NationStates Jolt Archive

Survivors struggled from the drowing passenger plane. It lay with one wing up in a gesture of distress, with rafts leaving it like fleas fleeing the body of a dead animal. The remnants of the electrical storm still beat the skies in the distance.

And twilight was only an hour away. They were in a big lake surrounded by low mountains and a fertile valley with a fair amount of uncultivated fields and trees--but already a country road was full of the dust of vehicles, and a helicopter was on the way.
"Thank God," the captain murmured, and began to shout instructions, and that a rescue was on the way.
The helicopter beat the water with its rotars, and then moved off. The captain heard cries of alarm, and saw that the first people onto the shore were being grabbed and hustled by armed men.
One of the passengers protested. "This is a civilian plane--"
"There are no commercial airports in this area." said one of the officers grimly. "And do not speak unless spoken to again." he touched his pistol's flap and glared at him coldly.
They were all struck by these men, who seemed so big, grim and purposeful. The shocked and frightened passengers were being separated, by sex and by age, it seemed. Big trucks were pulling up and more soldiers were jumping out.
Some of the people began to protest at this.
"That is my wife, you cannot--"
"Excuse me, I am the captain!"
The captain was taken by the arms and swiftly frogmarched to the side of the road, where he was sytematically beaten by the cold eyed men. People were silenced again and wincing at the sickening sound of thudding boots and rifle butts against his flesh.
One group of the soldiers, at quietly issued orders from an officer, took one of the rafts and went out to the plane.
"Your arrival here is illegal." announced the senior officer. He walked slowly up and down the lines of prisoners. "And your protests are irrelevant. This is Turgosheim, and your rights have no meaning here. You are now slaves of the Wamphyri."

OOC:
And certainly a large commercial flight has vanished during a storm. If anyone is interested, it can belong to anyone, and anyone can have been on it.

TAG, seems interesting. I don't know how an Aelosian elf could be on board, but I will think on something.

OOC: Looking good so far, considering joining....one question. Assuming that the pilot knew where he was at the time of the storm (which he kinda should do), how come he didn't know about this whole Wamphyri thing? I would have though that any nation with this sort of friendly attitude would have been noticed by his home nation long ago, so why is he so surprised? Would have thought he would have been terrified because they've just crashed in Wamphryi land....
Apologies for the nit-picking.....
:) May I join? Any specific charcters I should RP as?

OOC: Wamphyri!? This could be interesting. Are you looking for any kind of character in particular?

OOC: This is my second forum post--let's say that the pilot knows of LANDING restrictions, but not of more sinister things. He might assume that an emergency still has humanitarian response.
As to what kinds of characters? As long as they don't in some godlike way derail everything it's cool. People who might fight back are cool, as are those who might plot to collaborate or escape. People who might be likely to be respected and set free also work. Or characters involved in investigating a missing plane.

OOC: Hrm, all of my current characters are a bit tied up right now, although Arcauld would be a possibility. It would go well with a future RP I'm planning. If I used him, he'd be evil though, so you may not want him in.

Lisa frowned as she was heared by the strange men. She adjusted the collar of her black denim jacket absent mindedly and brushed her raven hair from her face. She looks to one of the men herding them. "Excuse me, sir. What's going on?"

OOC: No worries about it being second post - I only joined this community last week and never RPd before :? . My character is physically pretty tough, coming from a high gravity planet, but not used to fighting. He's a junior ambassador, so possibly travelling on plane to a meeting..? Originally will likely be unwilling to make trouble, but as things start getting more sinister (as I'm guessing they will :twisted: ) he's gonna start getting anxious to escape, using any means necessary. Sound like what you're looking for?

The guard frowned. He was a burly man wearing a camouflage uniform, festooned with weapons. He motioned her along with a group of other women between the ages of late teens to early thirties. An officer with a clipboard, accompanied by two guards, was going down the line.
"Just listen." the guard grunted, in a heavy accent.
The officer said coldly. "Be obedient, and responsive, and you will be treated well. If you do not, you will pay for it."
A truck was backing up on the dusty road, and a ramp was being lowered.
"You will all get in the truck."
The officer admired Lisa's dark hair for a moment but then began to motion her into the dark mouth of the truck, which had matting on the bottom.

OOC: No worries about it being second post - I only joined this community last week and never RPd before :? . My character is physically pretty tough, coming from a high gravity planet, but not used to fighting. He's a junior ambassador, so possibly travelling on plane to a meeting..? Originally will likely be unwilling to make trouble, but as things start getting more sinister (as I'm guessing they will :twisted: ) he's gonna start getting anxious to escape, using any means necessary. Sound like what you're looking for?

That sounds fine. Auir II: evil characters are fine. Evil doesn't mean they can't be victims. And if they are more likely to be allies or simply enemies, that's cool too.

OOC: I'll elaborate on Arcauld. He's (technically) a vampire prince, bastard son of Dracula. He's been sleeping for almost a century, and lost almost all of his power. After regaining his power, he wants to destroy both the Belmont family (famed vampire hunters) and Dracula himself, when he is resurrected. He's planning to mass an army of vampires to aid his cause, so it's possible that he's there to forge an alliance with the Wamphyri, or even turn some of the human slaves into his vampiric minions.

IC: Tarn stumbled along with a small group of fellow passengers, under the watchful eyes of half a dozen guards. He had woken from a doze as the plane began to shudder under the battering of the electrical storm, and his sleep-fuddled mind was still trying to make sense of what in the hells was happening. He had inquired of one of the guards what was happening, were they being taken to shelter.....the response had been a crack across the ribs from a baton and a barked order to keep quiet. Tarn had taken that as a negative sign, along with the beating of the pilot. He had never heard of Wamphyri, and was beginning to wish that were still the case.

Lisa nods meekly. "Yes, sir." She steps slowly into the back of the truck, shaking slightly and glaring, a mix between anger and terror on her face. She clenches her hands into fists at her side and turns around on the matt, watching the other prisoners.

OOC: That sounds cool!
IC:
Inside the plane, the black box is removed by an intelligence officer, but there is little time to search it as the air pockets begin to run out and it begins to shift and further submerge.
The moaning captain is put in a truck along with other injured people and the old or sick. Mothers with small children are put in another; men are separated from women.
All the while, there is the disturbing sense that this has happened before, that this kind of action is normal to the soldiers there. They speak their own language with one another, a harsh tongue with a hint of latin about it.

Lisa listens closely, murmuring under her breath about her lack of linguistic skills. Her boots sink slightly into the matted bottom of the truck, looking to the other women.

Lisa nods meekly. "Yes, sir." She steps slowly into the back of the truck, shaking slightly and glaring, a mix between anger and terror on her face. She clenches her hands into fists at her side and turns around on the matt, watching the other prisoners.

The women kept coming in. There was sitting room, but it was close, and the interior quickly was filled with the fear laced breath and scent of the other women.
One of the women made a desperate lunge for a weapon, and a quick struggle was ended by another guard slamming the butt of his rifle into her kidney. She crumpled, groaning with pain. As they lifted her, they had the grim businesslike faces of men dealing with a difficult livestock animal.
One of the other women, who had her eyes closed and was praying, turned to Lisa and squeezed her arm. She seemed too frightened to speak, and appeared to be comforting herself as much as Lisa...
The trucks ramp was lifted up,and there was the sound of a heavy lock being turned. Harsh shouts were heard, muffled by the truck's walls, and the engine rumbled.


Tarn found himself ordered into a truck along with other men. More than one bore slight injuries. As with Lisa's truck, the ramp was lifted and it rumbled away.
A man said, "I'm just a vet...but is anyone hurt?"
Another whispered to Tarn, "Breathe slowly...slowly. It will ease the pain."

Lisa nods meekly. "Yes, sir." She steps slowly into the back of the truck, shaking slightly and glaring, a mix between anger and terror on her face. She clenches her hands into fists at her side and turns around on the matt, watching the other prisoners.

The women kept coming in. There was sitting room, but it was close, and the interior quickly was filled with the fear laced breath and scent of the other women.
One of the women made a desperate lunge for a weapon, and a quick struggle was ended by another guard slamming the butt of his rifle into her kidney. She crumpled, groaning with pain. As they lifted her, they had the grim businesslike faces of men dealing with a difficult livestock animal.
One of the other women, who had her eyes closed and was praying, turned to Lisa and squeezed her arm. She seemed too frightened to speak, and appeared to be comforting herself as much as Lisa...
The trucks ramp was lifted up,and there was the sound of a heavy lock being turned. Harsh shouts were heard, muffled by the truck's walls, and the engine rumbled.


Tarn found himself ordered into a truck along with other men. More than one bore slight injuries. As with Lisa's truck, the ramp was lifted and it rumbled away.
A man said, "I'm just a vet...but is anyone hurt?"
Another whispered to Tarn, "Breathe slowly...slowly. It will ease the pain."

A tall, pale man, approaches the passengers from behind the soldiers. He wears a long black cloak, which flows behind him as he strides, and has knee length back leather boots. Long white hair surrounds a serious, pale face, and he wears victorian style clothing.

http://bishounen.info/alucard/alucard2.jpg

He walks over to the passengers, and begins inspecting them. The woman getting into the truck in particular seems to interest him...he would have to see her later. For the moment he strode over to Tarn, and looked him in the eye.

"If you want to continue with your pointless little life, mortal, you shall not ask questions. You shall speak when spoken to. Understand?"

Arcauld's manner was threatening, but there was no evidence of any weaponry on him. This was little comfort, however, as there was plenty of room for concealmeant in his clothing.

The guards outside the truck spoke to each other in what was presumably their own language. It sounded almost harsh, but with hints of flowing smoothness, like silk dragged over nails. Tarn tried to make out the words, but recognised little. The encounter with the pale man had terrified him, though he didn't know exactly why - he had been unarmed, and although threatening had not looked like a particularly difficult character for Tarn's high-gravity body to deal with.... but he had a manner about him that suggested something rotten and deadly lurking beneath that exterior....whatever it was, Tarn determined to do as the guards said and keep quiet, until he had more of an idea what he had crash-landed into. The interior of the truck was cold and damp, and the moisture soaked into Tarn's bones. He soon began to shiver, and the movement sparked a fire in his ribs where he had been struck. He clamped his teeth together to keep from crying out, and breathed deeply. One of the other passengers in the truck was lying in the corner moaning wordlessly.

Lisa rests a hand on the other woman's shoulder, squeezing softly. "It'll be alright. Just don't try anything rash for now. People have to know we're here." She steels her jaw, trying to look calm, brown eyes still wide with fear.

A tall, pale man, approaches the passengers from behind the soldiers. He wears a long black cloak, which flows behind him as he strides, and has knee length back leather boots. Long white hair surrounds a serious, pale face, and he wears victorian style clothing.

http://bishounen.info/alucard/alucard2.jpg

He walks over to the passengers, and begins inspecting them. The woman getting into the truck in particular seems to interest him...he would have to see her later. For the moment he strode over to Tarn, and looked him in the eye.

"If you want to continue with your pointless little life, mortal, you shall not ask questions. You shall speak when spoken to. Understand?"

Arcauld's manner was threatening, but there was no evidence of any weaponry on him. This was little comfort, however, as there was plenty of room for concealmeant in his clothing.

The senior officer approached Arcauld and saluted. The soldiers near him did their duty and watched the prisoners.
"Lord--I have been instructed to provide the helicopter for your conveyance if you wish it. The Lords and Ladies of the High Council await you."

(If Lisa is wondering about the language, it sounds like Romanian)

It is noted that the convoy of prisoners is escorted by APCs and jeeplike vehicles with weapon mounts.

Inside Tarn's truck, a young man groans his way into consciousness, moaning, "My wife...where did they take her?"
Another moves closer to Tarn and apologetically says, "We should stay warm."
Tarn realizes from the locker room smell of the truck that it has carried people before. Somehow it doesn't seem like an army transport though; just a feeling he has.

Lisa half smiles weakly at the woman. "What's your name?"

Tarn's memory flashes up an image of his youth on his father's farm on Albion, his homeworld. He remembers herding the avancs from their grazing into the farm truck, to take them back to the barn to be slaughtered. This truck smelt like that...beings crowded in, afraid, confused, and with the pall of imminent but unforeseen death hanging in the air. He huddled in closer, trying to stay warm and banish the uneasy memories. The moaning in the corner had stopped several minutes ago, and had not resumed. Another young man was calling plaintively for his wife, but no-one answered him - all were too busy asking themselves their own questions.

OOC: Any life out there? Going offline....do what you like with Tarn til tomorrow....treat him good :)
Great RPing btw, from everyone here.

Lisa half smiles weakly at the woman. "What's your name?"

"My name's Petra." said the woman, her voice trembling just a bit. "What's yours?"

The convoy moved on through rolling countryside that was wooded and rose up to craggy mountains. The clouds still hung low in the sky, and as night was fully upon them, the soldiers and drivers could see the flashes and arcs of lightning. The people in the trucks could only hear the rumble of thunder.
Passing small villages, encountering patrols and roadblocks, they came to a large town where the trucks rumbled past armed sentries and razor wire topped fences to an area of warehouses. Trucks went by cargo into particular ones.
The ramps opened, and fresher air, that nevertheless smelled of vehicles, oil and chemicals washed over the prisoners.
Each truck had a senior NCO bellowing, "Prisoners will disembark from the vehicles!"

OOC: My nation is ruled by vampire hunters ... hope you don't mind me joining in.

Blinking in the harsh lights, Constantine stumbled from the back of the truck. What was going on? He didn't know, and whatever it was, a half-trained novice certainly wasn't qualified to deal with it.

Mud splashed up his legs and splattered over his thick grey Order coat. Constantine scrubbed at it ineffectually; he hadn't yet been awarded his blade or anything, so the coat was the only thing distinguishing him as a Blood Templar.

Surely these people would respect the Order? Constantine wasn't sure if Kassilant would send fully trained Adepts after a single lost Novice, but he certainly hoped so.

In each warehouse, an officer was saying, "Take out your wallets and present your passports." as he walked down the line being formed of disembarked prisoners. "Take out your wallets..." the one dealing with Tarn's group paused and pointed out a man who could barely stand from injuries. A burly soldier took him away. "...and present your passports..."
Constantine could see a jeep pulling up with an odd little group in it. Whoever they were, the officer dealing with him let his voice trail away and came to attention, saluting stiffly.
One was a woman, wearing some sort of long cloak through which her arms stuck. She was waifish looking, with a pale face and long dark hair, but her eyes had an oddly reddish tint. The other two were male. Both shared the red eye tint, and were wearing uniforms similar to the officer but made of leather and with gold buttons. The older man, whose face was scarred and whose eyes were like wet grey stones tinted with red, nodded to the officer, who continued.
"Passports..."

Fumbling with his wallet, Constantine found his passport and papers, the documentation identifying him as Constantine A. Reed, Novice (First Year) of the Blood Tempar Order, Kassilant (Templar Street, Venaize).

Taking another covert glance at the new arrivals, Constantine stiffened, and sincerely hoped he was wrong. If those people were vampires, and if they recognised his Order ID, he was in for a lot of trouble.

The senior officer approached Arcauld and saluted. The soldiers near him did their duty and watched the prisoners.
"Lord--I have been instructed to provide the helicopter for your conveyance if you wish it. The Lords and Ladies of the High Council await you."



"About time." Arcauld's voice was stern and cold, void of emotion. He followed the officer over to the helicopter, taking long, proud, powerful strides.

The officer looked at Constantine's passport with a frown on his face and passed it over a screenpad linked to a laptop that was on a nearby table. He watched what happened on the screen, and turned round with a blank look to say, "Constantine--0-8-3."
Immediately two guards moved to take his arms and escort him away. He could see another truck being loaded up.

In the helicopter, Arcauld had the best view. Beyond the immediately seen mountains and the town there was a massively built tower that seemed built to suggest that a mountain had writhed in agony to produce buttresses, landing platforms and outer defenses like the spines and spikes of a sea creature. Below, great flocks of desmodus bats wheeled and spiraled away from the helicopter. Landing lights that wavered in the rain led it to a platform.
Arcauld could see air defenses and soldiers manning them, and a small group of people waiting for him. Most were guards.
The one that caught his eye most stood much taller than the rest. Any pretense of a uniform was swallowed up in leather and fur. His eyes were the sullen red of rubies, and there was a vulpine cast to his face. He smiled and said, "Lord Arcauld, welcome to the Red Tower. I am Lord Eyegor; I am to conduct you to the Council. A feast is planned, but if you have not fed..."

"Lisa." She says to Petra, giving her shoulder another comforting squeeze. She sighs in slight relief as the doors open and disembarks slowly, fumbling through her purse and handing the man her passport.

As the helicopter flew over Turgosheim, the view was stunning. Beyond a mountain range and a town was a massive tower which, coincidentally, towered over the landscape. It was magnificent. Defense systems and landing platforms shot outwards, each manned by the same soldiers that had been rounding up the humans. He looked down as the helicopter began to slow down, and saw a small group waiting for him. One of them, probably the leader of the group, stood above the rest. He was wrapped up well in the bitter weather, but no uniform was visible. They landed, and Arcauld immediately saw his crimson eyes. Ahhh, a Wamphyri?

"Lord Arcauld, welcome to the Red Tower. I am Lord Eyegor; I am to conduct you to the Council. A feast is planned, but if you have not fed..."

"Thank you, Lord Eyegor. I shall be fine for now. Being only half-vampire, I do not feel the effects of the thirst nearly as much as our brethren. If you would be so kind as to lead the way?"

As the helicopter flew over Turgosheim, the view was stunning. Beyond a mountain range and a town was a massive tower which, coincidentally, towered over the landscape. It was magnificent. Defense systems and landing platforms shot outwards, each manned by the same soldiers that had been rounding up the humans. He looked down as the helicopter began to slow down, and saw a small group waiting for him. One of them, probably the leader of the group, stood above the rest. He was wrapped up well in the bitter weather, but no uniform was visible. They landed, and Arcauld immediately saw his crimson eyes. Ahhh, a Wamphyri?

"Lord Arcauld, welcome to the Red Tower. I am Lord Eyegor; I am to conduct you to the Council. A feast is planned, but if you have not fed..."

"Thank you, Lord Eyegor. I shall be fine for now. Being only half-vampire, I do not feel the effects of the thirst nearly as much as our brethren. If you would be so kind as to lead the way?"

"Certainly." Eyegor nods and the escort make way for the two of them. A great circular trapdoor with a wheel lock device looms open revealing a stairway below. As they descend into it a sound of hydraulic machinery can be heard, and the platform they stop at lowers a cage around them. Then it goes down.
Lord Eyegor says, "The Red Tower, Lord Arcauld, is well defended but it is rule and not war that is its main purpose. Nevertheless it would take a great deal to bring it down--it has never fallen since Turgosheim was united under the Wamphyri alliance."
The elevator comes to a stop, and the cage door folds open. They can see a hall, vaulted and ribbed as though it was made from the bones of an ancient gigantic creature. In fact, Arcauld can see that this is the case. Guards stiffen to attention as the two walk down it towards a set of double doors made of steel, with the heraldry of a wolf's skull on it. The doors are swung open by two guards. Arcauld notices that the guards here are different somehow. More still than normal humans.
Beyond, he can sense that the Wamphyri are waiting.

"Lisa." She says to Petra, giving her shoulder another comforting squeeze. She sighs in slight relief as the doors open and disembarks slowly, fumbling through her purse and handing the man her passport.

The officer takes it and hands it to another officer seated at a table with a laptop. The passport is put on a screen attached to the computer rather like a scanner. Lisa can see that rain is falling outside, making a pattering sound on the roof of the warehouse and on the asphalt. She also sees through the open bay door a jeep pull up near another warehouse.

OOC: sorry I should have been more clear. The passport should state what profession, nationality and marital status etc the person is, etc.

Accountant, Corlinan, unmarried

Lisa just looks around, looking to Petra a little, getting an impression of her.

Another vehicle is arriving as the officer finishes looking at the passports. Lisa notices that a large number are simply collected and not given back, but a few are, and those recipients are ushered towards the new vehicle. The rest are spoken to sharply.
"You will line up in single file and move as ordered."
They are led through the rain to a building across from the warehouses, and find themselves in a room not unlike a large locker room with benches along the walls and a big desk near a set of doors. Several women in uniform jackets with skirts hanging down to rubber boots are there.
The soldiers go to a pile of boxes in a corner and begin handing them to each woman.
"Undress completely, place your items neatly in the boxes." the officer says. He yawns and looks at his watch.

Lisa just looks around, looking to Petra a little, getting an impression of her.

Petra, a dark eyed 30-ish woman with black hair, is nicely dressed in a sweater and slacks, and whispers to Lisa, "Do you think we should ask for a chance to talk to our governments?"

Lisa marches as ordered and shakes her head to Petra. "You might try if you have significat influence or your government is very powerful. If they're not letting us though, they don't seem like to type who will accede to requests." She bends down to unbuckle her boots, sliding them and her socks off. She slides off her skirt and pantyhose next before rising and slipping off her jewelry, jacket, shirt and bra. She drops all of it into the box without bending while nude. She can't help looking around a little in the naked crowd.

