Completed A Duel Renewed

[Valborast Valchek]

Darker nights there had been, starlight pierced the gloom, a disc of white to peer upon the scene. Long grasses played out their dance. Sound carried across the chill winds. Night suited enough for a rematch. The outskirts terrain of the knight Anathaeum's Monastery.

Slivers of metal rotated within gloved hands, the daggers that would loan themselves to become silver slips of interruption. They were drawn each in turn, so arranged across Valborast's person, tucked here and there upon his trunk and limbs to be a multitude of knives. Drawn, set to floating, set to dancing, replaced.

The previous duel between the two aligned to meet had resulted in humiliations upon humblings. Torn cloak, swaddled about the wearing party. A low trick in Valborast's estimation. His own crimson regalia set against him.

And the rest.

But tonight the shades of magic that Valborast did bid and beckon to his arcane wit would be stronger, more compelling in their motion. His eyes were not squinted against the day, his brow unfurrowed, the lack of light providing with it all the comfort that daylight denied him. To be raised in a place without trace or hint of daylight had attuned his favours so.

His pale skin maintained from such days. His vision better drawing in what little light fell. His disposition calm for the expansive endless distance between horizons, instead of the rising rock of underground life, somewhere in the distance at all times, no matter the impenetrable gloom and pitch.

The Crimson Knight Valborast replaced all daggers and found hand by habit and encouragement upon the grip of Riven, a curved blade with wilful lurkings of conquered conscience and sentient selfhood that nestled at his hip.

The two communed in the waiting time. If nothing else, this constant companion was dutiful in council and opinion, if voracious of blackened opinion within Valborast, if chill to Valborast's drive to have a further exacerbation of rivalry with Petra.

Tightly bound in red cloth was fixtures to prevent errant cloth from being commanded, and free from liabilities of harboured secrets, Valborast looked to the moon, to the movement of the grasses, to the open field around them where the fight was ascribed to take place. His fingers tapped lightly upon weapon blessed by the Captain's own driving will to save a comrade and their effort to contain their mistakes in steel. Each time fingerpad gently touched Riven, a ripple of communication, like a heartbeat between symbiotes, passed between them.

Upon a pulse of direction, Riven was drawn. The motion a sweep of gleaming silver. Held poised outwards, curved, wicked. Exposed to moonlight, then engulfed in scabbard once again. The motion like drawn blood from slice.

“Petra,” Valborast breathed. No rage, he was past such emotions. Rather, simple determined anticipation of the duel to come, some bitter hints of needing to best his own performance against her driving him on.

The night was in full bout. As Valborast hoped to be soon enough once his rival appeared for the arranged rematch. No contraband to arrest the moment. Just skills to be tested. Petra had bested him before. No matter the outcome this time, Valborast would push himself to reveal his full plethora of fighting arts, using shade, dark, pitch of night, and the unknowable murk of men's souls. While he hoped to settle the score, he was more interested in how Riven might faced a fellow knight. He had some semblance of begrudging camaraderie with Petra.

Riven however, had no such compunction.

((Previous duel and resulting events can be found here: https://chroniclesrp.net/threads/to-know-and-write-of-blood.4260/post-119685 ))

Petra Darthinian

 

[Petra Darthinian]

Sharp awareness prickled her skin as Petra stepped onto the training grounds. Memories from their last spar cloaked her as intimately as the shadows wrapping her limbs. The light of the moons and their stars the only audience between her and Valborast.

Well, that and the storm dragon that darkened the clouds above them.

She had received the missive from her fellow Knight asking her to entertain him for a rematch. Petra had watched the man since their first spar, noting the loss of his bitterness being replaced with a stoic ambition and acceptance. It was the only reason she found herself here tonight. Having no interest in enabling petty differences for a fight she deemed fairly fought and a victory well earned.

Her draconian eyes found and honed onto the red-draped shape of the vampire kin. His blade flashed silver in what beams of moonlight danced around them. The sight causing her to tighten her grip on the handle of her hammer as she stopped on the other side of the sand circle from Valborast. Frenetic anticipation skittering down her spine when she took a deep inhale of the crisp night hair.

"Valborast," She smirked. "I was surprised you chose now for this rematch. Care to enlighten me on what changed?" Her eyes fell to the sword at his side that dripped with a poisoned awareness.

