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[Lady Avella]

---

New Haven


Moonrise.

From the shell of what I was, comes the creature I have become.
I rise to stand in the shadows of lost memory.
The earth moves beneath me.
Above me the stars call down their abandonment as I walk through the city of the living.

Bold adventurers. Men at arms. Craftsmen and Women of Magick.
I listen to the rise and fall of their chests as they breathe in the sweet air of their lives.
I stand apart; in a sin of darkness looking down upon their faces.
Who marks time when time has no meaning?
Who finds wealth in the undoing of life?
Who faces terror with the eyes of a child?

The throbbing of their hearts becomes more than I can bear.
I flee the city to find comfort in the forests and hills that surround it.
Here I feed without regret; without remorse.
The dead rise to do my bidding.
And together we bleed the rest.

I find myself under the great Elms on a forested hillside.
Under a bright moon that mocks my existence.
I find myself standing face to face with brigands whose eyes betray their terror.
I kiss the Gypsy’s lips.
Drink my fill of him and
Leave bones where none before existed.

I am both the terror of my existence and
The product of my undoing.
Wife to a spiteful moon.
Lady to a Spectral Court.
Mistress to the hunger, I lay willingly in the arms of fate.

Standing on the docks of commerce I watch the traders disembark.
I catch the scent of foreign lands where the blood is rich and pure.
Tonight I shall board this ship, sail beyond this town of desperate lovers
Place my foot upon a distant shore and taste the richness of those souls.

For mine is the art of the undoing
The flash of fang upon living flesh.
And the finding of needful things.

[Lady Avella]

---

Zento


Three days.
Three days the ship sailed waters unknown to me
Three nights I fought the hunger
Three sailors died
Three sailors rest now in the dark waters
Of the ocean’s kind embrace

The ship arrived at the docks outside the city of Cherry Blossoms in the early evening of the third day. By nightfall the hunger clawed at me like the talons of wretched eagles. I took the fist human I saw. A guard on the docks; his night-watch ended without complaint as the hunger found its brief satisfaction.

Zento: the city of ancient ways. The city of beauty and peace. Poetry and art. I know a little of these people, having read of them in my…other life. I climb the short hill leading from the docks to the road of vendors ringing the walled city. The night breeze carries with it a rich, sweet scent. Young. Strong. I follow the scent. The hunger guides me.

Near the edge of the city a young merchant restocks his shop. I pause pretending to view the wares he is selling. He looks over, smiles and asks me if there is anything in particular I am seeking. My hollow eyes fall upon him. The words from my lips hold him in a trance as tightly as a spider’s web holds a fly. What pity I feel for him is quickly replaced by the agony of the hunger. The pain of it racks my body and draws bloody tears from my eyes.
I stand behind him, wrap one arm across his chest, and hold him to me like a lover. My other hand rests gently on the side of his face as I bend his head to one side.

I feel his heartbeat. Strong and heavy against my hand.

I bite down.

Fangs pierce thick veins and instantly a thick, sweet stream of blood passes my lips.

I drink with unnatural greed.

My icy fingers flex as the heat of his blood floods my body.

My black claws pierce his flesh as the surge of life brings pleasure to my cold existence.

In that moment I am alive once more.

Memories flood my brain.

My flesh shudders with life.

It takes only seconds to drain the body to the edge of death.

I feel his heartbeat grow thin and weak.

I released him.

He falls in a heap at my feet.

My black eyes gleam in the night.

My lips and chin run with blood.

I open wide my arms, raise my head, and mouth a soundless howl at the night sky.

A singular warmth sweeps through me and drives the hunger from my body.

I glare down at the now dead creature at my feet.

It stares up at me with unaccusing, sightless eyes.

I lick my lips.

Run my tongue across my fangs savoring the last drops of blood as one does a fine wine served with an excellent meal.

I twist my body and hiss in delight.

The night has started well…

[Lady Avella]

---

Zento; The Second Night.


