{NARRATION} The blistering cold of the north that sent mimics away at just a tantilizing flick of her wrist, wilted away the verdant greenlands of the south and the trio of Vampires found themselves avast in the far eastern mountainlands outside of Frostvale, perched upon a hidden cliff face from the rest of Valmasia a safe approach and a safe place to hide rebels and traitors alike. The private agendae of the vampires benefitting the modern government of Frostvale, whilst feeding their own desires. As they traversed the paths of the mountains, even ascorned by the average inquisition patrols. Even as undead, the chill of the air was unrenounceable, if even one of them had any means of sensing heat they'd feel as though their fingers were about to fall off, the air was colder than even their lifeless breath.
Who needed a cat when you had a legless, hungry vampire to clean out the entire castle of rats for you? Because that is what happened for weeks on end as Chrys regrew her legs slowly, eventually being able to walk once again. It felt weird to her, though she was thankful, since she could now actually go on her mission to get the sword she so long desired, Thorne.

The trip to the north wouldn't have been very hard for the trio, not at all. Making period stops to feed on any wildlife or poor local farmer they could find, they reached the frozen north in a matter of days. Though thankfully, being vampires made them rather... unaffected, by the plummeting temperatures the further north they went.

As they skirted around the giant walls of Frostvale, Esmes memories pinged at the back of Chrys' mind. She wanted so desperately to go inside and see her old friends and enemies, though more than that she wanted to see what they tasted like, what they felt like as she tore them limb from limb.

They continued further north, food becoming rather scarce as the creatures of the region took to remaining in their burrows during the winter months. The thought of the mass amounts of slaughter that lay ahead of them kept Chrys going strong, even as they entered the mountains. The last she knew of someone entering the mountains, they nearly froze to death while trying to set up a town... Should have taken a vampire with them!

"We are just about there." She said towards the two accompanying her on her journey. She wondered why they even were going with her - perhaps to make sure she wasn't stupidely captured again by Inquisition soldiers? Chrys shuddered at the thought. The last thing she wanted was months of torture, again...

Just as she said it, up ahead the giant gates came into view.
(Chrys)
 It was impossible to remain as mist here for long; the tall cliffs of the Frostvalian mountains wouldn't be cheated, for assuming the form of fleshy vapors risked freezing as them- to revert back from such a state meant anguish and disfigurement, both of a potency the risen Abdul did not wish to tempt. He walked across the snowy landscape.

To fly would've taxed his stamina and risked sight of him by patrols. His boots move slowly but steadily, disregarding inches upon inches of snow as the ancient mountain paths are traversed upon: the sword of Thorne was their pursuit, the birthright of a single vampire in their midst... the prized heirloom of their Kin, from a bloodline they only possessed while living.

The vampire Radu follows the once-Drakanite as the path continues. As ever, his luminous scarlet hues are kept about and alert for the perpetual menace posed by the inquisition, a single macabre-clad hand kept prepped and aloft to dart for his blade at the first sight of unbidden life. The wolf king cloak of Eline Sakete, a hooded black cloak of dark silk and other furs bound about the vampire kept him relatively warmer than his equally cold-blooded companions, seeking to remain fluid enough to move freely.
(Radu)
The blustering winds of the frozen north did nothing to deter or dissuade the part of nightstalkers from flying the air - dusky wings of depravity carrying them silently past Frostvale's borders, into the snowy hillocks of the northern foothills. They preyed off of the few unfortunate to be out in the freezing snow.

The frost clung to their forms at every moment it could, an icy grasp upon their limbs and garments as they darted from mountain to mountain - following their newly freed compatriot as she darted to their long-awaited quarry far off in the deep north. She had spoken of it and expressed want to slaughter her family, how could they refuse?

The Dread Lord My'aell flies, uncaring of the minute drain to his powers in exchange for the comfort of not dredging through the snow like his companion. His face was set into a glower, spidery red eyes glinting outwards with anticipation as they came closer and closer along the hidden path to the last home of the Thornes. He was eager.

Parched.
(My'aell)
{NARRATION} Deep whails from yaks groaning, the cold proving to be quite a threat even to them the herds that moved in this weather, that dared to brave travelling the cold, were tighter knit than what was natural. Dragons that would otherwise dot the sky from time to time were grounded, huddling themselves arround fires for warmth, even their own internal heat was far from enough to keep warm in this blistering chill. Vampires should count themselves lucky that they don't have to deal with this 'hypothermia' that people speak of. But on the off hand, an unnatural sound calls, a human voice, not from the direction of the long since passed Inquisition patrols, but from their eastern side, a lone bolt, tipped with mithril and leaking holy water, somehow kept liquid in this cold air. One might think that the individual had expected a vampire, however it'd seem that the trail of lightning magic coming up rapidly behind it left another story for the vampires to observe. An extended chain of common lightning magic arced upwards towards the lone flier. It would far from hit him, but perhaps it'd make him seriously consider landing. Aside from that, they would find an oddly well kept stone path, even with some green at either side, was it a few degrees warmer here? Perhaps, but it wasn't like the trio could really tell, could they?

Chrys stared at a pack of Yaks as they shuffled along, packed together tightly to try and keep some semblence of warmth. Off in the distance, she spotted a Wyvern laying wrapped around itself, sleeping. Her crimson eyes glanced backwards at Radu, watching to see if he was going to try and kill it or not...

Though she was cut short of saying anything about the matter as a human shout reached their ears from the east, the fledglings' attention fully turning towards such a sound. Just as she was about to go towards it, however, her attention was yet again grabbed as a bolt of lightning shot upwards towards the flying My'aell.

And luckily, they didn't have to continue to traverse in such a deep snow! Chrys picked up her pace as stepped onto the stone path, not really feeling the change in temperature. She wouldn't have cared, either way.
(Chrys)
Dragons.

In the distance, Abdul could see them; lumbering, scaly fiends, not so different from the one he had nearly slain on his own. A hand juts out through the snow, pointing at them - ignoring the blistering, azure bolt of lightning blasting toward his Sire. The vampire Radu was far more interested in the prospect of succulent Dragon blood. "Master! Dragons! We must feed, qu-" He stammered aloud, before the enchanted bolt struck nearby!

A mithril projectile embraced by offendingly holy magics had been shot their way. Without word, Abdul's grin of elation and gawking stare at the delicious, huddled Dragons turns immediately to a violent scowl aimed in the direction of the distorted voices and transgressing projectiles. Charred chains rattle, as Abdul seizes the long length of interlocked metal links securing Liable to his back.

His cloak is cast to the winds, and the sword of Liable is quickly spun around overhead; like a lasso, Abdul spins it aloft by naught but the chains attached to its hilt, in forceful rotations so enormous they loose strong winds that push and dishevel the vampire's own waist-length locks of lustrous black hair. A push of blood erupts from his shoulder blades, manifesting into a cursed imitation of Azraelic wings!

The risen Abdul gushes at those foolish enough to dare shoot at the dread sire- his motion carries with it malice and inhuman alacrity, surely much faster than any mortal creature could flee. The crossbowmen would soon be reduced to bloody pulp and torn ruin for daring to attack the children of Cain!
(Radu)
Wildlife huddling and packing themselves in for meager warmth in the hellish cold and dragons flitting about their perchs were of no concern to the Dreadlord, merely peering and glowering at whichever beings that lived and breathed in the inhospitable for their immense tactlessness - daring to be in his presence when he should be delighting in the pain of humans?

