it would be a waste for me to not use them to their fullest."

His rapier in his right hand, Dragan raised his left and called forth his own specialty magic. Tendrils of sickly green energy extended from his outstretched hand, wrapping themselves around the bones Ilena had left. The skeleton quickly reanimated and rose, awaiting its master's command, whether it be delivered verbally or mentally.

Dragan frowned. He knew torpor had left him weak, but to experience it was something else. He'd not had such difficulty animating the dead since his earliest nights as a fledgling vampire. Disgust at his weakness overrode disgust at the quality of the blood available in an instant, and Dragan surged forward, his hand wrapping around one of the mosquito-like insects before crushing it. A minute application of blood magic caused the blood to gather into an orb, and he ingested it as quickly as he could before beginning to move on to the rest.

Of course, he only took an equal share, as was fair. There were still enough insects left for his two companions to feed on as they wished, if they wished.

Undead Princess, de Farry

---

Giselle watched in grim satisfaction as the bones split and cracked against the stone surface. Even in this weakened state, this sort of thing was not a threat at all. Frankly, she thought the three of them could bully their way through to the cathedral just by shoving them aside, but even now, a certain level of panache needed to be upheld despite the lack of obvious witnesses. Clearing the skeletons out would be a public service, anyway—if the city was to ever to return to its former glory.

Either through lack of power as a result of countless years of slumber or personal preference, her companions picked… alternate weapons for the slaughter. The backslap had its own bit of flair, and despite Giselle’s mild distaste for the cleric, she had to admit using a sarcophagus lid as a melee weapon was a particularly creative and effective solution.

Unfortunately, instead of using it like a particularly unwieldy buster sword, the thrice-damned cleric decided to use it as a projectile, creating an almighty crash that just about drew in all the shambling undead in the entire neighborhood.

“It would seem your combat skills have grown rusty over the centuries, Akyasha,” she commented dryly, frowning at the skeletons flooding in from the alleyways. These seemed to have actual weapons. On the other hand, those would be weapons that her companions could use, however disgusting and rusted they looked.

“Perhaps the rusty cleaver would suffice instead of fisticuffs?” Giselle kindly offered a suggestion as said cleaver swung down towards the diminutive vampire’s head.

Her attention quickly turned elsewhere as she reflexively parried a sickle-wielding skeleton that had approached. With a twist of her lance, she smacked the skeletal frame aside and rent it into pieces with the blunt end of her spear, before ducking low and whipping around to disassemble a second skeleton with the pointed end.

“Nor I,” Giselle agreed, nodding towards Aleksiya.

She began moving in earnest towards the cathedral, and away from the shrieking beast, batting aside skeletons along the way.

Still Luna withheld her saber in its sheathe, hands entwined together with patience as the others chewed through those measly pests in the streets. Another wretch approached, and the vampiress deigned to test her own abilities after so long a rest. Even to the mindless creatures before her, her command could not be ignored -in fact, with so little intelligence, it had little in the way of resistance. Or so she assumed...

Luna gave the beast-man but a glance, but in that mere half-hearted gaze, the creature was enthralled. It froze, and shuddered for a moment, the lethargic, lingering, neural pulses of its half-gone mind fighting against her order as they settled and then dissipated in its muscles. The creature groaned, and its head turned... and turned, and turned. It struggled with all its might to fulfill her silent demand to break its own neck without its hands. Sinewy muscles tugged it around as far as it could, but somehow, it resisted.

Sighing, the siren understood then the shortcomings of her long sleep. She stepped forward to the groaning, twisting beast-man, and in a flash of silver, beheaded the mongrel with her saber. Not a splotch of red stained the blade as it was sheathed smoothly in the same fluid motion, though the creature's placid blood began to surge from the exposed arteries in its neck then.

"If I must..." she exhaled, eyes low with disappointment. Luna left the twice-dead corpse standing there, and lunged for one of the insects; if she had to drink any of this putrid blood, she would at least take it from the creature which could itself stomach the filth -there was a sense of 'betterness' to it, she told herself.

Another silvery cut, and one more monster was felled, this time coating the blade in dripping ichor. Luna maintained clean hands, and drank lightly from the dripping that slid from her weapon. Sickening as it was, the shiver in her body started first as disgust, and then as delight. It could only be so terrible when you were dying of thirst. Luna flicked the saber, and turned to the remaining creatures in the street.

"We should reach the Cathedral first, and expect the familiar's news later, yes?" she asked.