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[IC] Insatiable Thirst (Triad of Desire)
- Large Group
- Historical
- Fantasy
- Casual
- 18+
- Advanced
- GM Tala93
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FOREWARD
June 1834, two weeks before Nathalie's awakening, zealots broke into the crypt where the ancients were resting. Creaking noises filled the silent tomb. Voices were low, almost like whispers on the wind. "If you really think this coffin belongs to Nathalie, break it open. What about the other two?"
"Leave the other two." Another voice spoke sternly.
"We don't know what these creatures are capable of after being asleep for a hundred years.
"I don't know why you dragged me into this besides the money. There are no such things as vampires. People made them up to scare children. You know how superstitious some people are." Commented the grave robber as he meticulously broke open the ossuary, what they found was not Nathalie, but her brother, Rene. Rene's eyes opened hungry for blood,
"Zounderkite!" the zealot exclaimed. He knew that this wasn't his time to be awakened. His eyes glanced at the other two coffins, not giving away which one was his sister.
"If you're looking for my sister, I won't tell you." Rene commented, reading their thoughts.
Weak and pissed off, Rene grabbed the closest zealot, drinking his blood, killing him in front of his fellow zealot. Unfortunately for Réne, the surviving horrified zealot gave a signal. If he wasn't so weak, Rene could have defended himself, but without a weapon, he felt helpless. All he could think about was draining them of their blood.
The zealots were vampire hunters who were in the imperial militia, specialty trained and highly superstitious. Most of them were primarily in it for the money. Greedy fools. Before the vampire could kill the man, three more zealots rushed in, and together they were just able to overpower him with silver around his neck and bind his wrists. He swore and threatened in old Norse as they captured him…
You have no idea what you have done, gargan(snake)! My sister will be your downfall. Bacraut (Asshole)! Hrafnasueltir (Coward)! Norse for blood hungrily and happily awaits enemies. With my blade in hand, it surely will be against your incompetent necks. Crimson blood slowly drips from the blood-clad steel blade as each of you bear witness to the other's fall. As for your King, he is an eldhúsfífl (hearth-fire idiot) and a hraumi (braggart/nagging whore). Odin smiles upon me, our kin will know what was done here tonight. Better say your prayers for your God has forsaken you and the devil now walks among you. Revenge is bittersweet.
As he said this, Rene struck fear into their hearts and chuckled darkly. His words were grave, cold, and lustful for blood and revenge.
Rain falls light and effortlessly in London's Kensal Green Cemetery. The sounds emit a calm eeriness against the soft moss and leaves of the oak trees, combining with the flat echo they seemingly anoint the surface of the gravestones with. It was as if the corpses beneath had taken extra time off their eternal rest to promote the baseline for the horse-drawn carriages and the sounds of footsteps echoing throughout the night. Darkness crept upon this desolate landscape, promised to be a forgotten mortal climax. A wasteland of life, rotten and discarded. If one listened carefully enough, one could hear a long-forgotten excitement of awakening. Soft whispers of blasphemous resurrection befell a slumbering figure. The air among the habitually discreet silence of the graves fills with distant music.
A gentle breeze combines itself with the rain, which continues to carry a dark melodic tune towards the crypt with undertones of damp and trepidation fervor. Slender fingers, old and calculating, steadily move the coffin lid aside, releasing ancient air. While simultaneously inhaling, like an old whale ascending from the depths that yearns for the breath after holding it in for so long, exhaling as if a match was dropped on a rag soaked in gasoline. Creating that whoomp sound associated with volatile materials that connected with a catalyst. Slowly the porcelain figure emerges from the ossuary, with the etiquette of an ancient aristocrat awaiting breakfast from servants. Eyes adjusting to the darkness after one hundred years of slumber. Assessing the room, the resurrected moves over to the other ossuaries within the tomb. Noticeably one of the coffins had been breached, yet the other lay entombed. She swore under her breath in Nordic. Upon seeing this, the desire for revenge would have to wait, too weak to scream and hunt down those who breached the safety of the crypt. Brave, unexpecting mortals would soon pay the price.
"We'll be together soon. I swear on my arm ring." She lingered her hand over Edvard's coffin before anger and hunger cultivated ones need to feed..aggressively. Stepping outside of the slumberous dream world and into the living realm, the corpse emerged from the mausoleum, carrying a violin as she looked for her meal. The world was not as reminiscent.
With the passing eras, the world changed, vampires became myth. The world didn't fade for our kind, but we disappeared. Death becomes inevitable… life became different… better. No longer living in the shadows, fear no longer being our captor. It was time for us to take our place amongst the living. I felt a change in the air on this peculiar night. Something told me to be aware of something unexpected.
Taking a deep breath of the new world, the figure followed the call. Yearning to find the source that instituted this awakening, this resurrection. Walking, almost afloat with interest, through the city streets toward the opportunity to feed. Once a small town now evolved into a vast city, a slaughterhouse for creatures of the night. With thirst satiated, the figure begins to find the source and reason for this awakening. Emerging through the gates, old eyes looked up and saw a former, familiar home...Anew... Lights and candles dimly illuminating the windows with partially closed curtains giving view to the inside festivities. Moving closer to the door, the music becoming louder, the source of resurrection now feet away.