Valborast Valchek

 

[Valborast Valchek]

"One, Riven. My new blade. It hasn't had a good pairing yet in combat. I need to test it on something other than the beasts of the world. Nothing with wits to fend off cuts. Riven was growing insulted by the quarry provided. I suggested you. And well."

He turned Riven to the side so that the moon caught wicked the sharp in gleam.

"Worry not. I've told Riven that this is a, friendly, duel."

Valborast was tempted to circle, but thought the panache was provided enough by Riven's cold glimmer. There would be time for such movements when combat was ignited.

"Second. I have mind to indulge in a personal...errand. I have to meet some of my dangerous former kin from below the earth and beyond the grave. Normally, I'd dismiss such summons. But I can't afford to entertain the thought of being sabotaged on official business with the Order should I snub them, and I'm curious to know what drags them to my corner of the world. I suspect something concerning the politics of Zakron. Perhaps some information to ask of me. There's scant chance it's to do with the book I'm writing. They are able to glean much from afar, so it's not entirely out of the question. So I must go and attend their wishes. Therefore, I can't afford to be lacking in my capacities should matters turn bitter and strangled by anger when we meet. They could just want my head. Which leads us to you. Who better to provide such a measure of my own capacity than your good self," Valborast said.

Petra Darthinian

 

[Petra Darthinian]

"Can it hear me?" She queried. "If not, please let Riven know that I'm flattered it finds me a worthy enough opponent. I had my doubts I was better than the beasts. But I suppose I can put those worries to rest now." A smile that was more teeth than mirth flashed between them.

But Petra's interest honed as Valborast explained himself. Her head quirked like the attentions of a hunting sea eagle. Sharp and hungry and calculating.

"So you are to delve into the dark after testing yourself worthy then?"

She took a stalking step forward, muscles tensed.

"And what if I find you wanting?" A predator's gleam in golden eyes.

Valborast Valchek

 

[Valborast Valchek]

Valborast shrugged slightly, his own body readying in tension, muting the expression. Riven's blade shimmered a faint scarcely perceptible purple as Petra's gratitude manifested into non-lethal affect in the blade. It would numb and shock, instead of cut and drink. Valborast squeezed the handle, the two mutual.

"Riven hears what I hear, and more. Perceives beyond the steel, beyond I and Itself."

Valborast rolled his right shoulder, bringing the weapon down to slice down the middle of the air playfully. It made a thin whine as it did so.

"The meeting is above ground, thankfully. But for every inch provided, they'll take a league of depth, I'm sure. Could very well be forced to plumb the depths regardless. And if I'm found wanting with such restraint, I'll have to employ more than I do tonight in the deeds to come. This is a straight fight. I doubt I'll be afforded such luxuries against my contact to be should matters turn."

Valborast spoke clearly and without the tinge of misanthropy as he normally might. He had a clarity of purpose from such summons it seemed, lending him the chill of stone to his hearth of minor and major hatreds.

He performed another cut, which seemed broad in texture as it made swathes of the air, a low thrum of an oddly thrice vocal sound of a word, the air so rent shudderingly spake the word, RIVEN. And then to purple gleaming did it formulate, Valborast holding the blade high, the gleam of the blade showing not his reflection, but a shimmering patterned damascus of sanguine.

"Ready?"

Petra Darthinian

 

[Petra Darthinian]

Withdrawing the hammer at her hip, she flipped it deftly in one palm while hovering the other over the clawed hammerhead, nurturing the few incantations she knew to incite magic from the Pursuit of Life. Whispering protection over her weapon so that any blow she landed did not maim or crush, only bruise, and even knock the wind from Valborast, should his dodging not prove nimble enough.

The hammerhead glowed a warm yellow and suddenly felt lighter in her grasp.

And now there was no room left for conversation, only action.

"Ready." She bit out.

Petra's eyes burned with determination as she lunged at Valborast. With a visceral growl, she swung her hammer, not holding back her strength. The weapon cut through the air with deadly intent, aiming straight for Valborast's side.

She channeled more of her magic into the strike, but there was no finesse in this blow. It was raw power and speed, designed to test Valborast's reflexes and durability. Petra sought to stagger her opponent, to push him to his new limits.

As the hammer descended, the night seemed to hold its breath, anticipating the collision. This was no dance under the moonlight; The impact, when it came, would be only a brutal clash of two warriors testing their mettle.