CRRACK

A lone bolt of wood and mithril whizzed by the floating vampire's face, caught from the corner of his insipid gaze and snapped to a stop with a single, strengthened hand mere inches from entering his skull and ending his unlife in an instant. The shout and sudden blast of lightning magic to the side were only secondary annoyances, the first had already consumed his attention.

Depravity pulsed and burst from the eldest vampire's body, his hand surging and snapping the lone bolt in twain as he hissed in sudden, seething rage. The humans had dared try to hunt him? They had dared to raise a hand against them without even making a showing of their pathetic, insipid selves?

There were no words for Radu or Chrys, merely the sudden, massive pulsar of infernal depravity as My'aell shot forwards towards the noise - blasting through the snow alone with no care of who was following.

They would all die.
(My'aell)
{NARRATION} As they would come closer to the original site where the bolt had come from, they would note a fast moving ball of lightning near the ground, it glowwed with holier energies, undoubtedly it was the cause of the fired shot, sparking holy lightning mixxed with holy water, leading a trail, it would seem that the major forces would get to know of the impending death. However, the elder vampire, My'aell stepped forward on his own? The dozen guards stationed at the entry way withdrew their weapons, many common blades and axes, so many fools. Their lifeblood would make a wonderous meal for the trio, here's hoping that the ambitiously loner of a fighter My'aell could handle them, as they were charging.
{NARRATION} The forces of the conscripted men and women, some even baring tatterred remains of Thorne-era Nivis armor, evident by a fallen captain's equipment. The trio would find their 'father' was battered, slightly, but nothing that wouldn't heal with a short bit of time, Vampires and their, not so much really, but classifiable as, natural healing. The bodies on the ground made a crimson trail going down the trail back whence they came, and oddly as it came to the snow, freezing immediately, it absolutely was warmer here. They could try to evade being detected further, or they could give up any charade into the element of suprise they had. Stealth check, /pursue greater than 1000 to get past 1 wave of guards, 1500 to get past 2, 2000 to get passed all 3 waves before the keep, by the way they'll be progressively stronger waves, lowest pursue decides how many waves will need to be dealt with. Or: you can just fight all 3 waves.
Fools indeed.

Speed and power were a mantle that the Vampire My'aell was well accustomed. He was the top of the foodchain. The ruler of his Domain. There were none to challenge him in his house, none to disobey his will because it was absolute in it's intensity. He ruled over all in his purview, and an attack on his person was something that triggered the deepest dredges of torrid rage and hate.

Depravity erupted around the blackclad figure's form, a pulsar of screeching cosmic wrongness emanating from the hallowed strings of the lifestream, pushing the cursed man's agenda forwards in a rush of air as he flew to the waiting axes and blades, his hands outstretched and waiting for the warm blood that would soon cover them.

He met the wave in a screech of glee, cleaving through their lines to disembowel a guard and knock more off of their feet, before lunging past the arc of their returning swords and back again from the other side. He grinned, glancing back at the forms of Radu and Chrys with an amused look, before casually licking the gore from his hand in the face of the approaching guard.

He exploded into mist and darkness, reforming behind two more to strike and cleave through their shoulders and necks - flying up and away from the other guards to come down less than seconds later to take another two out. Hit, run, smash, kill. His strikes were always lethal, and he retained only paltry cuts in return from already dying men.

The last few of the dead guard huddled away - back near the ajar gates, glancing from the point of exit to the elder vampire that stood drenched in the blood of their comrades. He didn't move to catch the final two. A pale, bloodied finger slowly pointed to the gate before he spoke at them.

"GO! Tell your insipid others that we have come for your heads. Prepare your blades and your shields-- speak your last words, and make whatever peace you have, yes?"

"It will be your last moments before you die."

They would run. Surely to warn the other waves of guards, oh no!
(My'aell)
{NARRATION} A lone survivor amidst the first dozen, the streak of lightning long gone to what appeared to be an obsidian keep almost, great billowing signal fires aglow with vividly deep hellish shadowflame signals, this was the keep of a man driven by ambitious design alright. Another thing of note was the sun, why was it in the northern quadrant of the sky? Further more, why on Eternia's backside was it blackenned? Deeply tainted with occult. The answer? It wasn't to the east gentle hues of gold climbed past the clouds, the true sun was in hiding, ever kept at bay by the smoke that crawled across the sky before the keep. Even to the undead, the now clearly occult sun granted it's warming graces, it may have even been pleasant to the vampires, all of this leaking depravity from the dark-fire orb that heated this region. However, even in gatherring the calm was short lived, as what would be inveritably a war-platoon, approximately fifty strong came forth, the actual guard of what appeared to be a hamlet of sorts that surrounded the massive obsidian structure.
[15:30:04] Abdul soared, bloodied wings gurgling in jets of sanguine essence- they carry him fast. But shrieking past the once-Oscuri is the shape of My'aell, enwreathed in absolutely howling Depravity and a presence of complete, immutable dread; malice, too, sings from his soon-to-be bloodied fingertips as he tears into the guardsmen and defending legions.

Fools, they all were; butchery unfurled ahead. The vampire Radu continues to fly, to swing the chain of his blade in a continuous circle so swiftly a steely buzzsaw-like shape was all it seemed to be, ready to get a slice of the carnage- but as he arrives, his heels grind into the snow, seeing only stragglers hurriedly scampering off at My'aell's behest. His maw gapes open, pearlescent fangs bared.

He then frowns; absolutely sad, he grumbles and murmurs at the sight of desolation and carnage. No carcass here can be called his own, no foe of his own slain. And yet, as if to answer the disheartened vampire's panging sorrow, the distant rattling of armor and weapons became perceptible to the heightened senses of the former Oscuri: more men were coming. Far more than they had fought here!

Abdul chortled and brandished Liable- a tug on its chained caused its hilt to smack against his hand, as he ceased to wield it like a wrecking ball. The male's alabaster-hued eyelids dim and narrow as he stands beside My'aell... fangs bared, a swathe of inky blackness and pure obscurity looses outward from Abdul, concealing his motions whilst red darkness ebbs about him to sap all light.

It would soon be time for another Feast of Cain.
(Radu)
Chrys ran as fast as she could, unable to fly yet. It seemed as if My'aell was able to reach the first group that tried attacking them first, having slaughtered them all by the time the fledgling arrived. Much to her disappointment. Though she still was able to at least get a few drops from some of the downed men! Which she proceeded to do rather hungrily.

Though My'aell appeared to have spared a few, who ran off to get help. To warn them of the incoming night creatures, the terrifying children of Cain. Chrys was glad he did, as she wanted to at least have some difficulty in fighting the groups of tasty mortals.

Drawing her cleaver, she charged in along with the other two, eyes glowing a bright crimson and her fangs bared. Oh, how she was going to enjoy this. She would try to savor as much of the fight as possible.