I press myself against the darkness as I walk the streets unhindered.
There is a peacefulness here.
An order not found in other cities.
These humans live a calm existence and accept what fate has planed for them.
I am the fate that awaits them in the shadow of their Temple.
I cannot smell their cherry blossoms.
I cannot taste their food.
I cannot smell the ocean that surrounds them.
Blood. Rich and pure sustains me.
The night sings of it.
I pass the homes of artisans, poets, warriors and priests.
I writhe in delight as I feed on the blood of any I find.
None is exempt.
The woods and hills echo with the howls of wolves that sense my distain.
The night wears on into the blue curse of dawn.
I take my fill and leave this city through the Shimmering Gate.
There are other lands to see.
Cities of wealth and power.
Blood of Kings and Queens.
And I am open to them all.

[Lady Avella]

---

New Magincia


My lips do not taste the same as yours.
My voice does not echo through the empty halls the same as yours.
My eyes do not see what you see.

Along the upper hills of New Magincia the feeding is rich. Shepherds and woodsmen are easy prey and from them spring willing servants. Down below, I find myself drawn to the clean, straight lines of the buildings and wide avenues. My cold fingers glide gently along the glass enclosures of their museum. Here are relics to the histories. Pieces of an existence that no longer walk this earth.

The burden is mine. The crime; yours.

He watches me as closely as he dare. Keeps his distance. His voice is tense; filled as much with fear as hate. I deify his sense of existence. His sense of order. To him the world is one or the other. There is no middle ground, no compromise. I too have little time for compromise yet time enough to wait for generations. I walk through his world a Wrath. He walks through mine an arbitrator of contempt and loathing.

I call my steed, ride to the edge of land, and overlook the broad expanse of ocean. A clear night and the brazier’s burn on their Altar of Humanity. I run my black claws over the pages of their Book and read the words that have burned generations of my kind. And yet…

…my dreams dwell still in the land of the living. For I was once a Lady of Substance. A woman of noble birth. Land holder and keeper of books. Now gone. Now destroyed. Banished from the Light I mourn the loss of warm flesh touching warm flesh. A lover. A husband. The laughter of friends. The taste of vintage wines.

My wine now is thick and coppery and flows, not from grapes, but from veins. Veins of the living who present themselves as wise and noble. Veins of the living who build cities and museums to their past.

When all is dust, will your past count for anything?

I ride to the crest of the mountain.
My steed dances in tight circles above their Nation of Humanity.
The sun peaks the far horizon as I vanish through the Shimmering Gate.

[Lady Avella]

---

Moonglow


Long into the night I search the broad expanse of books that line the shelves of these libraries. The monks hug the walls as they pass, fearful of the woman whose touch is ice and whose eyes are ash; cinders that once held…life.

Their blood does not interest me.
Their souls are their own or given over to the gods they worship.
All merciful.
All forgiving.

How does one forgive such hunger?
How does one begin to understand such things?
Is the understanding hidden in these books?
The words penned by a thousand living souls no longer living?
I pull them from the shelves and toss them aside.

The room fills with more unanswered questions while the monks cower under the light.

Night after night I prowl these halls.
Night after night I curse the stars.
Night after night I claw the flesh of those who see me as I truly am.

I walk the moonlit gardens.
Pass the shops and guild halls.
Smell the night air for that which I might recognize.
But the Moonflowers have no scent and
The peddles of the Rose wither at my touch.

At the crossroads come the riders.
The flame of their passion sets the sky ablaze.
Their ships choke the shoreline and from the forest edge,
I bear down upon their humanity.

Knights brave they stand as one and yet,
Even as they curse my name,
I walk their sacred hall to stand before their throne.

Behind me howl the wolves.
The hills rich with blood.
I shall stay awhile I think.
To ponder the question of captivity and ask the dead for answers.

[Lady Avella]

---

Moonglow: The Library.

“Foolish priest.” The Lady Avella hissed as she gazed at the monk lying at her feet. She knelt on one knee and cupped his face in her pale, icy hand. Lifting his head she peered into his dying eyes. She was curious to see if he saw his god at the end. He looked past her for a second, smiled slightly, then his eyes glazed over. She dropped his head in disgust. It made a dull thump as it hit the tile floor.