"You're so calm," says Petra. Her hands tremble as she undresses, tears roll down her cheeks as she slips down the straps of her bra. Another woman can be heard, sobbing openly.
Lisa notices that all the women there range from eighteen to the middle thirties. All are healthy looking whether they are heavyset or thin. The soldiers have blank faces mostly, almost dull but certainly brutal. One of the women, throwing the box down and resisting--("Stupid," whispers Petra) is grabbed by two of the female attendants and stripped with X-Acto knives. They are careless of whether they bruise her or cut her a bit.
Several of the women are quite pretty, two of them very beautiful by any standard. One of them, no more than nineteen or twenty, has a knuckle in her mouth and tears running steadily down her face. The other, tossing her dark brown hair from her face as she drops her folded clothes and personals into the box before her, gives a steady cold look at one of the guards, who tightens his lips and keeps pacing along the line.
The door near the desk opens, and several people walk in, speaking in their native language, most of them holding clipboards. An odd group; they all have a reddish cast to their eyes. Only two of them, both male, are wearing uniforms, and these are much finer than even the officer's. They are made of leather and have gold buttons on them. Of the remaining two males, one is richly dressed in silk and leather. A pair of women are there as well, and these are the most oddly dressed of all. One is wearing almost nothing; a broad strip of leather across the center of her small breasts, another around her hips and another between her legs and covering the split of her buttocks. Her reddish eyes meet Lisa's for a moment as they restlessly search the room. The other woman is dressed almost like a gypsy queen; gold coins form a necklace around her neck; long skirts sweep the floor, and her bare, smoothly powerful arms are also banded in gold. The last of the men is nearly naked as well; his powerful chest has a medallion on it but apart from that he is only wearing a sort of kilt made of an odd collection of multicolored pelts.
But all have one thing in common; each has a horrible weapon on their left hand, a gauntlet of steel and leather full of hooks, barbs and claws.
Despite their strange dress, they have the confidence of gods as they walk into the room, and the officer becomes deferential.
The weird group begin to walk to the room, their eyes searching over the bodies and faces of the women.

Lisa shrugs to Petra. "Women in my country are raised to be brave and strong. I'll try to stay with you and protect you." Lisa frowns at the brutal stripping of the one woman, sighing lightly. Her eyes can't help linger on the bodies of the more beautiful before she looks to the new arrivals, her eyes narrowing defiantly.

For the first time, Lisa can hear their captors actually talking to their prisoners. She hears the man in leather and silk asking a woman about her skills. The woman, whose very fair skin and dark hair make her seem very vulnerably naked, is muttering in a French sounding accent about being a lawyer. The man in leather snorts in derision and moves on. However, the man in the kilt seems to growl appreciatively and nods at her. The officer steps forward and makes a strange curling mark on her shoulder with a grease pencil.
The woman in leather strips and one of the soldierly men stop near Lisa. Petra shudders and reaches for Lisa's hand.
The man says something, reading from his clipboard. The woman chuckles.
"Accountant?" the woman asks Lisa, her voice surprisingly pleasant. Her presence is like a hot wind from a furnace; her eyes are like angry rubies and there is a suggestion of overwhelming strength about her. "What kind of work did you do?"

Lisa takes Petra's hand, holding tightly. She meets the woman's gaze levelly. "I did people's taxes, helped them keep books, that sort of thing."

Lisa takes Petra's hand, holding tightly. She meets the woman's gaze levelly. "I did people's taxes, helped them keep books, that sort of thing."

The woman nods, and reaches out to pinch her skin. A weird jittery feeling comes over Petra as the woman's eyes search her face and roam over her body. The pinch is suddenly a painful jab, and the woman licks blood from her finger. Her nostril's flare and her skin flushes.
"Hm. Healthy enough. No diseases. Claim." she says over her shoulder. The officer with his grease pencil steps forward.
"You are lucky, woman," he says in a heavy accent, giving her an ironic glance, "Claimed for the Lady Elerion Vrinn."
"You were an editor?" the woman is saying to Petra.

Lisa blinks once, shuddering slightly. "What does claim mean?"

"You now belong to the Lady Elerion Vrinn." the officer says quietly. "You must obey her. It is a great privilege to be both skilled and the posession of one of the Wamphyri."
At that moment, before Lisa can reply, the woman in leather strips sharply calls Lisa, the dark haired French lawyer, and the nineteen year old girl over to her. (By saying, "You--you--and you.") The girl's fair hair falls finely over her naked shoulders, which are shaking. Lisa can see the other strange people busy at their chosing. The brown haired proud woman is staring ahead with seeming indifference but shudders involuntarily as the man in the kilt walks around her as though she were a mare for sale.
"Listen to me very carefully. My name is Carmen; I am a Lictor in the service of the Lady Elerion Vrinn." the woman says, looking from Lisa to Petra to the girl. "You have been captured in Turgosheim, you are property. These are the rules. You will do what you are told and do it well. If you do not, you will be punished. Resist punishment, and we have other uses for you. This will all be demonstrated later. Do you understand? You may ask questions now if you wish."
The Frenchwoman says, "What is a Lictor, please?"
"A Lictor is a lieutenant, a senior servant of the Wamphyri. There are seven Lictors in Lady Elerion's service." the woman says. She casually strokes the arm of the blonde girl as though she were a frightened animal.

Lisa frowns deeply, holding Petra's hand more tightly. She pauses to ponder a moment. "What will we have to do for this woman? And can wer have something to wear and eat?"

Carmen lifts an eyebrow and says, "Fed and clothed you will be straight away. As for what you will have to do, I have filled her specifications. You, Lisa, will fill the position of bookeeper and secretary. You, Angela," nodding at the blonde girl, "Will be her personal maid." this is said with a slight leer. "And you, Jeanette," to the Frenchwoman, "Have training largely useless to Lady Elerion since in Lisa she can have a properly skilled bookeeper, but you will start as a servant, and I am sure you are smart enough to rise to other skills once you learn more of our culture."
One of the soldiers brings another box over.
"These smocks and shoes will serve for clothing for you for now." The smocks look like something you would wear in an institution; they are of coarse yellow cloth with a white stripe on either side. The shoes are rubber soled and made of something resembling canvas.
"Put these on." says Carmen. As she grins, Lisa catches sight of a disturbingly long set of canines among her teeth. The gauntlet hand flexes--and weirdly, so do the spikes and spines and hooks and claws--as though it was alive somehow.

In another warehouse...
After they look at his passport, Tarn finds himself aside, through a door and into an office, where an officer is smoking. From the haze in the room he has been smoking for some time. He offers Tarn a cigarette and smiles.
"What is your diplomatic status, exactly?"

Constantine notices an officer approaching the red eyed people and speaking, gesturing towards him. Their eyes search for his with accusation wreathed in their crimson glares. One of the men approaches, his attitude menacing, and says, "Blood Templar, eh? You come with us."

Lisa just nods, temporarily slipping her hand from Petra to put the clothes on. "What about Petra?" She asks anxiously. She looks worriedly to her new friend.

"You--" says one of the other Lictors, the man in the kilt, pointing at Petra. "And you..." pointing at the brown haired woman. "Over here!"
As this is happening, Carmen replies, "She has been claimed for Lord Corlis, who I imagine also needs a secretary. Don't worry about her."

Lisa frowns and sighs.

Oh shit, they are vampires, Constantine thought.

"Sure," he replied, unable to hide the tremor in his voice. Damnit, he was just a novice, he hadn't even gotten his blades yet!

"Uh," he continued, "Where are we going, exactly?"

Sticking her chin up, Lisa manages. "I'd rather stay with her."

Sticking her chin up, Lisa manages. "I'd rather stay with her."

Carmen says in a cold, harsh, threatening voice, "But you can't, so forget about it! You will do as you are told, is that clear?" she takes a step towards Lisa, glaring at her.

Elsewhere:

The man says coldly, "You'll find out soon enough." he gestures to where a small group of men and women are being led onto a truck. "Go with them."

Trying to quell the fear welling up in his mind, Constantine stumbles onto the truck, looking about him at the others already there. Despite the fact that he's likely to be killed, or worse, soon, his rampant curiosity raises it's head again. Back at Kassilant, it has gotten him into trouble more times than he can remember.

"Who are all you guys?" he asks, followed by "And where are we? Who are those guys?"

The man says, his voice still cold, "This is Turgosheim, and you are in the hands of the Wamphyri. And you--and a few others--will have to answer some questions. Now get on that truck." he abruptly points, glaring at Constantine with menace. His eyes are now a deep sullen hue of red...

"And what then?", says an elf from behind Constantine. "Are you going to have a nice lunch with us?". The elf was tall, his silver hair flowing with the wind, dressed in a tight black outfit. His eyes were pitch black, a rare trait in the elves, his gaze fixed in the vampire's eyes, raising an unspoken challenge.

For a moment a silence falls immediately around them. The man in the leather uniform just stares at the elf for a few seconds, incredulous, and then one of the guards slams a rifle butt into the small of the elf's back.

Wamphyri, wamphyri... Constantine desperately tried to recall what he'd learnt about that breed of vampire, but remembered only a line from one of the big old tomes of Order lore about the breed being "distinguishable in the having of eyes with irises of Red, showing clearly their affiliation with Evil."

(assuming that meanwhile Constantine is being led onto the truck)
There are only a few people inside, men and women, and those most disconsolate. Guards watch Constantine as he is pushed up the ramp of the truck and inside. The ramp is lifted and shut; a lock snaps on the outside of the ramp. The truck rumbles along the rain slicked road.
Wamphyri... Constantine recalls a strange phrase. That the Wamphyri regard themselves as special in orgin is made clear by their contempt for most 'ordinary' vampires...

Lisa just glares angrily at the woman, but she doesn't say argue.

"Hey," Constantine asked the other prisoners, "Who are these "Wamphyri" vampires?"

Lisa just glares angrily at the woman, but she doesn't say argue.

"Come." says Carmen. Two of the guards move behind Lisa and the other women and prod them to follow her, and Carmen walks through the doors she came from.
They are led along a concrete, institutional looking hallway and then round a corner to a big helicopter. Several men, these handcuffed, are being brought on as well. They are all wearing pajama like garments similar in colour to what Lisa is wearing. One looks at her with a kind of wondering despair; she recognizes him as a man who was sitting in the aisle ahead of her. He had his family with him on the plane.
"More claims for my Lady." murmurs Carmen. She greets the man leading this other slave party, a man in a leather uniform looking jacket dyed blue. "Ah, Arkis! A good haul, eh?"
"Very good." he gives Lisa a searing look that seems to strip her to the bone. He is almost beast like, this Arkis--his eyes seem very sunken, and his ears small and almost pointed. His nose is flat and his nostrils are wide. "This one--I don't like the look of her. Fodder, eh?"
"No, the Lady wants a bookeeper since Viktor was made an example of." says Carmen lightly, but she takes Lisa's arm in her ungauntleted hand, and urges her aboard.


Meanwhile:
A little man near Constantine says softly, "A foreigner? How strange..."his accent his strong. "I am Father Stefan. And the Wamphyri...they are the rulers of this land. By some means a form of evil parasite got into them--now it rules them, poisons their blood, but also gives them amazing powers--immortality, or near to it--the ability to shift and manipulate flesh and bone, to use mental powers--and a taste of their blood corrupts that of mortals, makes them into ordinary vampires..."

"Some kind of greater dead, then," Constantine said, and then added, embarrassed, "I should know this stuff, but ... well, I was never very good at studying.

"I'm Constantine Reed, I'm a three-bar Novice in the Blood Templar Order at Venaize." He indicated the three white bars on the right breast of his coat. "I was just going home to visit my family when the plane crashed..."

"Don't be embarassed, young man." says the little fellow with a certain irony in his voice. "We are in great danger you know...as for me, I am Father Stefan of the Society of Jesus--a Jesuit if you will. I did a great deal of studying of the supernatural at the seminary." the truck gives a great lurch as it goes over a bump.
"So...a vampire hunter is caught by his prey." muses the priest. "Few come to Turgosheim from outside. It's laws on travel are very strict, and also the area is notorious for strange air pressures and the like. A veritable Bermuda Triangle."

Lisa walks along, allowing herself to be pulled into the helicopter by her arm, shirking back in fear from Arkis's gave. She looks down, her eyes tearing up. She whimpers meekly. "Fodder?" Even as she sits.

"That must have been why the plane crashed, then," Constantine says. "But I'm not a hunter, or at least, not yet. I'm only a novice, not even a Probate."

The elf was scratching the back of his neck, right in the place where he was hit with the rifle. "Vampires, lifedrinkers, doldur, predators, nosferatu. Called by many names, but always the same scum. I should bring my weapon, but how the hell I was suppose to know we would be kidnapped by vampires?", he said, raising an eyebrow.

He turned to Constantine "A young hunter, then. I was a hunter too, but my specialty was the Drow Slaying. I faced a vampire once, a long time ago, but I don't even want to remember the experience", then he said to the Jesuit "Any clues about where are we heading now?".

Lisa walks along, allowing herself to be pulled into the helicopter by her arm, shirking back in fear from Arkis's gave. She looks down, her eyes tearing up. She whimpers meekly. "Fodder?" Even as she sits.

Carmen gets her to sit among the others. "Fodder." she says, close to Lisa's ear. "That means that you'd be used as food or material. But if you are obedient, you won't be." she gives Lisa a pat on the shoulder and sits down herself. She and Arkis talk quietly, glancing over their clipboards.
The helicopter was made originally for large scale troop transport, and so it easily holds those aboard. In short order the vehicle takes off and goes thudding through the rain and the night. The woman Jeanette can be heard speaking quietly to herself in French.

In the truck, Father Stefan says, "Doesn't matter to them. Anyway...do you believe in God? I hope you don't mind if I pray for you." The truck comes to a screeching halt. They can hear sounds which make Constantine think of a checkpoint or something; there is a sense of routine about it and the harsh accents of the soldiers outside. Then the truck starts up again and rumbles on its way.

Lisa shivers but nods and sits quietly. She sends Jeanette a comforting, weak smile. "It'll be alright." She says quietly.

The elf was scratching the back of his neck, right in the place where he was hit with the rifle. "Vampires, lifedrinkers, doldur, predators, nosferatu. Called by many names, but always the same scum. I should bring my weapon, but how the hell I was suppose to know we would be kidnapped by vampires?", he said, raising an eyebrow.

He turned to Constantine "A young hunter, then. I was a hunter too, but my specialty was the Drow Slaying. I faced a vampire once, a long time ago, but I don't even want to remember the experience", then he said to the Jesuit "Any clues about where are we heading now?".

"We are probably heading to Madmanse. That is where any political prisoners are taken--or those in whom the Wamphyri as a whole have special interest." he crosses himself as though wary of wasting the gesture, and remarks, "In a sense, we are in luck. Sometimes literally all they want to do is ask questions. There's hope..." he sighs.

Lisa shivers but nods and sits quietly. She sends Jeanette a comforting, weak smile. "It'll be alright." She says quietly.

Jeanette sighs. "I was on my way to a conference. What I do mostly is contract law. About now I was supposed to be arriving and checking into my hotel. I was looking forward to a swim and an early night. And you?" Lisa can remember the elegant woman with her beautiful nails and hair boarding the plane--not quite beautiful but striking and attractive, and then later bent in concentration over her laptop computer.

"Ahem, When was the last time that someone escaped alive from that facility?. I'm just curious, because as far as I know, the vampires are not known by their mercy", said the elf, smiling at the father AWell, all I can say is that I'm not going to be an easy lunch. I was a police man, that's the way you humans call us, back in my homeland".

"No," Constantine tells the priest, "I don't believe in God. I mean, my family is sort of religious, but the Order tends not to be. Mainly because the Bible doesn't mention the ghasts or much about vampires or anything, so it must be wrong.

"Or at least, that's what they say," he adds hurriedly, to avoid offending Father Stefan, "But yeah, you can pray if you want. Who knows, it might work..."

"Ahem, When was the last time that someone escaped alive from that facility?. I'm just curious, because as far as I know, the vampires are not known by their mercy", said the elf, smiling at the father AWell, all I can say is that I'm not going to be an easy lunch. I was a police man, that's the way you humans call us, back in my homeland".

"Your courage is commendable, my elvish friend." says the priest. He gives him a thoughtful glance. "No one so far as I know has ever done so. And...you haven't seen any Wamphyri yet; just vampires."

"What they have that make them special?. Pointy ears, webbed hands or forked tongs?. All lifedrinkers work in the same way, they steal the essence from the living to keep them alive. Maybe it's because we elves are inmortal by nature, but I can't understand that kind of behavior. To me, those beings are abominations and should be erased from the face of the universe", said the elf, visibly enraged, punching the side of the truck with his bare hand.

"What they have that make them special?. Pointy ears, webbed hands or forked tongs?. All lifedrinkers work in the same way, they steal the essence from the living to keep them alive. Maybe it's because we elves are inmortal by nature, but I can't understand that kind of behavior. To me, those beings are abominations and should be erased from the face of the universe", said the elf, visibly enraged, punching the side of the truck with his bare hand.

"You don't see." says the priest quietly. "But listen. The Wamphyr is no languishing blood drinker. They are full of dark passions. They are evil, they know it and relish it. I'm sure you have encountered monsters before, but these know. They know what they do. Keep themselves alive? It is more than that: they would relish our torment. And their powers are great: mentalism, and the ability to shift their shape--and that of others."

"Fantastic, foul sorcery, vampirism and psychic powers. Everything in just one being. I need to escape to warn the rest of the world of the existence of these abominations", said the elf in a sarcastic tone "By the way, I'm Mordecai, Mordecai Illeanne"

Lisa sighs. "I was on my way to a vacation at the beach. I was going to swim, tan, maybe meet a nice girl. Now...I've been enslaved for the rest of my life." She starts to sob.

Lisa sighs heavily. "I was on my way for a vacation on the beach. I was planning to swim, tan, maybe meet a nice girl.

"Certainly." Eyegor nods and the escort make way for the two of them. A great circular trapdoor with a wheel lock device looms open revealing a stairway below. As they descend into it a sound of hydraulic machinery can be heard, and the platform they stop at lowers a cage around them. Then it goes down.
Lord Eyegor says, "The Red Tower, Lord Arcauld, is well defended but it is rule and not war that is its main purpose. Nevertheless it would take a great deal to bring it down--it has never fallen since Turgosheim was united under the Wamphyri alliance."
The elevator comes to a stop, and the cage door folds open. They can see a hall, vaulted and ribbed as though it was made from the bones of an ancient gigantic creature. In fact, Arcauld can see that this is the case. Guards stiffen to attention as the two walk down it towards a set of double doors made of steel, with the heraldry of a wolf's skull on it. The doors are swung open by two guards. Arcauld notices that the guards here are different somehow. More still than normal humans.
Beyond, he can sense that the Wamphyri are waiting.

Arcauld approached the massive door, a Canine crest in the middle of it, as the two guards swung the door open. Hrm, not human. Wamphyri? He glanced at their eyes. Nay. Normal vampires, perhaps? Arcauld had no time to ponder, however, as Eyegor lead him to meet the Wamphyri. He entered the room and knealt, his long white hair just touching the floor as he lowers his head. From somwhere in the darkness, a servant announces his entrance.

"Lord Alexander Svar Tepes!"

Just for a second, Arcauld was angry. He hated being called by his real name - it reminded him of his father.

Lisa sighs. "I was on my way to a vacation at the beach. I was going to swim, tan, maybe meet a nice girl. Now...I've been enslaved for the rest of my life." She starts to sob.

(OOC: Am I the only one that found that funny? Turgo, I'll leave the description of the room to you.)

((I find it hillarious now that I reread it. It didn't seem nearly that funny when I posted it. *Giggles massively*))

Arcauld approached the massive door, a Canine crest in the middle of it, as the two guards swung the door open. Hrm, not human. Wamphyri? He glanced at their eyes. Nay. Normal vampires, perhaps? Arcauld had no time to ponder, however, as Eyegor lead him to meet the Wamphyri. He entered the room and knealt, his long white hair just touching the floor as he lowers his head. From somwhere in the darkness, a servant announces his entrance.

"Lord Alexander Svar Tepes!"

Just for a second, Arcauld was angry. He hated being called by his real name - it reminded him of his father.

The hall was long--almost one hundred and fifty feet, and sixty across. It ran parallel to one side of the massive tower, and windows had been cut through the solid rock, fitted with thick panes of glass that looked tough enough for an underwater observatory.
Outside, Arcauld could see wind and rain lashing, and banners that hung from poles on the side of the tower flapping wildly.
On the other side, there were alcoves, cut deep enough to suggest caves. A glimpse of movement in them--of chitinous armor and surging muscular bodies. A rattle of chains and grunts and snarls were occasionally heard from them.
Up among the rafters--or rather the boney ribs of a creature the size of a whale, hardened and calcified!--there crept colonies of desmodus bats, their evil looking little faces grimacing as they crawled about there.
A massive table made of stone was in the center of the room. A tang of blood was in the air. Around it were chairs, most of them empty...
however, Arcauld noticed that the ones in the center were occupied. The presence of the creatures in the room was all but overwhelming. Their red glares seared; their bodies were the epitome of cruel, arrogant pride.
The Lady Devendim: her body tightly encased in a leather sheath that caressed her slim body like a glove, her hair a red cascade down her supple back. "Mistress of the Pit" whispered Lord Eyegor.
Lord Schwartz, lurking in his chair under his hooded cloak, hating even the dim gas lamp light of the room, a reptilian look to his skin and flat of feature. "Lord of Shadows" Lord Eyegor said.
Lord Tulkas, all but naked as far as Arcauld could see; his powerful body flexing as he partook of the remains of the bloody meal on the table--all that remained were deflated organs and stripped open muscle on the great platters. His face's handsomeness was corrupted by his red eyes and the smears of blood on his face. "Lord of the Warriors"
Lord Lasgula, almost effete by comparison, in his garb much like Arcauld's but with lace and ribbon decorating him, his hair as fine as Lady Devendim's, and his long fingers capped with golden picks so that his hands were not soiled by the blood filled body parts on his plate.
Lady Elerion Vrinn. Around her neck a golden ring, and from it many long pleats of black fur that hung down below the table. Her bare smooth limbs protruded from this strange cloak, and there was a flash of a round breast as she lifted an arm to push her black hair back. Her face was exquisitely beautiful, her mouth full, her features delicate, but her eyes burned with Wamphyri red. "Lady of the Outlands"
Lord Unwyrm. Impossibly tall, nearly seven feet, his long features almost fine, priestly, as are the robes he wears--but rather than piety, his face shows ruthless intelligence and pride. "The High Councillor".
"And I am the Lord Harvester." explained Lord Eyegor. "These titles may be obscure, but feel free to ask questions, Lord Arcauld."
"Rise, Lord Arcauld, and sit with us." rumbled Lord Unwyrm. "And speak of what has brought you here."