Placing the violin by a coat rack drenched from the rain and without hesitancy, the figure traipsed in, stunning everyone in the room. Silence usurped the base of the gathering. Light murmurs and whispers echoed throughout, shocked as to whom and why this person came unannounced. As the stranger's eyes gazed about each person, before they landed on the one who played such a masterpiece, the music slowly came to a stop. The figure spoke. "Good to see you all gathered. Unexpectedly, I know. Salvatore." Her eyes met his as if she read his thoughts without verbal exchanges. Her voice was blood-filled. The uninvited guest moved closer to the young vampire, brushing her fingers lightly over his shoulders. The guest had silver hair-like feathers of a fallen angel, which fell to the small of her back. Piercing blue eyes like the center of a cyclone yet empty as the moon and a seductive blood-filled voice of honey protected by a swarm of killer bees. Flawless porcelain skin accentuated her features, she was a sight to behold. "Don't stop on my accord." Her attire was still new from the moment she went into her stupor. Blood stained the sides of her lips, her fangs permanently extended glistened as she spoke. It was as if she made an unspoken promise by leaving the trace to be noticed...
After all these years, I thought the prophecy was a myth, nonsense, something she made up all those years ago. That my mother, the Queen of Vampires, would not show herself again. It's been a hundred years since I saw her last. She was different, pale, weak. Her slumber did not do her wonders, but yet her beauty could be seen.
I was not expecting this at all. Lochlainn and I had protected her and the other ancients per request. But seeing Nathalie in this light, made my skin crawl. Something was different about her, my music had awoken her. The music I played was dark and appeasing to our kind. I never thought it eventually drew the attention of her awakening. Surprised? Yes. Mortals were present that night, when she spoke, announcing herself, all code of secrecy was lost in that simple sentence. "I am the Vampire Nathalie." Her words rolled off her tongue, like silk. Never once had I seen her confidence in who she was. For centuries she kept a sense of self-loathing, but now all that would change. I was a witness to a new dawn.
It made me wonder if there were other cards at play for Nathalie's awakening. For now, her presence at this very moment was all that was needed. Watching Nathalie settle in as she observed the festivities taking place. Having her back felt like old times again. Yet, she wasn't her usual self, she was weak, that was noticeable for us vampires. As for the humans, their reaction was mixed, amusing. It would take time for her to adjust.
I turned my gaze to Lochlainn, who was flirting with Lady Jocelyn trying to get his attention, but it was no use. The night had a mind of its own.
Slowly the room became lively again. Out of the corner of Nathalie's eye, she noticed Lochlainn talking to a human. Not daring to intervene, she sat back watching, listening to their conversation. Taking in her surroundings, planning when to awaken her lover and find out why her brother was awakened before his time. As for the human attendees, she looked around for her next victim, her blood vision, taking control of her senses. Who knows how long this party was going to last, she needed blood and to speak to her progenies once they weren't occupied with entertaining. Thinking of her time in Italy, she remembered the days of Venetian Masquerade parties. Attendees dressed in elaborate costumes and masks. Hiding one's identity, both figuratively and literally. Those memories were still fresh. But an event like that would have to wait until she, Edvard, and Réne were reunited.
June 1834, two weeks before Nathalie's awakening, zealots broke into the crypt where the ancients were resting. Creaking noises filled the silent tomb. Voices were low, almost like whispers on the wind. "If you really think this coffin belongs to Nathalie, break it open. What about the other two?"
"Leave the other two." Another voice spoke sternly.
"We don't know what these creatures are capable of after being asleep for a hundred years.
"I don't know why you dragged me into this besides the money. There are no such things as vampires. People made them up to scare children. You know how superstitious some people are." Commented the grave robber as he meticulously broke open the ossuary, what they found was not Nathalie, but her brother, Rene. Rene's eyes opened hungry for blood,
"Zounderkite!" the zealot exclaimed. He knew that this wasn't his time to be awakened. His eyes glanced at the other two coffins, not giving away which one was his sister.
"If you're looking for my sister, I won't tell you." Rene commented, reading their thoughts.
Weak and pissed off, Rene grabbed the closest zealot, drinking his blood, killing him in front of his fellow zealot. Unfortunately for Réne, the surviving horrified zealot gave a signal. If he wasn't so weak, Rene could have defended himself, but without a weapon, he felt helpless. All he could think about was draining them of their blood.
The zealots were vampire hunters who were in the imperial militia, specialty trained and highly superstitious. Most of them were primarily in it for the money. Greedy fools. Before the vampire could kill the man, three more zealots rushed in, and together they were just able to overpower him with silver around his neck and bind his wrists. He swore and threatened in old Norse as they captured him…
You have no idea what you have done, gargan(snake)! My sister will be your downfall. Bacraut (Asshole)! Hrafnasueltir (Coward)! Norse for blood hungrily and happily awaits enemies. With my blade in hand, it surely will be against your incompetent necks. Crimson blood slowly drips from the blood-clad steel blade as each of you bear witness to the other's fall. As for your King, he is an eldhúsfífl (hearth-fire idiot) and a hraumi (braggart/nagging whore). Odin smiles upon me, our kin will know what was done here tonight. Better say your prayers for your God has forsaken you and the devil now walks among you. Revenge is bittersweet.
As he said this, Rene struck fear into their hearts and chuckled darkly. His words were grave, cold, and lustful for blood and revenge.
Rain falls light and effortlessly in London's Kensal Green Cemetery. The sounds emit a calm eeriness against the soft moss and leaves of the oak trees, combining with the flat echo they seemingly anoint the surface of the gravestones with. It was as if the corpses beneath had taken extra time off their eternal rest to promote the baseline for the horse-drawn carriages and the sounds of footsteps echoing throughout the night. Darkness crept upon this desolate landscape, promised to be a forgotten mortal climax. A wasteland of life, rotten and discarded. If one listened carefully enough, one could hear a long-forgotten excitement of awakening. Soft whispers of blasphemous resurrection befell a slumbering figure. The air among the habitually discreet silence of the graves fills with distant music.