Moments earlier she had been standing before a wide shelf of thick books scanning over titles. She was searching for a treatise on the existence of the soul when the monk came up behind her and attempted to slip a cord of thin silver chain around her neck. Instantly, she sensed the danger and raised her arm blocking the attempt. She whirled and shoved the man. He flew, bodily, across the room only to crash against a far bookcase. Before he could pick himself up she was on him sinking her fangs deep into his neck. She drained him to the point of death then released him. He crumpled at her feet.

A folded parchment tucked into the cord around his waist caught her attention. She snatched up the paper and opened it. One word, in bold print, screamed out at her;

“WANTED”

She read the entire paper with interest. Zento it seemed had placed a price on her head.

“Capture and detain” it read, yet it offered no hint as to how such a thing was to be accomplished.

“Dead or Alive would have made more sense.” She hissed.

“For murder and the destruction of property belonging to the Imperial House.”

The Lady Avella threw back her head and howled. How long had it been, she wondered, since she found a reason for mirth. Now this foolishness.

She snarled as she read the parchment again.

“Murder?” she asked. “Is not one woman’s murder another woman’s meal?”

She stood and dropped the parchment. It floated lazily down to rest on the dead monk’s chest. Walking out to the courtyard The Lady Avella looked up at the night sky. The beauty of the stars and the fresh winds of spring gave her pause. A memory slipped through her mind. A girl, on a spring night, far away…too far to see…too far to hold. She looked down at the cold stones of the courtyard absently rubbing her wrist where the monk’s chain had touched her flesh.

“I must revisit this Zento,” she spat. “First to procure passage on one of the ships anchored at the south end of this island.”

Leaving the courtyard, the books and the dead monk behind, she called forth her steed and rode south. South to the waiting ships that would carry her once more to the City of Cherry Blossoms and the blood of the Imperial House.

[Lady Avella]

---

Zento: The Return

The days passed swiftly as the great ship plowed the ocean. At night the Lady Avella stood on deck and watched the moonlight dance across the waves. A lifetime ago she journeyed on a ship such as this. A Lady of standing, long before He appeared. She was prosperous and wealthy, held lands and businesses, and met with Lords and Ladies from far off realms. There were balls, parties, and quiet nights with friends discussing the latest fashions or music or poetry. She was a patron of the arts and dined with knights and kings. Hers was a life of comfort and prestige. Then everything came down. A single kiss and her human life ended. Her lands and business confiscated or destroyed. Her homes burnt to the ground. Banned from the sight of friends and family. Cursed to roam the world, undead, her name unspoken.

His voice ceased to call her. His kiss ceased to give her warmth. Now her blood runs cold. Her body no longer breaths, her heart no longer beats, yet her hunger rises unabated. Each day she forgets the last. Each night burns more terrible than the last. Each death becomes more necessary than the last.

The stars scatter and break upon the darkened seas. The Lady Avella stood on the precipice of life and calmly looked into the pit of despair. A murmur of her former life reaches out and whimpers at her feet. She calmly watches the sails fill with the winds of her desire.

They call it murder. She calls it life. If they knew the horror of the living death, how then would they rise against her? How then would they curse her name and spit upon the ground when it is spoken? How then would they face the truth of their fate as she has faced hers?

“So be it.” She hissed as the great ship entered the harbor. The crew shied away as the sails were furled and the ship pressed itself against the dock as gently as a lover. Night too pressed itself gently against the coming day.

“So be it.” She hissed again as the Lady Avella stepped onto the docks of Zento and entered the sleeping city.

[Lady Avella]

---

Zento: The Imperial City

Five more deaths. The blood sweet and those who pursue know nothing of their quarry.
Five more deaths and the rage boils in the veins.
Come let us dance in agony and putrid agitation.
Send me more of your glorious samurai that I may feed upon them.
Send me more of your ninjas whose back armor matches mine own.
Send me more of your beautiful Geishas to sing woeful songs.