Lisa sighs. "I was on my way to a vacation at the beach. I was going to swim, tan, maybe meet a nice girl. Now...I've been enslaved for the rest of my life." She starts to sob.

Jeanette puts an arm around her and is struggling not to cry as well. "We have to survive, not give up hope. I was never much for religion but I hope le bon Dieu has not forgotten us..." she giggles quietly, stealing a wary glance at Carmen and Arkis. "...and for a moment, I was shocked at you saying you wanted to meet a nice girl--foolish, non? Under the circumstances?"
Angela seems lost in a world of her own, rocking and staring.

The truck containing Constantine, Mordecai and Father Stefan continued on its way, rattling and bumping along the road--then screeched to a halt, throwing them all from side to side.
An explosion went off that made the entire truck jump! Shouts mingled with a thunderous rattle of automatic weapons, and then something fiery tore its way through the back of the truck, searing the inside. Mordecai and Constantine found themselves spattered in gore and coughing from the stench of smoke, offal and cordite--but the ragged end of the truck was open, flames licking the edges where the ramp hand been ripped apart.

"Thank you, my Lord." Said Arcauld as he rose, quickly flinging his head back to get his hair out of his eyes. He remained standing - this way he could talk to all of the Wamphyri at once.

"I bring an offer of alliance. Soon, my minions will be resurrected to face Dracula. I have aligned their sleep perfectly, so that they will rise a few weeks before my...father. I had originally planned to do the same, yet it seems that fate has intervened. And that is why I am here. I have but a few fledglings under my command, and they are weak of will. However, even with the rest of my faithful, I fear I may not have the strength to defeat Dracula once and for all. That is where you come in. I propose that we join forces. With our combined might, there is none that could stand in our way! Your influence would reach further than Turgosheim, much further. And I would have my revenge. Think about it."

Lord Unwyrm nods gravely but says nothing.
Lady Elerion leans forward, and apart from her arms her body is hidden under her strange fur cloak again. "Influence? What kind of influence do you offer?"
"And the numbers you speak of--what would be necessary on our part if we were to help you?" growled Lord Tulkas. "Do you mostly need the support of Wamphyri and vampires--or do you need human forces as well? You must know, Lord Arcauld, that we are at war--in Turgosheim itself, though it is not much of one. Paltry rebellion of humans, but they are travellers, nomads mostly, and it is irksome to track them down."

In another warehouse...
After they look at his passport, Tarn finds himself aside, through a door and into an office, where an officer is smoking. From the haze in the room he has been smoking for some time. He offers Tarn a cigarette and smiles.
"What is your diplomatic status, exactly?"

Tarn took the cigarette, not wanting to antagonise the man. He seemed friendly enough, however, and Tarn began to grow somewhat more confident. Surely his diplomatic status would allow him to talk to someone, explain that they had made a mistake, that he shouldn't be here. "I am Tarn McCray, Assistant Ambassador for the colony of Albion in the system Senecas IV. I was on my way to..." The officer cut him off with a sharp motion of the hand. Tarn bridled but held his peace.

Lisa laughs slightly, wrapping an arm back around Jeanette. "It is a rather petty detail given the circumstances. Perhaps it is not quite so horrific as it seems. At least we are not to be fodder." Suddenly, she sighs heavily and casts her eyes respectfully to the ground. "I suppose those not choosen out of the crowd are."

The truck containing Constantine, Mordecai and Father Stefan continued on its way, rattling and bumping along the road--then screeched to a halt, throwing them all from side to side.
An explosion went off that made the entire truck jump! Shouts mingled with a thunderous rattle of automatic weapons, and then something fiery tore its way through the back of the truck, searing the inside. Mordecai and Constantine found themselves spattered in gore and coughing from the stench of smoke, offal and cordite--but the ragged end of the truck was open, flames licking the edges where the ramp hand been ripped apart.

((This looks like a good RP, so I think that I'll try my hand at it. Tell me if you don't want something like this.))

As the surviving occupants of the truck came to their senses, they could see several heavily armored and armed forms firing at the guards of the truck. A raiding party, it seemed. The last of the guards was shot to death, and the survivors were picked up roughly and hustled away from the road.

"Run hard if you want to live." One of them said, pushing Mordecai forwards.

By all the ghasts and shades, what's going on? Constantine thought dizzily, being pushed out of the truck by shades alone knew who. Yes, life would be very nice.

"Who are you?" he gasped over his shoulder, landing in the muddy road beside the elf. "What do you want with us?"

"We're trying to save your asses, unless of course you want to be executed..." Another said, his voice scrambled by his helmet.

"Cut the chatter." Came an authoritive, decidedly female voice.

The raiding party slunk into the forests, and made fast progress, as if they knew these forests like the backs of their hands. After several hours of hard marching in silence, they came upon a small, primitive looking camp of tents. The soldiers who had rescued the occupants of the truck took off their helmets, smiling at a job well done. The leader, a beautiful young elven woman with hair of a deep amethyst that danced along her back, walked up to a tall man, and saluted. She talked with him for a few minutes, and then walked over to the group. Her dark blue eyes scanned the group for a second, resting a bit longer on Mordecai.

"Before I can answer the questions you have, I need to ask a few of my own. Do any of you need medical attention?" She asked them in a soft, yet still authoritive, voice.

Tarn stood in front of the officer as his documentation was examined. Suddenly there was a rapid popping sound in the distance, followed by a muffled thud......Tarn's curiosity barely registered the sounds, but the officer looked up sharply. His earpiece crackled into life and his rapid questions (delivered in the same language the guards had used) gave way to a expression of rage. The functionary who had offered Tarn a cigarette was gone, and in his place stood a soldier, lips drawn back from his teeth in a feral snarl. He growled an affirmative into the commset then whipped round to face Tarn. "You will stay here. Do not attempt to leave the room unless you wish your head and neck to part company." The sound of running boots echoed from the corridor and, giving Tarn a final warning glare, the officer exited and closed the door.
Tarn waited until the footsteps had died away, then hurried to the door and listened for the presence of a guard before slowly turning the handle and pushing the door.....which refused to budge. A small red light just above the handle was blinking rapidly, and Tarn guessed that the door had locked automatically as the officer pushed it shut. The absence of another door or even a window meant that he was trapped in here til someone returned. He moved over to the officer's desk to retrieve his documentation - the only proof he had of his diplomatic status, although he was becoming less sure of its ability to get him out of here. As he gathered up the precious papers, his eye fell on several official-looking documents stamped with a fanged skull of some kind. An ambassador always tried to gather as much information as possible on the nation he was in...and Tarn hoped he might find something of use here, maybe even a way to get out.

OOC: Turgo, I'll leave it to you as to what's in the documents. I appreciate it may seem strange that a character wouldn't recognise the sound of distant gunfire and explosions, but Tarn's only left his home colony twice before and hasn't heard gunfire except on the holovision. He's pretty naive as to the darker side of the outside world.

Lord Unwyrm nods gravely but says nothing.
Lady Elerion leans forward, and apart from her arms her body is hidden under her strange fur cloak again. "Influence? What kind of influence do you offer?"
"And the numbers you speak of--what would be necessary on our part if we were to help you?" growled Lord Tulkas. "Do you mostly need the support of Wamphyri and vampires--or do you need human forces as well? You must know, Lord Arcauld, that we are at war--in Turgosheim itself, though it is not much of one. Paltry rebellion of humans, but they are travellers, nomads mostly, and it is irksome to track them down."

"Influence of the greatest kind, my Lady. Think of the power you wield now, only tenfold. You would be feared around the world. None would dare oppose you. Anything you desired, anything, could be yours. Who could challenge our allied forces? The pitiful humans? The beastly werewolves? Nay. Your rule could stretch far beyond Turgosheim, right to the edge of the world."

Arcauld turned to Lord Tulkas.
"Humans?" He spat the word. "How you put up with them I do not know. Weak, retchid creatures, barely capable of following orders. I ask for the support of Wamphyri and vampires. However, I'm sure that your...operation...in Turgosheim could be most productive. I could take a select few, and turn them. I could train them to be a fighting force capable of defending Turgosheim against the futile humans, and of assaulting and destroying Count Dracula. There are no losers."

Lisa laughs slightly, wrapping an arm back around Jeanette. "It is a rather petty detail given the circumstances. Perhaps it is not quite so horrific as it seems. At least we are not to be fodder." Suddenly, she sighs heavily and casts her eyes respectfully to the ground. "I suppose those not choosen out of the crowd are."

Jeanette shudders and leans against Lisa. The helicopter flies over mountains and valleys that are in some cases cultivated with roads and towns, in others entirely wild.
Eventually it reaches more and more civilization and then a city. Strange skyscrapers dominate the skyline; they almost seem to be a cross between carved stone and some kind of organic material
frozen. The one the helicopter makes its way to almost resembles one of the gauntlets, all spikes and turrets and protrusions. At the very top, guiding lights waver in the driving rain, and the pilots guide the machine down to land. The door is pulled open by one of the gardens, and they can see others, in greatcoats clutching submachineguns waiting.
"Out!" barks Arkis, flexing his gauntlet menacingly.


"We're trying to save your asses, unless of course you want to be executed..." Another said, his voice scrambled by his helmet.

"Cut the chatter." Came an authoritive, decidedly female voice.

The raiding party slunk into the forests, and made fast progress, as if they knew these forests like the backs of their hands. After several hours of hard marching in silence, they came upon a small, primitive looking camp of tents. The soldiers who had rescued the occupants of the truck took off their helmets, smiling at a job well done. The leader, a beautiful young elven woman with hair of a deep amethyst that danced along her back, walked up to a tall man, and saluted. She talked with him for a few minutes, and then walked over to the group. Her dark blue eyes scanned the group for a second, resting a bit longer on Mordecai.

"Before I can answer the questions you have, I need to ask a few of my own. Do any of you need medical attention?" She asked them in a soft, yet still authoritive, voice.

OOC: I don't mind you joining in of course, but I would like these people to be working with my own resistance group.
Essentially, this particular group are nomadic gypsies called the Szygany Clan. Their leaders tend to be mildly psychic and they have been resisting the Wamphyri for a couple of generations. There are several clans within the tribe. Please telegram me some
info about your nation and why they would support this.
IC:
A group of humans, men and women were busy looking over weapons and equipment stripped from the guards. The tall man, who had dark hair and swarthy features, was walking to and fro, clapping his hand on shoulders and nodding.
One of the men hefted a rocket launcher and patted it, making a comment quietly in his own language, and the leader gave a low laugh.
Father Stefan murmured to Constantine and Mordecai, "These are Szygany. Gypsies...and foreigners with them!" he seems surprised and rather excited.


Tarn stood in front of the officer as his documentation was examined. Suddenly there was a rapid popping sound in the distance, followed by a muffled thud......Tarn's curiosity barely registered the sounds, but the officer looked up sharply. His earpiece crackled into life and his rapid questions (delivered in the same language the guards had used) gave way to a expression of rage. The functionary who had offered Tarn a cigarette was gone, and in his place stood a soldier, lips drawn back from his teeth in a feral snarl. He growled an affirmative into the commset then whipped round to face Tarn. "You will stay here. Do not attempt to leave the room unless you wish your head and neck to part company." The sound of running boots echoed from the corridor and, giving Tarn a final warning glare, the officer exited and closed the door.
Tarn waited until the footsteps had died away, then hurried to the door and listened for the presence of a guard before slowly turning the handle and pushing the door.....which refused to budge. A small red light just above the handle was blinking rapidly, and Tarn guessed that the door had locked automatically as the officer pushed it shut. The absence of another door or even a window meant that he was trapped in here til someone returned. He moved over to the officer's desk to retrieve his documentation - the only proof he had of his diplomatic status, although he was becoming less sure of its ability to get him out of here. As he gathered up the precious papers, his eye fell on several official-looking documents stamped with a fanged skull of some kind. An ambassador always tried to gather as much information as possible on the nation he was in...and Tarn hoped he might find something of use here, maybe even a way to get out.

OOC: Turgo, I'll leave it to you as to what's in the documents. I appreciate it may seem strange that a character wouldn't recognise the sound of distant gunfire and explosions, but Tarn's only left his home colony twice before and hasn't heard gunfire except on the holovision. He's pretty naive as to the darker side of the outside world.

OOC: I don't really mind...but I have plans for Tarn, so let me do the officer and my other characters, kay?
IC:
The documents are all written in Romany. The officer's footsteps could be heard, returning. However, Tarn did manage to see that a number of photographs of standard passports was among the documents--he could tell by the cheap printing that they had been sent by computer, and the date--that at least was comprehensible, stated that they had been sent half an hour ago, judging by the wall clock.
The officer came in just as Tarn managed to put the papers back, and he said, "Well, sir, it seems there has been a misunderstanding--do you object to meeting with our...er...Foreign Minister to clear things up? Where did you say you were going?"



"Influence of the greatest kind, my Lady. Think of the power you wield now, only tenfold. You would be feared around the world. None would dare oppose you. Anything you desired, anything, could be yours. Who could challenge our allied forces? The pitiful humans? The beastly werewolves? Nay. Your rule could stretch far beyond Turgosheim, right to the edge of the world."

Arcauld turned to Lord Tulkas.
"Humans?" He spat the word. "How you put up with them I do not know. Weak, retchid creatures, barely capable of following orders. I ask for the support of Wamphyri and vampires. However, I'm sure that your...operation...in Turgosheim could be most productive. I could take a select few, and turn them. I could train them to be a fighting force capable of defending Turgosheim against the futile humans, and of assaulting and destroying Count Dracula. There are no losers."

Lord Tulkas seems a bit irritated. "You have, possibly, little experience of such things. Humans are weak, but they have an intrepid cunning I can not afford to underestimate. They will be crushed." his voice growls,
and his gauntlet flexes as he speaks. "These rebellions come and go--in fact nigh to a hundred years past I put down another. Most of the humans in this country have bowed before us and accept us as their rulers."

"They have little choice." chuckled Lord Laskula. There was a general murmur of laughter at this.

"Are there fresh harvests of humans available in your land, Lord Arcauld? Fresh blood to mingle with our slaves? Exchanges, eh? And
of your enemies of the Blood--those that become captive to us we may use freely for the fodder?" asked Lord Eyegor amiably.

OOC: I don't really mind...but I have plans for Tarn, so let me do the officer and my other characters, kay?
IC:
The documents are all written in Romany. The officer's footsteps could be heard, returning. However, Tarn did manage to see that a number of photographs of standard passports was among the documents--he could tell by the cheap printing that they had been sent by computer, and the date--that at least was comprehensible, stated that they had been sent half an hour ago, judging by the wall clock.
The officer came in just as Tarn managed to put the papers back, and he said, "Well, sir, it seems there has been a misunderstanding--do you object to meeting with our...er...Foreign Minister to clear things up? Where did you say you were going?"

Tarn breathed an inward sigh of relief....the diplomatic status had finally paid off. He drew himself up to his full height (which, seeing as he was from a high-gee world, wasn't much) and informed the officer in tones of exasperated arrogance that he had been on his way back to the spaceport, from whence he would return to his home colony of Albion.


OOC: For more info on Albion see here. http://www.nationstates.net/forum/viewtopic.php?t=92534&highlight=.
Sorry about the brief appropriation of your officer Turgo....didn't know how soon you'd be back and wanted to give Tarn something to do. But in future I shall allow him to be led into your (possibly) evil schemes :twisted:

"Many apologies, sir." the officer says politely. "A helicopter is being prepped for your flight...but everything must be done right. The rain, you see."
At that moment a young man in a lamb's wool coat and hat comes in, shaking rain drops off his hat, and smiles at Tarn. The officer springs to his feet and brings a boot down with a loud stomp.
"Hello--my name is Spiro Vasagi; I am the First Assistant to our Foreign Minister. Colonel, do you mind if I talk to Mr. McKay alone?"
"No, sir." says the Colonel. He walks out the door and shuts it behind him.
"Mr. McKay...all a bit misunderstanding, I hope...it is most embarassing as we had wanted to establish contact with your government...do you think that would still be possible?" Tarn can't help but notice the rather reddish look to the man's irises.

"Many apologies, sir." the officer says politely. "A helicopter is being prepped for your flight...but everything must be done right. The rain, you see."
At that moment a young man in a lamb's wool coat and hat comes in, shaking rain drops off his hat, and smiles at Tarn. The officer springs to his feet and brings a boot down with a loud stomp.
"Hello--my name is Spiro Vasagi; I am the First Assistant to our Foreign Minister. Colonel, do you mind if I talk to Mr. McKay alone?"
"No, sir." says the Colonel. He walks out the door and shuts it behind him.
"Mr. McKay...all a bit misunderstanding, I hope...it is most embarassing as we had wanted to establish contact with your government...do you think that would still be possible?" Tarn can't help but notice the rather reddish look to the man's irises.

Tarn smiled inwardly. Now he was back on familiar turf he felt much more confident. And to think that this Vasagi wanted to establish relations with Albion through him! The prestige that would bring at home might well get him the Ambassador's post when the elections came round again. But despite the twinges of ambition, there was still a small knot of unease in the pit of his stomach, like a stone in your shoe - you can try to ignore it but it stays there in the corner of your mind. He kept on having to tear his eyes away from the man's reddened eyes..."Well, Mr Vasagi," he began, "I am sure that both our countries would benefit from contact, perhaps an official exchange of ambassadors...and don't worry about our little 'incident' - we both know these things happen." He knew the lie even as he told it, and that little ball of unease in the pit of his stomach made its presence known again.

OOC: The surname is McCray, not McKay :)

"I am very glad to hear it." says Spiro Vasagi. "You are clearly a man of spirit, the perfect person to be such an envoy. You know, Turgosheim needs manufactured goods and certain minerals--your nation would be perfect to provide them. Would it be possible for you to contact your superiors--now, for instance--and then, barring their refusal--you could perhaps take a tour, get a sense of how our countries could benefit one another?"

"I am very glad to hear it." says Spiro Vasagi. "You are clearly a man of spirit, the perfect person to be such an envoy. You know, Turgosheim needs manufactured goods and certain minerals--your nation would be perfect to provide them. Would it be possible for you to contact your superiors--now, for instance--and then, barring their refusal--you could perhaps take a tour, get a sense of how our countries could benefit one another?"

Tarn's ambition was repeatedly stamping on the ball of unease and had succeeded in squashing it into near-extinction. With Vasagi all but proposing him as envoy the job was half-done....and if he told the Interplanetary Minister that he was in command of the situation, acting as envoy.....that Ambassador post would be in the bag. "I would appreciate a tour very much indeed Mr. Vasagi - I would be interested to know more about your country, very interested. I am sure some commodity can be found that your nation can provide to Albion.....luxuries are rather scarce there, so anything of that nature would fetch high prices. If you will excuse me, I will confirm this with my superiors."

"Certainly." says Spiro Vasagi, beaming at Tarn. He pushes a rather old fashioned looking telephone towards him across the desk, stands up and says, "I'll let you be for a moment..." and walks out the door, where Tarn sees Colonel Biteri approach him. The door closes.

((TG sent, Turgo.))

Tarn dialed the number of the Albion Foreign Office, marvelling at the antiquated telephone. He was answered by an androgynous, impersonal voice at the other end - with no vidscreen he couldn't be sure, but he guessed it was one of the cyber-secretaries. It informed him that the Interplanetary Minister was currently in a meeting with the ore merchants over trade prices and as such could not possibly be interrupted. Growling, Tarn left a message recounting what had happened and informing the Minister of the current situation, adding that he would act as envoy while awaiting further instructions. He put the phone down and sat at the desk, straining to eavesdrop on what Vasagi and the Colonel might be saying on the other side of the door, but heard nothing.

After a few minutes there is a knock on the door. (ooc: assuming that Tarn does what most people would do and says, 'Yes?')
A voice says, "Are you finished, Mr. McCray?"

After a few minutes there is a knock on the door. (ooc: assuming that Tarn does what most people would do and says, 'Yes?')
A voice says, "Are you finished, Mr. McCray?"

"Yes Mr Vasagi, I'm all finished here". Tarn stood and headed towards the door.

"Very well." Spiro Vasagi comes in and says, "You must be hungry, Mr. McCray. The officer's mess here does fairly well if you are very hungry, but if you can wait the helicopter will take you to a good hotel, and I will accompany you so we can talk."

