18+ Song of Blood, Dance of Blades

[Aethalia]

The Civil war is over. It has been for some time now, and those that were oppressed by Ulfric during the war have been liberated by the victorious Empire. Near Falkreath, a new power is rising, one of darkness, and blood. Something too powerful even for the formidable coven of vampires that call that dreary place home. Both those that think themselves heroes, and those that do not, must unite, if they wish to stop this growing menace.
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Rules

1: No Godmodding. Overpowered characters, weapons, armour, etc.

2: Grammar and proper spelling is a must. If you are lacking either of these in your RP sample, you won't be accepted.

3: Keep it classy, folks. This may be rated 18+, but that doesn't mean I want a smut thread.

4: If you lose interest in the thread, or are unable to continue, please inform myself or Aethalia.

5: You may have up to two (2) characters.

6: Be creative, and descriptive.

Note: This is rated 18+, so please be mature, but you don't necessarily need to be eighteen to join.

Aethalia and Madrar will be moderators for this role paly.

We will only be accepting five or six people.

 

[Aethalia]

My dear Aliah, it is my great pleasure to invite you to a formal dinner at my abode, the Bloodlet Keep, three nights from now. I sincerely hope you will accept this invitation.
Sincerely, Salthar Vivarian

Aliah Stormwind smiled at the invitation in her hand, and re-folded it, placing it in the pocket of her long trenchcoat, and rested her right forearm across her knee, and stared down at the nearly empty street of Riften. Her smile faded as she noticed the same man that had been wandering around town reappear once more. He was heavy set, with wide shoulders, a bald head and dark eyes. She knelt on top of the inn, the Bee and Barb, invisible to those on the street. Normally, she would have moved on after feeding in the city, but the man drew her attention, and not in a good way.

He had some sort of aura around him, and he moved with steps that seemed predetermined, as if he'd planned out all of his actions ahead of time. He didn't even pause to interact with the dwindling amount of people on the streets below. Something was amiss, and it revolved around the man, that Aliah was almost certain, was some sort of trouble. 'I'd better deal with him. Then I can move on'. She waited for her prey to get closer to the canal that ran through the city, before dropping from the roof to land in front of her victim. She hit his broad chest with a quick, open handed blow, to throw him off balance for an easy kill.

The man took a single step back, then glared down at her with eyes that showed no emotion at all. Then he struck shockingly fast, snatching her right hand, and squeezing. The vampiress hissed in pain as the bones of her wrist were crushed. Freeing her hand, she struck with her left, fingers curled slightly into talons, which she slashed across his face, hard, shattering several bones in his face. If he was bothered by his sudden deformities, the man didn't show it. His massive fished slammed into her chest, and she felt more bones break. The back of her legs struck the safety rail, and then she was plummeting towards the murky waters. She felt another agonizing pain in her back as she struck the second rail, then darkness took her.

 

[Seanu Reaves]

Peytr "Le Musicien" Orpheyus walked through the snow, his fingers and his lute untouched by the cold. He was walking from Whiterun, and he was having a fun time. He was dressed in fine clothes, immaculately clean, his grey coat lined with fur and his neck wrapped in a dark purple scarf. Peytr was a pale man, though most of that stems from his "condition," providing contrast to his dark hair. He was a noble from head to toe, though he didn't act like it. From picking flowers to speaking to whoever he came across, his personality was warm even if his body was not. His fingers almost never stopping playing simple progressions and short songs. He wondered if he could find any mudcrabs, Peytr loved playing with mudcrabs.

His musings were interrupted by a group of men coming from out of the trees, they were shabbily dressed and armed. With a sigh, Peytr looked at the leader. A tall nord who seemed to think he was Jarl Ulfric himself. "Oh hello my lord. We were wondering if you would honor us with paying our toll?"

"Oh hello," Peytr said with a high tuned singsong voice. "So nice seeing children playing town guard. But it's late shouldn't you be home while your mother makes you dinner?"