A gentle breeze combines itself with the rain, which continues to carry a dark melodic tune towards the crypt with undertones of damp and trepidation fervor. Slender fingers, old and calculating, steadily move the coffin lid aside, releasing ancient air. While simultaneously inhaling, like an old whale ascending from the depths that yearns for the breath after holding it in for so long, exhaling as if a match was dropped on a rag soaked in gasoline. Creating that whoomp sound associated with volatile materials that connected with a catalyst. Slowly the porcelain figure emerges from the ossuary, with the etiquette of an ancient aristocrat awaiting breakfast from servants. Eyes adjusting to the darkness after one hundred years of slumber. Assessing the room, the resurrected moves over to the other ossuaries within the tomb. Noticeably one of the coffins had been breached, yet the other lay entombed. She swore under her breath in Nordic. Upon seeing this, the desire for revenge would have to wait, too weak to scream and hunt down those who breached the safety of the crypt. Brave, unexpecting mortals would soon pay the price.
"We'll be together soon. I swear on my arm ring." She lingered her hand over Edvard's coffin before anger and hunger cultivated ones need to feed..aggressively. Stepping outside of the slumberous dream world and into the living realm, the corpse emerged from the mausoleum, carrying a violin as she looked for her meal. The world was not as reminiscent.
With the passing eras, the world changed, vampires became myth. The world didn't fade for our kind, but we disappeared. Death becomes inevitable… life became different… better. No longer living in the shadows, fear no longer being our captor. It was time for us to take our place amongst the living. I felt a change in the air on this peculiar night. Something told me to be aware of something unexpected.
Taking a deep breath of the new world, the figure followed the call. Yearning to find the source that instituted this awakening, this resurrection. Walking, almost afloat with interest, through the city streets toward the opportunity to feed. Once a small town now evolved into a vast city, a slaughterhouse for creatures of the night. With thirst satiated, the figure begins to find the source and reason for this awakening. Emerging through the gates, old eyes looked up and saw a former, familiar home...Anew... Lights and candles dimly illuminating the windows with partially closed curtains giving view to the inside festivities. Moving closer to the door, the music becoming louder, the source of resurrection now feet away.
Placing the violin by a coat rack drenched from the rain and without hesitancy, the figure traipsed in, stunning everyone in the room. Silence usurped the base of the gathering. Light murmurs and whispers echoed throughout, shocked as to whom and why this person came unannounced. As the stranger's eyes gazed about each person, before they landed on the one who played such a masterpiece, the music slowly came to a stop. The figure spoke. "Good to see you all gathered. Unexpectedly, I know. Salvatore." Her eyes met his as if she read his thoughts without verbal exchanges. Her voice was blood-filled. The uninvited guest moved closer to the young vampire, brushing her fingers lightly over his shoulders. The guest had silver hair-like feathers of a fallen angel, which fell to the small of her back. Piercing blue eyes like the center of a cyclone yet empty as the moon and a seductive blood-filled voice of honey protected by a swarm of killer bees. Flawless porcelain skin accentuated her features, she was a sight to behold. "Don't stop on my accord." Her attire was still new from the moment she went into her stupor. Blood stained the sides of her lips, her fangs permanently extended glistened as she spoke. It was as if she made an unspoken promise by leaving the trace to be noticed...
After all these years, I thought the prophecy was a myth, nonsense, something she made up all those years ago. That my mother, the Queen of Vampires, would not show herself again. It's been a hundred years since I saw her last. She was different, pale, weak. Her slumber did not do her wonders, but yet her beauty could be seen.
I was not expecting this at all. Lochlainn and I had protected her and the other ancients per request. But seeing Nathalie in this light, made my skin crawl. Something was different about her, my music had awoken her. The music I played was dark and appeasing to our kind. I never thought it eventually drew the attention of her awakening. Surprised? Yes. Mortals were present that night, when she spoke, announcing herself, all code of secrecy was lost in that simple sentence. "I am the Vampire Nathalie." Her words rolled off her tongue, like silk. Never once had I seen her confidence in who she was. For centuries she kept a sense of self-loathing, but now all that would change. I was a witness to a new dawn.
It made me wonder if there were other cards at play for Nathalie's awakening. For now, her presence at this very moment was all that was needed. Watching Nathalie settle in as she observed the festivities taking place. Having her back felt like old times again. Yet, she wasn't her usual self, she was weak, that was noticeable for us vampires. As for the humans, their reaction was mixed, amusing. It would take time for her to adjust.
I turned my gaze to Lochlainn, who was flirting with Lady Jocelyn trying to get his attention, but it was no use. The night had a mind of its own.
Slowly the room became lively again. Out of the corner of Nathalie's eye, she noticed Lochlainn talking to a human. Not daring to intervene, she sat back watching, listening to their conversation. Taking in her surroundings, planning when to awaken her lover and find out why her brother was awakened before his time. As for the human attendees, she looked around for her next victim, her blood vision, taking control of her senses. Who knows how long this party was going to last, she needed blood and to speak to her progenies once they weren't occupied with entertaining. Thinking of her time in Italy, she remembered the days of Venetian Masquerade parties. Attendees dressed in elaborate costumes and masks. Hiding one's identity, both figuratively and literally. Those memories were still fresh. But an event like that would have to wait until she, Edvard, and Réne were reunited.
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Mordred Wandering Bard
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1 yr ago
Lochlainn was at home, setting off his suit hours before the party, as arranged by the siblings. He walked away towards the bath to start his preparation. Water showers over his head down to his feet, pushing his hands against the wall. Dark pleasure and a wicked smile were etched on his face, burning in desire and lust. A few moments after, he took a mouthful of blood and wine, savoring the taste for a moment with a sideways glance at the mirror.