Meanwhile, at lake Taygar, underwater divers under the direction of an officer swim down to the wreck of the plane, through the murk of weeds and muck torn up and clouding the water from it's crash, and set charges at key points, guided by big underwater searchlights.
Peasants from nearby villages are hauling away other wreckage under supervision. Some of the shrewder have asked if they can leave some women and children with baskets to gather the inevitable dead fish from the explosion.
"Why not," says the officer with a paternal wave of the hand.
The officer walks up and down along the banks, wishing he could smoke and cursing the rain...no, the rain is good...but still...he thinks jealously of his superiors back in their barracks.
He turns as the divers' senior officer approaches and salutes. "All ready to blow, Captain."
"Understood. Carry on, Gunner."
"Sir!"
The Captain moved behind the bomb shield that had been erected and could not help but cower when the rumbling explosion rippled and domed the water.
In moments, the peasant women were excitedly moving forward to grab the silvery sleek forms of the fish moving in waves to the shore.

Lisa shrinks back from the guns some and slowly disembarks, still holding tightly to Jeanette. She looks around slowly.

Taking their silence as a sign that none of them were seriously hurt, her own observations supporting that conclusion, the officer nodded and paused before continuing.

"Alright, then. What are your names and how did you get on that truck?" She asked them, gesturing towards the direction they came from.

Lisa sighs and looks at the ground, running a hand through her hair. "Where are we supposed to go?"

A big open trapdoor like a submarine portal is open, and the slaves are herded down into it, and down a hall into an elevator. Guards and the two Lictors enter with them. A cage clanks over the front and they go down several floors till it opens facing a large room. They are herded out and can see that it is lit with lamps attached to the walls that give a yellowish glow. The walls are strange, curved and ribbed as though they were once part of some giant creature.
A man in a slavic style tunic and trousers and boots is in the room which has two doors out and features a long desk in front of a shelf of books. There is a computer on the desk. The floor is exquisitely carpeted.
"Ah, Carmen and Arkis!" exclaims the man. He speaks with them in their odd language as the slaves are ushered into the room, except for two of the men who are taken farther down in the elevator.
Carmen says, "For the Lady personally: Lisa and Angela. Lisa is claimed as a bookeeper, Angela as a personal maid."
"Very nice." says the man. "My name is Ulric, I am the Lady's Steward. Work hard, be obedient, and you will be treated well." he does not expect to converse, clearly, as he is already being told about the others.
A hard faced, attractive woman with light brown hair and a similar smock comes in one of the doors, and bows her head to Ulric.
"Bettina, take these two female slaves to be prepared for the Lady. You may converse with them freely. In fact...you should, as you were spoken with." says Ulric with a chilling laugh.
Bettina bows her head and beckons to Lisa and Angela. Jeanette gives Lisa a forlorn look.

Lisa looks at Jeanette a long moment. "I'm sure it'll be ok. You're in the servants group. You just have to go into service at a lower level." She sighs heavily and mutters under her breath "Every time I start to connect with someone in this thing they split us apart." Lisa sighs and glares briefly at the steward. Then she grudgingly move to follow the woman as directed.

Taking their silence as a sign that none of them were seriously hurt, her own observations supporting that conclusion, the officer nodded and paused before continuing.

"Alright, then. What are your names and how did you get on that truck?" She asked them, gesturing towards the direction they came from.

((Oh, damn, too much delay))

Mordecai tried to touch one of his ears, feeling a sharp pain at the side of his head. His left ear was almost entirely ripped apart by the ricochet of a bullet, leaving just a piece of it. I was lucky. Just the ear, one more inch and I could received a shot in the forehead, he said to himself. All happened too quickly. First the explosion, then the armed patrol commading them to run, the rush through, and then this...

"I need just a thread and a needle. I can fix myself", he said, covering his lost ear with his hand, then he noted the amethyst-haired woman looking him directly in the eyes "And thank you, of course. Thank you for taking us out of that truck. May I enquire who are you?, Are you some kind of resistance group?".

Lisa looks at Jeanette a long moment. "I'm sure it'll be ok. You're in the servants group. You just have to go into service at a lower level." She sighs heavily and mutters under her breath "Every time I start to connect with someone in this thing they split us apart." Lisa sighs and glares briefly at the steward. Then she grudgingly move to follow the woman as directed.

"As you heard, I'm Bettina, and I'm the Lady's Handmaid. The steward runs the household, but I run those who actually attend her personally. You're both very lucky. You'll be well fed, and occasionally allowed variety of clothing and diversions." she leads them both down a hallway lit with the same kind of lamps. Lisa could swear they are gas operated in some way. There is the same weirdly organic look to the walls and ceiling. Deep set archways contain other doors.
A pair of guards are on either side of a door that she opens, nodding to them. One is female, a rather burly woman with a grim face, who smiles at Bettina, who winks back. The other is a thin man who looks at the two new arrivals with cold indifference.
She brings them into a room like a dormitory room, with metal lockers in it. There are wood and padding dividers for every two beds. . "This is where you will sleep--that door over there leads to our washroom. Most of the women they bring here are just peasants," she adds with a touch of scorn, "And we have some room, so you don't necessarily need a divider-mate, you both look city bred and educated. But if you want, you can share a divider space as you are new. Any questions so far?"

Lisa shakes her head. "Not so far, ma'am. If it's all the same to you, I'd like to have my own divider space if it's allowable...for now."

"Very well. In each locker you will find your personals. Simple but necessary; basic sanitation and remember to keep your skin in condition, the Lady loathes dry skin or scalps. She shows them two open lockers and gives them the locks with a small key. "Don't lose the key--but if you do, ask me about it, don't trouble the Steward with trivialities. Towel. Toothbrush. Toothpaste. Soap with case. Moisturizing cream tube. If you have sensitive or especially dry skin let me know. Basic makeup kit--don't use too much as the Lady doesn't like it. Sponge with scrub pad. Tampons. Anything else you need?" Bettina hands each their locks.

Lisa takes the lock. "Deoderant? Shampoo?"

Bettina smiles and opens a larger locker which has a number of brands of deodorant and shampoo, some of them very fine and expensive. Also perfumes are there, conditioners, various combs and brushes, nail scissors, and various sanitary products.
"Take what you need." she says.
As Angela goes through what's there, Bettina walks away to get a clipboard. Angela whispers, "What will happen to us?"

Lisa digs through the locker. She gets an athletic deoderant and an herbal shampoo. She gets a simple brush and nail clippers in two sizes. She moves these things to her personal locker. "Thank you, ma'am."

"You're welcome." Bettina says, giving her a thoughtful look. "Now: about the Lady. You will both be in personal contact with her. When she feeds from you--yes, I say when--do not resist. It is pleasurable if you don't resist. Both of you tell me your sexual preferences, by the way. If you need contact with men...it can be arranged. The Lady wants you content." as she says this she opens the next door. An olive skinned girl dressed as they are is setting a delicious smelling couple of trays down on a dining room table, along with two jugs and glasses. The aroma is of roasted fowl. This dining room is quite nicely furnished and decorated.
Bettina smiles wryly.
Angela stutters, "I had a boyfriend at home...but I don't need one now..." she looks embarassed as her stomach growls. Lisa can't help but notice how fine her features are, how soft looking her hair and how the ugly smock doesn't hide her supple figure.

Lisa shrugs. "I've never been with a man. Actually, I've never been with anyone. But I'm far more attractive to women." And she does seem to notice a little, though her mind is elsewhere with the enslavement and all.

Bettina stares. "A virgin? And you...?"
Angela nods, heat blooming in her cheeks.
"Well, wonder of wonders...a rarity here--in Turgosheim, in fact, for a girl over fifteen. Are you hungry, both of you? Eat!"
The tray covers, lifted, reveal a quarter of a chicken with steamed vegetables, mashed potatoes and gravy on each plate. There is also hot tea to go with it.
"The Lady likes women. She can even be gentle." Bettina goes on. "Lisa, you are going to be accounting on behalf of someone who owns hundreds of millions of obols in property, counts her lands in the thousands of acres with hundreds of tenants."

Lisa nods. "With time to work and a brief explanation of any peculiarities of your nation's economy, that should not be a problem." She sits and eagerly downs all the vegetables and potatoes she can get. She then looks hesitantly at the chicken.

Angela carefully picks the skin off her chicken and scrapes away the gravy as best she can before eating. Bettina pours herself some tea.
"You will be given access to a computer and the file library." she promises. "What's wrong with the chicken?" she asks, frowning.
Angela says, "I don't eat excess fat if I can help it."

Lisa tentatively takes a bite of chicken, taking a ver ylong while to chew. She seems thoughtful a moment and then shrugs. "I've just never had it before."

A strange chime is heard that reverberates and shivers in the air. Bettina takes a deep breath.
"The Lady has returned." she says.
She watches them finish a bit impatiently, and says, "Follow me."
Leading them out of that room they find themselves in a series of beautifully appointed suites, rugs decorated the floors, carved chairs and paintings everywhere.
Arkis and Carmen are there and both become rather humble, almost like schoolchildren before a master as a woman strides in. She is wearing a gauntlet, and a gold ring around her neck. Ropes of black fur flow from the ring down to her bare ankles, and glimpses are seen of pale thighs and the movements of her body are visible beneath it. Her eyes are as red as rubies; dark hair cascades to her waist. She nods to the Lictors and lets them fawn over her bare hand.
"Two new staff," murmurs Carmen, her aspect one of adoration. "Lisa and Angela."
The woman's gaze somehow seems to crawl over Lisa. Somehow it makes her almost dizzy. If Carmen and Arkis are like looking into a furnace, Elerion is more like the presence of a volcano.
"Lisa." murmurs Lady Elerion. "Come here."

"I'm Constantine Reed," Constantine told the people. "Who are you? What's going on?"

He was echoing Mordeccai, but that didn't matter. "What's happening?", he asked weakly, vaguely aware that he sounded kind of pathetic but not caring. Perhaps this was shock.

"Very well." Spiro Vasagi comes in and says, "You must be hungry, Mr. McCray. The officer's mess here does fairly well if you are very hungry, but if you can wait the helicopter will take you to a good hotel, and I will accompany you so we can talk."

Tarn was hungry, but he was also anxious to get down to business with this Vasagi and insinuate himself into a position of trust before the Minister got his message and took over. "I am eager to discuss the advancement of our two countries Mr Vasagi - let us catch that helicopter."

Lisa bows and approaches slowly, eyes lowered.

"Influence of the greatest kind, my Lady. Think of the power you wield now, only tenfold. You would be feared around the world. None would dare oppose you. Anything you desired, anything, could be yours. Who could challenge our allied forces? The pitiful humans? The beastly werewolves? Nay. Your rule could stretch far beyond Turgosheim, right to the edge of the world."

Arcauld turned to Lord Tulkas.
"Humans?" He spat the word. "How you put up with them I do not know. Weak, retchid creatures, barely capable of following orders. I ask for the support of Wamphyri and vampires. However, I'm sure that your...operation...in Turgosheim could be most productive. I could take a select few, and turn them. I could train them to be a fighting force capable of defending Turgosheim against the futile humans, and of assaulting and destroying Count Dracula. There are no losers."

Lord Tulkas seems a bit irritated. "You have, possibly, little experience of such things. Humans are weak, but they have an intrepid cunning I can not afford to underestimate. They will be crushed." his voice growls,
and his gauntlet flexes as he speaks. "These rebellions come and go--in fact nigh to a hundred years past I put down another. Most of the humans in this country have bowed before us and accept us as their rulers."

"They have little choice." chuckled Lord Laskula. There was a general murmur of laughter at this.

"Are there fresh harvests of humans available in your land, Lord Arcauld? Fresh blood to mingle with our slaves? Exchanges, eh? And
of your enemies of the Blood--those that become captive to us we may use freely for the fodder?" asked Lord Eyegor amiably.

"I have fought with humans all my life. However, I understand it must be difficult to keep them in line - they are like flies. Minute, worthless, and yet for every fly you kill, two more seem to appear. But, I have a proposition that could benefit the both of us. I will take my three fledglings, and teach them the ways of war. I will make them my elite killing machines. And then, for every -ten?- rebel humans that they slaughter, I take one unclaimed slave of my choice." He smiled darkly - he loved hunting humans for sport.

"Ah, Lord Eyegor, I have no true lands of my own. I hail from what used to be known as Transylvania - the country surrounding where Castlevania is resurrected. My own shrine is located on its outskirts, and that is where my army will be amassing. Of course, any humans under your control you may do with as you wish - they will be your people, much as the people of Turgosheim are your people now."

(OOC This does look interesting...May I join? If I can, please a little overview of what is happening here. I am not going to use Kain for a few reasons. Mainly being, I want to rp another character. I have few characters, but the few characters which I do have I think are deep and complex. Hints on who I should be? I do not want to be a copy of another person's character.)

Quick overview.....plane crash-lands in land of Turgosheim, passengers rounded up like cattle by soldiers and taken off to various places. Different RPd characters have gone to different places....my guy is being taken on a tour of the area (apparently), couple of others have been placed in servitude to one of the country's 'nobles' (who, incidentally, are Wamphyri), and some others have been freed by a resistance group. Another one is negotiating some kind of deal with the head Wamphyri. Easiest way to get a good overview would be to scan the posts or wait til Turgo comes back on....he/she will probably be able to give you more detail.

The woman blushed slightly.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I have forgotten to tell you who we are. We are, well, they are," She said, jabbing a thumb behind her to the people arming themselves. "The Szygany. They've been resisting the Wamphyri for many years now. I am the Countess Abriel, from Cyberutopia. I accidentaly wound up here two years ago, and the Szygany helped me escape from slavery."

She paused, shuddering slightly at the memories of her slavery.

"Now we fight against the Wamphyri, and lately we have been trying to get a hold of some kind of high powered radio so that we could reach Cyberutopia, and maybe they would help us. As for why you're here, it's the only alternative to what was going to happen to you if we didn't stop that truck. Torture, interrogation, and eventually execution."

She noticed the blood leaking through Mordecai's fingers down the side of his face, and nodded at his request.

"Please, allow me to fix your ear." She said, beckoning him to come into a medical tent a few yards away.

The woman blushed slightly.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I have forgotten to tell you who we are. We are, well, they are," She said, jabbing a thumb behind her to the people arming themselves. "The Szygany. They've been resisting the Wamphyri for many years now. I am the Countess Abriel, from Cyberutopia. I accidentaly wound up here two years ago, and the Szygany helped me escape from slavery."

She paused, shuddering slightly at the memories of her slavery.

"Now we fight against the Wamphyri, and lately we have been trying to get a hold of some kind of high powered radio so that we could reach Cyberutopia, and maybe they would help us. As for why you're here, it's the only alternative to what was going to happen to you if we didn't stop that truck. Torture, interrogation, and eventually execution."

She noticed the blood leaking through Mordecai's fingers down the side of his face, and nodded at his request.

"Please, allow me to fix your ear." She said, beckoning him to come into a medical tent a few yards away.

"When did you left Cyberutopia?. A lot time ago I should suppose", said Mordecai as he walked with the Cyberutopian Countess to the medical tent. "This group looks like well trained and equipped. Is here a foreign interest in deposing this Wamphiry, Vampiry, whatever?"

The two sat down in the tent, facing each other. Abriel picked up some thread, a needle, and drenched a cloth in water. She dabbed the side of his face with the cloth, cleaning his face of blood.

"That's right. I miss my country often, I haven't seen it in so long." She said, talking while she worked. "There's no outside help I'm aware of, I don't think anyone even knows about this country. All of these weapons have been looted from the soldiers that serve the Wamphyri."

She began to stitch up his ear, and she looked at his face often.

"I'm sorry about this..."

The tall Szygany comes by and says, "If we could get someone out who would be listened to, we would try to gain recognition.
But it is hard. The people of Turgosheim collaborate with the vampires, seek prosperity under them." he rubs weariness from his face and says,
"Are any of you hungry?"
Father Stefan nodded in the affirmative, and noticing him more closely, the Szygany beamed. "Ah, Father, and perhaps you can bless our meal and
consider doing holy communion?"


Tarn was hungry, but he was also anxious to get down to business with this Vasagi and insinuate himself into a position of trust before the Minister got his message and took over. "I am eager to discuss the advancement of our two countries Mr Vasagi - let us catch that helicopter."

As they hurried out to the tarmac two soldiers held umbrellas for them but fell back when they were near the rotars which were thundering above now. The lights twisted almost eerily in the rain.
Inside, Tarn found it was a military helicopter but transformed within to be comfortable for passengers of importance, even sound insulated so that they
could talk normally.
Soon they were airborne and heading off towards the great city of Vormspire--the capital of Turgosheim.
"If there are any questions you might have, Mr. McCray, please ask." suggests Vasagi.


Lisa bows and approaches slowly, eyes lowered.


Elerion's nostril's flare, and she touches Lisa's hair with her free hand, marvelling at its softness.
"You chose a very pretty accountant, Carmen." she says in a voice that sends shivers down Lisa's skin.
"Lisa," she says in a voice full of compassion and queenly authority, "I know that you must find it hard to be a slave.
But put all that behind you now. Angela--I can see you are afraid. You need not be afraid of me or anyone if you are obedient.
Now, you will both come with me to my chambers. I want to get to know you both a little better."
She beckoned and turned, as though knowing they would follow. The fur ropes sway as she moves.
Carmen smiles, but Arkis glowers at the slaves, and flexes his gauntlet.


"I have fought with humans all my life. However, I understand it must be difficult to keep them in line - they are like flies. Minute, worthless, and yet for every fly you kill, two more seem to appear. But, I have a proposition that could benefit the both of us. I will take my three fledglings, and teach them the ways of war. I will make them my elite killing machines. And then, for every -ten?- rebel humans that they slaughter, I take one unclaimed slave of my choice." He smiled darkly - he loved hunting humans for sport.

"Ah, Lord Eyegor, I have no true lands of my own. I hail from what used to be known as Transylvania - the country surrounding where Castlevania is resurrected. My own shrine is located on its outskirts, and that is where my army will be amassing. Of course, any humans under your control you may do with as you wish - they will be your people, much as the people of Turgosheim are your people now."
Lord Tulkas nods approvingly. During all this Lady Elerion whispered something to Lord Unwyrm, who nodded, at which she departed.
The Wamphyri lords' nostrils flare at his talk of war and killing.
Lord Unwyrm sighs and nods to Arcauld and says, "Lord Arcauld, you will understand that we mean you no disrespect when we say that such a grave decision cannot be made casually.
In the meantime...Be our guest in Turgosheim. Sample its pleasures and interests. And you will know our decision in two days' time. We in turn would like to send some of our agents to look at your situation in Castlevania for our purposes. Is this to your liking?"

Lisa blushes and trembles slightly. She scurries after the vampire lady nervously.

Lisa blushes and trembles slightly. She scurries after the vampire lady nervously.

She is led through an antechamber and into a bedroom--where a horror greets her. Surging out of an alcove is a chitin armored monster the size of a brown bear, flailing hook ended limbs and snarling as a set of crablike mandible shields open to reveal a tooth filled mouth. Worst of all somehow is that its eyes are human!

Lisa jumps back and hides behind her new mistress, hoping these vampire slavers have at least some concept of noblesse oblige.

Elerion snarls something in her own language, but Lisa can see that it is not so much her words as her will somehow that forbids the creature. Angela is trembling with terror beside Lisa, muttering,
"Oh, God, God!"
Elerion watches as the creature subsides into the wall.
"There are other such creatures--aye, and larger in my home." she tells them. "After tonight they will not bother you save at my will. They are my warriors--I made them myself. Once they were human, but they were not loyal. Come!"
The bedroom is huge, in fact the opening area merely shows her sitting room and reading area. Two wings lead respectively to a bathroom and a sleeping area, an enormous bed dominating it. Lisa can see a huge dressing room filled with outfits as well.
Elerion removes her gauntlet, hanging it by a strap on a hook near the bed. She turns to Lisa and Angela with a smouldering gaze.
"I can hear and almost taste the blood in you, still wild and hot from your fear..."
Angela whimpers.
"...come to me of your own will." her eyes stare commandingly at theirs, one and then the other. "Or not. The first pleasant and gentling, the second fierce." her mouth opens in a smile showing a glint of fangs.

Lord Tulkas nods approvingly. During all this Lady Elerion whispered something to Lord Unwyrm, who nodded, at which she departed.
The Wamphyri lords' nostrils flare at his talk of war and killing.
Lord Unwyrm sighs and nods to Arcauld and says, "Lord Arcauld, you will understand that we mean you no disrespect when we say that such a grave decision cannot be made casually.
In the meantime...Be our guest in Turgosheim. Sample its pleasures and interests. And you will know our decision in two days' time. We in turn would like to send some of our agents to look at your situation in Castlevania for our purposes. Is this to your liking?"

"Oh, of course my Lord. I would be honoured to stay in Turgosheim, however, I regret that your agents will not be able to go to Castlevania. You see, when I said that the castle will be resurrected, it was no slip of the tongue. The castle descends when the time is near, roughly a week before Dracula's resurrection. Once Dracula is defeated, the castle shall ascend once again, unless we can destroy him permanently. However, such things are not to be discussed here. I thank you once again for your hospitality."

Arcauld bowed again, and prepared to leave the hall.

The two sat down in the tent, facing each other. Abriel picked up some thread, a needle, and drenched a cloth in water. She dabbed the side of his face with the cloth, cleaning his face of blood.

"That's right. I miss my country often, I haven't seen it in so long." She said, talking while she worked. "There's no outside help I'm aware of, I don't think anyone even knows about this country. All of these weapons have been looted from the soldiers that serve the Wamphyri."