My eyes bleed at your crossroads.
My tongue lashes the night.
My fangs run havoc over your city.
Vengeance whispers to me.
The night prospers and lies down with open arms.

You wanted me and now I am come.
I stand now upon your granite steps and look upon what once was a shining palace.
I listen now to the names of your distant past.
And mark them in my book of sins.
Take me Imperial City.
Show me the path to glory and honor.

Show me the truth behind your mask.
And I will stand on the tombs of your ancestors
And bid them welcome.

[Lady Avella]

---

Britain


There is a fierce underlying darkness that fills a need.

I find myself, once more in City of Britain, near the place where I was first drawn
Into this realm of blood. There is nothing here for me now.
No brick or wooden wall that holds a memory.
No smell of rotting fish that turns me from the docks.
No cheerful greeting from a city administrator.
No “hello” from a tavern wench.

There is no bed for me here and yet I return as if to capture some semblance of my former self.
How odd the citizens look to me now.
I see them as through a curtain of gauze.
The certainty of life followed by the uncertainty of death.
How humble they seem in their self-assured existence.
Their deal-making, their exchange of goods and services.
Their fine comings and goings.

They reek of illness and greed.

I ease past the guards at the gates of Castle Britannia.
Enter the great hall and stand before the Throne.
How long ago was it when the Dawn arose?
Only half-memories of that eve serve me now.
The Great Hall filled with loyal subjects.
I was there… not as I am, but standing just….there…near the outer wall.
Did I kneel and pledge my fealty?
Did I kiss the Ring of Office?

Time removes all constraints as I find time of little importance.
A rush of wings and a master’s voice.
I walk the cobbled streets. Pass under the stone arches.
Visit shops. Smile at the tender faces of the wretched, discarded beggars.
A coin of gold I drop into their hands for I understand their need.
Their desperate desire.

I cross the bridges and tread the red stone path.
I stand in the square and revel in the night.
The breeze carries with it the scent of sweet, bitter life.
I bend to it. Weep for it. Yearn for it.
My nails like claws, black and thrilling, bite into yielding flesh.
I am no different than the owl or hawk.
Do I not follow the path of my true instinctual calling?

A priestess of dark passions I am no different than any other.
No kinder. No harsher. No less forgiving.
Did I kiss the Ring of Office? Yes.
Did I bend a knee to one who offered hope? Yes.
Did I plead for my life on that dark night so long ago? Perhaps…perhaps not.
What is fair is fair and what is given can be equally taken away.

I have walked the path of righteous indignation; have made my pact
With death and foreboding. Now it falls to me to remind a citizen
Of Britain that death is never far away and that hunters prowl the night.
As surely as rain follows sun or blood follows bite, I take his hand in mine
And bend him to the woes of brilliant sacrifice.
How complete this mastery of blood. How well I have been taught.
How rich the blood. How sublime this lingering aftertaste of life.


Sumus Immortales

[Lady Avella]

---

New Haven; (Three hours before dawn)


Youth. Innocence.

How passionate. How eager. Easily seduced. Easily influenced.

This young one who, like me, had her life taken from her without leave, without consent. Then left to wander alone, forgotten, unguided. The nightmares and the endless hunger. Then taken in, perhaps out of pity, perhaps for some other reason, but taken in no less by the Wolf People of the Shadow Mountains to serve them as they once served us. Ah…the irony. Innocence lost and time still changes all things. A word. A look. A voice of kind understanding. She is sister. She is Kindred. How is it I did not feel her agony when last I rode those snowy trails? How is it she has eluded me this long? Strange how the Makers move. Stranger still is how their children rise.

She is sister now…home. The bond of blood is stronger than any mortal promise. The voice seductive. The loyalty unswerving.

****

I sit in the open tavern watching the hum of life as it passes. Even at this late hour the square is packed and vibrant. Adventurous youth seeking fame and fortune as if the next life would be any better. The experienced hunters lean against the marble walls and pick their teeth with the bones of the young. How fitting…how terribly entertaining.