Outside the cold evening, the air was freckled with drizzle, swirling the curtain from the open window and trees of wind-blown. Since it was their first time hosting an event, the brothel was a bit active, preparing for a great occasion. A pair of men standing guard at the entrance of the building. Inside, at the far end, stood another pair and courtesans on their place, glamming up. Lochlainn was wearing a tieless black suit and formal leather black shoes — showed up downstairs in the middle of their personnel work. He spearheaded the preparation and fixed everything up before the guests arrived. Just an hour later, Salvatore descended from the stairs, in debonair look and striking in tail and tie.
Salvatore strolled down to his sibling, Lochlainn. "I see you're ready to entertain brother. Ladies." he grinned at him lasciviously. "Breakfast or dessert?" eyes wander around, patting his shoulder in the gesture of inveigling.
He replied nonchalantly, "Take it easy… reserve your greed, brother." Salvatore shrugged off his hands.
A brisk of cold breeze shrouded the manor; rain is impending, the wind stirring the leaves lining the landscape floor outside. Before the guest arrives, Salvatore pulls Lochlainn at the near side, "Something is in the air tonight… We must be on our guard for the unexpected." he looked up at him and raised a questioning eyebrow to him. "I manage everything with what we have. Don't look so worried, I'm sure the rest will go easily enough." he points out in a gesture of reassurance.
"It's not that…. it's something else. Something we aren't prepared for. Don't you feel it? The feeling of awakening. It's like a whisper in the air." Salvatore remarked, urging him to take a moment. He was attentive to the environment around him. Lochlainn was sensing the same thing Salvatore does, but he kept it in instead of spilling out.
Hours passed, guests started to arrive in their luxurious horse-drawn carriages. Cohorts marched out into the growing light in the hallway, dressed in their urbane rig of high-class suits and boots. Salvatore and Lochlainn were observing everyone walking in when Salvatore noticed Earl Harrington from a great distance. "Oh look, Earl Harrington is here. That will make for some interesting conversation. Is that Diedre Monaghan, I heard scandals about him and her being his mistress. He wasn't on the guestlist unless you invited him?"
Lochlainn replied contemplatively, "Not that I'm aware of. You can kick him out if you want to."
Salvatore pondered for a moment. "If we do that, he'll go to the tabloids about us being ungrateful hosts. We shouldn't allow that to slander our reputation. We've worked too hard to get where we are. I want to know why he's here." It was sometimes frequent for uninvited guests to show, especially if they had underlying motives.
They exchanged glances in a skeptical look, Salvatore responded, "Well, in that case, it would be rude of us to kick him out. This might work in our favor, after all. Miss Monaghan is looking for a new employer from what the other girls gossip about." Lochlainn paused significantly, shooting Salvatore a sudden glance before stepping out into space. Harrington and Miss Monaghan made their way to meet the host. Lochlainn walked over to face them and had a little business talk with Harrington until the conversation was disrupted when they saw Lord Delacroix and his fiancé, Lady Ashton, hurled down from the carriage. He was slightly observing the two, as Lady Ashton strolls to the entryway gracefully.
Out of the blue, Harrington earnestly spoke to Lochlainn. "Duke Lochlainn… you see, I need to reclaim my fortune." Earl gazed at him very intently. "I-I'm willing to trade some of my property. I need to retain my wealth - I sense that you and Salvatore will be the answer to this matter. It's unpleasant, living in a luxurious life while business pains me," Lochlainn noticed Dierdre moved in. She pulled up her fan and moved closer next to Harrington, trying to look very connected to him. "I simply don't have the time to run it anymore…"
Lochlainn made a quick glance at Dierdre and stared back at him for a moment. "Let me think about that. Maybe I'll talk to you later in the office."
Lady Ashton aroused in the middle of their conversation. "Pardon me, Duke Lochlainn," she said, with a subtle curtsey to show him proper respect, "but I thought this was a party of good taste."
"Lady Ashton! you look splendid tonight. I'm glad you're both here." Lochlainn replied in a feigned way.
She caught sight of Dierdre and gave a poised appearance to her. "It seems a bit of refuse somehow blew in from the streets."
Deirdre asked wryly. "How would you know, having never set one pampered foot into them?"
"I know well enough when something doesn't belong," Lady Ashton snapped back, "and a lady of your…station has no business showing her face here." trying to kill Dierdre in such ignominy.
"Of my 'station'?" Dierdre asked, coyly.
Earl butts in, defending Dierdre from Lady Ashton "... Lady Monaghan has earned her place to --"
She refuted in a very haugthy voice. "Earned?... by lying on her back and offering herself to you? You call that earned?"
Lochlainn stared at them, a mixture of pretentious curiosity and smile distorted his face. "Ladies, this is a noble occasion, perhaps it would be better to leave your feud off the occasion and just enjoy the night." smiling at them with a glint of pretentiousness bliss. He directed an impassive significant look towards Salvatore, making it quite clear that he could guess what he's thinking about from afar. Salvatore stared at him hard in gloom and responded a nod with a quizzical look.
"I offer the Earl good company and grace on the harpsichord," she said pointedly, "as opposed to simply preening in front of a mirror."
"I've heard it told your fiance also has an ear for music," she said. Her smile kept its sweetness. Her eyes, however, narrowed in for the kill. "What can you offer him in that regard?"
He looked to Dierdre wryly for a long moment. Lady Ashton spoke to the female in a hushed tone. "He does. Tonight we're here for the great summer party our hosts have yet to grace us."