She began to stitch up his ear, and she looked at his face often.

"I'm sorry about this..."

"You don't need to be sorry. I must say thank you", said Mordecai, avoiding to look into Abriel's eyes, his face full of guilt and sorrow.
Maybe she doesn't know what happened in Cyberutopia lately. My brother died there, in the battle of the palace. Maybe she don't even know who is Cortez, better to stay that way, she have enough problems already.

"And who trained this men?", asked him, trying to stay away from the topic.

The figure's mind was calm and prepared. He felt totally at inner peace, the people around him seemed not to notice him, the figure melded with the bustling people upon the dimly lit street.

He had remarkable anf frightening features...yet none saw his features as odd. Powerful and almost intracable illusions where woven around him, so no one noticed him, and when they looked at his, they saw a normal stranger, and nothing more.

Vorador stepped forward....it was raining. He felt the droplets falling from the sky, as they poured onto him. The ran down his dark green skin...the feeling was peaceful and pleasurable to Vorador. He looked up....and raised his two hands up into the sky and laughed, his deep voice one of joy. His cloven talons where raised above his hairless head, he did nto care that his clothes where getting damp. He laughed at the celebration of it all.

"So long it has been since the water of the sky has flown down my back....still revolving the world is, yet mortals have turned to dust in my absence! What pleasures are there to be had in this new time!" Vorador spoke to himself, smiling...revealing his white fangs.

Vorador was an old vampire...he had lived many lifetimes, and his mortal life was an old one also. He was powerful....a mage of great power, yet he was mostly forgotten. He mainly remained secretive and alone....studying. Yet this time...this time he wanted to see what had changed within the world of men. Or the world of vampires it seemed....

(OOC Correct me in anything I say is wrong. If any character would like to meet Vorador feel free. Or any other person noticing him, which might escort him somewhere. Normal people would se ehim as a just anyone else, but a few individuals would see him as what he really is. And NO Vorador is not the same type of character from Soul Reaver, although I will keep many of his qualities. He is related in some way to Kain, my other character but I shall not reveal this just yet. Plans for the future....And I really do need someone to notice him and take him somewhere or the like, so I can get the ball rolling. I would appreciate details upon this place)

http://www.theninenazgul.com/sprites/vorador.gifhttp://www.3dactionplanet.com/lok/Images/Characters/Sr2_Vorador.jpg

Lord Tulkas nods approvingly. During all this Lady Elerion whispered something to Lord Unwyrm, who nodded, at which she departed.
The Wamphyri lords' nostrils flare at his talk of war and killing.
Lord Unwyrm sighs and nods to Arcauld and says, "Lord Arcauld, you will understand that we mean you no disrespect when we say that such a grave decision cannot be made casually.
In the meantime...Be our guest in Turgosheim. Sample its pleasures and interests. And you will know our decision in two days' time. We in turn would like to send some of our agents to look at your situation in Castlevania for our purposes. Is this to your liking?"

"Oh, of course my Lord. I would be honoured to stay in Turgosheim, however, I regret that your agents will not be able to go to Castlevania. You see, when I said that the castle will be resurrected, it was no slip of the tongue. The castle descends when the time is near, roughly a week before Dracula's resurrection. Once Dracula is defeated, the castle shall ascend once again, unless we can destroy him permanently. However, such things are not to be discussed here. I thank you once again for your hospitality."

Arcauld bowed again, and prepared to leave the hall.
The Wamphyri bow each in turn in response to Arcauld's courtesy.
Before he can go, Lord Eyegor gets up and walks towards him.
"Perhaps you'd be my guest my Lord?" suggests Lord Eyegor. "My home is not far from here, and I have personal transportation, naturally."


The figure's mind was calm and prepared. He felt totally at inner peace, the people around him seemed not to notice him, the figure melded with the bustling people upon the dimly lit street.

He had remarkable anf frightening features...yet none saw his features as odd. Powerful and almost intracable illusions where woven around him, so no one noticed him, and when they looked at his, they saw a normal stranger, and nothing more.

Vorador stepped forward....it was raining. He felt the droplets falling from the sky, as they poured onto him. The ran down his dark green skin...the feeling was peaceful and pleasurable to Vorador. He looked up....and raised his two hands up into the sky and laughed, his deep voice one of joy. His cloven talons where raised above his hairless head, he did nto care that his clothes where getting damp. He laughed at the celebration of it all.

"So long it has been since the water of the sky has flown down my back....still revolving the world is, yet mortals have turned to dust in my absence! What pleasures are there to be had in this new time!" Vorador spoke to himself, smiling...revealing his white fangs.

Vorador was an old vampire...he had lived many lifetimes, and his mortal life was an old one also. He was powerful....a mage of great power, yet he was mostly forgotten. He mainly remained secretive and alone....studying. Yet this time...this time he wanted to see what had changed within the world of men. Or the world of vampires it seemed....


Strange towering buildings that had an almost organic look dominated the city. The sidewalks were wide but the streets a trifle narrow, which slowed traffic in the area to a crawl. Most of the people nervously avoided him, some even making exclamations of fright--but no one actually accosted him.
However, a pale young woman wearing a raincoat approached him, smiling. An umbrella protected her hair and the coat most of her body, but her slim legs and pretty face were clearly to be seen. She said something to him in an unknown language.

Tarn was hungry, but he was also anxious to get down to business with this Vasagi and insinuate himself into a position of trust before the Minister got his message and took over. "I am eager to discuss the advancement of our two countries Mr Vasagi - let us catch that helicopter."

As they hurried out to the tarmac two soldiers held umbrellas for them but fell back when they were near the rotars which were thundering above now. The lights twisted almost eerily in the rain.
Inside, Tarn found it was a military helicopter but transformed within to be comfortable for passengers of importance, even sound insulated so that they
could talk normally.
Soon they were airborne and heading off towards the great city of Vormspire--the capital of Turgosheim.
"If there are any questions you might have, Mr. McCray, please ask." suggests Vasagi.

Tarn had several questions he wished to ask...while he was much relieved that his diplomatic status had pulled him through and placed him in such a personally advantageous situation, his ribs still ached somewhat from the blow delivered by one of the guards as he and the other passengers had been herded away from the crash site. Despite the smooth reassurances of Vasagi and the hospitable surroundings, what he had seen back at the plane had been completely at odds with his present situation. He wanted to know what had happened to the others, why they had been led away like cattle, and why they had all been terrified of the Wamphyri, whatever those were. Caution suggested that these questions wait until he was a little more certain about what was going on here - if he was being taken to see the Foreign Minister as Vasagi had said, perhaps the questions nagging at him would be answered there. In the meantime... "Tell me, Mr Vasagi, how is it that I have never heard of your nation? It seems powerful and advanced, yet no-one I had met prior to my...arrival...had mentioned it to me. Not so much as a word! I would have thought that such a disciplined and efficient nation as your own would be known far and wide."

The Wamphyri bow each in turn in response to Arcauld's courtesy.
Before he can go, Lord Eyegor gets up and walks towards him.
"Perhaps you'd be my guest my Lord?" suggests Lord Eyegor. "My home is not far from here, and I have personal transportation, naturally."


"I thank you, it would be an honour."

Arcauld turned on his heel, with Eyegor following him. Arcauld said quietly, "Why do you keep humans as slaves? Why not turn them? In my experience, they are far more effective, and loyal."

Vorador looked at this woman and aburbtly stopped. HE heard those words...his strange large green ears twitched twice, and he understood what those cypic words meant. Vorador had these spells ready within in an instant, it was automatic. There was another who shared the same properties as he, although niether person knew the other.

By the Gods...this world had changed...Vorador thought as he continued to stand in the rain.

((My Countesses pop up all over the place, eh? I think they're only rivalled by the appearance of my Agents. :P ))

Abriel smiled at him for a moment. He was right, she did save him, but she felt guilty for the loss of his ear.

"Well...we really aren't trained at all, you see. I've got a decent amount of training, being from Cyberutopia, but for the most part we've taught ours the ways of war." She said, clipping the end of the thread off the needle.

She sat back, and looked at him, noticing his despondency.

"Something wrong?" She asked him curiously.

"Tell me, Mr Vasagi, how is it that I have never heard of your nation? It seems powerful and advanced, yet no-one I had met prior to my...arrival...had mentioned it to me. Not so much as a word! I would have thought that such a disciplined and efficient nation as your own would be known far and wide."

"We are not really a very large or powerful country though." said Vasagi deprecatingly. "Really, you are very flattering, but this is a relatively small country that doesn't produce anything more spectacular than natural gas, coal, timber and furs. Furthermore, the volcanic and magnetic activity around here make it difficult to send long range transmission by any means other than satellite, which we have little access to. Rich we may be in natural resources, but we have yet to find a means to properly make use of them on the international market.
Your country may be able to help with that."


"I thank you, it would be an honour."

Arcauld turned on his heel, with Eyegor following him. Arcauld said quietly, "Why do you keep humans as slaves? Why not turn them? In my experience, they are far more effective, and loyal."

"Because natural human blood is the best means of keeping us well stocked with prey, potential servants and so on." explained Lord Eyegor as they went to the hall and into an elevator.
"We do turn some, and these become vampires. Those we give more regular blood to we make lictors--our personal and most trusted lieutenants. How is it done in your country?"
The lift rumbled upward as he waited for Arcauld's reply.



Vorador looked at this woman and abruptly stopped. HE heard those words...his strange large green ears twitched twice, and he understood what those cypic words meant. Vorador had these spells ready within in an instant, it was automatic. There was another who shared the same properties as he, although niether person knew the other.

By the Gods...this world had changed...Vorador thought as he continued to stand in the rain.


The woman looked thoughtful, and then sent the thoughts directly into his mind, so that the barrier of spoken language was swept aside.
Who are you, stranger? I sense that you are one of great power, yet your arrival was not announced! I am a servant of one that is among the mighty of this land...

Lisa pauses a long moment, it taking a moment to click in her mind what the woman is saying. She then walks over, her teeth chattering and her knees shaking with fear. Nonetheless, she grits her teeth and arches her neck, baring it to the vampire.

[quote]"Tell me, Mr Vasagi, how is it that I have never heard of your nation? It seems powerful and advanced, yet no-one I had met prior to my...arrival...had mentioned it to me. Not so much as a word! I would have thought that such a disciplined and efficient nation as your own would be known far and wide."

"We are not really a very large or powerful country though." said Vasagi deprecatingly. "Really, you are very flattering, but this is a relatively small country that doesn't produce anything more spectacular than natural gas, coal, timber and furs. Furthermore, the volcanic and magnetic activity around here make it difficult to send long range transmission by any means other than satellite, which we have little access to. Rich we may be in natural resources, but we have yet to find a means to properly make use of them on the international market.
Your country may be able to help with that."

Tarn nodded and smiled pleasantly, but his mind began to turn over what Vasagi had said. The response to foreigners certainly suggested Turgosheim had little experience in international diplomacy or trade..."In fact", thought Tarn as he surreptitiously fingered the bruise on his ribs, "they seem to be very much against any foreign presence. Unusual for a country that is supposed to be trying to break into the international market - beating foreign merchants half to death isn't such a good trade tactic. Lets see how far he's willing to take this..." Aloud, Tarn said "But having seen some of the technology and...equipment...on display here, the level of advancement is not negligible." He gestured around the comfortably fitted-out interior of the helicopter. Tarn had finally figured out where he had seen that red tint to the irises before - genetic mods designed to allow the user to see in the infrared and ultraviolet spectrums! He knew there was money around here somewhere - those mods were expensive, and for a mid-level civil servant to be able to afford them suggested a lot of money going around the system. "Those iris mods, for example..." - he gestured to Vasagi's eyes - "...on my planet those are one of the latest advancements! Surely you must have some form of trade, or how else does your economy run? Where would you get the money to pay the workers?" Tarn ground to a halt, aware that he might have pried too deeply - he had no idea how much these people valued their privacy. "I am sure my planet will be able to come to an arrangement with Turgosheim, Mr Vasagi...merchants come from many systems to purchase our metal ores, so we have some experience of international and interplanetary trade."

Um...Not trying to ruin the mood or anyhting, but can I start on this???

The woman looked thoughtful, and then sent the thoughts directly into his mind, so that the barrier of spoken language was swept aside.
Who are you, stranger? I sense that you are one of great power, yet your arrival was not announced! I am a servant of one that is among the mighty of this land...

Vorador heard these messages. At least the powers of telephathy where still avalable to many it seemed. This world has not forgotten the potential within all beings.

(Is this woman a vampire or a human?)

"Who I might be, is not important at least not yet. Leave me be to remain within my own solitude, I prefer it to speaking to lackies of another being. Whom do you serve girl, so that I should know the name of who would take such interest in my presance here. Then I shall grant you the knowledge of mine name, so that your master may know of whom apparently walks under thier influence." Vorador said to her in a deep voice.

Vorador held great power within a voice, as though he was more powerful than other beings. Arragonce on his part...although he knew when to be respectful. He held great contempt towards humans, he viewed them as cattle who where mindless and worthy of death due to thier hypocricy and judgemental natures.

He was much like the being Kain Irenicus....one might have noticed this. His green flesh...his calm aura. yet something was different here. Instead of a caring yet sometimes cold persona of Kain, Vorador had one of power. His aura had a calmness that he was in perfect control. The two where very similer, yet thier views upon vampirism and the human race was different...very different.

((My Countesses pop up all over the place, eh? I think they're only rivalled by the appearance of my Agents. :P ))

Abriel smiled at him for a moment. He was right, she did save him, but she felt guilty for the loss of his ear.

"Well...we really aren't trained at all, you see. I've got a decent amount of training, being from Cyberutopia, but for the most part we've taught ours the ways of war." She said, clipping the end of the thread off the needle.

She sat back, and looked at him, noticing his despondency.

"Something wrong?" She asked him curiously.

"Nothing. I was just thinking about what to do now. I can find a way back to Aelosia, or stay here and help you, all of you, to depose those lifedrinkers", he said, staring at Abriel's eyes, knowing that he should tell her the truth about her nation, but unsure about her reaction. "Have you finished?. Don't worry, that was just an scratch. I'm a retired policeman, and I have been wounded worse before. And to think that this happened in my vacations, just after my retirement".

"Because natural human blood is the best means of keeping us well stocked with prey, potential servants and so on." explained Lord Eyegor as they went to the hall and into an elevator.
"We do turn some, and these become vampires. Those we give more regular blood to we make lictors--our personal and most trusted lieutenants. How is it done in your country?"
The lift rumbled upward as he waited for Arcauld's reply.


"There was a time, now what my followers and I refer to as the High Age, when I ruled over the whole of Transylvania. A Belmont had defeated Lord Dracula, and was thought to have died when the castle ascended - many said he had not been quick enough to escape. With none left who could oppose my loyal and I, we quickly swept across the land, taking control of everything in our path. Those that I deemed worthy were turned, and joined my ranks. Those that I did not were left alone, for a time. The humans learned to fear the nights, for that was when we fed. We would stalk through their cities, their towns, their villages, feeding from whomever we desired. No human dared oppose us. But alas, it did not last. The High Age only lasted for around half a century, when three Belmonts emerged from hiding." Arcauld went silent after this, looking at the floor.

"Yes...yes, I'm done." Abriel said slowly, returning Mordecai's gaze. "Don't think that reaching your country will be that easy. I hope that you will stay with us, but if you feel that you would do better on your own, then so be it.

"Hey, don't take things the wrong way", said Mordecai, raising his hands on the air "That wasn't what I meant. I'm not a coward who run away as the others try to do something for the greater good. But, Do you think that we really have chances against this Wamphyri?. I don't want to die in a stupid yet heroic way. I leave that death to the military wackos."

"What I want to know is...Do we have a chance?, because if we don't, it could be more easy for all of us to escape and find another place to live and survive."

Abriel smiled softly as Mordecai threw his hands in the air defensively, but as he went on her smile faded.

"I...I really don't know anymore." Abriel said quietly. "It just doesn't seem like there's any way out. I would love to be away from all the fighting, but...you've seen the brutality of the Wamphyri. They've totally crushed the will of all the others."

"Well, I need to know something", said Mordecai, realizing that he was hurting Abriel with his words in a very unfair manner. "Do you have a gun to spare?. Either to escape or to slay a Wamphiry I will need a weapon, I came here as a tourist, so I don't have any. And what about those vampires?. How we can kill them?, I have heard that they're even more powerful than the standard lifedrinker", he was talking fast, to change the subject and makes her forget about his rude words.

I would like to participate in this, too. I have been looking for a RP at a personal (RPing as people) for a while now, and I like this one very much.

Any idea who I should RP as if I can RP at all?

Lisa pauses a long moment, it taking a moment to click in her mind what the woman is saying. She then walks over, her teeth chattering and her knees shaking with fear. Nonetheless, she grits her teeth and arches her neck, baring it to the vampire.

"Ahhh..." breathes Elerion. She gently touches Lisa's neck at first, a soft stroke. A bare, supple and strong arm goes around Lisa's waist, and her other hand brushes Lisa's hair away from her neck. Elerion presses her down to the bed and Lisa feels her lips touching her neck caressingly. Then there is a sharp feeling like the prick of a needle, and a stinging sensation...and then a delicious languor washes over Lisa.
A tingling is felt along her body, and a rhythmic sensation that is wonderful. Yet all the while she is conscious, and aware of Elerion moving against her almost like a lover. Then Elerion gently lets Lisa down on the bed and turns to Angela, who shrieks in horror and turns to the wall.


Tarn nodded and smiled pleasantly, but his mind began to turn over what Vasagi had said. The response to foreigners certainly suggested Turgosheim had little experience in international diplomacy or trade..."In fact", thought Tarn as he surreptitiously fingered the bruise on his ribs, "they seem to be very much against any foreign presence. Unusual for a country that is supposed to be trying to break into the international market - beating foreign merchants half to death isn't such a good trade tactic. Lets see how far he's willing to take this..." Aloud, Tarn said "But having seen some of the technology and...equipment...on display here, the level of advancement is not negligible." He gestured around the comfortably fitted-out interior of the helicopter. Tarn had finally figured out where he had seen that red tint to the irises before - genetic mods designed to allow the user to see in the infrared and ultraviolet spectrums! He knew there was money around here somewhere - those mods were expensive, and for a mid-level civil servant to be able to afford them suggested a lot of money going around the system. "Those iris mods, for example..." - he gestured to Vasagi's eyes - "...on my planet those are one of the latest advancements! Surely you must have some form of trade, or how else does your economy run? Where would you get the money to pay the workers?" Tarn ground to a halt, aware that he might have pried too deeply - he had no idea how much these people valued their privacy. "I am sure my planet will be able to come to an arrangement with Turgosheim, Mr Vasagi...merchants come from many systems to purchase our metal ores, so we have some experience of international and interplanetary trade."

"Oh, we do have trade within the rest of the region of Solarius." said Vasagi, looking amused. "Solarius is a very swiftly growing alliance of nations in this part of the world, you know. As as for the, er, iris mods, well, call it a benefit for service. Perhaps you might tell me of some of the advancements you offer?" the helicopter is bucked a bit by the weather, and Vasagi's smile tightens just a fraction, then relaxes as the pilot regains control.


"Who I might be, is not important at least not yet. Leave me be to remain within my own solitude, I prefer it to speaking to lackies of another being. Whom do you serve girl, so that I should know the name of who would take such interest in my presance here. Then I shall grant you the knowledge of mine name, so that your master may know of whom apparently walks under thier influence." Vorador said to her in a deep voice.

Vorador could feel the young woman flinch, and at the same time sensed the enhanced blood of one with vampirism--but she was young, weak in comparison. Her submission did not require bowing, he felt it as clearly as if she had draped herself in chains and knelt before him. I mean no disrespect, lord--merely to inform you. My master is Lord Tulkas, who is the Warlord of Turgosheim, who bows to no one and is a joint ruler on the High Council of this land. An image comes to his mind of a powerfully built man, naked but of a kilt, a strange gauntlet of some living material bristling with hooks and spikes on his hand. A man who stares at the world with hunger and leashed in violence. A vulpine cast to his face and crimson eyes blazing...


"There was a time, now what my followers and I refer to as the High Age, when I ruled over the whole of Transylvania. A Belmont had defeated Lord Dracula, and was thought to have died when the castle ascended - many said he had not been quick enough to escape. With none left who could oppose my loyal and I, we quickly swept across the land, taking control of everything in our path. Those that I deemed worthy were turned, and joined my ranks. Those that I did not were left alone, for a time. The humans learned to fear the nights, for that was when we fed. We would stalk through their cities, their towns, their villages, feeding from whomever we desired. No human dared oppose us. But alas, it did not last. The High Age only lasted for around half a century, when three Belmonts emerged from hiding." Arcauld went silent after this, looking at the floor.

"Who are these Belmonts?" asks Eyegor with interest. As he says this they emerge onto the roof and see that the helicopter transport is ready. He frowns. "Please, a moment, Lord Arcauld." as a man in uniform approaches, saluting, and says,
"Reports on the plane and the captives, My Lord."
Eyegor grunts in reply and beckons for Arcauld to proceed onto the helicopter. He follows, and says, "Please continue. This is my work but it is really routine."


"Well, I need to know something", said Mordecai, realizing that he was hurting Abriel with his words in a very unfair manner. "Do you have a gun to spare?. Either to escape or to slay a Wamphiry I will need a weapon, I came here as a tourist, so I don't have any. And what about those vampires?. How we can kill them?, I have heard that they're even more powerful than the standard lifedrinker", he was talking fast, to change the subject and makes her forget about his rude words.