Valborast Valchek

 

[Valborast Valchek]

Valborast's face remained pallid as he performed a wide sweep from opening stance with haughty countercut that knocked back the hammerblow with a jarring sound, shaking the metal of it's velocity and forcing recoil.

The Crimson Knight seemed unfettered by the intensity of the blow within his frame, no muscle strained, no shock to frame endured, his reflexes limber for the lack of anger within him. Riven so imparted a certainty to his his parries, as if the lightest contact was enough to refute even the mightiest of blows, and to his attitude did he have a centred calm purpose. Perhaps too calm.

Valborast's eyes remained dull even as his weapon grew more vibrant in colour as it performed clashes, the knight's left hand not stirring from his hip. Then as an uncoiling snake, did his entire body contort to manoeuvre under the arrested hammer, his movements containing some hint of the mockery that had been so politely moved aside in his speech. It was as if he was dispassionately inviting more vicious hammerblows, which arrived promptly. Again he adopted a static posture with his own body, his movement made, his trunk now frozen as his arms did weave his weapon to arrest each hammerblow, his feet scarcely moving except to turn upon the spot.

All was received in the same cloying deference. Blows that could be stepped away from were received with angles of his own steel, angles that should not provide enough leverage to deflect, sidesteps that could avoid clearing strikes were instead advancing steps to meet the blow. All with the same disaffection of affect that had born the first parry. Valborast's manner was all too cool for such exertions, mockingly so. Yet his face bore no scowl, no delight, no alarm. But as the combat played out it's course, Petra's blows came quicker and with the brutal sophistication deserving of the knightly class.

His visage cracked under such pressures as he had to turn his body to better angle his weapon, the demands mounting as Petra made good on her reputation. Valborast revealed a sneer and a raising of an eyebrow as Riven failed to move within his hand quick enough, his all too mortal failing.

The Crimson Knight disengaged with flurried feet, quick withdrawing steps carrying him out of measure as the hammerblow swung through the air where he had so recently stood so confidentially and with such disaffection. A rush of air met his face where the hammer had coursed so thoroughly.

“Good,” Valborast said without much cheer, as if admitting a fact against him to be true. As of yet, he had not performed a single offensive attack, his motions purely defensive, aiming for hammer instead of Petra's frame. And until that last blow, he had held.

He forced his features became neutral again, as if gaining proper composure with an exhalation. Yet there was much mockery in his posture as he threw out left hand and used to balance himself as the length of Riven was presented down the centre line point first. An ugly force of habit, a flair of his latent personality. If this was a dance, his internal tempo had just been changed to the rhythm of Valborast's own drum.

“Very good, I was worried this might have been an effort in vain,” Valborast said, resisting the urge to throw further disrespect into the contest as psychological warfare as was his habit. Such invitations would be quickly damned by vampire kin he knew, so he refused. Furthermore, he refused to treat one who had bested him before in such a way for want of victory over himself.

“Again. I must test this stance. This attitude.”

His footwork would come into play this time, deftly moving as a dancer might up and down the line as puncturing thrust would press into hammerhead to knock it back. The precision required would be immense. He remained coiled, his body adopting tension to perform such ejections of metal.

Riven gleamed in the moons' light for a moment, a flair all it's own, before returning to calm steel.

Valborast did not doubt their own worthiness to the task for a moment.

“Again,” Valborast repeated, dark and low.

Petra Darthinian

 

[Petra Darthinian]

The goading of men always garnered a snarl from her mouth. A weakness of hers, but a folly she refused to give up. In fact, her answering mantra to men so often ended in her retaliation of "-over my dead body."

And here now, she felt that indignant rage rise up, in answer to Valborast's challenge. But she needed to be careful if she wanted to be sure her own arrogance didn't leave her on her ass and her pride worse for wear come morning.

And yet, it was a challenge nonetheless that he threw down at her feet. And her answer was found in the mighty swing of her hammer and the call of a storm racing down its haft. Lightning striking the earth between them, her footwork dancing between the bolts and the charged presence of the breath leaving her chest with a feral laugh as she pressed his defenses, intent on smashing through the blur of blades the vampire-kin tried to slip through her guard. Between the flashes of metal, eye met eye and two predators leered across the gauntlet at one another.