New Haven is a hub of rumor. A place to sit and listen; as I often do. A place to garner truth from fiction if only one is willing to follow suit. A notice falls from the table next to me. The young warriors sitting there barely notice I am even here so drunk are they. I read the notice. It seems the Lady of Ashencrosse, The Countess Bretane has been relieved of power. How interesting. I met her once and found her charming. A well spoken woman of some beauty and intelligence. Her taste in fine wines, as I recall, was similar to mine. In another life we might have been friends. The warriors stumble over their words but they speak of her crime and the plague. The plague; yes, I recall hearing about that in my travels. Although I no longer involve myself in the affairs of mortals I found this particular affliction worthy of note. For friends and allies to be driven so mad with battle lust as to attack each other is always something worth seeing. Much was said and written of it. Alliances strained to the breaking point. Families now scattered and lost. Men of wisdom consulted. Advice given. But this? This was epic.

I remember, as a young girl, a plague once swept through our lands. My father, seeking to protect his family, barred the windows and doors and forbade the servants and soldiers to leave the grounds. For a time it worked and the hand of death passed us by, but not forever. Death entered through a crack in the wall. Crawled under the doorjamb like an insect. Eased its way between the windows until, in the end, seventeen of servant and friend lay dead. But never…not in his most desperate hour… did my father consider what the Countess did.

I wonder. Was it merciful of her to save her people from the horror of this plague by committing such an act? Was it from fear of it spreading? Did she seek to contain it and thus save countless others? If the rumors are true then her crime is only to herself. Her nightmares and hunger for penance have only just begun. I wonder. Did her people understand? Did they praise her name as the flames licked their thighs like a desperate lover? I lean back in my chair as the noisy drunkards leave. They laugh and slap each other on the back and promise to do better next time.

I read the notice again. It would seem, dear Countess, we have more in common than we first imagined. I wonder. If I were to knock upon your door, would you invite me in … for tea?

****

The night wanes and the morning stars wink. I drop a coin for service though I had nothing to eat or drink. We must do our part to keep the kingdom flourishing. I think when this new day’s sun has set I will travel to Magincia again. Perhaps that handsome lord I met last week will engage me, once more, in quiet conversation. It is so rare to find a true gentleman these days and one must make the most of what is offered.

[Lady Avella]

---

New Magincia; A lament

There is a point of land
At the northeast corner of this island
That overlooks the vast Britannia Sea
I come here often now
In the evenings when the breeze
Washes the cliffs like the tide
Washes the beach below

As galaxies and stars pass overhead
On their way to meet the killing dawn
I stand upon these cliffs alone
Letting memories wash over me
Reminding me of a life
Long since gone astray
A time when courtship
Was my only concern
A time when young lords
Of good standing
Called

How I miss those days
Given completely to love
And lust
Days when I surrendered my heart
And asked for nothing in return
Days when the sun
Was not my enemy

I come here often now
To these cliffs of New Magincia
My veins filled with the blood of angels
Warm flesh and breath moist
To stand on these cliffs
And wish once more
For the choice

To surrender my heart or keep it whole

I stand dammed and cursed and
Forced to flee from the sight of those
Who might have once asked
For my hand in marriage
They turn away now
They see my beauty trapped
Behind a looking glass
Of endless time

I speak the words and their eyes grow blank
They smile and surrender their hearts
Asking nothing in return
While I in turn
Take everything

The winds rise and the tide turns
As the morning stars shine
On the cliffs of New Magincia
I turn to leave then pause and wonder
If I stay a moment longer
Will I fly away to dust like the dying stars of heaven?
Or will my soul return to a long forgotten age?

It matters not
For the dawn
Spreads its killing wings over the vast
Britannia Sea and drives away all chance
For me to choose
For there is no choice
Not now

Not ever

[Lady Avella]

---

Nujel’m


City of sand. Bright moon.