One of the ragged men comes over and tosses him an AK-74. "Do you know how to use this?" he asks challengingly.


OOC: Anyone's welcome to join in. You could play a captive, in which case you would be in a warehouse/garage showing your I.D. to a group of soldiers. Women and men are separate. You could be someone like Abriel, an outlander with a resistance group. You could be a foreign vampire or servant of them. You could also be a foreign envoy like McCray. If you have ideas outside this or want to know more about the situation please telegram me.

Lisa sighs softly, gasping at the bite. She allows herself to be lowered to the bed and simply lies there a long moment, smling stupidly. She doesn't rise until ordered. "It's so wonderful..."

Vorador paused for a moment. He looked at the fledgling girl before him, newly sired. Well...new to Vorador. He smiled thinly at her, knowing that she was a puppet to which others would control the strings. She would dance thier merry dance until her usefulness expired. Then..the strings would be cut and she would be snuffed out. Vorador knew this would be the case, but he responded to her, in order to get some kind of responce from the lord of the land.

"You may say to your master that the being before you is named Vorador." Vorador spoke to the girl, and his thoughts calcualted what to do. His new awakening had promised danger he felt. The air was different, it was tense. There where new rules to which Vorador did not know. Vorador felt that he was a foreigner to this time....he needed to know more of what was...and had occoured.

"I would wish to see this master to which you refer, you speak of him highly yes? I would wish to meet this being if I may? *he spoke as though it was already going to happen, that the question was in fact a statement* Why is this so? Why would you pledge allegiance to this being whom would claim ownership of you?" Vorador asked her.

Lisa sighs softly, gasping at the bite. She allows herself to be lowered to the bed and simply lies there a long moment, smling stupidly. She doesn't rise until ordered. "It's so wonderful."

She can faintly hear Angela's cries of alarm stilled, and moans ensue. Lisa is still in an afterglow of voluptuous feeling, and it seems only moments later when Elerion is lying beside her, murmuring, "Your companion must learn to control her fear as you have. Fear is a constant, a part of existence, but giving in to it is foolish and dangerous." Lisa suddenly feels more air around her body, even around the intimate parts of it, and realizes that her tunic is entirely unbuttoned. The fantastic feeling comes over her again, and this time she is aware in flashes of Elerion's glorious body revealed when the fur robe is discarded, of the pulsing rhythms of the pleasure she is given mixed with the tantalizing brushing of her long dark hair like soft rain over her own body.


"I would wish to see this master to which you refer, you speak of him highly yes? I would wish to meet this being if I may? *he spoke as though it was already going to happen, that the question was in fact a statement* Why is this so? Why would you pledge allegiance to this being whom would claim ownership of you?" Vorador asked her.

The young woman beckons to someone unseen, but then a great sleek black car rumbles up to where they are standing, and a young, burly man in a brown uniform springs out and opens the back door. Inside, Vorador can see soft leather seats, enough room for several people.
Overwhelming the woman's thoughts, Vorador senses those of another. He senses age and cunning and cruel strength. Come, then, if you wish!
The girl is trembing a bit, clearly afraid of entering the car with Vorador, afraid of what he might do, but never considering disobeying. My Master made me, Lord. she says. I am one of his many children. I am a vampire but not Wamphyri.

Out in the wilderness, those in the resistance camp can hear helicopters.

"Helicopters", said Mordecai to Abriel. "Are you expecting airborne help?, because if you don't, we're in troubles".

"Oh, we do have trade within the rest of the region of Solarius." said Vasagi, looking amused. "Solarius is a very swiftly growing alliance of nations in this part of the world, you know. And as for the, er, iris mods, well, call it a benefit for service. Perhaps you might tell me of some of the advancements you offer?" The helicopter is bucked a bit by the weather, and Vasagi's smile tightens just a fraction, then relaxes as the pilot regains control.

Tarn grips the side of the seat nervously...the weather is bringing back the memories of the plane crash and the disturbing scenes that ensued. He notices Vasagi looking at his nervousness with amusement and forces himself to relax. "The reason for my home world's (http://www.nationstates.net/forum/viewtopic.php?t=92534&start=0&postdays=0&postorder=asc&highlight=) existence is the metal ores in our planet's crust. Such technology as we have is sophisticated, but geared towards mining and industrial production rather than luxuries or retail products." He smiled apologetically. "Some of the latest research is of course classified, but we do have several advancements you might be interested in. You mentioned coal and natural gas as being potential exports...we have advanced automated mining equipment and refining machinery that would enable you to gain a considerable advantage over any competitor. Your problems with satellite access could also be solved should you decide to engage in trade with us. We have a system of defensive satellites that was recently upgraded, and the previous satellite models are now obsolete. We would be willing to sell or trade them with you - they are fitted as defence satellites but you could change them to commsats with little difficulty. If you had your own satellite fleet, Turgosheim could gain a monopoly over satellite communications in the area - a lucrative market when you consider the difficulty of long-range transmission around here."

Vorador took a moment to consider it. He had his defences.

He looked over the sleek black car, the lights of the lamps up ahead glittening upon the reflective surface. Vorador slowly climbed into the car, remaining completely aware and cautionate.

This person would be wise if he would survay the entire land...anyone who would be a potential threat would be dealt with Vorador realised. He stepped in and the door clasped shut, leaving them.

(OOC Vorador has very strong phychic feelings and defences, but not much more. He cannot use elemental magic or the like to a minor degree. Basicly a powerful phychic. And obviously he can sense if someone is a vampire or not. Please state if anyone is a vampire, so I can say what Vorador thinks.)

"Shit, they've caught us off guard." Abriel hissed.

She rushed out of the medical tent, and looked at those around her. As soon as they saw the urgent look in her eyes, they got to work. Camoflauge nets were cast over the equipment, and the soldiers rushed into the bushes, covering themselves with the loose foilage. Abriel took Mordecai by the hand and half-ran with him into the undergrowth around the base. They hit the dirt next to each other and lay there, trying to keep their breathing as quiet as possible.

"Are you alright?" She whispered to him.

Tarn grips the side of the seat nervously...the weather is bringing back the memories of the plane crash and the disturbing scenes that ensued. He notices Vasagi looking at his nervousness with amusement and forces himself to relax. "The reason for my home world's existence is the metal ores in our planet's crust. Such technology as we have is sophisticated, but geared towards mining and industrial production rather than luxuries or retail products." He smiled apologetically. "Some of the latest research is of course classified, but we do have several advancements you might be interested in. You mentioned coal and natural gas as being potential exports...we have advanced automated mining equipment and refining machinery that would enable you to gain a considerable advantage over any competitor. Your problems with satellite access could also be solved should you decide to engage in trade with us. We have a system of defensive satellites that was recently upgraded, and the previous satellite models are now obsolete. We would be willing to sell or trade them with you - they are fitted as defence satellites but you could change them to commsats with little difficulty. If you had your own satellite fleet, Turgosheim could gain a monopoly over satellite communications in the area - a lucrative market when you consider the difficulty of long-range transmission around here."

Vasagi seems fascinated, and nods at intervals. "Refining equipment--mining improvements, yes, that is the sort of thing I had in mind. And satellites--something certainly to consider. But the question is: what do you need from us? Do you need raw material perhaps that you don't produce?"
As he says this, Tarn can see that the lights of a city are suddenly blazing away from a valley. Strange towers that look almost organic can be seen.
It is a medium sized city as far as Tarn can see, with bridges spanning a main river and those strange towers--they almost resemble gigantic spikey plants or some such thing. But the helicopter swings past them to a big luxury hotel with a helicopter landing pad on the roof.



Vorador took a moment to consider it. He had his defences.

He looked over the sleek black car, the lights of the lamps up ahead glittening upon the reflective surface. Vorador slowly climbed into the car, remaining completely aware and cautionate.

This person would be wise if he would survay the entire land...anyone who would be a potential threat would be dealt with Vorador realised. He stepped in and the door clasped shut, leaving them.

The vampire girl smiles tentatively. "Is there anything I might do for you, my lord?" she asks. She involuntarily arches her neck to him, displaying a smooth white throat.
The city whizzes past, and Vorador notices that the car is given respect and right of way by others, even a military armored car. The commander, standing tall in a raincape in the front turret hatch, salutes stiffly as the car goes by.


"Shit, they've caught us off guard." Abriel hissed.

She rushed out of the medical tent, and looked at those around her. As soon as they saw the urgent look in her eyes, they got to work. Camoflauge nets were cast over the equipment, and the soldiers rushed into the bushes, covering themselves with the loose foilage. Abriel took Mordecai by the hand and half-ran with him into the undergrowth around the base. They hit the dirt next to each other and lay there, trying to keep their breathing as quiet as possible.

"Are you alright?" She whispered to him.

Abriel knows as do the Szygany resistance that the helicopters are not the worst...they can make out as they whirl overhead four Mi-24s in formation, their searchlights wavering in the rain. The helicopters might make a catch, but they are like beaters or hounds. The real horror is the Wamphyri themselves, waiting for word from their 'hounds' who will then let them unleash the awesome might of the Warriors--horrible constructs that are like living war machines....
The Szygany are getting anti aircraft and anti armor weapons ready, unwrapping them as stealthily as they can in their hiding places.
Mordecai sees a pair, a young woman and a man readying a Stinger missile launcher.

Vorador looked to the woman for a second then went for her neck, smelling her. Smelling the blood within her. Hearing her blood...as it went around her body.

He placed two fangs into her throat, the usual feelings ocoured for both of them. Vorador felt the blood within his lips, the hot vital essance to his being rushing down his throat sustaining him. The vital essance flowed with his own blood now, his viens full and complete. They would be now for a some time....

Vorador withdrew slowly and allwed her to recover. He had not taken much from her, but it was still something.

He stared outside the glass of the windows, noting the amount of respect this car had...this vampire did indeed have high respect from his people.

Or fear. Not that it matter truely, both had the same effect upon the masses. Vorador was pleased that the vampire he would soon meet would command such a power. He had not spoken to one for such a time. Isolation can be a rather....bitter and lonely experiance. Yet Vorador learned from it.

Vorador remained quiet for most of the trip until he thought of something to ask which he would need to know.

"Where would such a vampire inhabit?" Vorador asked plainly to her, still staring out of the glass, his dark green felsh looking almsot black in this light, his eyes seemed to have a sort of new intellegence to them due to his feed.

A fortress, of walls and towers, pays homage to a great forty story tower of spikes and great hooks and platforms that rises into the fog and the rain. Passing a checkpoint readily, the car goes through formidably defended gates where human soldiers bristle with weapons, and then to a great vehicle bay. Inside, another young vampire in uniform arrives and bows. The young woman, her hand touching her throat, a flush on her pale cheeks, opens the door for Vorador.
The man from his vision in her head is striding among the mortals. There is no doubting that this is a lord of vampires. He is not merely physically bigger; his very presence makes the tower itself mere mortar and stone before the iron fortress of his will. In a way, his near nakedness, covered only by his iron shod boots and a kilt made of what Vorador realizes is human hair shows that he is uncaring of the cold rain outside that gusts into the great vehicle bay door. On his hand is the bristling war gauntlet.

Vorador looked at this being...with some degree of respect. He knew someone who was equal in skill when he saw one.

Vorador was shorter than the man, but he was no less dominering. There was something about him....he had no sword, no guantlets, no staffs...nothing. There was a strange type of power around him, that he required no items.

He looked at him for long seconds. What that being saw was a extremely unusual vampire. There was only one more of his type....and neither had met each other. Vorador had cloven talons for hands and feet, his dark green flesh had unique qualities against magical forces.

Vorador simply stood there in silence, hands at his sides waiting for him to speak. He had his strange and unusal clothing on, the red waistcoat with ornate parts upon it. Upon it was some runes in an unreadable dilect, not even the most pwoerful mage could read it first off. It was not one of his creations however....Vorador was not skilled in the field.

"Scared, and amused. This is almost funny", says Mordecai to Abriel, smiling. "Can I join this resistance?, it looks like you may need some help".

"I am Lord Tulkas." says the man. "Who are you, and why are you here?" His manner is neither wary nor hostile--he has no judgements as yet, by his demeanor. He simply wants to know.

"I am simply known as Vorador, owner of no land or being. As to why I am here...I have simply awoken from a slumber to which I awake to see a new world...much different from the one I had left, one which the balance of power has seemingly changed, vampire and humans have changed somewhat in thier struggle." Vorador said, his eyes looked dead ahead into the lord's own, not a flicker of fear, but respect within his voice.

Vorador had slept for some time...he did not know what time he was in. He was old...the time to which he had been in before offered a harsh and cruel existance for a vampire, they where hunted down....that is why Vorador fled....and for other...bitter reasons for leaving Velmora. (Currently in civil war)

"Who are these Belmonts?" asks Eyegor with interest. As he says this they emerge onto the roof and see that the helicopter transport is ready. He frowns. "Please, a moment, Lord Arcauld." as a man in uniform approaches, saluting, and says,
"Reports on the plane and the captives, My Lord."
Eyegor grunts in reply and beckons for Arcauld to proceed onto the helicopter. He follows, and says, "Please continue. This is my work but it is really routine."


"The Belmonts. I am surprised that you have not heard of them, although you are far from Transylvania out here. They are a family, no a clan, of legendary vampire hunters. They are supposed to be human, but I am not so sure... I believe they have celestial blood in their veins - their powers rival that of the greatest vampire. Every time Dracula has risen, they have stopped him from regaining power. However, they have been unable to destroy him completely. Naturally, when they learned of his secret son, they set out to defeat me. They've succeded several times, too, but like my father they are unable to kill me eternally."

Arcauld boarded the helicopter with Eyegor, preparing for another pass over Turgosheim.

Abriel couldn't help smiling in return to Mordecai's grin.

"A side effect of adrenalin, I've found." She said, her cheeks growing slightly red at his last comment. "I get the sense you don't feel we are very potent. Perhaps we aren't, but at least we try."

"Oh, then just convince me that you're strong. All we need is inventive. The first and more important thing about a vampire is knowing what kill them, then use that without any measure, that's the key", said Mordecai, smiling and holding Abriel's hand just for a moment, then he crawled to a nearby position, to watch the oncoming helicopters.

Abriel's smile grew softer, and she nodded silently. As Mordecai crawled away, she sat up a little and took a large pistol that had been in the back of her ammo belt out. She slid a long, slim bullet into the breech and closed it with a tiny click. After fiddling with the scope on the pistol for a moment, she sighed and looked up at the sky, waiting for the signal to attack.

"Can you take down a helicopter with that thing?", asked Mordecai, amazed. "That could convince me that you have what we need".

"This thing?" She asked in a quiet voice, looking at the pistol briefly. "It's a heavy assault pistol, a gift for the person I was visiting when I was captured. Yes, it does have enough power to bring down a helicopter, especially the archaic things the vampires are using. This is the only one we have, though, and I've only got a dozen or so bullets left."

She smiled slightly at the pistol, and ran a finger along the inscription along the side.

"Hër ci Ubriskin Yi heïld vësh gïesp." She whispered, reading the words to herself.

"That looks like Mordorian, or dwarven language", said Mordecai, staring at the sky, looking for the helicopters "And what about me?, Should I pick some rocks and threw them at the copters?".

"It's Old Cyberutopian. No one really knows it roots, so maybe there is some Dwarven or Mordorian in it." Abriel said, and looked up at Mordecai and smiled at his comment. "That would be amusing, but not very effective. There might be a Stinger launcher around here, but if there isn't, you can have my pistol."

"I will put my bet in the Stinger launcher then, I don't think I could use that pistol, wait for me here, I will find it", he said, leaving the place, crawling in the floor.

Abriel nodded and watched him go.

As Mordecai crawled along the floor, he could spot the outline of a box that would hold a Stinger launcher, the top slightly ajar. A helicopter's spotlight swept across the grassy ground a few meters to his right, and the soldiers near it tensed as it passed near them. If Mordecai looked back, he could see Abriel's graceful figure tense as she brought the pistol up to point at the closest helicopter, ready to bring it down if Mordecai was spotted.

He slowly grabbed the box, looking up to the helicopter, expecting to slide undetected. He rose, extracting the long tube of the missile launcher and the two rockets, then he ran towards a little bush nearby, looking for cover as he loaded the weapon.

As if the helicopter was guided by some omnipotent force, it's spotlight swept over Mordecai just as he dashed for cover, illuminating him like a beacon. The chopper turned to zero in on him, it's chaingun bearing down on him.

"Now!" Abriel yelled, and fired a single shot at the helicopter.

The bullet streaked through the sky, leaving a brilliant trail of light behind it. It shot straight through the cockpit, neatly slicing through the pilot's throat, and continued it's path up through the rotor of the helicopter, exiting near the top. The helicopter wavered in the sky for a moment, and then the rotor shredded itself, raining metal like water. The chopper plumeted to earth, and crushed itself against the unforgiving ground. A moment later, the ammution cooked off, and the helicopter exploded, incinerating it's occupants.

"Mordecai, fire at that one!" The Countess said while running over to him and pointing at another helicopter.

OOC: I think you guys missed some posts about the advancing helicopters et all. But fair enough.

IC:

As they opened fire, so did the Szygany wielding the Stinger launcher. Torn and broken, the helicopters just dropped, fire and flailing metal trailing behind them.
One of the Szygany leaders, Teodor, glared at Abriel and her companions. "Are you crazy?" he cried. "Everyone, fall back to the woods!"
There was a strange roaring in the air that sounded almost like the gas vents of a dirigible or balloon.

"The Belmonts. I am surprised that you have not heard of them, although you are far from Transylvania out here. They are a family, no a clan, of legendary vampire hunters. They are supposed to be human, but I am not so sure... I believe they have celestial blood in their veins - their powers rival that of the greatest vampire. Every time Dracula has risen, they have stopped him from regaining power. However, they have been unable to destroy him completely. Naturally, when they learned of his secret son, they set out to defeat me. They've succeded several times, too, but like my father they are unable to kill me eternally."

Arcauld boarded the helicopter with Eyegor, preparing for another pass over Turgosheim.

"Rival?" Eyegor says sharply. "Celestial? Forgive me, Lord Arcauld, but I find that extraordinary. How is that possible? And you say they have also nearly succeeded in killing you several times?"


"I am simply known as Vorador, owner of no land or being. As to why I am here...I have simply awoken from a slumber to which I awake to see a new world...much different from the one I had left, one which the balance of power has seemingly changed, vampire and humans have changed somewhat in thier struggle." Vorador said, his eyes looked dead ahead into the lord's own, not a flicker of fear, but respect within his voice.

Vorador had slept for some time...he did not know what time he was in. He was old...the time to which he had been in before offered a harsh and cruel existance for a vampire, they where hunted down....that is why Vorador fled....and for other...bitter reasons for leaving Velmora. (Currently in civil war)

"I see. Yes, these slumbers do afflict us, eh?" Lord Tulkas, sensing the truth of Vorador's thoughts, becomes more friendly--insofar as it is possible for such a creature to be so...
"Well, after a long sleep I myself have often wanted replenishment, but I see that you have sustained yourself a bit from Helena. Blood is the life, eh? I offer you my hospitality, as my guest." says Lord Tulkas. "I would also hear of these old struggles, and what changes you have noticed. As a war-leader I like to keep my perspectives fresh, you see."

"Yes...the slumber to which I fell into evolved me still further....but I have always appeared like this. My....old race I find is changed dramatically by vampirism." Vorador stated and paused for thought.

"In the time to which I was was a fledgling, newly turned by another vampire....There was great perseqution against us within my...homeland Velmora. An order was established to kill all the vampires and remove thier taint from the land. There where extremely few of us, we tried to fight, but they where far too strong in number and skill. The Seer saw to that...." Vorador muttered to himself.

"I fled, leaving Velmora to leave the only place I had known. I was weak then, and still undergoing the changes to which you see this day. I rested and hunted animals and then one day I saw something I would have never imagined those human bastards would do....." Vorador said pausing to recollect his thoughts of that painful day.

(OOC For those who know of Velmora, Vorador comes from a time in Velmora when the Psi still called themselves humans and still recognised thier human traits. They simply knew that they where slightly different. Also, The Seer is someone unique in Velmora. Velmora is controlled by me)

Lord Tulkas leads Vorador inside, and as Vorador is talking an elevator is taking them up higher and higher in the tower. He nods as Vorador's voice trails off."And what did you see?" he asks. He is fascinated by this creature, unlike himself not human in origin. And yet as far as appearance goes, he has seen stranger, for the Wamphyri who embrace their new inhumanity the most often shape themselves...

Vorador recovered himself and spoke next coldly and bitterly about humans.

"They held an execution. They held the guillotine up, and they mercillessly killed my bretern, and my mortal kin because they where simply related to me. The human cattle paid for thier sins against me and them I burned the entire village down, thier blood ran within the water, my vengence was served thier mortal bodies I drained, the Peacekeeper tried to use thier spells against thier *sarcasm*unholy and merciless *sarcasm* lord, but I destroyed them all. Thier deaths where not quick I made sure of that.....the humans deserve no shred of mercy for thier crimes."

"Our race was almost exterminated by the fanatical crusades of the Sarafan and no vampire I would imagine sets foot within Velmora today. left them to thier fate and made my way. I have remained alone for quite a while now, I have not spoken to another vampire in decades. I simply wandered while the world continued to strive for simplistic goals. But now I see something different, a new side to this coin. You and this goverment. What occoured here that made humans be so subdued?" Vorador asked.

