NationStates Jolt Archive

To Define a Figure, of Darkness: Act One
Scene One

Sinking deep into his mortal victim, Magnus held the young woman's body with a deal of strength, in an icy grip which will have been defined into the eternal and endless halls of an existing reality. Long and slender arms the woman had, falling from her victim's pale white face to rest lifeless in a deathly limpness beside her; Samantha had truly drifted far into the distant world of trance and melody. Timelessness would surely prevail in such a time as this, whilst she remained in a strange tango with the holder of her murder.

'Perhaps this, is a pre-empt to the death which has been so unwillingly bestowed upon my soul,' she silently questioned, even in the vaugue state her mind was, during a time of which her very lifeblood was being drained from her weakening body.

For just a minute longer the killer of her mortal being would feed upon the juices of life, before the heavy grip on her limpening arms were to be loosened, even if perhaps just slightly. And all around the death-dancing couple, blackened by the thick smoke of eternal feud, resided the walls which were now fading into an unclear blur of reality and mono-coloured dream. What had, and was true had now become so indifferent to that of which was not. Felt strongest in a state of sub-existance, perhaps this was God's own comfort for those unfortunate enough to meet the fate which had falled upon the shoulders of Samantha. Experience was now just a tale as her own soul was being stolen from her; in a bitter and eternal dance known as rape and murder.

Magnus pulled back slowly from his now empty victim, revealing the fresh and newly marks of a killing on her neck. The moonlight however, could never highlight the fact that no longer did the eternal being of a spirit reside within her; nor was it so bright it could heighten the existance of scars, into a state of full knowledge and understanding. He had most certainly finished the deed which he had set to complete, and in capturing the young woman's soul, a thirsty desire had been quenched, a desire only gained within anxiety and suffering. Such a product of Sin however, was not so eternally satisfied, for Satan himself had commanded this being to feast on the flesh and blood of others more than just often. His very existance relied soley on the concept that others did not, at the hands of pale fingers licked by the tongue of death; truly a creature of despair and misery. And so the darkness of night enveloped the monster of empty satisfaction, concealing its name into the icy graveyard, a small city and ancient city known as Bukerai.

To Define a Figure, of Darkness: Act One
Scene Two

Daylight had broken before the lifeless symbol had been found; a young woman lay dead, strewn across the sidewalk of a busy commercial street. Only the scream of a child had alerted the world of the crime committed, police had been called to the scene just moments later. A crowd had gathered, those who were curious, those with a mad-obsession, and those who in some way, shape or form, knew something of the lady who now lay dead for all to see in the world around her. Most certainly however, not one of those responsible were present, for it was not that they were ashamed, but that they were hardly able without any form of cloak. Such attire would be suspicious even on a normal day, and any form of special interest would be, undesirable to say the least.

Upon closer inspection by trained professionals, the marks of her death would be found more clear than the sun which shone brightly above them. It was a new day for the small city, yet the history carried forth, without the presense of this body's eternal soul. For it had been released from the world of physical limitation, or as some would consider it, the spirit of the dead woman had been relieved of her duty to life. And although the nation around this city was generally god-fearing and evidently satisfied, not one could imagine what new futures could come from such a small entity as Bukerai.

For perhaps a thousand years the community had existed, and for reasons unknown today, it had always been considered the 'city of dead'. Legends had told over the centuries, that creatures would come by nightfall, to steal the lives of men. And whilst most could simply write these tales off as what they were, nobody could understand why, and how there was such a gothic influence in this city's architecture. Perhaps the influence from Hungary had shown, for many of these people had originated as immigrants, but still the fact remained. The sky was littered with the tops of very old buildings, menacing over the typical which would have been built in other places. Daylight revealed that the walls had faded, and had been blackened, presumerably by the wars which had been fought in these lands. Nations such as the Austar Union had only existed after a group of city-states had become willing to sign in treaty; perhaps it was Bukerai which could be considered as the 'odd-one-out'. Still, this was not a bad thing, for it did provide a more than healthy tourist market.

And still on this fine day, a slight chill remained in the air as people watched on. Little did they understand however, that it was indeed the remenance of the icy grip which had befallen this dead woman only hours previous to the time of discovery. Strange, thought the scientists as they studied the area unaffected by the crowd around them for the time of death had only been placed a few hours previous, and yet it appeared as if the woman had been void of any warmth at all. Pale as she was, further study would be required, notably on the areas of her shoulder, neck, and arms where only two strong bruises were left behind; the icy grip of her assassin.