At the back of her mind, Chrys couldn't help but continue pondering things. Such as the fact that she hoped this would be enough carnage to make up for their breaking her out.
(Chrys)
{NARRATION} Undaunted by the vampires, Three knights trudged forth into the fore of the pack of men. "Today we show our metal boys, for Lord Ares! TRUE KING OF FROSTVALE!" One hoisting a garganguan battle axe, easily twice his size in total mass, it made no alteration on how fast he could move, the battle would be vicious for both sides, hopefully the vampires were prepared. Therensilde's garrison was on the counter strike.
{NARRATION} Blood curdling screams streamed the sky as the vampires were able to turn the fields before them into a bloodied warzone, dozens of the common soldier of, Therensilde? Is that what the sign they were approaching said? Either way, the hamlet drew closer and closer as the sun, the real sun, creeped over the horizon, in place of the black of night was an orange hue to the air, not enough to stir the slumber of the citizens, unaware of what'd befallen some of their town's finest. As they enterred, however, it didn't take a sixth sense to realize they'd walked into a trap, boiling oil was tipped over the back of the gate, to attempt to deal a dangerously caustic blow to their party. Roll a random 1 10, if this roll is below 5 then do a /flee, if below 2500 you recieve an arm nerf until your vampirisim heals it, however you are only burnt to the bone.
Every single of Liable cut short a life. Hacks of steel, cleaving blows, thunderous strikes of ungodly power by the Berserk sword- men fell to the ground with each shriek of metal, in pieces. Blood was slathered across the snow and splashed upon the once-oscuri's sanguine leylines... Radu cackled madly throughout the onslaught, wielding both chains and Liable alike!

Greater men were ensnared beneath the glare of the dark sun- Radu's chain pulled them from formations and regiments like the tongue of some gluttonous toad, drawing them straight into swooping blows of Liable. The ancient sword split men in twain, bisecting the lot of them one by one in an awful dreadfeast of carnage and destruction! Toward the end, there is only fleshy pulp, chopped skulls and headless bodies littering the snow-flats where the vampiric trio unleashed their fury.

Radu follows with the lot of them, gnawing on a severed head for what little blood remains within as they approach the gate; however, a deluge of frothing hot oil threatens to engulf them all! The once-Oscuri is splashed in it, immediately hissing in pain and awful disconent; a jet of blood gushes behind him however, launching him upwards through the firy cascade; portions of his face are skeletal, flesh partly melted away.

The sound of Liable ripping through the obsidian tower and the armor of soliders is heard, before blood rains down from above- in a frothing spew of shredded meat, severed limbs and the gnashing of teeth, the vampire once again tears a score of men apart where soldiers once manned the oil-cauldron and feasts on their blood to fuel his regenerative faculties... as he does, slugs and tracers of blood race unnaturally across the room toward him, dipping into his Sanguine leylines and flowing within. The red glow about the Oscuri-like markings grows brighter with continued absorption.
(Radu)
Screams rent the night air of the Thorne's hidden compound as the vampires descended onto them like so many wolves in a sheep's pen. The obsidian keep's walls and the small houses of the frozen hamlet were liberally anointed in the blood of their protectors. My'aell, Radu, Chrys - rending through the common soldier like wet wood against a blade.

Laughter echoed along with the screams.

A harsh, cackling echo of what was once humane came long with the sound of torn flesh and dead bodies smashing into the ground - the acrid smell of fired wood wafting from the first buildings to be set aflame. The vampire lord revelled in the pain that came, ecstatic in the mind of his infliction. He was the hunter along with Radu and Chrys. He was a Vampire.

The vat of blazing oil was barely an annoyance - a glance upwards and a contemptous flick of his hand threw the scalding liquid off to the side in midair, splattering it against the rushing guards coming to defend the first egress of the halls, and allowing My'aell to finally set his shoulders down - smiling regally, stepping calmly into the lion's den.

Death would come for all inside.
(My'aell)
Chrys jumped right into battle, a shudder flowing through her body with the feel of every slice and jab. Though she only grew more pissed at the declaration of Ares being the 'true king of Frostvale.' Oh, like hell he was.

The scum wasn't even of the main line of Thornes like she was. Albeit in her current state she would not be able to rule, she still was the true heir to the accursed crown. The civilians of Frostvale would understand that as soon as she came back cured, and with the sword Thorne. For the wielder of the sword was the heir.

With a loud bellow that echoed off the surrounding mountains, fueled by her old desires, Esme fought more and more wildly. I. AM THE TRUE QUEEN, THE ONLY RULER OF FROSTVALE.

Stowing her sword swiftly, the six foot eight drakan began to tear out various soldiers throats with her hands and teeth, blood splattering all over her fairly new clothing. Not that she cared.

After the small skirmish, they continued on... Only to get set upon by a surprise attack! Though the vampires were more than capable of dodging the hot cauldron of fluids that dropped down upon them, though it only served to piss her off even more.
(Chrys)
{NARRATION} With the second to last line of defence amiss, nary hitting a single target save for the pathed road below the gatehouse. The elites of the city, the three finest and the leaders of the Envigorum, Ventorum and Servatum branches of the city, yes a carbon copy of the Nivis's military structure, came forth, the last major line of defence the hamlet had, aside from 'king' Ares himself. An Ookami, a Malpercian, and a.. . . holy storm? Drakanite Okay, so they walk into a blood bath, you finish the punchline. Long story short, none of them are remotely amused, and the Malpercian especially is gunning for blood. They make their own approach vectors, splicing the trio of vampires that have been cohesive up to this point into independant of one another, would this result in the defeat of the trio of hero--- villain--- Vampires? Each of the three that came to fight the group had their own histories, their own reasons to fight, but knew of the capacity they had, any attempt to storm frostvale would fail, and the numbers within Therensilde were shrinking each day's passing. Unlike those before them, however their armor and weaponry were all pristine, the prime of their use, even trimmed by gold instead of steel. They would get to introduce themselves to their foes, indeed, however the fighting would be grueling and ensue shortly.
Many soldiers had fallen before the vampires, their life extinguished by bloodsucking fiends as they made their way through the small battlefield. Indeed, few regular soldiers could stand up to such unnatural abominations, but the three elites might prove a more challenging foe.

There was a rather peculiar sight among the three. A Malpercian, easily distinguished by the purple hair, lavender eyes and of course, the monstrous, grotesque arm they brandished. Scaly and black, disgusting cancerous growths grew from the abomination the Malpercian brandished. He'd chosen his foe and marched forth with a steely gaze, staring at Chrys with intensity.

How the man had gotten to this point was meaningless, all that mattered was the fight to come. Flickers of red lightning spewed about his form, coalescing about the mutant arm in particular as the Malpercian moved forth, wielding his staff in one hand and holding the mutant arm high. He continued towards his chosen foe, intending to do battle with this vile intruder.
(Azer)
Finally, Magi blood; the vampires enter deeper to discover the heart of the supposed Thorne offshoots. The goal of their venture here was Thorne- perhaps plunder. But in Radu's heart, only one thing had meaning in this place; the thrumming heartbeat of the Ookami tantalizes his senses, even as Radu holds a bisected half-carcass to his maw and gnaws noisily upon its skull. Cracking bone snapped open followed by a sickly, wet *squelch* is audible as a disgusting panoply of cannibalism as the vampire feasts on the guardsman's brain pulp...

The once oil-burned vampire has, by now, almost wholly regenerated; the blade of Liable is held aloft to his right side, its ancient steel annointed in a swathe of dripping red blood. As droplets fall from its sanguinated edge, they bend unnaturally toward Radu in motion, stripping soon off the blade and steadily flowing from the snow, into his Sanguine leylines.

Before the Ookami is a strange youth; marked by inky, waist-length black hair, paraffin-white skin and corrupted Rieka leylines which now hold only cursed red blood glowering with unholy luminance. He stands at a somewhat above average height, yet his stature is for the most part slight and athletic - despite the fact that he points the tip of a blade larger than himself at the Ookami effortlessly, utilizing a single hand.