"Darling, I want you to meet some of my business associates..." The reason why he pulled her away was that he didn't want her stirring trouble. They had managed to fix things when she found out about his scandal with Deirdre, but she didn't trust her one bit.
"My love, a low-life like her shouldn't be here. You know how the Dukes prize their acquaintances on purity."
Lady Ashton's voice came to a stop as Delacroix's response sank in, "Now, I can spend the time by myself and send you home, or you can be respectful and be civil. You don't want trouble in the headlines tomorrow, do you, dear?" Delacroix paused for effect, aware that every eye locked on him.
They noticed the silence from Lochlainn as he paused again. He observed their reaction, gauging their sudden resentment.
Lady Ashton shook her head and nodded as she hooked her arm with his. She hated being put in place in such social situations. "Let's enjoy tonight."
After a few moments of silence, Lochlainn took a deep breath and spoke. "Very well then… let's get inside." they marched on side by side.
Time passed - the guest finally settled. Sauvignon Blanc, procured from Southwestern France, was served and more preeminent adult drinks by wine steward. The ambiance was so alluring, and a bit eccentric melded with Salvatore's violin playing a piece of beautiful, eerie music echoing the hallway and the room. Inside, dimly lit by the guttering flames of black candles across the room, while candles cascade a line through its body as it melts. The atmosphere on that very night was so luxurious and lustful, pervading the manor.
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LePouvantail
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2 yrs ago
[Collab with the GM.]
Salvatore woke up to the sounds of laughter erupting from downstairs. After working long hours the night before, he was exhausted. Struggling to get out of bed, he looked at himself in the mirror. “Dratts!” He exclaimed, picking up his pocket watch to look at the time. Their party was starting soon and he was nowhere near presentable. “Damned If I had known he was bringing girls home I wouldn’t be so out of it.” Mumbling and cursing under his breath as he got ready for the soirée.
The night before, Salvatore drank almost two bottles of brandy mixed with blood. More than his usual intake. After all, someone of his stature had to indulge in the pleasures of the gambling and prostitution lifestyle. His and Lochlainn’s business had been growing these last few months. Businessmen, aristocrats, and investors were flocking nightly to gain some sort of business deal with two of the wealthiest men in London.
Hearing the sounds of glasses clinking while voices from the lower room got louder and made their way to his room. Salvatore, an Italian nobleman who stood at 5.7. He had a statuesque jawline that appeared to be chiseled by the Nordic gods. His hypnotic gray eyes could make any female faint without saying a word. His beard was neatly groomed almost to that of a five o’clock shadow and had dark wavy neck length locks that he kept pulled back into a ponytail. Tonight he decided to wear a pair of black suit with a tail coat.
“Here’s to hoping this night doesn’t have anything unexpected. I rather sleep than entertain.” He said as he grabbed his violin case and cane sword. The cane sword was custom made. A gift from his mother when she gave him the title Duke of Kent.
Outside the started to get cold, rain was coming. Salvatore descended the stairs as his eyes fell on to his vampire sibling, Lochlainn. “I see you’re ready to entertain brother. Ladies.” Acknowledging the guests his brother has brought home. “Breakfast or desert?” His eyes wandering over them hungrily.
“Guests should be arriving soon. No matter, I need to speak to you alone. In private.” Salvatore pulled Lochlainn to the side. "Something is in the air tonight. I can feel it. But I don’t know what. We must be on our guard for the unexpected.” Salvatore did a once over throughout the house making sure everything was clean and set up to their desires. Time passed and guests soon started to arrive by horse drawn carriages to their city home in Mayfair. One by one members of high society came in, all of whom were personally invited by Salvatore and Lochlainn.
“Oh look Earl Harrington is here. That will make for some interesting conversation. Is that Diedre Monaghan, I heard scandals about him and her being his mistress. He wasn’t on the guest list, unless you invited him?” He said to Lochlainn as they watched everyone walk in. “Well, in that case, it would be rude of us to kick him out. This might work in our favor after all. Miss Monaghan is looking for a new employer from what the other girls gossip about.” Salvatore was curious as to why such a couple would show up without an invite. Supposedly, word got out. It wasn’t a big deal. In fact, he had heard so much about Earl Harrington but never actually met him.
Out of the corner of his eye he spotted Lady Ashton, fiancé to Lord Delacroix. Things were going to get interesting throughout the evening. Once everyone was settling in, coats were hung and drinks were being poured, the festivities were underway. For the early part of the party, Salvatore played his violin. The music was beautiful and eerie. As he played, the hairs on his arm stood up, creating chills amongst his audience. Yet, he had no idea what his music had done until the door swung open.
Another weekend, another droll party. If it didn't mean another night on her back, Dierdre would have rescinded. Then again, she was already wondering if it would be better to let Earl Archibald Cassius Harrington ride her like a prized stallion and let him pretend his prowess in bed was worth what he paid. At least then, she wouldn't have to do much, and could spend the rest of the evening with a good book.
But such social gatherings were a requirement for a man of his standing, and she as his escort - she insisted on that terminology - was akin to a prize gem to be shown off. Her lavender gown was perfectly cut to her body, with black lace trim and strings of pearls to properly accent both the gown and her admittedly boldly cut bosom. She carried a matching fan in her lace-gloved hands. Dierdre sometimes went a little heavy on the powder, but she chose a subtle lip stain to assimilate herself into the upper class. Her dark brown hair was pulled into an updo, with two ringlets strategically hanging on either side of her neck to better frame her face.