"What did you say?!?!" The leader of the bandits yelled, his rage turned to a scream of fear as one of his men slashed his back. Peytr's fingers began dancing to a violent tune, and the bandits were consumed by rage. They fell upon each other with an unthinking zeal. Peytr danced all the while watching his dinner begin to prepare itself. His thoughts turned to the invitation he got. Three days, Peytr thought. Oh my is that three days from now? I couldn't miss that for the world. He smiled as his meal was finally prepared and let out a childish giggle. He turned to see the last bandit on his knees, broken by what he saw and done, knife at his own neck. "Well now... Who would have thought dangerous things wander in the dark?"

 

[Kir the Silent]

The rain began slowly, but soon began to pour. The Lost stood on the edge of a cliff overlooking the dreary land of Falkreath. It seemed something dark and sinister always loomed over this place. Evil things dwelt here and often this area of Skyrim had far more problems than any other. The Lost had once again been drawn to this place in his many, many years of life. What was the reason? He knew not, but he felt as if something dark was once again stirring in the shadows of this misted wood.

He closed his eyes, though his face remained expressionless, and watched through the empty eyes of one of his puppets. The rabbit hopped along, guided by his hand. To anyone looking on it would simply appear as a normal woodland creature, but in truth it was long since dead. There was a crimson patch of fur on it's neck where it's throat had been cut, now it was simply a tool used by The Lost. The rabbit hopped along the main road where it witnessed, and in turn so did the strange Bosmer, a strange sight. Three bandits killing one another as a pale musician played nearby unafraid. Magic? Most likely. Human? Doubtful. Vampire? Probably. He then urged the undead beast further along the road to Falkreath, until it soon arrived at the grim town. There seemed to be very little activity and so The Lost opened his eyes.

He was now in the center of the silent village, standing where the rabbit had once been. Necromantic teleportation had it's uses. He looked around and still saw nothing, but decided he would walk along the streets for a few moments before heading to the inn for a meal. After walking for a few moments, he heard what sounded like footsteps behind him. However every time he stopped to listen, so would they too stop. He decided to make his way to the inn and did without incident, but the footsteps behind him where ever present until he reached the door. Strange...

 

[Ivory]

Belvurth sighed deeply as he trekked along the roads just east of Ivarstead, lost in his thoughts of yet another lost lead for his people. His armor felt heavier every time a trail went cold and the Snow Elf went through a ritualistic doubting of his cause. As he walked through the night, Candlelight spell overhead and his Ice Glass Dagger in hand, He felt a strange energy around him.

Slowly adjusting the cloth over his body to cover what armor and face showed, he looked behind him. Seeing nothing but the star lighted area he traversed, he continued silently with a Frost spell at the ready with his dagger positioned for action.

"Get'em boys!", a male voice cried out. Belvurth quickly ducked his head in time to avoid an arrow aimed straight at his head and twirled quickly on the back of his heels. Bandits. The usual idiots that plagued the roads. Despite the war being over, recovery for Skyrim was slow in the rural parts of the land. The Snow elf fired off two bursts of Ice storms in front of him to blind the enemies sight, wether or not the spells hit wasn't his issue. He had no desire to let them see his face. Quick and fatal were his ways. He ran up right behind the Ice Storm spells he released and as he came face to face with one of the bandits, a breton, he quickly impaled him through the heart. The blood thickened and froze over from the overwhelming impact of the Spells and his dagger and the life faded from the Breton's eyes before the Snow Elf's own.

Not wanting to waste anymore time, he removed his dagger from the breton's chest and fired off an Icy Spear at his next target, a redguard who's eyelids had been frozen shut from the storm. His body went flying as soon as the spear impaled the man's chest and Belvurth stood up, staring at the three other bandits remaining and their Chief. The Snow Elf grunted with a smile and simply beckoned his next challengers with his hand. "Never gets old, does it?" He thought, eager for some action from the rather dull expedition that he had been returning from.