The carcass is tossed aside, baring the risen Abdul's blood-smeared fangs and awful smirk; his pupils shrink to pinpricks, as light dims about him in a swathe of black vapors and red darkness. All sight of Radu begins to undulate and waver, surroundings darkening by an unholy act of vampiric shadow manipulation. "I've eaten many of your kind..." Chortles the vampire, gesturing a finger at the other's fuzzy ears.

With no words further, the fiend rushes forward- charred chains in one hand, and the Berserk sword in the other!
(Radu)
Continuing along, a specific soldier caught Chrys' attention. One with a deformed arm, and lavender hair. Chrys had never fought nor tasted a malpercian before, and the thought of trying something new excited her greatly.

Oh so greatly.

She wanted a taste of him. She wanted to tear into that demonic arm, bit it in half with her teeth alone... And she would, too. Drawing her cleaver once more, she walked straight at him as well, eyes glowing a never changing crimson, fangs always bared as she licked her teeth in suspense at the impending meal...

Only when she got closer did she finally attack first, though not straight at him. No, she had learned that charging magicians with her tall height of six foot eight only ended poorly for her in all fights. No, this time she was going to skirt around him and attack from behind.
(Chrys)
 Feraldir was laying down, his back against the white, cold blanket. Hearing a voice, his ears pricked and swivelled, making him hop effortlessly to his feet and bringing a hand above his eyebrows to look around and shield his eyes from the sun. Seeing a vampire infront of him, a smirk came to the Ookami's face and he let out a bit of a chuckle seeing the man infront of him. Cracking his knuckles, and obviously showing a lot of life, he had his own retort to the white skinned, red eyed figure infront of him.

"You things still linger, I thought that Vampires were just a myth and went to extinction! Oh well, it happened once... It'll happen again."

Unsheathing his sword, an aura of wind came around the Ookami's figure, and his muscles tensed up, and then exploded outwards with mana and racial magic. His face was set into a snarl and his fingers turned white from gripping his blade so tightly.

"Bring it, white-boy."
(Feraldir)
Radu made a puzzled expression at Feraldir's final remark before the battle begun; in response to the Ookami's snarl, the Vampire's right fist connected with their nose in a blur of incredible momentum, shattering the cartilage of it. Fractures coursed through the bone of the feature's upper portion as well, assuring the Ookami would feel anguish with the blow; a lovely spew of blood gushed from their busted visage like a fountain!

Chains chime together in dull metallic sounds as they are quickly spun around the swordsman's neck, in a feat of absolutely inhuman speed; ignoring a single slash from the swordsman, the vampire draws the chain tight in a noose about his neck, before grasping its distant links and flinging it aside! The chain-bound Feraldir is struck harshly against a wall, stone cracking with the cruel, bludgeoning strike; another heave of the vampire, and the Ookami is sent thudding loudly against another wall, leaving broken stone as the vampire continues to swing him about!

The display is likely humiliating- sadistic, to be sure. As the risen Abdul attempts a third swing of the bound Ookami the descendant of Asena wiggles free however, making a lucky escape from the harsh grasp of Abdul's bloodied, charred chains; they're quickly pulled back by the vampire, who then chortles and bares his pearlescent fangs at the, at least, momentarily battered swordsman...

Radu's hands slip, seemingly. In a graceful blur of motion they seize the lengths of chain closer to Liable, once left stabbed into the ground whilst Abdul flung about the once-bound Feraldir on the other end of the metallic links. With a single tug of the heavy chains upward the sword is torn free from the snow, and swung repeatedly in rotation overhead like a lasso; the swirling blade is blurred, appearing almost like a buzzsaw whilst winds spawned from its rotation roar against the Ookami's own residual wind magic.

The vampire hums, then chortles pleasantly, licking at his fangs. "What a piece of shit. It's you who'll be the myth." Denounces the fiend, before slinging the chain-bound Berserker's Sword ahead like a wrecking ball at Feraldir's chest!
(Radu)
 Feraldir would be hit multiple times, but most of the pain in the attack came from something that he wasn't even expecting. A simple chain. The way Radu wielded it masterfully made it especially painful against the Ookami swordsman and provided for a weapon that he wasn't prepared for. Being swung around, and his nose being smashed into, left him reeling back in pain, and gasping for some breath the way his body impacted the surrounding place. He coughed, and held a hand to his nose, soon pulling it infront of his face and inspecting the blood that was dripping off of his form.

Snarling, he wiped the blood off his face with the back of his wrist, and returned his sword to his grip. The winds around him were even fiercer and he made his muscles expand even more. His face didn't change at all, besides the enraged snarl that replaced what was there before his beating.

Raising his sword, and using his unhuman Ookami speed, he began to dash towards his opponent swinging.
(Feraldir)
The battle had resumed in earnest! A powerful spell of Holy Intervention thrown with chant to begin the fray as the vampire lord would soon be envelopped in a manner of everything this Drakanite General was capable of! The earth churned, the grounds of the keep were shattered and torn assunder as the very lifeblood of the earth spilled forth within the castle, the damages to the very same now entirely ignored as the Drakanite entered a state of pure and ferocious berzerker fury. The teachings of Ulfdyr the Furious were invoked her as all manner of spells were being thrown without concern or worry for the luxurious abode of Ares Thorne, for the safety and sanctity of regalia, decoration and lavish luxury were thrown aside for the destruction of these vampiric heathen's. Such was the strenous level of ferocious anger, that the very entrance to the Keep had been utterly obliterated in one such blast of righteous Ryujin might.

One such blast was all that was needed. The Vampire encroached upon him, ready to issue out his thundering blows of sheer destruction when his staff released the magnificent glow of fire, a magnificent blast of equal force to send the Lord reeling behind. The Envigorum was prepared to send this creature straight back to Avalon with all of it's magicked might. The blast sent him through the now destroyed entrance to the Thorne Keep, an explosion of wooden and metal shrapnel along with the fiery destruction such a blast wrought. It would certainly not be enough to put the creature down, but plenty strong to leave him reeling and respecting his might.

"Behold foolish creature! Behold the power that Lord Ryujin and King Ares have granted for me! Succumb to the powers that I command to purge Frostvale of your heathenous scum!"

The staff had been thrown aside now, the body of the Drakanite now beginning to cast away the forces of it's mortal coil in full proclamation. Armor of the Nivis began to shred and crackle under the wake of Scales and Shift, the body of the man beginning to shape into that of a towering and magnificent dragon, the prowess of a full shifter at hand. The kind of royal bloodline that Frostvale needed, no. Deserved. A mighty roar was all that was uttered out as the transformation was completed, the former injuries upon Julianos' form having all but dissappeared as scales and claws began to cover the body of the man, another roar and purgatory of holy flame coming forth from it's maw as the creature charged forward for deadly premonition.
(Julianos Astarte)
The blade he flung earlier sank into Feraldir's chest; it skewered him in a terrible gush of blood and anguish, chains rattling as the sword is tugged, then messily yanked free from the mortally wounded Ookami. But there's worse to come; Liable is stabbed unto the ground, Radu's cloak cast aside, whilst the terrible creature seemed to plan something foul for the Magi's demise.