Earl Harrington had spotted the hosts. Dierdre simply smiled and played her part, but found herself drowning out talk of business as she noticed Lord Delacroix and his fiance, Lady Ashton. A subtle smirk crossed her face. Dierdre quickly held up her fan.
I bet I'll still see him after the wedding, she thought.
She saw Lady Ashton turn in her direction. Dierdre quickly pulled up her fan and pretended to be interested as Earl Harrington spoke with Lochlainn.
"...while it pains me," she caught Harrington say as she zoned back in, "that I simply haven't the time to run it anymore..."
Dierdre did her best to look pretty and interested. Truth be told, she wanted some champagne, and looked away to hopefully spot a servant with a tray to imbibe from. She could probably get herself halfway drunk and still carry on any necessary conversation if needed. Her pursuit of a servant seemed to garner other attention. It took a moment for her to realize Lady Ashton was storming up in her direction. The young woman pulled up a bright, yet seething smile as she listened for a natural point in the conversation to pull herself in.
"Pardon me, Duke Lochlainn," she said, with a subtle curtsey to show him proper respect, "but I thought this was a party of good taste."
She gave a poised, knowing look to Dierdre.
"It seems a bit of refuse somehow blew in from the streets."
Dierdre kept up her fake, graceful smile as she turned to Lady Ashton.
"How would you know, having never set one pampered foot into them?"
"I know well enough when something doesn't belong," Lady Ashton snapped back, "and a lady of your…station has no business showing her face here."
"Of my 'station'?" Dierdre asked, coyly.
Earl Harrington quickly tried to diffuse it.
"Lady Ashton," he said, "Lady Monaghan has earned her place to--"
"Earned?" Lady Ashton snapped. "Earned? By lying on her back and offering herself to you? You call that earned?"
Dierdre never lost her smile. She hooked her arm around Earl Harrington's and gently patted his hand.
"I offer the Earl good company and grace on the harpsichord," she said pointedly, "as opposed to simply preening in front of a mirror."
Dierdre shot a quick glance to Lord Delacroix.
"I've heard it told your fiance also has an ear for music," she said. Her smile kept its sweetness. Her eyes, however, narrowed in for the kill. "What can you offer him in that regard?"
Salvatore looked over at the two females, his gaze falling on Miss Monaghan more than Lady Ashton. Lady Ashton spoke to the female in a hushed tone. “He does. Tonight we’re here for the glorious summer party our hosts have yet to grace us.”
As she was about to say something snarky Lord Delacroix chimed in.
“Darling, I want you to meet some of my business associates. The reason why he pulled her away was that he didn’t want her stirring trouble. They had managed to fix things when she found out about his scandal with Direfre, but she didn’t trust her one bit.
“My love, a low-life like her shouldn’t be here. You know how the Dukes prize their acquaintances on purity.”
Lord Delacroix cut her off and looked at her and stopped her in her tracks. “Now, I can either spend the time by myself and send you home, or you can be respectful and be civil. You don’t want trouble in the headlines tomorrow do you dear?”
Lady Ashton shook her head and nodded as she hooked her arm with his. She hated being put in place in such social situations. “Let’s enjoy tonight.”
Dierdre pulled up her fan again, as well as her most innocent demeanor.
"My harpsichord always awaits a listening ear."
Her smile became more genuine as she noticed the pink tint in Lord Delacroix's ears as he quickly pulled his fiance away.
Salvatore woke up to the sounds of laughter erupting from downstairs. After working long hours the night before, he was exhausted. Struggling to get out of bed, he looked at himself in the mirror. “Dratts!” He exclaimed, picking up his pocket watch to look at the time. Their party was starting soon and he was nowhere near presentable. “Damned If I had known he was bringing girls home I wouldn’t be so out of it.” Mumbling and cursing under his breath as he got ready for the soirée.
The night before, Salvatore drank almost two bottles of brandy mixed with blood. More than his usual intake. After all, someone of his stature had to indulge in the pleasures of the gambling and prostitution lifestyle. His and Lochlainn’s business had been growing these last few months. Businessmen, aristocrats, and investors were flocking nightly to gain some sort of business deal with two of the wealthiest men in London.
Hearing the sounds of glasses clinking while voices from the lower room got louder and made their way to his room. Salvatore, an Italian nobleman who stood at 5.7. He had a statuesque jawline that appeared to be chiseled by the Nordic gods. His hypnotic gray eyes could make any female faint without saying a word. His beard was neatly groomed almost to that of a five o’clock shadow and had dark wavy neck length locks that he kept pulled back into a ponytail. Tonight he decided to wear a pair of black suit with a tail coat.
“Here’s to hoping this night doesn’t have anything unexpected. I rather sleep than entertain.” He said as he grabbed his violin case and cane sword. The cane sword was custom made. A gift from his mother when she gave him the title Duke of Kent.
Outside the started to get cold, rain was coming. Salvatore descended the stairs as his eyes fell on to his vampire sibling, Lochlainn. “I see you’re ready to entertain brother. Ladies.” Acknowledging the guests his brother has brought home. “Breakfast or desert?” His eyes wandering over them hungrily.
“Guests should be arriving soon. No matter, I need to speak to you alone. In private.” Salvatore pulled Lochlainn to the side. "Something is in the air tonight. I can feel it. But I don’t know what. We must be on our guard for the unexpected.” Salvatore did a once over throughout the house making sure everything was clean and set up to their desires. Time passed and guests soon started to arrive by horse drawn carriages to their city home in Mayfair. One by one members of high society came in, all of whom were personally invited by Salvatore and Lochlainn.