To Define a Figure, of Darkness: Act One
Scene Three

Not often did the eternal clans gather in meeting together, the last being some four hundred years previously. A night such as this however, was considerably different; those who took satisfaction in the death of others in a union such as this. Hidden via the shady, and moth-ridden window-cloth, a visious society within these walls existed outside what was known to be real; a society considered to be only a series of vast fanatical memory. Not within the realms of known existance, those who were a member of such a society were considered to be untrue, or real to just a very select few. Those who knew the truth however, also did not have fabric within known space and time. As such, this society of conflict was un-beknown to those outside.

Indeed, this world of blood, bullet, and sword could rather be the dreams of a child, and yet it could not, for not such innocence could be so corrupted. If only the world could truly understand, and accept...

"My brothers," boomed Magnus who was standing tall upon a pedastool. Around him, pale faces watched their leader intently, hanging on every word, every statement. For since the eighteenth century, he had been the master of this household. "I am rather glad of the fact you could all join us, or at least most of us. Here in Bukerai, we have been given the privilage of almost free roam, and I understand that others have not been so fortunate. Up until now, we have not been persecuted, and yet the mortals continue to pursue us right today, to this very point. I fear friends, that unless we choose to react, our eternal existance will end."

Murmer began to fill the hall, which was dimly lit. As such, the room was somewhat mono-coloured, and the faces of those in participation were highlighted either slightly gray, or pale white. And as the room grew louder, the darkness of hell appeared to drift within the realm of reality. Magnus only waited nervously, for if he wasnt to achieve, the meeting would have been futile.

Outside, the dogs began to bark, and the room inside fell instantly into an eerie silence. Not one ear wasnt listening, for if the perimeters had in fact been breached, the manor had to be emptied of life, or death within seconds of realisation. Nothing.

Magnus continued, and the attendees began to listen once more, "... And so it appears friends, that the mortal are now incurving into our own world of existance, perhaps planning or beginning their final offense. Brothers, we must stand strong in union, and with the activation of the Blood Pact of Nordor, we can prevail to exist, perhaps even turn the tide of this eternal war..."

He watched as it appeared that the gathering were reacting positively to the introduction of the blood pact. Written some three hundred and fifty years prevously, it had been rejected by each of the clans, and faded into a state of sub-existance, history. The papers however, had been preserved for a later date, perhaps they would come in handy, and so it did. Unsigned and unratified, the signatory area remained blank. This was soon to change. And in a toast in the name of the Pact of Norder, sparkling glasses of blood were raised in confirmation of the treaty, and the seven pens were drawn for signing.

To Define a Figure, of Darkness: Act One
Scene Four

Poison, although such an incredibly simple concept, was most certainly more than capable. Kings and Queens through-out history, all through the ancient ages had been subject to such a force, where there was no formal way of assasination. This time however, in the modern age of light and theory, the target for murder was not a king or queen, nor any kind of actual respectable position. No, the victim was much more canine, namingly, the guard dogs which had been barking for several minutes. Perhaps this was not long, yet it was far too dangerous to fight the undead when they know of your presense. Some, perhaps may be able to sense it, and yet the targets of this operation were much more vunerable than a spirit. The enemy tonight was those most feared, devourer of the mortal, the soul, and the living. They were not particularly active in the outside society, part of the reason they were so feared; for the only trace of their existance were the murders, bodies left on streets, marks left on their skin.

Just a memory now, the canine guards were now silent as they lay across the garden. It was now time to move, the gates which were normally closed could easily be scaled. One however, had to remain as silent as possible, something which was rather difficult considering the fence had a habit of creaking even without interference. Still, with proper equipement as this mortal team had, it was made possible, and crossing the boundaries between the dead and the living was something to endure. One step was all it took, yet the ground was so stained, so saturated with the memory of life, death, and blood that the cold spririts of the afterlife could indeed kiss these men silently. Never before had they been so frightened.

As a team of twelve, living men crept as silently as possible up the garden path, they kept wary of watching eyes, and listening ears. Trees which would have looked normal by day were now contorted into screaming souls of terror by night; and even under the canopy of the stars above, one could not so easily differ objects void of spirit, to objects with breathing, un-living consiousness. Pausing, the men listened as the trees began to whisper words, un-recognisable to man. The wind perhaps, was this team's greatest enemy. One could not define the whisper of trees to the whisper of beings. And as they moved back off, they now were growing fearful of realisation.

They were correct to fear however; for within seconds the ground would be stained with bloody massacure...