Once more, the son of Asena had snarled his way; Radu was instantly enraged. In response to the other's wolf-like and perhaps futile tenacity, the risen Abdul unleashed something awful; a sensation of potent Depravity and intense, unwavering 'wrong' gushed from him, before their surroundings faded to a night-like dimness. In the bleak shade, only a scarcity of Radu was visible... until his wings appeared.

From within the black void of obscurity, the distinct shape of Oscuri wings become visible- Feraldir's spilled blood gushes towards them, as well as that of the others to have suffered injury, manifesting the glowering symbol of Azraelic power; a technique wielded invariably by the Vindicators of Mortem Azrael. Yet these were red, and splattered cursed blood abound with each flap of their awful forms!

Feraldir is seized- the risen Abdul streaks forward, biting into his throat and soaring up one of the interior walls in an instant, gnawing through his throat and jugular whilst his hands seize the Ookami's wrists; they're absolutely *crushed*, so quickly that broken slivers of bone from the male's shattered forearms stab out through skin, though they fail to draw blood from the already crimson-slathered vampire.

The dread feast begins; Feraldir's back smashes against a hanging chandelier, a massive thing of iron adorned in countless lit candles; it falls immediately as Abdul then descends into the Ookami, sinking his knee into their torn gut with a thud! His fists, no longer bearing Liable, begin to pummel the surely dying male in a flurry of blows. "I am not a myth!!" Shouts the fiend, as he hammers blows into the Ookami that shatter chekkbones and ribs in a flurry of blurred motions and immortal hate.

The falling chandelier smashes loudly into the ground - collapsing an enormous mess hall table, loosing a furor of splintered wood, dust and embers. Wooden chairs catch fire from the candles flung abound, a single distant tapestry set alight as Abdul remains atop Feraldir... he becomes swifter, pupils shrinking throughout the beating, ever-so viciously hammering blows into the descendant of Asena until he has hammered into pulpy meat and fragmented bones against the rusted metal mass, dented now by both its descent against the ground and the vampire's incredible strikes.

Abdul stood... ribbons, chunks and pieces of Feraldir torn asunder from the meatgrinder-like beating cling to the vampire's visage, as he stares down upon his bested foe. He breathes heavily... eyelids twitching. "I am the Messiah." Pronounces the child of Cain with a foul grin; with that he extends his arms forward, causing the spilled blood of the torn-apart Ookami to levitate upwards in sickly red orbules and sanguinous mist, all dranken in greedily by the dread sireling's blood circuits.

Radu swiftly departs from thus; Liable is retrieved, as is his cloak, the winged vampire soaring swiftly in search of lingering adversaries.
(Radu)
The Vampire Lord flashed across the ceiling and walls of the dark onyx chamber like a nightmare, flying on a wave shrieking depravity to strike against the nivisman - straying close, becoming unwary and reckless, the pallid skinned and fervent slave of blood and murder was almost completely enveloped in a burning blast of holy light, pushed back for a moment - snarling.

He flashed again, disappearing from the suddenly churning, burning earthworks at his feet and the blazing glyphs of benevolent runes covering the walls. He was scorched and healing - maddened by the sudden, harsh retaliation of the weak thornesman that it thought he was facing. He strayed far back. His eyes flashing crimson beacons as he watched for an opening.

Once, twice.

He rushed in like the coming tide bringing horrible things from the abyss, crashing his fist down and slashing wickedly with his claws to hamper and lame the holy man before he could loose another volley - pushing against his limits and surging towards the man. He came close -- so very, very close to his throat, and then was immediately repelled by the sudden blast of light.

Ribbons of energy flew off of Julianos's body as My'aell was rebuffed hissing, his arm covering his eyes from the burning transformation as he focused on his limbs to heal, the burning and scratching pain of holy light fading quickly into the background as he readied for another bout. For the final bout. His smile was bared, showing teeth and fang more than any kind of glim mirth. This was the end.

"You think yourself a dragon?"

"You are nothing but a scaled worm to be crushed under our feet! Meet death and tell him that Cain himself sent you there."
(My'aell)
Hell was closer for the dragon than he thought.

Ribbons of draconic hide were shed as the Vampire Lord blurred into speeds almost incomprehensible -- becoming a shuddering, disjointed impression rather than an actual, corporeal thing fighting Julianos. The waves of holy light and the searing blasts of fire did not so much as graze his hide, he was a demon.

He was a Nightmare.

A short, maddened cackle was echoed through the onyx walls as he sped along the massive dragon's side, razor tipped claws raking through flesh lightly, ripping through the leather with ease unmatched to pull dozens-- hundreds of lines of fire all around the dragon's hide. Pulling, tugging, and at once he finally seperated a massive square of leathery skin from the fullshifter's side - a massive gush of blood following.

He was being flayed alive.

Acrid smoke bellowed out from the Vampire's skin as he strayed too close to the dragon's light, but t did not deter him - it did not halt the massive, insanity inducing pain that would flood through the mind of the nivis as his skin was ripped away inch from inch, burning his nerves and sending blood gushing from his opened wounds, there was no stopping his eventual demise.

He wavered, his skin stripped almost completely from the edgy of the top of his neck. How long would it take for the man to die? How long would it take for him to stop screaming?

"Remember what I bid you to say, Wyrm."
(My'aell)
 A sudden influx of power, a Drakanite forsaking his human roots and obtaining strentgh beyond anything it has ever DREAMED OF! Power was everything in the name of a Drakanite and it's pride, the creature beginning to charge with reckless abandon after My'aell, it's face wide in it's confident stride of victory. No matter how much blood the creature drank, it would certainly run out eventually.

... right?

Wrong. Lucianos charged in blindly, a literal towering dragon chasing after shadows, for each and every moment it would roar out a blast of fiery might and energies, the creature simply would not be there. Time and again did it's body vanish to the calls of nothing as body and form vanished straight into the depths of Atmos itself, only to come from behind with another deafening strike to it's scales, their armored might to match for the creature's blunt prowess and shortly after? It's razor sharp claws.

A howl of maddenning pain was uttered out from the main foyer, a massive lentgh of Drakanite leather with scales surrounding it all sides having been literraly ripped apart from his flesh and expertly torn to keep it's defensive and highly sought after properties. Muscle tissue and blood gushed out from the open wound, the towering creature struggling to keep up the fighting as the vampire had brought with it a burst of speed that made the shadows come to shame. Had he too been warming up this entire time!?

Explosion after explosion rocked the craddles of the Thorne keep, energy of holy nature being shot out in all directions to try and withstand the neverending Black Onslaught of the vampire as another part of it's hide was torn apart. It was hopeless. The agonized welps of a dragon now turned into the endless howls of a limping dog on it's last legs, for his flesh was being torned apart to reveal as much of the creature's internal workings, while still being quite alive. Blood was spurting from every inch and fiber of it's being, bones being torn in place and stabbing through muscle and sinew, internal organs like intestines and kidneys now pooling themselves unto the ground like disgusting refuse within a meat factory. The vampire was torturing it.

And the creature still fought on. With it's agonized echoes across the keep, it continued to blast it's energy each and every time with less force put into it. It was too much for it's body to bear. The dragon could no longer survive the black death that danced with it's towering and weakened body. The pain... there was no pain anymore. The nerves were taken apart. Only the sweetened and cold embrace of death was beginning to coat every fiber of the Drakanite General, Julianos Astarte.