“Oh look Earl Harrington is here. That will make for some interesting conversation. Is that Diedre Monaghan, I heard scandals about him and her being his mistress. He wasn’t on the guest list, unless you invited him?” He said to Lochlainn as they watched everyone walk in. “Well, in that case, it would be rude of us to kick him out. This might work in our favor after all. Miss Monaghan is looking for a new employer from what the other girls gossip about.” Salvatore was curious as to why such a couple would show up without an invite. Supposedly, word got out. It wasn’t a big deal. In fact, he had heard so much about Earl Harrington but never actually met him.
Out of the corner of his eye he spotted Lady Ashton, fiancé to Lord Delacroix. Things were going to get interesting throughout the evening. Once everyone was settling in, coats were hung and drinks were being poured, the festivities were underway. For the early part of the party, Salvatore played his violin. The music was beautiful and eerie. As he played, the hairs on his arm stood up, creating chills amongst his audience. Yet, he had no idea what his music had done until the door swung open.
~~~
Another weekend, another droll party. If it didn't mean another night on her back, Dierdre would have rescinded. Then again, she was already wondering if it would be better to let Earl Archibald Cassius Harrington ride her like a prized stallion and let him pretend his prowess in bed was worth what he paid. At least then, she wouldn't have to do much, and could spend the rest of the evening with a good book.
But such social gatherings were a requirement for a man of his standing, and she as his escort - she insisted on that terminology - was akin to a prize gem to be shown off. Her lavender gown was perfectly cut to her body, with black lace trim and strings of pearls to properly accent both the gown and her admittedly boldly cut bosom. She carried a matching fan in her lace-gloved hands. Dierdre sometimes went a little heavy on the powder, but she chose a subtle lip stain to assimilate herself into the upper class. Her dark brown hair was pulled into an updo, with two ringlets strategically hanging on either side of her neck to better frame her face.
Earl Harrington had spotted the hosts. Dierdre simply smiled and played her part, but found herself drowning out talk of business as she noticed Lord Delacroix and his fiance, Lady Ashton. A subtle smirk crossed her face. Dierdre quickly held up her fan.
I bet I'll still see him after the wedding, she thought.
She saw Lady Ashton turn in her direction. Dierdre quickly pulled up her fan and pretended to be interested as Earl Harrington spoke with Lochlainn.
"...while it pains me," she caught Harrington say as she zoned back in, "that I simply haven't the time to run it anymore..."
Dierdre did her best to look pretty and interested. Truth be told, she wanted some champagne, and looked away to hopefully spot a servant with a tray to imbibe from. She could probably get herself halfway drunk and still carry on any necessary conversation if needed. Her pursuit of a servant seemed to garner other attention. It took a moment for her to realize Lady Ashton was storming up in her direction. The young woman pulled up a bright, yet seething smile as she listened for a natural point in the conversation to pull herself in.
"Pardon me, Duke Lochlainn," she said, with a subtle curtsey to show him proper respect, "but I thought this was a party of good taste."
She gave a poised, knowing look to Dierdre.
"It seems a bit of refuse somehow blew in from the streets."
Dierdre kept up her fake, graceful smile as she turned to Lady Ashton.
"How would you know, having never set one pampered foot into them?"
"I know well enough when something doesn't belong," Lady Ashton snapped back, "and a lady of your…station has no business showing her face here."
"Of my 'station'?" Dierdre asked, coyly.
Earl Harrington quickly tried to diffuse it.
"Lady Ashton," he said, "Lady Monaghan has earned her place to--"
"Earned?" Lady Ashton snapped. "Earned? By lying on her back and offering herself to you? You call that earned?"
Dierdre never lost her smile. She hooked her arm around Earl Harrington's and gently patted his hand.
"I offer the Earl good company and grace on the harpsichord," she said pointedly, "as opposed to simply preening in front of a mirror."
Dierdre shot a quick glance to Lord Delacroix.
"I've heard it told your fiance also has an ear for music," she said. Her smile kept its sweetness. Her eyes, however, narrowed in for the kill. "What can you offer him in that regard?"
Salvatore looked over at the two females, his gaze falling on Miss Monaghan more than Lady Ashton. Lady Ashton spoke to the female in a hushed tone. “He does. Tonight we’re here for the glorious summer party our hosts have yet to grace us.”
As she was about to say something snarky Lord Delacroix chimed in.
“Darling, I want you to meet some of my business associates. The reason why he pulled her away was that he didn’t want her stirring trouble. They had managed to fix things when she found out about his scandal with Direfre, but she didn’t trust her one bit.
“My love, a low-life like her shouldn’t be here. You know how the Dukes prize their acquaintances on purity.”
Lord Delacroix cut her off and looked at her and stopped her in her tracks. “Now, I can either spend the time by myself and send you home, or you can be respectful and be civil. You don’t want trouble in the headlines tomorrow do you dear?”
Lady Ashton shook her head and nodded as she hooked her arm with his. She hated being put in place in such social situations. “Let’s enjoy tonight.”
Dierdre pulled up her fan again, as well as her most innocent demeanor.
"My harpsichord always awaits a listening ear."
Her smile became more genuine as she noticed the pink tint in Lord Delacroix's ears as he quickly pulled his fiance away.
GM
Two weeks before Lochlainn and Salvatore’s party would commence, a group of four men gathered at a local pub. These particular men were nobodies in the eyes of society, but in the eyes of the crown, they held a much higher station. Fearless men were willing to die for the survival of humanity. They were trained to hunt vampires. While the four were conversing and drinking, a hooded figure walked; a concealed sword kept close to their person. Noting the sparse population of patrons, and keeping their gaze low, they spotted the others at a corner table near the back.
“What’s the holdup? Why are we here?” One of the four men said to another.