"Rival?" Eyegor says sharply. "Celestial? Forgive me, Lord Arcauld, but I find that extraordinary. How is that possible? And you say they have also nearly succeeded in killing you several times?"


"I don't know. They have extradordinary powers, like nothing I've ever seen. To be honest, they're more akin to vampires than humans. They have exceptional strength, speed, reflexes,and possess great psychic abilities. What I find most intruiging is that the Belmont blood does not spoil over the years - the Belmonts currently living are just as powerful as their ancestors. As to your second question - it is true. They have killed me several times, and death is not a pleasant experience. But they cannot defeat me forever - every hundred years or so I rise again, just like my father. Now, however, I am stronger. Stronger than I have ever been before. Still...there is one I must warn you about. His name is Simon Belmont. I watched him die before me, and yet now he walks among the living again. He is one of us, and yet one of them. How he did it, I have no idea, but he has great powers."

OOC: I think you guys missed some posts about the advancing helicopters et all. But fair enough.

IC:

As they opened fire, so did the Szygany wielding the Stinger launcher. Torn and broken, the helicopters just dropped, fire and flailing metal trailing behind them.
One of the Szygany leaders, Teodor, glared at Abriel and her companions. "Are you crazy?" he cried. "Everyone, fall back to the woods!"
There was a strange roaring in the air that sounded almost like the gas vents of a dirigible or balloon.

((I figured enough time had passed that the helicopters would be searching near the resistiance's position.))

"We had no choice, they spotted him!" Abriel answered, pointing back at Mordecai. "Would you rather be cut to ribbons by chain gun fire? I'll remember that next time."

She slid another bullet into her pistol and ducked into the forest with the others.

"What the hell...?", said Mordecai, looking at the helicopters, then at Abriel. "And by the way. I don't know how to fire this thing", he pointed at the Stinger launcher, trying to find the trigger. When he saw Abriel dissapearing into the woods, he follow her and the others still holding the big tube of the missile launcher.

As Mordecai passed a large tree, a hand grabbed his arm, pulling him behind the trunk. Abriel let go of him and the two stood as quietly as possible behind the tree. The Countess moved closer to him, trying to totally eliminate her profile.

"Are we in danger now?", he whispers in Abriel's ear. He felt strange, lost in a foreign country, departing with a Cyberutopian Countess. But it was nice, after all, and Abriel was like a spark of light in the eternal, boring routine of his life.

An enormous form crashed to earth, making the ground shake. A deep growling that they could feel rumble through their bodies was heard. The form surged forward, and they heard sniffing--as though lungs big enough to inhale people whole were out there filling the horror that had landed. The silhouette showed many moving limbs with claws, raspers and bludgeon like apendages. A foul smelling mist was beginning to fill the area, and Stefan, covering his mouth with a handkerchief, murmured to Mordecai, "It's a Wamphyri Warrior--a construct. We have to get out of here. There'll be more. And the Wamphyri not far off themselves."


Vorador recovered himself and spoke next coldly and bitterly about humans.

"They held an execution. They held the guillotine up, and they mercillessly killed my bretern, and my mortal kin because they where simply related to me. The human cattle paid for thier sins against me and them I burned the entire village down, thier blood ran within the water, my vengence was served thier mortal bodies I drained, the Peacekeeper tried to use thier spells against thier *sarcasm*unholy and merciless *sarcasm* lord, but I destroyed them all. Thier deaths where not quick I made sure of that.....the humans deserve no shred of mercy for thier crimes."

"Our race was almost exterminated by the fanatical crusades of the Sarafan and no vampire I would imagine sets foot within Velmora today. left them to thier fate and made my way. I have remained alone for quite a while now, I have not spoken to another vampire in decades. I simply wandered while the world continued to strive for simplistic goals. But now I see something different, a new side to this coin. You and this goverment. What occoured here that made humans be so subdued?" Vorador asked.

Lord Tulkas grunts here and there, nodding, and a look of fierce approval shows when Vorador talks of his vengeance.
As Vorador speaks he is being led into a set of fine apartments--a trifle spartan, and what decoration there is seems mostly to be trophies of war, from ancient armor of plate and chain to wooden stocked muskets and rifles to modern arms. A pair of young women, naked but for iron collars round their necks with a sigil on them were setting a table. They fall to their knees.
Lord Tulkas says, "A dreadful tale. We hear more and more of these hunters from outlanders of our kind. Here we have used guile and corruption of the human society where our force does not project. Fear, cunning and venality are our watchwords--oh, you will see as our guests how the humans so willingly sell each other to us, would do anything for advantage, the short lived short sighted creatures. Some prosper very well." his voice thickens with lust at this, and he traces a blunt finger along the smooth delicate jaw of one of the women, who shudders, her eyes closing--not entirely in fear, Vorador senses--it is as though the human woman is perched on a place between fear and erotic bliss.
Tulkas nods to the other girl, who rises and lifts the tray covers, revealing blood rich organs--of wolves, humans and other strong creaturs--still steaming from slaughter.
"So do I take my food," says Lord Tulkas, "And I would be honored for you to join me, and tell me more of ancient times, or ask more of mine. If you prefer, these my slaves will satisfy you." Vorador notes a transformation, slight, in Tulkas--his eyes are yellower, and his teeth more like a wolf or fox's, as he sees his repast before him.


"I don't know. They have extradordinary powers, like nothing I've ever seen. To be honest, they're more akin to vampires than humans. They have exceptional strength, speed, reflexes,and possess great psychic abilities. What I find most intruiging is that the Belmont blood does not spoil over the years - the Belmonts currently living are just as powerful as their ancestors. As to your second question - it is true. They have killed me several times, and death is not a pleasant experience. But they cannot defeat me forever - every hundred years or so I rise again, just like my father. Now, however, I am stronger. Stronger than I have ever been before. Still...there is one I must warn you about. His name is Simon Belmont. I watched him die before me, and yet now he walks among the living again. He is one of us, and yet one of them. How he did it, I have no idea, but he has great powers."

Lord Eyegor scowls at this. "I like not all this talk, Lord Arcauld, of humans mightier than vampires. We have had such, sorcerors and whatnot here. But the last died in a nuclear accident that also killed off several of our strong leaders. A blow it was; the gap of their deaths brought us to civil war! Lord Unwyrm now leads the council that won that day."
Arcauld can see the lights of Eyegor's tower below, and the helicopter beginning to land.
"Now, friend Arcauld--for so I wish to call you--we must plan, strategize. I sense that not by strength perhaps but by guile will we win the day against your father, is this not so?"

Vorador saw all of these humans spread out before them....truely times had changed. The power had certainly turned, humans where now cattle used for feeding and pleasure.

"I would like to continue this conversation now." Vorador stated after a look of those women. He found little interest or lust, he had changed. He had self-discipline and concentration. He would not let it slip.

"As to where I am now....what drastic occourance has allowed you to exist so? I wonder, are you the catalyst which brought such events?" Vorador asked, curious about the past to which the Lord effected the present so drasticly.

"As to that...we are different in origin perhaps than others of vampire kind. You will hear we of the Wamphyri refer to 'my vampire' or 'her vampire'. It all began several hundred years ago in the marshes. Who knows what fell from outer space or occured there? But it is known that a life form exists there which seeks blood and passion. Melded with anything it is infected with vampirism, and given extraordinary manipulation over the very stuff of life--of the blood and flesh and bone, to manipulate like clay! Melded with a man, or woman, and it has that intelligence which it then multiplies. I was a man once, outcast for murder by the Szygany tribe which had raised me. Unknowing, ignorant, I sought refuge in the vampire swamps, and there became, writhing in agony of change, greater than I was. And so I like others sought vengeance, and like you came close to the final death. Ah, but cunning led us higher! For we found others of our kind, banded together, lured humans who we could enslave with a little of our blood and the pulsing of our minds to our service. We experimented with captives and made such warriors and other servants as did terrify the mind of our human foes at the mere sight. We had to sleep by day of course, but in older times we made flyers--creatures of human descent originally, later made into living gliders--that took us far from their haunts when we were not preying upon them. And by that means too we were able to take them by surprise.
Our passions made us weak at first, till I and others urged that we regiment ourselves in time of need. This was at first met with some loathing, but we were crafty, my comrades and I. A released captive to tell of the vulnerabilities of those who would not be with us--and soon all saw the humans for the threat they were, and joined us in putting them down!
And now these here cannot imagine any other life than servitude to us. In much of the outside world there is still conflict, even oppression of our kind. But the Wamphyri are growing in power, and soon will confront the deluded world of humans with our might."
As he talks, Lord Tulkas sucks to mere drooping sacks the organs and bloody meats on his golden plate, flecks staining here and there, but his eyes as crafty and alert as a wolf's over his prey.

Vorador listened intently, he absorbed every piece infomation he was granted, his brown eys great vortexs of knowledge. He stared at the food he was given and he fed lightly.

"Such an undertaking would be a mighty task. Sheer force would not work. You know this. The realms of man for all thier ignorance is a strong prey. Thier numbers are many, thier weapons advanced. What would be your plan to enslave this cattle?" Vorador inquired.

Lord Eyegor scowls at this. "I like not all this talk, Lord Arcauld, of humans mightier than vampires. We have had such, sorcerors and whatnot here. But the last died in a nuclear accident that also killed off several of our strong leaders. A blow it was; the gap of their deaths brought us to civil war! Lord Unwyrm now leads the council that won that day."
Arcauld can see the lights of Eyegor's tower below, and the helicopter beginning to land.
"Now, friend Arcauld--for so I wish to call you--we must plan, strategize. I sense that not by strength perhaps but by guile will we win the day against your father, is this not so?"

"That depends on our timing my Lord. After Castlevania has descended, it should take about a week's time for my father to gain enough power to manifest himself. However, if one of his ancient priests - and there are still a few living today - can get there first, he may be resurrected early. If that is the case, it may well be a battle of power. Such a conflict should be avoided at all costs. We must find a way to destroy Castlevania once and for all. The Belmonts have succeeded in destroying it only by defeating Dracula. The castle and my father are directly linked, I am sure of it. Dracula cannot be resurrected without the castle, and if he is defeated the castle is destroyed. There must be a way to destroy the castle without allowing my father to rise."

"Are we in danger now?", he whispers in Abriel's ear. He felt strange, lost in a foreign country, departing with a Cyberutopian Countess. But it was nice, after all, and Abriel was like a spark of light in the eternal, boring routine of his life.

"Yes, we are in grave danger. We have to get out of the forests, they will have a hard time following us in the mountains. Stefan, gather as many people as you can, we will try to sneak away. Mordecai, follow me, my friend." She whispered back.

Using the uncanny stealth all Elves possessed, Abriel made her way through the forest towards a set rendezvous point, using the dense foilage to cover her movements.

Vorador listened intently, he absorbed every piece infomation he was granted, his brown eys great vortexs of knowledge. He stared at the food he was given and he fed lightly.

"Such an undertaking would be a mighty task. Sheer force would not work. You know this. The realms of man for all thier ignorance is a strong prey. Thier numbers are many, thier weapons advanced. What would be your plan to enslave this cattle?" Vorador inquired.


"Divide and rule." says Lord Tulkas, wiping a bloody hand on a napkin offered by one of his slaves. "There is a school of thought among humans that all sentient creatures have 'integral rights'. The political region of Solarius is an entity where this is practiced. Why, Lord Unwyrm is welcomed among their councils! We will make it in the humans' own interests to defend us."

"That depends on our timing my Lord. After Castlevania has descended, it should take about a week's time for my father to gain enough power to manifest himself. However, if one of his ancient priests - and there are still a few living today - can get there first, he may be resurrected early. If that is the case, it may well be a battle of power. Such a conflict should be avoided at all costs. We must find a way to destroy Castlevania once and for all. The Belmonts have succeeded in destroying it only by defeating Dracula. The castle and my father are directly linked, I am sure of it. Dracula cannot be resurrected without the castle, and if he is defeated the castle is destroyed. There must be a way to destroy the castle without allowing my father to rise."

Lord Eyegor leads Arcauld down into a set of comfortable rooms decorated in the Edwardian fashion: many plants, tasseled lamps and oriental rugs. "Do you know all the possible lore regarded Castlevania? Or might there be other sources of information? There are great scholars in Turgosheim who might be able to pursue avenues of reseach.

"Yes, we are in grave danger. We have to get out of the forests, they will have a hard time following us in the mountains. Stefan, gather as many people as you can, we will try to sneak away. Mordecai, follow me, my friend." She whispered back.

Using the uncanny stealth all Elves possessed, Abriel made her way through the forest towards a set rendezvous point, using the dense foilage to cover her movements.


One of the Szygany mutters, so softly that a leaf moving might be louder, "The Countess out-scouts us all."
Stepping lightly as deer, barely turning a branch, the resistance group follows. Mordecai can hear Stefan, probably the oldest of all, trying not to pant for breath. Behind them, growing fainter, are the roars and snarls of the Wamphyri war-beasts, tearing up what remains of the camp.

Mordecai just followed Abriel through the thick forest. "Mountains eh?, I couldn't thought better. I suppose you have a network of caves in that mountains".

Mordecai takes Stefan 's hand, trying to make hi keep with the others. "You can rest soon, don't worry, I will help you".

Abriel looked back at Mordecai and smiled at him as he helped Stefan along, but dared not to so much as utter a reply to his words, merely nodding in return.

Abriel found that they had reached a safe passage through the mountains--an ancient tunnel of the dwarf folk known as the Trogs. There was no sign of their having been there in recent memory; at least a human generation had passed since it had been used.
She was also aware of the Szygany resistance fanned out around her.
Stefan nodded his thanks to Mordecai. He was too tired to speak, the old priest; fear, the beating and the unaccustomed night march had taken a lot out of him.

(Dammit I posted!)

Vorador chuckled darkly to himself.

"Clearly, they underestimate the threat they face. They still owe me much in their crimes, I would like if you would allow me to, to aid you with this task. We have shared agenders it seems...." Vorador said to him.

Mordecai quickly rose Stefan in the air, placing him over his shoulder. "Sorry, mon pére, but we cannot allow to be left behind. I don't know the route inside those caves", said the elf, smiling.

Mordecai quickly rose Stefan in the air, placing him over his shoulder. "Sorry, mon pére, but we cannot allow to be left behind. I don't know the route inside those caves", said the elf, smiling.

Vasagi seems fascinated, and nods at intervals. "Refining equipment--mining improvements, yes, that is the sort of thing I had in mind. And satellites--something certainly to consider. But the question is: what do you need from us? Do you need raw material perhaps that you don't produce?"
As he says this, Tarn can see that the lights of a city are suddenly blazing away from a valley. Strange towers that look almost organic can be seen.
It is a medium sized city as far as Tarn can see, with bridges spanning a main river and those strange towers--they almost resemble gigantic spikey plants or some such thing. But the helicopter swings past them to a big luxury hotel with a helicopter landing pad on the roof.

"We have metal ores in enormous quantities, which provide most of our raw material for building and manufacturing. There may be a market for other raw materials such as wood , but your main opportunity for trade would be in luxury items. For example, wooden furniture - perhaps common here, but on Albion a piece of authentic wooden furniture would command a very high price indeed. Also the luxury technology sector...as I said, we are technologically advanced where production and manufacturing are concerned but somewhat lacking in terms of entertainment techs." The helicopter touched down, and Tarn stepped out, marvelling at the view and the alien architecture - the towers looked as though they had been grown...He followed Vasagi to an elevator, and they began to descend.

Mordecai quickly rose Stefan in the air, placing him over his shoulder. "Sorry, mon pére, but we cannot allow to be left behind. I don't know the route inside those caves", said the elf, smiling.

"Stay close to me and you won't get lost, then." Abriel said to Mordecai with a smile.

A medium-sized commercial flight from Amalah touches down at the airport in the Turgosheimian city of Vormspire. Off this plane comes a large, middle-aged man. When asked his name, he simply stutters before pulling out his ID identifying him as "Kahren Amers".

His connection with this plot will come out later.

Posted: Wed Nov 26, 2003 6:46 pm Post subject:

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Turgosheim wrote:
Vasagi seems fascinated, and nods at intervals. "Refining equipment--mining improvements, yes, that is the sort of thing I had in mind. And satellites--something certainly to consider. But the question is: what do you need from us? Do you need raw material perhaps that you don't produce?"
As he says this, Tarn can see that the lights of a city are suddenly blazing away from a valley. Strange towers that look almost organic can be seen.
It is a medium sized city as far as Tarn can see, with bridges spanning a main river and those strange towers--they almost resemble gigantic spikey plants or some such thing. But the helicopter swings past them to a big luxury hotel with a helicopter landing pad on the roof.


"We have metal ores in enormous quantities, which provide most of our raw material for building and manufacturing. There may be a market for other raw materials such as wood , but your main opportunity for trade would be in luxury items. For example, wooden furniture - perhaps common here, but on Albion a piece of authentic wooden furniture would command a very high price indeed. Also the luxury technology sector...as I said, we are technologically advanced where production and manufacturing are concerned but somewhat lacking in terms of entertainment techs." The helicopter touched down, and Tarn stepped out, marvelling at the view and the alien architecture - the towers looked as though they had been grown...He followed Vasagi to an elevator, and they began to descend.


"Such things--such simple things would command high prices?" asks Vasagi. "Amazing. Furniture--furs, perhaps? Fur coats, other items of clothing, felt...would these be of interest? We certainly do market these."
As they go down to the rooms reserved for Tarn, he can see that this is actually a well known line of luxury hotels; he has even stayed in a similar room before. Vasagi says, "Well, if you are up to it I would like to talk further, perhaps over supper. I'm sure you're famished. But if you'd rather rest then of course we could continue our conversation tomorrow. I would like at some point to know about your country's interest in entertainment industry..."

Abriel and the leading resistance members lead the group through some tunnels that eventually are met with fresh air. Finding themselves in a wooded valley high in the mountains. This is a more permanent camp of the resistance, where they can rest and take stock of their situation. The encampment is carefully camouflaged to views from above, and there are hundreds of the Szygany there.
Stefan kneels--he is ready to drop anyway, and begins to pray.
A burly man (whose name is Ardek) with his hair in a short braid, a fierce looking beard and a sheepskin coat approaches and says, "Well, Abriel: what strangers have you brought us? How did things go?"

A medium-sized commercial flight from Amalah touches down at the airport in the Turgosheimian city of Vormspire. Off this plane comes a large, middle-aged man. When asked his name, he simply stutters before pulling out his ID identifying him as "Kahren Amers".

His connection with this plot will come out later.

The customs guards carefully go through his luggage while an officer asks,
"Profession? Reason for visit? Marital status? Nationality?" while looking through his passport with an officious but bored expression.

"Such things--such simple things would command high prices?" asks Vasagi. "Amazing. Furniture--furs, perhaps? Fur coats, other items of clothing, felt...would these be of interest? We certainly do market these."
As they go down to the rooms reserved for Tarn, he can see that this is actually a well known line of luxury hotels; he has even stayed in a similar room before. Vasagi says, "Well, if you are up to it I would like to talk further, perhaps over supper. I'm sure you're famished. But if you'd rather rest then of course we could continue our conversation tomorrow. I would like at some point to know about your country's interest in entertainment industry..."

"Authentic fur clothes would fetch huge prices in Albion. All our clothes are made from waste plastics - we stretch them into strands and weave them into a form of cloth. Very hard-wearing, but unfortunately not particularly high-quality." At the mention of food Tarn's mouth began to water - he had last eaten almost a full day ago, and it felt as though there was a black hole in his stomach...

"Supper would be much appreciated Mr Vasagi. Shall we go on down?"

As they began to walk towards the elevators, Tarn recounted the state of the Albionese entertainment industry.

"Such entertainment media as we have extends to little more than holovision reruns of popular programmes bought from the merchant ships. There is a fairly well-established music scene, but little in the way of great public spectacles. We used to have a racing tournament through some of the abandoned mines - the pilots would use small hoverbots - and that was very popular indeed. But unfortunately, we were forced to close that down after the death rate began rising... rather unstable things, old mine shafts. Did you have some form of entertainment you would be willing to export?"

Tarn imagined he could smell the food already... his stomach growled audibly, and Vasagi looked at him in amusement.

(Dammit I posted!)

Vorador chuckled darkly to himself.

"Clearly, they underestimate the threat they face. They still owe me much in their crimes, I would like if you would allow me to, to aid you with this task. We have shared agenders it seems...." Vorador said to him.

Can you respond to this please? :)

(Dammit I posted!)

Vorador chuckled darkly to himself.

"Clearly, they underestimate the threat they face. They still owe me much in their crimes, I would like if you would allow me to, to aid you with this task. We have shared agenders it seems...." Vorador said to him.

Can you respond to this please? :)

"We do indeed." says Lord Tulkas thoughtfully. "Now: my hospitality as I said, and my servants will be instructed to obey you insofar as your instructions do not contradict my own. Tell me of your skills and abilities, friend Vorador, and I shall tell you of mine, and then we shall cement our alliance. I like the idea of this well." his lips stretch back revealing a forest of sharp teeth, and his yellow eyes flash.