Valborast Valchek

 

[Valborast Valchek]

As eyes bore the spirit of the predator, and weapons brought to bear their competitive brunt, black leathery wings flapped about the scene. A singular bat that swooped about, but with some rightful respect and fear of being struck by lightning from Petra's zeal. So displayed in arcing flashes that Valborast did much to avoid through his own dancing of blades, his defence holding for virtue of his calmness. The odd tremor of anger. A quickening of metal, and then, calm again, returning justly.

Habits were being tempered by such practice. Defences held. Wings flapped about in between moments, balancing demanding attention with it's own avoidance of fatality for virtue of such spirited engagement from the two.

Valborast saw the bat within his vision, and uttered a single word while springing back from harm's way, Riven providing low thrum of blue as Valborast absconded from the fight, “Hold.”

The air filled the space where lightning still crackled and filled the air with the smell of o zone. The moons gave their gaze further to the scene, and the bat hovered near Valborast's unimpressed face with claws holding words for his eyes.

“What is it, more news from Zakron?” Valborast said and snatched the letter from the minion.

A scree, and fluttering of wings. Valborast thought if bats could smile, this one surely did.

“Forgive the interruption,” Valborast said as he sheathed Riven and took a moment to prepare himself. He flittered eyes at Petra for a moment to consider if she might attack anyway, or a spasm of lightning might strike out. Calm became the scene for such recent violence. Valborast continued.

“Rare is the letter from the home I came from. Rare does it have good portends. Indulge me a moment,” Valborast said, and broke the blood red seal that contained the black parchment and read for many heartbeats.

From cruelty perfected was the missive written, from refined malice was the meaning poured.

From the masters of sadistic artistic whim who embodied pallid hate did the cursive flow, cold factual wrath from pale hand that had spent the time to make each fact dredge horror from the soul.

Etched upon paper black as the news, to make indelible mark and existential tremor within the flickers of hope that dwelled in time spanning in all direction.

Making haste to the heart with all homage to the craft of torture.

The night terror of facts scribed pinned the sleeping mind to what might be with absence of freedom from it's reality.

The potential paths to pride in progeny listed, laboriously, passionately put in place.

Beneath the ground.

Within the coffin.

“Son.”

The weeping immediate, world collapsing into stark void corridor.

Ragged breath, the letter sequestered for fear of trembling hand losing it to the wind. Eyes blinking forth tears that flowed freely, choking hate that denied him voice, overwhelming grief that embittered this mortal cascade of crushing time.

Hands raised in shuddering gesture above the head, rising, rising with all anger and hate in claws, then fading in passions to strike and instead to extend about the temple in despair.

Cold ran the flesh that wrote the words, colder now the world Valborast was forced to endure.

Without him.

Without him.

Clenching teeth, tensing tendon, nails digging into flesh. Eyes that closed, gasping lips, shoulders that weathered multitudes of feelings that wracked him.

Yet...

A refusal in this experience, to fall to the knees and scream. Pride existed where hope did not, where the oceans of loss crashed the lone rock of his soul, he remained defiant. What else was there. Except to defy.

He numbed. The hot tears staunched as wrath did instruct his frame to firm.

As sorrow imparted it's scar, wrath wrote his way.

The world returned in bleak shade of itself as his body tingled, each heartbeat a knock upon the door of the call to exist. And with it, speech.

“Petra,” Valborast's voice came as he stilled and the patterns of sorrow played.

“My son is dead.”

A ragged breath, eyes that looked to Petra that pleaded one moment for mercy, and then enflamed with all hate as his throat tore out torrid tempers barely bound.

“Or - Worse.”

 

[Petra Darthinian]

The charged air between them fell flat at Valborast's words. His distress pouring ice cold water over her ambitions and her hammer lowered as Petra hesitated.

Never had she seen the man in such distress. Twised with contempt and derision, yes. But never, anguish?

Petra herself had no children, neither did she think the desire to bear any of her own would ever surface in her long life. At least not anymore.

And so, staring at her fellow Knight, her eyes wide in shock, she felt almost awkward. Did she comfort him? Did she leave? There was nothing she could do to make this better. What did one even say to someone who possibly lost a child, when she herself had never known the experience of having one in the first place.