My ship slips towards the docks in the long hours before dawn. The city officials, dressed in their finery, stand ready to greet me. I have been to this city often and over the years have grown fond of its clean streets and sharp lined, sand colored buildings. Its tasteful décor and its smiling citizens. Helpful to a fault they clamor to serve. And serve they shall for as the newly appointed Baroness I shall bring change to their world and honor to my Clan and my House. The changes will come slowly at first, always at first, but my plans are laid and my servants loyal.

The dark waters of the ocean lap at the piers and the moon hangs high in a sky of pitch. There is much to be done. Appointments to be made. Dangers eradicated. While the ship docks and the sailors shout I watch the faces of those who would welcome me. The mayor, fat with wealth, his pudgy face beams with false pride. The sheriff who will do my bidding and keep the populace calm. Their wives, lovely and slim, vacant of intelligence will fall prey with easy glamoring. As my foot touches earth I smell their fear. Like sweat it clings to them. But no matter. They bow or curtsy according to their station and I, in turn, nod. Pleasantries are exchanged. Gifts of welcoming are given. I hand them to an aide. A dinner in my honor is planned. A dinner? How quaint. I agree of course. Things must move slowly; at first.

A tour of the city is taken. I adore the theater. Its broad stage has seen famous actors march in triumph across a world of imagination. I like the theater. Its false assumptions and placid backdrops sedate the populace and keep their minds afloat on dreams. A city of trade Nujel’m carries wealth far beyond its shores. An island city it keeps its waters open to all who desire trade. Gems, unmatched in their quality and value. The finest tailors and the most skilled glassblowers. The Palace, one of the most beautiful in Sosaria, long ago abandoned by its ruling House, now comes under my care and I shall use it wisely. To the north the poorer citizens sleep under the dry desert sky. Their houses opened to the air. I will visit them soon and they in turn, will provide for me. Provide for the future of their land and the future of their race.

Nujel’m, shining gem in an ocean of black velvet, I claim thee now and make thee mine.

[Lady Avella]

---

New Haven


“Why,” my children ask, “do you insist of coming to this backwater town filled with rejects from the shallow end of the Sosarian gene pool?”

“Because,” I answer, “there is life here. But the life I speak of is not the same as that which sustains us. No, for that I have the willing citizens of Nujel’m. Their pure desert blood is untainted and flows rich and sweet from veins most precious. No, I come to New Haven to watch and listen, for Haven is the crossroads of our world. Here one might find a myriad of plots and tales that would set ones mind to race. There is adventure here, a thousand voices, and a thousand minds reaching out, yearning in desperation for fame and riches. A vortex of emotion Haven mocks the civilized world the same way we mock the mortal world of men and beast.”

We sit in the open air tavern and watch the comings and going of those around us. We talk of Art, Music, and Philosophy. The night moves on with no moon to see but a few scudding clouds that obscure the stars. Suddenly I am reminded of my days in the wilds. Those days after He came and took me from all that was familiar. Changed me into what I am now. Left me to wander the world alone, seeking answers, finding none. A smell unmistaken. A guttural sound that could only emanate from a creature born of filth and degradation; “Orcius Orcius” … an Orc. A cross between a dog and a human, how quaint. How unimaginative.

How long ago was it when I was driven from my estates by men who knew me and loved me as a child only to change as I changed, but differently? I ran, pursued by those who could not imagine such torment. Into the Mountains of Compassion I fled. There I lived for a time among the Gypsies who knew the secrets of the darkness and did not judge but kept me whole as the hunger grew within me. A hunger that drove me to near madness until I found those creatures that dwelt in the caves and forests of that land. Alone they were easy prey and fell quickly to glamoring, for their minds were simple. As my powers grew and the frenzy took me I came upon them in their caves or miserable forts. One by one I fed on them. Catching them as a wolf brings down the deer. Their hide is tough and even though my black nails bit deep it did not always bring them down. I found, over time, if I twisted their necks just right, my fangs could penetrate their thick skin. Their blood is sour but when the frenzy strikes one gives little heed to the taste. It was the feeding that became the law.