 

[Valin Oakthorn]

Mithron sat silently and motionless. Staring, the vampire seemed unable to remove his eyes from the campfire burning in front of him. Four bodies of hunters, dressed with claw marks and drained of blood laid around him. Mithron's eyes remained focused on the fire, so motionless that a young swallow landed on his shoulder. The vampire breathed quickly out of the side of his mouth, freezing air came in his breath. The bird remained alive but paralyzed on Mithron's shoulder.

The young altmer grabbed the bird off of of him. Plucking a feather and tossing it into the fire. It danced gracefully burning slowly but surely. The crackling sound of the fire spoke to Mithron, it spoke of danger and death. Something was coming, something that Mithron would stand no chance against. Standing up, the vampire was worried, scared even.

"I need to get back to the coven." Mithron muttered to himself.

He took off down the path towards falkreath, the bird now in a pocket on his cloak. Rain began to fall on is head as he traveled down the path. Pulling up his hood, Mithron continued on down the path. Stopping suddenly, the vampire crouch down, listening. Falkreath was different, the vampire didn't know what but it was different.

Mithron began to sprint down the road, he was an arrogant fellow but there was something in the air that dispersed all of his confidence.

 

[Madrar]

Salthar Vivarian staggered out of the trees, lightning flickering on his fingertips, blood pouring from a gash that across his entire torso. Any observers would have noticed the slight flicker of concern in the vampire lords eyes, uncharacteristic in the confident Altmer vampire. He unleashed another blast of lightning, but the...creature pursuing him let out a shrieking unearthly laugh, and...swarmed, for lack of another word, towards the vampire. Salthar knew he couldn't hold out much longer: he'd already ran through most of his magical reserves, and had burnt out several magical wands and rings he had on his person. As far as he could tell, he hadn't even hurt the thing. The blades and arrows of the dozen Shadow fang coven vampires that had accompanied him had been equally useless. The creature had retaliated swiftly, ripping apart the vampires in moments.

Gathering his remaining power in a desperate gamble, he released it, and a thunderous blast shook the forest surrounding Falkreath for hundreds of meters around. An orb of black magic, the colour of night, exploded outwards, smashing into the creature, who shrieked, and flowed backwards, faster than vampiric speed. Salthar fell to his knees, aware that his supernatural healing had kicked in, sealing his flesh. However, the severe drain of his magic left him on his knees, his eyes dull and exhausted. His hands shook as his body attempted to compensate for his sudden weakness. The Altmer vampires keen ears picked up the sound of another vampire, sprinting full out. With an effort, he turned to the noise, and recognized, vaguely, one of the more recent additions to his coven. 'Meren?Mithin?Mithron!' The coven leader staggered to his feet, and raised a gloved hand, attempting to appear commanding. "Mithron, halt! I require your assistance!"

 

[Valin Oakthorn]

Mithron was at full speed, tearing across the land, his feet leaving marks in the turf that had been softened by the rain. He had been hearing things, large blasts of magic, inhumanly screams. None of this slowed him down, until he heard the voice of someone he had looked up to since a young man.

"Mithron, halt! I require your assistance!" Mithron heard the voice of Salthar.

The vampire turned to face the sound. Sliding to a stop, his feet digging into the dirt and his claws reaching out to slow him even further. Without question, Mithron took off again towards where he had heard the cry for help. His feet moving faster than before, his cloak flying behind him.

Upon reaching the hurt leader of the coven, Mithron slowed to a stop. Salthar was weak and wounded. Mithron was actually not terrible at healing, for to know death, one must also know life. Reaching into his robe, he pulled out the sparrow. Mithron placed his mid finger on the forehead of the bird. Mithron's mana and life pool draining into the bird. The young altmer breathed deeply onto the bird steam replacing his breath. Mithron bit down into the birds neck, taking a small testing sip of the blood. This was not so much to test it, as to enthrall the bird since he had wanted an animal thrall for quite sometime and didn't want to waste the sparrow.