But the unbidden memories of Petra's late sister flashed through her mind. The joy and the laughter. And then finally the bitter end, covered in gore. Vexed at the way such memories still hollowed her gut, Petra cleared her throat sheepishly as something Valborast had said caught her attention.

"Valborast, I-I..." She hummed in thought, trying to find the right words, "When you say worse, you don't mean... you know..." The elf tapped one abnormally long canine for emphasis, her eyes hooded in a somber expression.

Valborast Valchek

 

[Valborast Valchek]

Valborast blinked in quick succession and firmed his jaw as he chartered the difficult course of explanation with his own proud cavalcade of opinions on the situation.

“In the process of being wrought from life, there are many pedigrees of undeath. If my son,” Valborast said, and deadened his voice as he continued, in effort to elucidate without sorrow painting it flawed.

In truth, he was quoting his own book in this moment.

“Shackled to the sire's state, they are bound in circumstance, rank and standing, and, in turn, nature of affliction.”

His hand, by instinct, made movement to the pommel of his blade for comfort, and as if deemed traitor by Valborast's awareness, was snatched back by will that noted the need to coddle himself. He looked disgusted at his hand for a moment, and placed them both in fists behind his back and pressed hard upon themselves.

“Though this might seen unconscionable to your sensibilities Petra, becoming a fledgeling, if the circumstances and those who would bequeath such an embrace, were charitable, might not have been the worse thing to endure. For him at least. But the circumstances are not charitable. If there is to be an eternity to be endured, it is to be on their cruel terms. Terms I know not, except that the ones who author this letter and pen my son's fate bear no benevolence, the self serving kindred do nothing that does not benefit them. Yet the intent to me is torturous harm. I have no doubt of it. Not elevation in the inner courts.” Valborast said, and shook his head and turned the conversation to his own perception of fate's hand.

“To rob me of my progeny, to supplant it with their own claim with the worse breed of vampire they could muster for the task. Infirm, mad, savage, crumbling flesh and decaying mind, a fettered beast of blood. To place him as so low born perhaps, to fight in the pits as a, as a raving revenant! Revenants I have quashed time and time again in those same pits with him, each one given further endurance to their plight by kindred apothecaries. The irony would suit them well I'm sure. Or...or...”

Valborast sealed his eyes and soured in expression as the dread mingled with anger.

“By the shadows, he could simply be shackled to the wall of misery for all I know! Sustained to serve as example, bound forever.”

It was at this moment Valborast became animated, his hands freeing themselves as if breaking free from shackles himself, his feet moving as the insult agitated himself.

“Do they wish to entice me into some errand of idiot heroism? Is that their game? To lay ambush as I stride in? With what,” he gave incredulous, desperate laugh that was dry and barely uttered before further words spilled in his incredulous anger, “my Order in tow, to be butchered and turned? Damn it all! There's only so much conjecture I can draw.”

He paced and scowled.

“I secure my freedom by bloody desperate deeds I scarcely survived and now I am rendered low by my absence to the dark courts that rule my life still somehow! They couldn't come out with it could they, execution and death for the son of the human who shamed the courts so and rendered their number thinner in effort of his leaving. To be so simple in their malice. To be so merciful in the snuffing of what mortal legacy I have. No, it had to be this way, double speak, all possibilities to churn within my mind, mockeries upon mockeries! All for my misery's sake. For...his misery's sake.”

This thought arrived silenced him as he considered much and found himself wanting in much capacity. He seethed at his own shameful circumstance.

“I do not wish this news known to anyone else,” Valborast stated, as if tending to the evidence that was his own murder victim, and gave Petra a look that embodied all of the knight's possible dignified command that was not overstepping into the realms of coercion, but barely so.

Petra Darthinian

 

[Petra Darthinian]

Petra tracked his pacing with wary eyes. He seemed a man unleashed. Unpredictable, and therefore dangerous. It made the hair on her neck stand on end the more animated he became as he spoke. She had never heard him speak so much in her life, let alone speak to her.

She tried to keep the pieces of information he threw at her together. Attempting to flesh out the portrait he was painting for her. The information she had gleaned of most importance being: Valborast had a son, that son was in Zakron, and Valborast was willing to let his son die.

“I do not wish this news known to anyone else,” Valborast had stated.

The songweaver waited a breath to answer. Absently noting where her dragon flew overhead.

Sheathing her hammer, she crossed her arms pensively, searching the vampire-kin's face for something.