With a final maddenning roar of anguish did the dragon attempt to stand once more, to blast out a massive wave of Holy energy to counter the blasts of depraved energies that were tearing it apart, only for the blast to falter in My'aell's torturing wake. He did not go out with a yelp, but with a whimper. An inglorious death for a vainglorious fool of Ryujin, the mighty Fullshifter finally fell facefirst before the vampire's act, to leave it's carcass at his mercy. The Drakanite General was no more.
(Julianos Astarte)
 Anointed in shreds of Azer's Ookami comrade, the vampire soars out through a hole blasted in the castle wall; slathered in blood, soaked in Depravity and panting with immortal fury, the sight of the dread sireling has become all but nightmarish; his long locks of inky black hair levitate with him in eldritch likeness. For the first time, Abdul floats about without meaning to, utilizing more than the wet flapping of his blood-wings for motion.

The distant body of Chrys is perceptible as a charred form sticking out of the rubble- Occultism lingers abound in odious wisps of foul magic. Atop the blasted ruins, Radu's blood-slicked heels make metallic clicks upon the ground, all while his eyes set forward upon the Malpercian. They discern him with a strange chill... a certain cruelty, perhaps, for perplexion at how best to torment him gurgled within the vampire.

His eyes shifted then to Chrys; she'd lost. A second failure; a third, surely, would be her end. No less however... the once-Oscuri steps forward, sanguine leylines glowering brighter against his paraffin white visage. "Toss aside your weapon and close your eyes if you wish to live." Demands the dread sireling aloud, raising both hands - one containing the Berserker's sword, draped with the half-intact and fully skinned face of Feraldir hanging off its tip, the other wrapped in a fistful of long, charred black chains attached to the hilt of the vampire's enormous blade.

Assuming Azer complied, Abdul would attempt a cruel slash on their person anyway, a horizontal swoop aimed to swipe across the midsection of their face.
(Radu)
[18:13:55] A deep breath came, perhaps a second glance-- No, the others might need his help, Julianos and Feraldir hadn't come to him, usually he was the one to finish his foes last, and even need help. Dirt from the side streets billowed harmoniously as his aura began kicking up, fiercer than the norm.

His lord, after all, needed his streets kept safe, and ruddy vampires weren't condusive to that, then again, such tastey and sickenned mana, perhaps should they triumph he ought to keep one of them, or all of them. The limb of sacrifice was quite appeased at the moment with what he'd culled from just having fought Chrys.

It was settled, he would have to have more, more of this depraved mana, all of it, his maw creased open with a sick in the head grin, a staff of Nyctorre and balewood in hand with a crystal gleaning with similar mana to that of his own soul, perhaps an extension of Sacrifice, yet it pulled inward souls, a brief pause, was that some one he recognized being drawn in?

A jiltering stop as he was orderred arround. The grin of the Malpercian was evidence on it's own that he wasn't goign to go easily. "Just who-- no what I was looking for. . . your soul will be mine, cold and devoid of hope or not. . . It is as delicious as honey to a bee. Today is your end Vampire." Greed, gluttony, lust, and envy, all coursing through him, it was a miracle that this black star hadn't burst with plague all over the hamlet by now, if they let this kind of man rove freely as one of the highest officers.

A thrung shot through the arm of the Malpercian as a fowl purple aura emitted of his entirety, the aura no-lesser to death itself, with the clan's twist, the cries of souls emanating from the staff, this was not just a part of him, it was undoubtedly the eminance of the profane Chorus, a cackling maw easily larger than the man let out it's laughter no quieter than the screams of the dead and dying that along with small portions of his own life force fed this demon like beast mana.
(Azer Blakshire Malperci)
 A roar of mana ripped from the deceased enveloped the Malpercian; however, Radu's vampiric shroud of undulating essence didn't roar outward to contest it. There was no shriek of the Lifestream howling in discontent to battle the roar of the dead absolutely booming from Azer; laughter, dark magic, all of it was about to cease. In a blur of red fur and black metal, Radu descends upon him!

A single swoosh of the massive, horse-sized blade of Liable swishes through Azer's stomach; fortunately the cut is shallow, but no less does a vermillion crescent of beautifully spilled essence taint the snow and rubble beneath his feet; an upwards punch strikes the male against the chin, provoking a tiny jet of blood from busted teeth and a cut lip before the vampire leaps upward and snags the Malpercian's neck in a noose of chain.

Rotating in mid-air, Radu flips forward above, left arm flexing with inhuman mighty whilst he propels Azer overhead and forward a great distance- the chains binding his throats snap at the last instant however, hurling him into the distance instead to leave a great streak of upheaved snow before thudding unceremoniously against a weighty tree; the force of Azer's collision is such that every ounce of snow is shaken from its wobbling branches and groaning, dented trunk.

The vampire chortles; this foe... is unworthy of Azrael's wings. The cackling bursts into a mad laughter, bestial pinprick-pupils affixed on the downed Occultist with a look somewhere between occluded sentience and directionless murder. Radu's chains rattle as he approaches... pausing, even. "You cannot even mark me, you stupid cow." Harshly spat Abdul, raising his left hand- already, another noose of chain sat ready.

He tilted his head back in short gesture, confidence booming off his unholy flesh; as little of his power was truly used, the presence of Depravity was... silent, in truth. "Stick your head in. Give up. You are a failure of a Magi." Hisses the vampire through clenched teeth and pearlescent fangs, ashen lips peeling back to reveal a dread scowl of bared, blood-smeared incisors at the Malpercian.

A sordid fate awaited them, for any promise of mercy was surely a sadistic lie.
(Radu)
Such power, he hungerred for more, just fighting Vampires was enough to get him tickled, the ambient purple hue arround him growing ever thicker, until it engorged the entirety fo the street, hundreds of common folk awaken to it feeling their souls being torn from their bodies, an amplification of his mana circuit through the conduit of the staff, the sounds of terror raising the alarm in the rest of the city. The last head, the underdog, versus the median vampire.

Would he stand a chance? Even with the might. "I am the might of Therensilde! I am the rightful king, and know that I will have your soul, just as every soul in this town is mine!" A bold claim, especially with the trio of these nivis-wannabes gatherring nearby joining the cacophony of souls torn fromt heir cores.

The hand of sacrifice growing an eye upon the palm, a conduit of the cold dark energies ever leaking arround. He was unafraid, unimpressed. A trump card he'd been saving for Ares, however no point in saving it if he's going to die.
(Azer Blakshire Malperci)
Radu was upon the ground, sent careening away by a beam of pure soul mass. "Are you certain that I am the one who would be the failure? That I am the stupid cow?" Indeed, his actions weren't smart, he'd used up his opportunity to overthrow Ares, however he'd gained the faith of those who were left of the people, a cover up in this regard wouldn't be too hard, and he could possibly even justify it.

The cruel glare in his eye as he approached, the sound of the crying souls dying down slowly, was his ability in it's wane? Or was there an encore to come?

The deceased souls about his staff cried out pleading for help from anyone or anything, to not be used like this any further, in vain. Azer wouldn't help them, nor would these vampires. A small grin on his face came with a lackadaisical glee over the fact that shortly Julianos' soul joined Feralis' he was the last high ranking official of the Thorne city's knights, if he could just pull through and succeed.

Although with the wane of the courus, what's to say he wouldn't fail even still?
(Azer Blakshire Malperci)
A rippling, undulating visage of utter suffering rippled out of Azer's palm; the male was near his end, perhaps empowering the tithes of the deceased. They shriek outward- a deluge of rotted mana, warped essence and undulating pain gushes outward in an incredible fell streak at Radu; just as he moves in to finish the battle, he himself becomes the one driven to a momentary loss.