"Here sir, drink the rest of it's blood. Do be careful with it though, i would like to keep it's body mostly intact." Mithron said, holding out the sparrow, enthralled and calm in his hands.

 

[Seanu Reaves]

Peytr walked quickly for he was bored, and decided that skipping down the hill towards Falkreath would be fun. With a quick and light step he descended onto the town. His fingers were dancing over the lute again, and Peytr had a smile on his face. Behind him were a few charmed wolves, and Peytr always did love animals. They would protect him when he decided to chase a butterfly to rip it's wings off, or when he started collecting other alchemical samples from the wilderness. He made his way to dead man's drink wondering what his next move should be.

Where is that coven again? He asked himself as he entered the town. The townspeople were also enthralled but they wouldn't follow him like the weaker minded wolves. Was it south? Peytr shook his head and stopped his song, the wolves howling and running from the town. The people looking like they forgotten what they were doing. Peytr began to hum to himself. He wasn't sure what he needed to do after all he had about two days left before the party it seemed.

 

[Aethalia]

Perhaps it was the water that woke the vampiress, or maybe it was her body being pinned against the barrier that separated Riftens' canal from the lake. She had no fear of drowning, because she was, after all, quite dead. She clambered out of the murky waters, and glanced to her left, where the guard rail had been shattered by her back striking it. Her bones had set and healed, though she still had a dull throb of pain in her chest and wrist. Glancing around, she noticed that it was well into the night. Obviously, she'd been in the water for some time. Leaping to the city's main streets, she headed for the gates. Only a few, bored guards were out and about, and none of them commented on the fact that she was soaking wet.

Her invitation was ruined, but that was fine. She'd been to Falkreath before, if not to the Bloodlet Throne itself. She sprinted, her vampiric speed allowing her to move much faster than any other creature in the night. By dawn, she'd reached Ivarstead, and was crawling into a bed in the inn. She figured one more good run, and she'd be in Falkreath, barring any further incidents with supernaturally strong people.

 

[Madrar]

Salthar drank from the delicate creature, handing the body back when he'd finished. "My thanks. Now, what brings you out here on a night such as this?" He realized it was less than safe to be talking when he'd just fought...a whatever it had been, but he was still attempting to recover his strength. The fight had taken more out of him than he'd expected, and his healing wounds still pained him. Supernatural healing or not, the vampire had been hurt badly by the creature.

 

[Valin Oakthorn]

Mithron relaxed a bit, and struggled to think of an explainable way to describe why he was here. He had no complete and total reason to come but, it just seemed the place to go. The young vampire struggled but made up his mind on the topic.

"Well, that's just it. I don't know." Mithron said, his mind working hard to explain the situation. "I was not far from here, when I decided to sit down by a campfire to rest." The vampire said, beginning his story. "But when I looked into the fire, there was just.... it was different." He said, hoping to get the point across. "I was hoping that you would know just what was going on." Mithron explained to the coven leader.

Mithron looked around, something had gone on here. There were destroyed trees, the dirt was torn. He couldn't help but guess that what Mithron was saying came as no surprise to Salthar.

 

[Madrar]

The Thalmor vampire listened to his fellow vampires tale before nodding."I see. Things have been rather...different for a while now. A creature of some sort, and of enormous power was just here. It slew several vampires and very nearly ended me." A noise had Salthar glancing at the darkening forest and he motioned Mithron to his side. "We'd better return to the Bloodlet Throne. I'd rather the two of us not be caught on our own out here"

 

[Valin Oakthorn]

Mithron listened to the elder vampires words, nodding often. His bird flew around his head, as Mithron tested how much control he had over it. The young altmer noted that he could give simple commands but his abilities were quite limited with the animal. Mithron stood up from his crouch and said, "I agree, lead the way." Mithron said in a his tone that always came out around the coven, one where every step was an adventure, and life... or rather, death... was a gift. Though this tone never lasted, he'd be himself once more soon but for now the vampire moved along ever so happy that there was a bird flying next to him.