The Betrayal
Nov 15, 2014 7:35:45 GMT
Post by Admin on Nov 15, 2014 7:35:45 GMT
« Thread started on: May 25th, 2014, 12:38am »
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Raven ran her lithe fingers over her perfectly coiffed hair for the 100th time and her crimson eyes gazed down the front of her ebon dress. The silver that chased the edges in intricate filigree patterns around the neck, cuffs and hem, was real spun silver, not cheap colored thread. Her 'moon metal frock' was how she referred to this particular dress. The pins in her hair were also pure silver as was her jewelry set; earrings, multi-strand choker and bracelets.
No one would notice there were also pure silver daggers in wrist and thigh sheathes cleverly concealed behind the myriad of of pleats, ruffles, and filligreed material.
Being a MOON CHILD, or 'vampire' to those of less refined tongue, meant the precious metal did nothing to her flesh. But those she had come to parlay with would certainly smell the offensive ornamentation from much further away than even she would realize. She had counted on it... with her life.
The werewolves were mortal enemies of the vampires. They had once been the willing servants and trusted daytime guardians of the undead. But somewhere, centuries ago, they had revolted on their masters. The ensueing war over their alleged mistreatment had gone on for so long, Raven doubted even the few Ancients sill in existence even remembered the initial reason why.
But all this history mattered none to Raven. She was the companion and wife to the Ventrue Prince, Devon Moroveston, the current head of The Conclave of Vampyre. And this night, after nearly five years, she was finally getting her wish... and audience with the werewolf Alpha, Baranthus.
She smiled as she looked around the forest and began to walk again. She had paid plenty to discover this was the woods where they hunted. She had made sure to come alone. The whole plan depended on tonight. She needed to see Baranthus alone.
She smelled the wolves before she could hear or see them. Some of her kind said they smelled like wet dogs. Inhaling sharply she had the sensation not off wet dog, but of the earth. They smelled like fresh turned soil, dried autumn leaves, even a hint of wildflower. And she smelled blood, their and that if a kill made not so long ago that the difference of coppery tang had disappeared on the night air.
She stopped and smiled. Now she would wait.
Her mind flitted back to when Baranthus and Devon had been friends. They had grown up together, Devon fostered in Baranthus' home. They had even come to this realm as young men to attend universities and learn of the culture. But when they came back as mature men making there Journey of Choice, everything went wrong.
The Journey of Choice was made by men and women of Winter's Ire who would go out and explore other realms before deciding to stay in the Ire for good, or live elsewhere.
Devon and Baranthus had been pans caught in a was they stumbled into by accident. Devon had been bitten by a vampire, Baranthus scratched deeply by a werewolf. They returned to the Ire to discover no cure.
They had come back to the realm that had changed them and never returned to the Ire. Devon had come back only to embrace Raven and condemn her with him. She hadn't wanted this life and for almost a decade, had plotted revenge. She hoped her old friend, Baranthus, would understand her plight and assist her.
Coming out if her reflective state, she smiled once as she sensed several wolves approaching from various locations around her. They knew she was there and were surrounding her.
« Last Edit: May 25th, 2014, 12:54am by Llewellynn »
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Raven ran her lithe fingers over her perfectly coiffed hair for the 100th time and her crimson eyes gazed down the front of her ebon dress. The silver that chased the edges in intricate filigree patterns around the neck, cuffs and hem, was real spun silver, not cheap colored thread. Her 'moon metal frock' was how she referred to this particular dress. The pins in her hair were also pure silver as was her jewelry set; earrings, multi-strand choker and bracelets.
No one would notice there were also pure silver daggers in wrist and thigh sheathes cleverly concealed behind the myriad of of pleats, ruffles, and filligreed material.
Being a MOON CHILD, or 'vampire' to those of less refined tongue, meant the precious metal did nothing to her flesh. But those she had come to parlay with would certainly smell the offensive ornamentation from much further away than even she would realize. She had counted on it... with her life.
The werewolves were mortal enemies of the vampires. They had once been the willing servants and trusted daytime guardians of the undead. But somewhere, centuries ago, they had revolted on their masters. The ensueing war over their alleged mistreatment had gone on for so long, Raven doubted even the few Ancients sill in existence even remembered the initial reason why.
But all this history mattered none to Raven. She was the companion and wife to the Ventrue Prince, Devon Moroveston, the current head of The Conclave of Vampyre. And this night, after nearly five years, she was finally getting her wish... and audience with the werewolf Alpha, Baranthus.
She smiled as she looked around the forest and began to walk again. She had paid plenty to discover this was the woods where they hunted. She had made sure to come alone. The whole plan depended on tonight. She needed to see Baranthus alone.
She smelled the wolves before she could hear or see them. Some of her kind said they smelled like wet dogs. Inhaling sharply she had the sensation not off wet dog, but of the earth. They smelled like fresh turned soil, dried autumn leaves, even a hint of wildflower. And she smelled blood, their and that if a kill made not so long ago that the difference of coppery tang had disappeared on the night air.
She stopped and smiled. Now she would wait.
Her mind flitted back to when Baranthus and Devon had been friends. They had grown up together, Devon fostered in Baranthus' home. They had even come to this realm as young men to attend universities and learn of the culture. But when they came back as mature men making there Journey of Choice, everything went wrong.
The Journey of Choice was made by men and women of Winter's Ire who would go out and explore other realms before deciding to stay in the Ire for good, or live elsewhere.
Devon and Baranthus had been pans caught in a was they stumbled into by accident. Devon had been bitten by a vampire, Baranthus scratched deeply by a werewolf. They returned to the Ire to discover no cure.
They had come back to the realm that had changed them and never returned to the Ire. Devon had come back only to embrace Raven and condemn her with him. She hadn't wanted this life and for almost a decade, had plotted revenge. She hoped her old friend, Baranthus, would understand her plight and assist her.
Coming out if her reflective state, she smiled once as she sensed several wolves approaching from various locations around her. They knew she was there and were surrounding her.
« Last Edit: May 25th, 2014, 12:54am by Llewellynn »