His back thuds against an ice-capped tree; snow sprinkles abroad in a frigid cascade, forming clumps in the vampire's eerily weightless strands of lustrous dark hair. The metal of his armor is corroded and his eyes remain stark open as the essence of the damned clings to him, deathly wails screeching into his ears! "N-no! Noo! You don't, you can't-" Screams Abdul as the mass of odious purple soul-energy crawls over him before finally disappating...

The full might of a Malpercian; afflicted by fear, Abdul's psyche reaches deep, unearthing the relentless rage of an Oscuri lingering in his twisted brain. A rippling puff of occlusive black vapors gushes out from about him - the motions of Radu are obscured, his form sweeping outward! Red darkness forms a trail behind him, sapping light and life alike as the Depraved creature assaults Azer with the entirety of his might!
(Radu)
Finally, Depravity boomed through the air- a torrid pulsar of nearly palpable dread washes over the every sense in his vicinity, sheer wrong emanating from him in a fell torrent of only the most shrill cries imaginable from the Lifestream; such a force, in all its might, tramples over Azer. An overheard swoop of Liable is braced- even as a blast of soul-essence pummels against Radu, it merely gushes around him as a blearing torrent before Azer is cleaved in twain.

The weapon swoops through him in a deathly crescent, with the edge of the Berserker's sword dipping past the crown of their skull first to sink effortlessly through their flesh; the full might of the vampire is far more than the Malpercian can bear... a gush of dark essence wails off their body in a caustic black cloud of foul mana, which Abdul is forced to shield himself from! His right arm drops Liable unto the grasp whilst he winces against the baleful, lingering surge.

As it ends, his own swathe of Depravity ebbs and silences, scarlet wings flapping; needed appendages, for the quick and effectual bisection of the Occultist. However, their magic was more potent than expected; the thud of Liable into the snow signals the ripping of Radu's right arm, decayed by the brunt of the deathly miasm spewed upon him.

Only bone lingers; Radu gasps and glances down at the skeletal arm, whilst a veneer of wax-like, alabaster hued flesh begins to bubble over it in a feat of unholy regeneration... yet no less, the wound seems lasting. It is as Radu looks with bewilderment between himself, and the two vertical halves of Azer's carcass that he notices something unnatural jerking about upon the dead human.

... Their mutant arm is moving. It suckles the lingering life and nutrition from its dying right half, before literally *ripping* away in a short splash of blood and putrid, more depraved black fluids... the appendage attempts to skitter off, only to be seized by Abdul's intact left arm! "This--" Begins Radu, recalling the right arm of Auron Malpercius and its fell powers.

... Perhaps...? A shift of the writhing arm, and Radu practically shoves it onto his skeletal, maimed right arm; in response the sickly, eyeball-bearing limb adopts a liquescent quality about its seams before tearing open into a groaning maw of fangs, securing itself to the shoulder of Abdul whilst dissolving the flesh and bone once present. He groans and hisses with pain, gasping sharply at the anguish before it finally ceases.

The arm rebels; it still thrashes, for there is no mana to leech in its new host, though physical necessities are sustained... its motion calms however. As minutes pass, Radu stares upon the trembling abomination, forcing its fist to clench - and thenceforth, it shakily obeys command; the horrific appendage snatches the Berserker's sword from the ground, whilst Radu shoves his left fist into the sliced-open half of Azer to tear out their heart. It is bitten into as he approached Chrys, suckled from like a fruit before he drags her away by the hair, splashing a bit of the organ's contents over her mouth stingily.
(Radu)

{NARRATION} The bellowing of Dragons could be heard as the great door of the keep burst open, the screams hadn't gone unheared by the Drakan 'king' in hand was Thorne, the mighty weapon of his clan, and the will of his people. It all rested on him as he stood now, the three high commanders all left him to azrael, or at least, one of them. His specialized armor tarnished from many hundreds of years of passing, directly granted to his line in dispute. Armor long lost to time, only worn by those deigned worthy of it. Although something was off about this king, he looked. . . young. Even with his strength the two drakes that fueled the black sun bowwed. As he approached, a booming authoritarian voice rang out, a child given no opportunity to be one.

Chrys awoke to the taste of blood entering her mouth, only afew a few moments having it dawn on her that it was a new taste. Was this the malpercian she had just fought? Man, it was delicious. Though Chrys quickly remembered she had lost in the fight, yet again...

Standing up quickly, the fledgling let out a roar of pent up frustration. "I am sick and tired of losing. I do not know how to fight against a magi, let alone fight in general. I wasn't a good fighter when I was a Drakan, either." In a fit of rage, she sent a swift kick into the dead body of a guard, the corpse sailing yards through the air before slamming into the wall with a sickening crunch.

"It's. So. FRUSTRATING." She bellowed, before the doors suddenly opened, and... a child stepped out? Staring at the newcomer, Chrys snarled as she spotted the sword he carried. "That is mine. If you don't give it to me, you will die. Or you can give it to me, and you will die anyway."

(Chrys)
The Vampire lord watched, long finished with his battle of wills against the ultimately impotent holy general, set only to watch the battles of Radu and the lavender haired occultist across the snowy, goresplattered wastes. The last keep of the thornes was long gone to the ashes, and only the dead and dying would remain for much longer.

A grin bared his sharp fangs at the small boy in front of them - a child no older than twelve baring a sword and a wreath of shadowy flame? If his gaze had not been long consumed to hate and maelific bloodlust then it would almost be incredulous. This was the king of the compound? The last bastion of Thornes in the north?

Pathetic.

His gaze travelled down to the form of Chrys, flickering eyes appraising the frustrated and enraged vampire. To kill her own family and take what was rightfully hers -- the feeling must have been indescribably sinful. He was obligated to help nurture such powerful and progressive desires as the sire, was he not?

"Let us end this, Child."
(My'aell)
The eerie, inhuman carapace of the forcibly attached mutant arm felt... strange, upon him. Every so often its myriad eyes, nestled between thorny bark-like plates of serrated scales, would blink and glance about in unison. However, Radu saw nothing from their hues; rather, when gazing upon him, the eerie sensation of his very consciousness being tugged upon became perceptible. It was extremely distracting-

So much so, the sounds of the lumbering dragons lowering and the door barging open had not shaken him, as he stood astride My'aell. He hadn't even spared the time to harshly scold and berate his terrible fledgling- albeit, her opponent had at least been of threatening merit. The words of the child roused Abdul from his senses. In fact, they stirred a certain hunger in the newly acquired Malpercian arm attached to him... it still shook rebelliously, though he forced it to heft the weight of Liable.

The greatblade swoops through the air as he directs it ahead- its fell tip pointing towards the youth. Eyes narrow and fangs are bared; Chrys' words tell him all he needs to know, on this young boy is the fabled, lost blade for which they have come. Radu does not speak, but rather hunches forward and leaps off the ground, loosing a small jet of blood from his shoulderblades as he attempts to rush the youth in another swoop of his deathly weapon!
(Radu)
Thorne was withdrawn, yet something felt off about the boy, a hand raised up and his hand closed, The sun winding about his form and empowering him in the form of shadowflame magic.