"Do you love him?"

Valborast Valchek

 

[Valborast Valchek]

Valborast grew still. Quiet. Quiet as the center of a hurricane. The question centred him in his terrible experiences of that word.

"Would I be damned if my affections ran a different course than the common luxuries this surface society affords? I did what I could to impart the skills and wits to survive in a world untouched by sunlight. I have pride in him, for adapting to the terrors of the deep with a strong heart, I have instilled what part I could in his education of what I learned beyond kindred's perspective. Precious few. Often the times where I was permitted to see him were laboured by combat. What quality of bonds of family could germinate in such bloody soil? That might relate to your notion of a loving family? Always an extended family of kindred to impart their lessons, denied a moment to be alone and grow. As was done to me from my beginnings. I was seen as a requirement to my son's development, for humans are such fragile things to them. We were granted nothing beyond what was deemed essential. We took what time we could, in education, in combat, in the waiting between chambers were we were summoned to do the bidding of court when he reached proper age. I did not choose this life for him. I did not choose."

"I am of that terrible world, raised for entertainment for immortal muse and I am stained for it. Granted mercy by this order to see a different world which still confuses me. Different shades of grey and blinding white like words of love. But I live my truths, hard earned. It is their entertainment still to torture me and what little legacy I have. What use is my love from such a futile distance if I had a more humane heart formed from more compassionate loom. I had my time with him. And kindred theirs. Better him served now by my hate and thoughts of revenge than anything saccharine of love. I live to serve the Order now. Not them. Every breath to spite their design. And that's what I intend to do. Find out the truth. If I have love to give it is to end his misery if he endures it, and if he is dead, then it is with love in my heart that I remember how much better at...being human than I he was. And if the courts he serves, well. I'll think on that. I'll think on that, with what love I can muster for such a decision. If it was indeed his own."

 

[Petra Darthinian]

How heavy his shoulders must be. The dragon rider thought.

She suddenly understood why he had grown into such a bitter and irascible creature. Used and discarded as he was by the first world he had ever known. And now, that was the same world his son was drowning in.

The chill was beginning to get to her now that they had stopped fighting, excursive sweat cooling against her pebbled skin. She hugged her arms close and took a cautious step towards Valborast. Her gut was urging her to dig deeper. To shed as much light as she could, for fear Valborast would not have enough to find his way back in the dark she could see him spiraling into.

"Do you know what I think?" Her tone even and kind. "I think you are afraid. Afraid of making the wrong choice and being made a villain yet again for it."

Valborast Valchek

 

[Valborast Valchek]

Valborast stilled from such well placed observation, cursing inwardly at the acuity of his company. His hand hadn't touched Riven for council, there was enough of it in abundance in the living world it seemed.

"Mayhap you're right," Valborast admitted, chilled to his own bitter will to lash out by intellectual honesty to such a true striking comment.

Valborast gave irritable growl at himself.

"If I am to resemble the knightly path, what is to be done? This letter was delivered to trap me, incorrect and villainous paths abound by it's direction. Yet I am ensnared by duty firmer, both duty to the Order, and to my son's fate. What- What would you have you me do?" Valborast asked flatly.

 

[Petra Darthinian]

Petra felt the weight of his words, measured them. Then with a decided air, answered,

"I would have you conquer the thing you fear most." Her eyes beseeching as she extended her scaled hand, requesting to see the paper herself.

"I want you to ask for help."

 

[Valborast Valchek]

Valborast produced the letter, and held it tight. He pursed his lips, treating the letter as if it a caltrop to the tread of his mind. He did not hand it over.

"This hateful letter is in a script you'll not understand. High Kindred spiel. The inner cyphers of the Court of Zakron woven articulately of bitter compression of spite, tinged with maledictions. Magic runs in the thing, simply put. Magic that it might reach it's target, for instance, and to assure me that it truly comes from kindred who matter in the schemes. Among other intent. Perhaps beyond my understanding. It is not beyond me to translate into common tongue, but it will lose some of the...rich cruelty woven within. If you can be patient as I unweave the sin soaked script from the cursed moorings that it represents. I haven't acted as a translator for some years, so grant me a modicum of time. This will be difficult enough to read again, let alone speak into the world without sprouting some minor damnation as I untangle the danger. Would you have me translate the script, knowing the risk?" Valborast asked.