Now, after all this time, after I have come home to He who made me. After I have learned to control this hunger as best one can. Now after I have taken others from their mortal trials and call them “children”, there stands before me a creature who dares speak to me. Who dares sniff about my table and ask if I will accompany him to his fort. These kidnappers of women who bargain for their release for gold or horses. These pigs of the mountains whose tusks are ground down from gnawing on putrid bones. Lapdogs of Mondain, Minax and other mad Mages and ill mannered Lords they are called Urks in some tongues, Urqui in others. In my tongue they are simply called “Mutgen” Food.

Perhaps I should go to their fort. Perhaps I should accompany this Orc and walk among his people until I grow bored and start to feed. This one knows little of my kind for if he did he would slink away thankful I have spared him the trouble; for the only ransom he would find would be that of my fangs in his throat.

But I smile and politely excuse myself.

“Forgive me,” I hiss. “I fear I have already supped this eve and thus, regretfully, must decline your kind invitation. Another time perhaps.”

He stares at me his eyes blank, his mind empty. As I said, they are easily confused and fall quickly to the Glamoring. But I note his face and that of his companion. One day I will search out this “fort” of the Urqui and, with my kindred, feed upon them all giving them a simple lesson in manners, if nothing else. And I will take that opportunity to add new Orc skulls to my growing collection.

He drools and stands with a vapid look upon his face while we, I and my kindred, take our leave.

[Lady Avella]

---

Trinsic


The night stars wheel in their frozen cartwheel sky as I walk barefoot over the warm stone avenues of Trinsic.
So fine a place as this rivals my own Nujel’m, but here the blood seems nobler, more genteel.
Such a history as this, the Paladins of Trinisc still man the outer walls and train in the halls of valor.
Their swords and halberds gleam in the polished moonlight of their oath.

The smooth brown stone the color of earth and the clean cut battlements draw me towards the castle grounds
where its central park caters to nobles, knights and ladies refined.
I sweep past them, the hem of my gown hissing along the crushed silver pathways.
They smile and nod while my black eyes search their own for some sign of pliability or the quick glance of regret.

Regret is the magnet.
It oozes from the pores of those once sworn to Honor, but now have fallen from the path.
It reeks of misplaced servitude and the search for redemption.
Paladins can fall as gracefully as any from their steed of Valor and when they do; I am there to guide them back.
Their souls to be bought and sold on the market of my own choosing or sacrificed on the altar of my Clan.

I smile, held in the arms of a minor Lord of Trinsic.
Once a Paladin, his fall from grace was hardly noticed yet weighed heavy on his heart.
My hand upon his chest feels the beat and rush of blood through that yearning heart.
His blue eyes garner the night as my kiss fills him with oblivion.
His knowledge of the carnal ways is keen and in his arms I am nearly human.
A knight such as this is rare and his perfumed blood is worthy of nobility.
I shall bleed him a little at a time.
Glamour him and keep him safe for my return.

Dawn and the judgment of the gods bear down upon this city like the iron fist of morality upon those lowly, ignorant peasants.
I claim nothing from my sister’s city save one;
this Paladin who has felt the bite of fang and the raw passion of my kiss.

The gleaming walls of Trinisc pass quietly into dawn as my ship’s black sails cling to the windy edge of night.

[Lady Avella]

---

Nujel'm


My city stands on the cusp between fall and winter, yet here I still walk barefoot along the smooth desert stones. I take my inspection of the walls and towers, walking with my aides, discussing repairs, the need for additional fortifications and a possible expansion of the docks. We finish our tour there, at the docks, where I dismiss them. They bow or curtsy and make their way to their homes; I have kept them late.

My ship, The Valkyrie, stands with its black sails furled securely to the spar, waiting. A gentle sea laps the piers in a rhythm not unlike that of a beating heart.