Tarn is led down to a dining room; he can see a buffet table full of meats and breads and appetizers. There is a rich smell of roasting meat and game from the kitchen, and diners are either calling for waiters or heading to the smorgasbord, loading their plates with salads, shellfish, sliced cold meat and so on. Vasagi is greeted with unction by the headwaiter, who says, "Oh, your Excellency! Your usual table?"
"Yes. And this is Mr. McKray of Albion--a special guest of the Government, and doubtless future envoy of his country!" says Vasagi. "Mr. McCray, this rogue is Pandolfo, but he will always find you something decent to eat and drink in this hotel."
The stout, florid but superbly dressed headwaiter makes a self deprecating bow as the two are seated.
Vasagi says, "Hm. We have few really sophisticated entertainments by comparison, but we might manage to broker something through our economic contacts in Solarius. I propose that we either order or proceed to the smorgasbord...are you interested, by the way, in a tour of our fur factories and lumber mills?"

A medium-sized commercial flight from Amalah touches down at the airport in the Turgosheimian city of Vormspire. Off this plane comes a large, middle-aged man. When asked his name, he simply stutters before pulling out his ID identifying him as "Kahren Amers".

His connection with this plot will come out later.

The customs guards carefully go through his luggage while an officer asks,
"Profession? Reason for visit? Marital status? Nationality?" while looking through his passport with an officious but bored expression.
Furniture Salesman. Vacation. Unmarried. Amalahian.

PS: The customs official finds nothing unusual in his luggage except a small, seemingly unopenable, metal box.

Tarn is led down to a dining room; he can see a buffet table full of meats and breads and appetizers. There is a rich smell of roasting meat and game from the kitchen, and diners are either calling for waiters or heading to the smorgasbord, loading their plates with salads, shellfish, sliced cold meat and so on. Vasagi is greeted with unction by the headwaiter, who says, "Oh, your Excellency! Your usual table?"
"Yes. And this is Mr. McKray of Albion--a special guest of the Government, and doubtless future envoy of his country!" says Vasagi. "Mr. McCray, this rogue is Pandolfo, but he will always find you something decent to eat and drink in this hotel."
The stout, florid but superbly dressed headwaiter makes a self deprecating bow as the two are seated.
Vasagi says, "Hm. We have few really sophisticated entertainments by comparison, but we might manage to broker something through our economic contacts in Solarius. I propose that we either order or proceed to the smorgasbord...are you interested, by the way, in a tour of our fur factories and lumber mills?"

Tarn managed to keep his speed down to a fast walk as he headed for the table that stood groaning under the weight of the food. He loaded his plate, jammed a cut of some sort of meat into his mouth, and chewing hastily made his way back to the table.

"Yes, yes, any contacts would of course be accorded considerable interest by our government - currently the people's opiate consists of old reruns on the holovision; not the best thing to keep them happy, I must admit. Oh, and do call me Tarn."

Tarn was feeling expansive, as the food entered his mouth at an alarming rate. He motioned to the waiter, who approached the table wih a menu. Vasagi's offer of a tour intrigued him - he had never seen real fur before. The President had a wooden desk in his office, and that had been the source of many debates over extravagant government spending - for Tarn to see a production mill filled with timber was equivalent to a Terran seeing a bank vault filled with gold... an awe-inspiring display of wealth.

"A tour of your fur and lumber production facilities would be most welcome, Mr Vasagi, though I would enjoy sampling this excellent menu first. Hmm - your people do seem to enjoy their meat cooked rather rare, don't they... "

"I was Psi before this change, a high ranking withing the Psi military defence force. My turning was unique to say the least....But that is another tale, one which is long. I know of war, and it's meanings and implications. I know of the arcane arts."

"Telepathy. I can break into minds. Astral bodies, telekinesis, enchantments, animation, illusion weaving, my sire taught me well once he finally revealed whom he was." Vorador spoke via telepathy, his lips not moving.

"My combat skills speak for themselves. I operate using many methods depending on how swiftly I wish to deal with my prey, or how much justice I feel needs to be inflicted before they should leave this world."

"I was Psi before this change, a high ranking withing the Psi military defence force. My turning was unique to say the least....But that is another tale, one which is long. I know of war, and it's meanings and implications. I know of the arcane arts."

"Telepathy. I can break into minds. Astral bodies, telekinesis, enchantments, animation, illusion weaving, my sire taught me well once he finally revealed whom he was." Vorador spoke via telepathy, his lips not moving.

"My combat skills speak for themselves. I operate using many methods depending on how swiftly I wish to deal with my prey, or how much justice I feel needs to be inflicted before they should leave this world."

"Well, if you wish it..." says Lord Tulkas, "I think that a warrior of such independance and cunning as yourself should nevertheless find us useful allies. You are welcome, in fact, to use Turgosheim as a base of operations should that be necessary. Some of these powers you speak of are unheard of here! If it is possible to learn them I would be glad for the opportunity." Tulkas reflects a bit. "We Wamphyri have mental skills, clearly, and add to the telepathic the ability to dominate the minds of others. We are also able to transform ourselves, forming our very bodies into weaponry, and are able to use the blood to make our war beasts and other creatures as it suits us. By some means we are able to fly--my study of sciences leaves me wondering if this is an arcane means of reducing our personal fields of gravity, but I am no scholar!"


"Yes, yes, any contacts would of course be accorded considerable interest by our government - currently the people's opiate consists of old reruns on the holovision; not the best thing to keep them happy, I must admit. Oh, and do call me Tarn."

"Certainly--please call me Gorvi." suggests Vasagi pleasantly, raising his wineglass.

Tarn was feeling expansive, as the food entered his mouth at an alarming rate. He motioned to the waiter, who approached the table wih a menu. Vasagi's offer of a tour intrigued him - he had never seen real fur before. The President had a wooden desk in his office, and that had been the source of many debates over extravagant government spending - for Tarn to see a production mill filled with timber was equivalent to a Terran seeing a bank vault filled with gold... an awe-inspiring display of wealth.

"A tour of your fur and lumber production facilities would be most welcome, Mr Vasagi, though I would enjoy sampling this excellent menu first. Hmm - your people do seem to enjoy their meat cooked rather rare, don't they...

"Oh, yes, a tour would suit us both...er--perhaps we might get the kitchen to work with your personal tastes, and I certainly might make some recommendations. Is the food not to your liking?"

Abriel and the leading resistance members lead the group through some tunnels that eventually are met with fresh air. Finding themselves in a wooded valley high in the mountains. This is a more permanent camp of the resistance, where they can rest and take stock of their situation. The encampment is carefully camouflaged to views from above, and there are hundreds of the Szygany there.
Stefan kneels--he is ready to drop anyway, and begins to pray.
A burly man (whose name is Ardek) with his hair in a short braid, a fierce looking beard and a sheepskin coat approaches and says, "Well, Abriel: what strangers have you brought us? How did things go?"

((Sorry for my lack of posts, I had writer's block. :oops: ))

"Well, I've brought an Elf, he's kinda like me, getting us into trouble and things." She said with a smile and a wink in Mordecai's direction. "And I've brought a priest with us. I don't think he'll be much of a fighter, but I believe he's a good guy. Perhaps a surgeon here would be a good line of work for him. Anyway, we took the two we saved from a truck going down the south road, but then a few helicopters came. That's where it kinda all fell to pieces. But at least we're here."

"Well, if you wish it..." says Lord Tulkas, "I think that a warrior of such independance and cunning as yourself should nevertheless find us useful allies. You are welcome, in fact, to use Turgosheim as a base of operations should that be necessary. Some of these powers you speak of are unheard of here! If it is possible to learn them I would be glad for the opportunity." Tulkas reflects a bit. "We Wamphyri have mental skills, clearly, and add to the telepathic the ability to dominate the minds of others. We are also able to transform ourselves, forming our very bodies into weaponry, and are able to use the blood to make our war beasts and other creatures as it suits us. By some means we are able to fly--my study of sciences leaves me wondering if this is an arcane means of reducing our personal fields of gravity, but I am no scholar!"



"Such a alliance would benift both of us....A toast to our new found freindship?" Vorador smiled darkly, as he raised his elderly cloven talon. A glass formed from nothing, it spiraled into existance, the small glass filled with a dark red liquid. He raised it, as a glass formed beside Tulka, the same liquid within the glass.

Lord Eyegor leads Arcauld down into a set of comfortable rooms decorated in the Edwardian fashion: many plants, tasseled lamps and oriental rugs. "Do you know all the possible lore regarded Castlevania? Or might there be other sources of information? There are great scholars in Turgosheim who might be able to pursue avenues of reseach.



"It is...difficult. Very little is known of the castle, for one main reason. It has an almost organic property - it can change randomly. When we are inside we shall not be able to rely on my memory to guide us. But, beyond what I have already told you, I know very little about the castle. It is possible that it is mentioned in the older tomes, when the castle was a symbol of the darkness. If your scholars could get a hold of a copy of the Necronomicon, that might be somewhere to start. The only way that I can think of entering the castle is by brute force. Unless it has some weak point..."

"Oh, yes, a tour would suit us both...er--perhaps we might get the kitchen to work with your personal tastes, and I certainly might make some recommendations. Is the food not to your liking?"

"Oh no, no, it's delicious... please give my compliments to the chef, Gorvi. I was just commenting on how you have your meat... rather bloody compared to my own country. But delicious all the same. Now..."

Tarn stood up and pushed his chair back.

"...how about that tour? Or will that be tomorrow?"

"Hi everyone", said Mordecai raising his hand. As noone answered his greetings, he just put his hand in the back of his neck. "Well, Can I be of some help here?", he asked, trying to be as polite as he could.

A medium-sized commercial flight from Amalah touches down at the airport in the Turgosheimian city of Vormspire. Off this plane comes a large, middle-aged man. When asked his name, he simply stutters before pulling out his ID identifying him as "Kahren Amers".

His connection with this plot will come out later.

The customs guards carefully go through his luggage while an officer asks,
"Profession? Reason for visit? Marital status? Nationality?" while looking through his passport with an officious but bored expression.
Furniture Salesman. Vacation. Unmarried. Amalahian.

PS: The customs official finds nothing unusual in his luggage except a small, seemingly unopenable, metal box.
Well? Do the guards allow him through or not?

Abriel and the leading resistance members lead the group through some tunnels that eventually are met with fresh air. Finding themselves in a wooded valley high in the mountains. This is a more permanent camp of the resistance, where they can rest and take stock of their situation. The encampment is carefully camouflaged to views from above, and there are hundreds of the Szygany there.
Stefan kneels--he is ready to drop anyway, and begins to pray.
A burly man (whose name is Ardek) with his hair in a short braid, a fierce looking beard and a sheepskin coat approaches and says, "Well, Abriel: what strangers have you brought us? How did things go?"

((Sorry for my lack of posts, I had writer's block. :oops: ))

"Well, I've brought an Elf, he's kinda like me, getting us into trouble and things." She said with a smile and a wink in Mordecai's direction. "And I've brought a priest with us. I don't think he'll be much of a fighter, but I believe he's a good guy. Perhaps a surgeon here would be a good line of work for him. Anyway, we took the two we saved from a truck going down the south road, but then a few helicopters came. That's where it kinda all fell to pieces. But at least we're here."

Ardek nods thoughtfully, and then quite deliberately in response to Mordecai. "Perhaps the first thing you should all do is get some rest. Some of the other groups were a bit luckier--we managed to get some more ammunition and explosives. There's lamb stew and fresh bread. Father, it would probably do everyone good if you said a blessing."
To Mordecai, he says, "I would like to know your skills--and if you know what you might be getting into. Repaying a debt of gratitude is one thing--but we would not leave any sentient being--save perhaps a very evil one--in the grasp of those monsters."
One of the other Szygany comes up to Abriel and says, long faced, "The other man you rescue seems to have vanished--he might have fallen behind--who knows..."


Irenicus Posted: Wed Dec 03, 2003 3:02 pm Post subject:

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Turgosheim wrote:

"Well, if you wish it..." says Lord Tulkas, "I think that a warrior of such independance and cunning as yourself should nevertheless find us useful allies. You are welcome, in fact, to use Turgosheim as a base of operations should that be necessary. Some of these powers you speak of are unheard of here! If it is possible to learn them I would be glad for the opportunity." Tulkas reflects a bit. "We Wamphyri have mental skills, clearly, and add to the telepathic the ability to dominate the minds of others. We are also able to transform ourselves, forming our very bodies into weaponry, and are able to use the blood to make our war beasts and other creatures as it suits us. By some means we are able to fly--my study of sciences leaves me wondering if this is an arcane means of reducing our personal fields of gravity, but I am no scholar!"




"Such a alliance would benift both of us....A toast to our new found freindship?" Vorador smiled darkly, as he raised his elderly cloven talon. A glass formed from nothing, it spiraled into existance, the small glass filled with a dark red liquid. He raised it, as a glass formed beside Tulka, the same liquid within the glass.

"That's a neat trick" thinks Tulkas, but he gravely raises his own glass and says, "To our new found friendship." However, he does extend his tongue, almost like a snake, to taste the liquid first.


"It is...difficult. Very little is known of the castle, for one main reason. It has an almost organic property - it can change randomly. When we are inside we shall not be able to rely on my memory to guide us. But, beyond what I have already told you, I know very little about the castle. It is possible that it is mentioned in the older tomes, when the castle was a symbol of the darkness. If your scholars could get a hold of a copy of the Necronomicon, that might be somewhere to start. The only way that I can think of entering the castle is by brute force. Unless it has some weak point..."

Eyegor almost chokes. "A copy of the...!"
He leans back in his chair and stares at Arcauld. "A copy of the Necronimicon. Just like that. How in the world do you expect to find it in the time alloted--and one in good condition, recognized by one of those rare scholars that would be qualified? Do you know what you ask, man?"


Posted: Wed Dec 03, 2003 7:19 pm Post subject:

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Turgosheim wrote:
"Oh, yes, a tour would suit us both...er--perhaps we might get the kitchen to work with your personal tastes, and I certainly might make some recommendations. Is the food not to your liking?"


"Oh no, no, it's delicious... please give my compliments to the chef, Gorvi. I was just commenting on how you have your meat... rather bloody compared to my own country. But delicious all the same. Now..."

Tarn stood up and pushed his chair back.

"...how about that tour? Or will that be tomorrow?"


"Tomorrow, I think, tonight would be better for rest, don't you agree?" Gorvi smiles pleasantly.
(In fact, I assume that Tarn is very worn out from the stress at the very least...)


Furniture Salesman. Vacation. Unmarried. Amalahian.

PS: The customs official finds nothing unusual in his luggage except a small, seemingly unopenable, metal box.

The customs officer, a thickset man with a weary manner, examines the box and says, "How do you open this box?"

"I-I got that from my father, sir, and he never told me how to open it. I keep it as... Sorta a good luck charm, you know?" Kahren stutters.

Oh, yeah. there was also a screwdriver in his luggage, and a screw on the box. But just ONE screw, and no cracks anywhere else. Just solid metal.

""That's a neat trick" thinks Tulkas, but he gravely raises his own glass and says, "To our new found friendship." However, he does extend his tongue, almost like a snake, to taste the liquid first.



Vorador drank the red liquid, it was rather potent. Vorodor held his secrets well, he did not in fact make blood he.....transported it. Vorador has power amoungst some lands, and had various what he like to call "havens" to which held fresh blood.

Having drunk the dark red liquid, sustaining him further, he blew on his glass, which made his glass disintergrate like sand, which blew away in his made wind, the white dust like energy dissolving within the air, the raw arcane stuff of magic evaporating once more.

"Is there anything that you would require of me as of now?" Vorador asked, he was awaiting some kind of instruction possibly. If he was not given one, he wold explore.

"I-I got that from my father, sir, and he never told me how to open it. I keep it as... Sorta a good luck charm, you know?" Kahren stutters.

Oh, yeah. there was also a screwdriver in his luggage, and a screw on the box. But just ONE screw, and no cracks anywhere else. Just solid metal.

"What kind of stupid crap is this?" growls the customs officer angrily. He raises his hand radio to his mouth and speaks sharply in his own language. In moments, two grim looking soldiers are coming over with submachineguns slung over their shoulders.
"You're going to have to be searched more thoroughly." announces the customs officer. "And I want this box opened!"
One of the soldiers puts out a hand to guide Kahren towards a door with a frosted glass window that has a translation of the native words on it: Authorized Personnel Only.

"Is there anything that you would require of me as of now?" Vorador asked, he was awaiting some kind of instruction possibly. If he was not given one, he wold explore

"I advise you to become acquainted with our country first, perhaps." Lord Tulkas suggests. He glances up as a naked woman comes in and whispers into his ear. "Ah, a bedchamber has been prepared for you--should you require rest. In any case, the sun will be rising soon, and I go to my rest. If that is what you wish, this girl will show you the way."

Mordecai smiled at the man. "Ok, I'll take it that way. I'm was a policeman in my country, so I have some skills, but I'm very clumsy sometimes, jeje", he said, chuckling.

"Well, if you said so, I will rest, if you need something just call me. Where can I tend this old and tired body?"

"Is there anything that you would require of me as of now?" Vorador asked, he was awaiting some kind of instruction possibly. If he was not given one, he wold explore

"I advise you to become acquainted with our country first, perhaps." Lord Tulkas suggests. He glances up as a naked woman comes in and whispers into his ear. "Ah, a bedchamber has been prepared for you--should you require rest. In any case, the sun will be rising soon, and I go to my rest. If that is what you wish, this girl will show you the way."

"I shall become more knowledgable of the country...I need not fear the light. It does not do me harm strangely." Vorador noted, and followed the women. He was not attracted to her in any way, the delicate curves of her gave him no sense of lust. Vorador was emotionless in many ways, apart from his hatred and passion against those who did him wrong. The emotions dulled after a while Vorador found...

"Tomorrow, I think, tonight would be better for rest, don't you agree?" Gorvi smiles pleasantly.
(In fact, I assume that Tarn is very worn out from the stress at the very least...)

Tarn was aching to continue the tour and insinuate himself as far as possible into the confidence of Gorvi Vasagi... but while the mind was willing, the flesh was weak. Well-fed, warm, tired from the day's considerable exertions and relieved of the stress of his first few hours here, Tarn's eyes were fighting against his efforts to keep them open.

"Yes, I suppose sleep would be in order... I do seem to be rather more tired than I thought. I and my country thank you for your hospitality, Gorvi... it has been much appreciated, and you can be sure I shall report favourably to the Ministry."

Ardek nods thoughtfully, and then quite deliberately in response to Mordecai. "Perhaps the first thing you should all do is get some rest. Some of the other groups were a bit luckier--we managed to get some more ammunition and explosives. There's lamb stew and fresh bread. Father, it would probably do everyone good if you said a blessing."
To Mordecai, he says, "I would like to know your skills--and if you know what you might be getting into. Repaying a debt of gratitude is one thing--but we would not leave any sentient being--save perhaps a very evil one--in the grasp of those monsters."
One of the other Szygany comes up to Abriel and says, long faced, "The other man you rescue seems to have vanished--he might have fallen behind--who knows..."

Those words and the sad expression on the gypsy's face cut into Abriel. She had left someone behind...the worst dishonor. She looked at the ground for a long moment, and then brought her gaze back up, renewed vigor in her.

"I'm sorry to hear that, but there's nothing we can do for him, except for hope he made it out of there." Abriel said, and let out a long sigh. "Except for hope..."

The young Countess suddenly looked much more tired. She rubbed her temple for a moment and walked over to Mordecai as he talked with Adrek.

"I would kill for something to eat right now." She said, looking at the two.

"Well, I always keep some lembas with me. I can share them with you, and anyone who needs food. It's just a little piece, but it can be a fantastic source of nourishment", said Mordecai, pulling out a little biscuit from inside the pocket of his jacket. "The vampires didn't took that from me, they thought it was just elven food".

"That would be fanstastic. Thanks." Abriel said gratefully, smiling at Mordecai.

"I-I got that from my father, sir, and he never told me how to open it. I keep it as... Sorta a good luck charm, you know?" Kahren stutters.

Oh, yeah. there was also a screwdriver in his luggage, and a screw on the box. But just ONE screw, and no cracks anywhere else. Just solid metal.

"What kind of stupid crap is this?" growls the customs officer angrily. He raises his hand radio to his mouth and speaks sharply in his own language. In moments, two grim looking soldiers are coming over with submachineguns slung over their shoulders.
"You're going to have to be searched more thoroughly." announces the customs officer. "And I want this box opened!"
One of the soldiers puts out a hand to guide Kahren towards a door with a frosted glass window that has a translation of the native words on it: Authorized Personnel Only.
OOC: That box is much more complex than anything that guard can understand, unless vampires are all supergeniuses, or something.

IC: "Wh-what? Kahren stammers. He pauses for a second, and lets the soldiers guide him to the door.

OOC again: I'm going to need to keep track of that box, so I can tell the results of anything that might happen to it.

Eyegor almost chokes. "A copy of the...!"
He leans back in his chair and stares at Arcauld. "A copy of the Necronimicon. Just like that. How in the world do you expect to find it in the time alloted--and one in good condition, recognized by one of those rare scholars that would be qualified? Do you know what you ask, man?"


"I never said it would be easy, nor vital. The book of the dead is the only source that springs to mind when considering my father's castle. I'm sure we can find a way into the castle without the aid of the book, it would just be more...difficult. It is my father that I am most concerned with, however. We must find a way to defeat him permanently, so that he may not rise. Such cursed details may be found within the book, but as you pointed out, getting hold of a copy is not easy. Hrm..."

I won't be here until Wednesday unfortunately - I'm going for a university interview at Oxford (go me!) and won't have time to go online 'til Wednesday evening. Feel free to carry Tarn around, take him to the hotel, whatever... I'll catch up with the situation when I get back.

BUMP for Turgosheim!

And he's back... but nothing to catch up on... :cry:

Bumpity bump bump!