 

[Petra Darthinian]

Petra paused in her reach. Sinister trepidation curled from that parchment at his words.

Dropping her hand as if burned, she covered her revulsion by tucking a wayward curl behind her ear.

"Hmmm... I would not risk such a thing on Monastery grounds. Especially when we don't know if we would be enough to handle whatever is called from that evil place." She paused. "So, I think a summary would suffice, Syr Valborast. To the best of your ability."

Valborast Valchek

 

[Valborast Valchek]

Valborast gave a nod, and reached into his belt for the sequestered letter. Gripped it with digit, clasped at the black paper tentatively, then produced it for his eyes. The script in blood, as was tradition amongst the aristocracy that informed him of black deeds, the language of runes and wide sweeping cursive etched across the surface by ancient intellect.

Valborast raised left hand and intoned a word in more noble word, a simple ward that he deemed unnecessary for what he was about to do, yet did so to respect his company's concern. Not the most unwise thing to do when regaling the black text of vampire kin into common born tongue.

"I shall reduce it's essence. It begins with a scathing review of my exit from Zakron, my violent excursion to sunlight left the families in some amusement for the weak I encountered and ended. They seem ignorant that I performed diablerie as much as a mortal might. They make in laughing remarks how I culled the weak and cleared the clutter from the halls, and a grand celebration was held for their demise, for new ventures in curious entertainment from the void they left in politics was welcomed. The writer at this point goes into some detail of their debauchery I will spare you from. The tone is familiar and hell bent on speaking to me as if I still reside in the lobbies of courts that determine the fate of mortal and kindred alike, as if gently chiding a child for thinking themselves important for their tantrum. And then, well."

Valborast cleared his throat and pressed on as eyes scanned the fatal words.

"What follows is a labyrinthian riddle that proceeds with a plain as pain conclusion, devised from the structure of the kindred houses of authority and rigours. The name of my son, wreathed in the wheel of possibilities, double speak and overwrought metaphor. My former masters took great pleasure in devising the uncertainty that exists within me at the sight of this. And then punctuated with a firm denial of my son's life. Vague and ambitious, the intent is there to mark his death while feeding the mind of worse fates beyond it."

Valborast's spell within the palm glimmered for a moment, which caused a tremor of concern across his face. All within parameters he thought after giving the light a baleful look as he began to explain to Petra the context to his conclusion.

"If my son were kindred, and they were to speak of his end, they would speak of Total Dissolution. But for mortals, those who might be turned, the word fallen is used. As if ending someone might be akin to a stumble. But such a word is often used to describe the act of turning one from the light. I will forever give them credit to their damned ability to use vagaries to entice the factors of fear in the mind of those they prey upon. It is a double endeandre designed to wrack me. And so the letter ends with a fond farewell and further mockeries, although respectful to my name, they mark me as V. V. They don't even care to write my name in detail, except the miniscule marks on their minds. It is signed, The Carnal Collective. The name of the aristocratic society I served."

At this mention of the collective, the white light whined and paled. Valborast snatched at his hand to reignite the ward. The light dimmed as the danger passed.

"Curious, mentioning my former kin's organisation triggered the ward. Perhaps...perhaps..."

Valborast clutched at Riven's grip from hand with fading ward. And two fold will, one surrendering to the other, did their deed upon the paper. Vampiric sorcery working born from the amalgamation of thrice kindred souls within the blade, and Valborast's own companion soul within the steel, tendrils of blood magic coiled lovingly across the parchment, a surge of information yielding from benefit of the blood so etched upon the paper. A reverie of sorts.

At once the letter burst into purple flame, not scorching the paper but emanating glowing smoke that formed in common the letters for both Petra and Valborast to see. More vampiric script unlocked the past.

Riven's will so inflamed, took command of the hand that gripped it. Valborast yielded to it's direction. The blade was drawn and gripped, point towards the ground. And so it began to etch.

Carving a map of sorts into the ground as a tattooist might puncture the skin, Riven drew out a map of nearby forest clearing, with a mark upon the ground in X. Some two hours away if one were to walk it at steady pace.

Riven's will directed into the frame of Valborast as speech haunting of multilayered by soul matter trapped and contained by the blade did give utterance through mortal channel.