“Patience friend, I'm sure there’s a good reason for this meeting.” The other reassured.
As the cloaked fellow stepped up to the others, he placed two bags of coins on the table. “Enough babbling about why you’re here. It is for one purpose: destroying the abominations known as ‘vampires.” The man said in a low voice, an undertone of disdain laced into each syllable as he glanced around the room, making sure no one could hear what was about to be said. “I’ve received word about vampires resting in Kensal Green Cemetery. There is one vampire I am after, Katla Aakre, alias, last I heard was Nathalie Thévenet. She’s in a crypt that holds three sarcophagi, which one is hers, I am not sure. Pry it open and kidnap her,”
“Kill a sleeping vampire?”
“Are you mad?”
The hooded figure leaned in close and whispered something to them. “The vampire we are after is vulnerable and weak. This is the most opportune moment to do this.” The others sat back and conversed amongst themselves while the hooded figure waited for a response. “We’ve hunted their kind to extinction. Once they learn of their mistress being out of the picture, the others will only be ripe for the pickings. Tonight is your chance. Go to the cemetery and fulfill your deed. Return to the castle where you shall be compensated, even though-” He paused for a moment before continuing... “monetary reward is no equal to the satisfaction of knowing evil has been defeated. Remember this.”
Before adjourning the brief, the hooded man added. “As you know, my friends, these creatures will be hungry and poised to kill when threatened. Consider your training always. You will need it during these dark times.”
The four men looked at each other with puzzling expressions of their own. “And if the wrong coffin is open, what happens then?”
“Fate will decide.” With that, the hooded figure stood up and left the table as the others remained to conspire. They had been trained and prepared. They have cornered younger vampires before, but coming face to face with an ancient was utterly unexpected.
“In a fortnight from now. I say we make our move. I heard that a party would be happening. Vampires are hosting it, vampires, that I’ve been trying to track for the last five-ten years. We go to the cemetery, enter the crypt. Take silver with us and attempt to capture her. I doubt the coffins will not indicate who lies in which. Meet at the gates after sunset.”
After the men conspired, they went to prepare for the evening. Two were already at the gates and waiting for the other two to join. One picked the lock to the cemetery gate and opened it. The stale, musty air sent chills down their spines. “I’m not fond of this. Something tells me we shouldn’t be here.”
“Oh, quit whining, remember the pay. We are doing this for the crown and to gain acknowledgment.” With lanterns in hand, they padded through the grounds quietly searching for the crypt. The crypt was big enough to hold three coffins. The door to the mausoleum was locked, with some picking and strength the door budged open.
Two of the men walked in, examining the coffins with the amount of light they had. “Which one is it? They’re all the same.” One of them whispered.
“Tread carefully.” Another said, as they examined each coffin, keeping their weapons at the ready.
“What’s the holdup? Why are we here?” One of the four men said to another.
“Patience friend, I'm sure there’s a good reason for this meeting.” The other reassured.
As the cloaked fellow stepped up to the others, he placed two bags of coins on the table. “Enough babbling about why you’re here. It is for one purpose: destroying the abominations known as ‘vampires.” The man said in a low voice, an undertone of disdain laced into each syllable as he glanced around the room, making sure no one could hear what was about to be said. “I’ve received word about vampires resting in Kensal Green Cemetery. There is one vampire I am after, Katla Aakre, alias, last I heard was Nathalie Thévenet. She’s in a crypt that holds three sarcophagi, which one is hers, I am not sure. Pry it open and kidnap her,”
“Kill a sleeping vampire?”
“Are you mad?”
The hooded figure leaned in close and whispered something to them. “The vampire we are after is vulnerable and weak. This is the most opportune moment to do this.” The others sat back and conversed amongst themselves while the hooded figure waited for a response. “We’ve hunted their kind to extinction. Once they learn of their mistress being out of the picture, the others will only be ripe for the pickings. Tonight is your chance. Go to the cemetery and fulfill your deed. Return to the castle where you shall be compensated, even though-” He paused for a moment before continuing... “monetary reward is no equal to the satisfaction of knowing evil has been defeated. Remember this.”
Before adjourning the brief, the hooded man added. “As you know, my friends, these creatures will be hungry and poised to kill when threatened. Consider your training always. You will need it during these dark times.”
The four men looked at each other with puzzling expressions of their own. “And if the wrong coffin is open, what happens then?”
“Fate will decide.” With that, the hooded figure stood up and left the table as the others remained to conspire. They had been trained and prepared. They have cornered younger vampires before, but coming face to face with an ancient was utterly unexpected.
“In a fortnight from now. I say we make our move. I heard that a party would be happening. Vampires are hosting it, vampires, that I’ve been trying to track for the last five-ten years. We go to the cemetery, enter the crypt. Take silver with us and attempt to capture her. I doubt the coffins will not indicate who lies in which. Meet at the gates after sunset.”
After the men conspired, they went to prepare for the evening. Two were already at the gates and waiting for the other two to join. One picked the lock to the cemetery gate and opened it. The stale, musty air sent chills down their spines. “I’m not fond of this. Something tells me we shouldn’t be here.”
“Oh, quit whining, remember the pay. We are doing this for the crown and to gain acknowledgment.” With lanterns in hand, they padded through the grounds quietly searching for the crypt. The crypt was big enough to hold three coffins. The door to the mausoleum was locked, with some picking and strength the door budged open.
Two of the men walked in, examining the coffins with the amount of light they had. “Which one is it? They’re all the same.” One of them whispered.
“Tread carefully.” Another said, as they examined each coffin, keeping their weapons at the ready.
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