He would angle the blade towards them, yet rather than rush to his aid, all of the citizens, guards, and the like retreated, making their flight into the keep, as though they were more afraid of the two sides doing battle.

"Take it from me, undying wench." his attention was on Radu and My'aell, however her demands needed to have a response, such was the familial magnum opus, all are heard.
(Ares Thorne)
{NARRATION} Defeated and upon the ground, the young king stood slowly, thorne deeply dug into the ground at his side, his eyes quiverred in a mix of pained tearjerk and anger, his height and size in general shifted, bones snapped out of and back into place as his body grew to ten times his natural height, shifting in entirety into the form of a massive dragon. The body of the youth ambled slowly and with the city secured, the people away in the main keep, the remaining garrison, perhaps four-hundred armorred warriors, bolsterred his service. The great beast had scales pitch black, eyes red as flame, and claws sharp and hard as steel blades. The sun that had been under his control strewn the battlefield before him in a great breath of fire. The speed of the wild fire was immense, treading the roads rapidly and quickly coming upon the vampires. Roll a random 1 100, if below 33 powerdown vit by 50 or 75% whichever is lower.

attacks the dragon with vampire prowess
(My'aell)
A gush of shadowfire washed over him, from a member of the nigh-extinct bloodline which created the dark art itself; however, Radu stood unphased. Nearly unscathed, only slight charring of his left cheek was visible, with tiny burns elsewhere... the potent vampire had realized his unfilfilled potential once held in life, blossomed only in undeath; he stood as a force not so easily overcome, having wrestled with dragons before!

Radu strides forward, brandishing Liable; the Berserker's sword peels away another ripple of shadowfire, overpowering the arcane pyromantic deluge with sheer overwhelming strength - following the motion is the false prophet himself. The Messianic once-Oscuri swathes himself in a fell shroud of dusky black vapors and red darkness, a blearing mass of Depravity!

A fell wake of unholy powers would wash over the fullshifter, followed by a furor of steely, megalithic blows.
(Radu)
The first fight went swell, with the trio working well together against the small boy... Who was much, much tougher than he originally seemed. How could such a young child be that powerful? Not that it mattered in the end, as he succumbed to the trios combined might.

Chrys dodged as much of the shadowfire as she could... The memory of Nicholai burning her entire body to a crisp with her own familial magic ever present in her mind, and she had the burn marks to prove it.

Though just as she thought the fight was finally over, the boy began to change... Full shifting, into a black dragon. Great. A large group of rogue nivis ran out to join him, as well. With a loud war cry, Chrys entered the battle yet again.
(Chrys)
{NARRATION} The Dragonking had fallen, cleaving strikes of Radu's great blade rended flesh and bone from one another, tearing his body to shreads, as the fist of My'aell crushed bones with minor blows as though there was nothing to it, all the while. The Drakanite fought as though he was the only one left to fight the vampires, to fend them off, not for his own sake, but for the sake of his people, the droves of men perished as rapidly as they had been able to turn their heads to attack him, no more was the garrison of Therensilde as the great beast was felln copious ammounts of it's scales riddled the battlefield enough to easily make three full sets of armor, should the trio choose to go down that road with the remains of the fallen Dragon, one of Chrys's own distant relatives. All that would remain of him would be in Thorne A blade which seemed to weep. The Dragon's right eye, a tear trickling down it's face, the poor child, only now did it realize how young it was, how foolish. What little life it had left, was Radu and Chrys with which to decide. Would he be spared to die slowly? With absconding with Thorne be the only thing that would happen that he would see, powerless to stop it. Or would they end him? One thing was certain however, there was a lone tooth bleeding the occult manas, untainted by the lack of depraved focus. Despite his elementalism, the young king Ares, a pure of heart occultist, to the bitterest end.
 The fight with the full shifted drakan went... surprisingly smooth. Chrys had never fought a full shifter before, let alone a real dragon. Through the combined efforts of My'aell, Chrys, and their Messiah, they eventually brought down the majestic, occultic beast. The beast that Chrys, when she was Esme Thorne would have eventually become.

Chrys found herself growing stronger as the fight had went on, each strike and gush of draconic blood invigorating the fledgling to hit stronger, hit faster. And in the end... The Thorne stood over the child, who had reduced to his original form. Hungry eyes looked to Radu, waiting to see if he would like to finish the kid off or if he was going to allow her to take part in the killing of her own kin...

What a monster she had become.
(Chrys)
The dread sireling had to consider her whim; on one thought, it was delightful to watch her commit the atrocity of murdering her own kin, one so young and full of life! On the other hand... he didn't wish to reward her. Twice, she'd failed him, once at the expense of a den. Already the blood spilled was making an unnatural crawl across the snow toward Abdul, seeping into his sanguine leylines.

He glanced to the ground; the boy's tooth-shaped charm caught his interest. Bending over, he lowered himself to pick it off the ground, before binding Liable to his back in its chains; a black silk cloth was also thrown over it, providing a second cloak to defend against the cold as well. "... You will be punished for your failures, but. You may." Speaks the sire with a nod; he's too busy marveling at the strange necklace in his clutches.

It is steeped in the Occult... humming, he binds it to his own neck, satisfied with the acquisition.
(Radu)
The moment she was given permission, the boy would find himself lifted off of the ground by the neck. A greedy, thirsty Chrys stared at him for a moment, something panging at the back of her mind, behind some closed door... As if someone, or something, was trying to tell her No! Don't!

But Chrys was far beyond that. She had no conscience about who she killed, kin or not.

Fangs bared, she tore into the boys neck, ripping out a huge chunk of his flesh before going to drink his blood with a fervor befitting that of an always ravished fledgling. Though the drinking didn't last long, oh no. She wanted to inflict pain upon him before he succumbed to his wounds.

Grabbing him by his leg, Chrys began to slam him around on the ground in a good ol' HULK SMASH fashion, before leaving him lying on the ground. Jumping over top of his probably broken body, she once again began to tear into him, razor sharp fingernails cutting at his young flesh, fangs tearing him open in varoius places.

Though just before she began the process of sucking him dry, she whispered into his ear a rather sadistic remark. "Goodbye, cousin."
(Chrys)
{NARRATION} The world throbbed in the eyes of the child, he heard nothing more, his ears deafened, the blood everywhere, his scales left strewn about, the trio would be able to harvest them long before any would dare to come to see if they could do anything for their now late king. A sanguine patch and slowly snow started to fall. The cold has returned to Therensilde.
The turned Esme commits atrocities to the fallen Thorne- perhaps amidst the last of his kind- whilst Abdul moves aside to pick up the male's shed scales... teeth, talons and more, every bit of the once-dragon was a valuable acquisition. Julianos, too, was scavenged.

Horns were cut from their skull, eyes gouged out- the mighty beast's teeth were cautiously plucked away, stowed in a pouch, followed by its grisly talons. The better part of a quarter-hour was spent quickly and efficiently skinning the thing of its golden hide, before Rady began to pilfer its bones and heart; its skull was then cracked open, brain-pulp feasted upon in a bloody mess as Radu finished the leftovers of his sire.

Taking its talons last, abdul stowed away his somewhat heavy sack of taboo materials and chortled, glancing to Esme and motioning for her to follow. "Come, Esme. For your punishment..." Began Radu, smile fading. "I will show you what it is to be prey. You must fear defeat far more than this; come!" Expresses the fiend in human form, before leading her off; the dreadlord too surely followed, to the eastern islands.
(Radu)