There is no moon this night and while the stars blaze clear and sharp in their velvet canopy, I take my usual walk along the shore. My mind skips from one thought to another. Letters of introduction to be written and sent to establish new trade agreements. What investments will most suit my Clan and my House? Which properties can be sold and which can be kept. These thoughts swim in the gray spaces that exist between the hunger and the torment. Always my thoughts end with my Childers; head strong, often disobedient; more often angry. My fingers absently play with the silk choker round my throat, the tear shaped gem now gone but not the memory. I wonder, shall I ever find the means to forgive myself my crime, my sin against my true Sire? That and the harm caused another left scarred by my ignorance? The night sky will not pass judgment on me. Nor will any living court. That right is reserved for one man and one man alone.

The sand beneath me radiates the heat of the day and for a time I feel the light of the sun rising through my feet. A light I shall never again feel upon my face, for to do so would lead to a sleep longer than any Torpor. No, I am content to wander here, alone, as the night embraces this desert city. I pause and look out over the vast expanse of ocean. Out there, somewhere, a ship sails, bound for some unknown port. Buoyed with wind it carries its living cargo to a destination far removed from nightmares and daemons. They are naught but children who sleep innocent of the dangers surrounding them. The hidden unspeakable things. Things that would drive them mad.

I turn to go and suddenly he is there. Stepped forth from the shadows he stands before me cloaked in black. I frown for I reconize this man. I have seen him before and have spoken with him not a single night prior. But this night his countenance is changed. His eyes stare at me not with curiosity but with purpose. I have sensed pursuit for many weeks, but the blood of this one is different, not the same. No, this is not the one. I pause and am about to speak when he draws from beneath his cloak a dagger. A blade well made and beset with gems. A blade made for killing. I feign concern for the blade is steel not silver. When he speaks his voice is level, business like. I do love assassins so. They too tread the shadows, keeping from sight their true intentions. He and I are much alike. He says I am to die this night; my head removed and taken in exchange for a treasure chest of gold. I smile, open my arms and step toward him. Confusion slips across his face when, at first, he hesitates, then lunges. The blade strikes true and deep. I gasp and step back as he slips the blade from between my ribs. He is poised to strike again, but stops. His face contorts in disbelief at the smile upon my face. The gleam in my eyes as I slip my finger into the wound. He staggers back as I place that bloody finger in my mouth then draw it forth, clean of blood.

His voice falters when he asks my nature. Instead of talk. Instead of lectures. Instead of stories. I show him. Before his next blink my ashen hand grips his throat. My black nails pierce his flesh. He attempts another strike, this time from above, for I have lifted him off his feet. I catch the downward strike and break his wrist with a snap. He wails in pain as the bones split and the dagger falls, useless, to the sand. In a single motion I sweep him across the sand pinning him against a tree. The ground beneath us shudders. His eyes now plead for mercy. Surely he must have known who it was he hunted. Surely he must have known that here, in my city, on my lands, I am most powerful. And yet his eyes do not lie … his terror and his confusion say he did not know. Who would send an assassin to hunt my kind who did not know? Who would be so foolish? Questions that must be answered.

I slam him to the ground and hold him there, but my rage is tempered with curiosity. I lean close and ask who sent him. He did not know. I rear back blinking in disbelief. I ask again and yet again he does not know. The world of mortals is populated with fools and children. They banter about to and fro, boasting of their conquests and victories, but then go forth to face monsters without the proper tools. I have no sympathy for such creatures and shed no tears at their demise. I make him drink three drops of blood, my blood, for I will have the truth before he dies. I ask again and learn this contract for my head was passed to him by another. A brother assassin, one who had been tracking me for months but had not the will to follow through. Now this one comes, takes up the mantle and falls victim to his own ignorance.

I ask him from whence this brother assassin came and hear the word most foul to my ears.

Tokuno.

My rage is now complete. He begs for a quick death but, no, no true death for this one. He will be reborn. He will learn the truth of his error through suffering. He will recognize the Hunger and sit in service to my Lord.

My eyes burn with unholy fire as I bare my fangs and bring him into the fold.