"Not far by dragonride to interrogate the kindred who sent this," Valborast breathed, as if in a trance, his eyes half sealed as Riven spoke through him.

"Tarry not. I am Riven."

Riven released Valborast from their hold.

Eyes blinking back into conscience, he seemed leeched of his wits for such a venture for a moment. He shook his hand, numbed by the effect of being compelled by such a constant companion and replaced the blade to silver scabbard by instinct. As his hand departed, he spoke in his usual tone.

"What?" Valborast said, hand going to his forehead as he looked to Petra and then to the floor, reeling from the experience.

Petra Darthinian

 

[Petra Darthinian]

Called by Petra's growing unrest, Norvyk landed behind her on the training grounds, wind buffeting the elf in soft gales.

His sharp draconian gaze clung to Valborast's with a searing focus. A rumble born of unease that matched her own emanating from the dragon's chest.

"Look at him. These words are not even his own. They are that thing's." Norvyk hissed.

"Yes. But look—" She pointed to the ground in front of the vampire kin. "It drew us a map." Petra stalked forward and crouched at the edge of the roughly hewn dirt. Her fingers tracing the X. "We know this place, it's where a willow tree sits. Split and dead from a lightning strike many storms past."

She looked up and into the paling face of Valborast, concerned at the look of bewilderment cloaking his features. "It wouldn't hurt to check it out at the very least." She stood, hands on her hips. "But before we go, I need to know what might happen when we get there? I refuse to go in blind."

Valborast Valchek

 

[Valborast Valchek]

"Hm?" Valborast said, wrenching his wits from the mire of possession that had so claimed him. He furrowed his brow and looked to the ground at the map, and the moments taken from him lurched back into collective memory.

"Lesser pawns would we interrupt," Valborast replied in answer, bearings gained, "Ones trusted enough not to abandon Zakron at the sight of a world of endless sky. Most likely young kindred wishing to revel in the praise of venturing outside and returning at all. Usually in pairs they would travel, as is tradition, each giving eye to the other to prevent insubordination or defection. Weaklings in the grand scale of things. I'd gladly half their number and send my own message in return," Valborast said darkly.

He took small step towards Petra and gestured at the drake.

"I could travel there myself in quick speed, but such would leave me exposed as I gained composure, and no doubt alert them for virtue of the shared pools of arcane inspiration rippling about from my movement. If you would assist me, let us with wing. Although don't simply scorch them from above, Drake," Valborast said, unflinching in an odd blend of arrogant command and deferent respect for the nature of Norvyk.

"I would have...words with them. Let us away if you mean to help."

Petra Darthinian

 

[Petra Darthinian]

"I do not merely scorch, blood-filth. I render and I sunder." His teeth flashing like daggers in the moonslight, a hissing reverbing snarl rumbling from his chest. The air snapped with the smell of ozone.

"Norvyk."

"Rider."

"Enough." Petra clipped angrily.

Norvyk's teeth disappeared, but his tail still lashed at the ground, his spikes leaving deep rivulets in the sand, and his growls quieting to an indignant huff.

"He doesn't particularly care for the unnatural nature of your sword." She offered apologetically. "But we will still help you." Her eyes flashing sharply to her dragon, an unspoken conversation sparring between them. "The only caveat being that Norvyk is refusing to carry you."

She paused, biting her lip, "By saddle that is."

Valborast Valchek

 

[Valborast Valchek]

"I'd expect no less," Valborast replied in low dry drawl to all points thusly. He seemed unphased by the posturing of the dragon, although it did remind him of the time in the fighting pits against the fell beast that set his lower part of his left eye to twitching for a moment.

"When we're directly above them, release me to freefall," Valborast said, and made slow approach, cloak languid as he turned.

"Clasp me then, but fetter not the cloak," Valborast said, and extended his arms as if well versed in being carried by beast larger than he.

In truth he was. Bats came in many forms and sizes in Zakron, and the Courts did command them all to their particular functions.

Petra Darthinian

 

[Petra Darthinian]

Petra and Norvyk exchanged a charged look, the elf glad that Valborast wasn't looking at her while she struggled to school her expression against the sudden urge to laugh at his... sheer pomposity.

"I wouldn't dream of it." She answered with mock seriousness.

Turning to walk up to her dragon, Petra grabbed onto Norvyk's lowered shoulder and climbed up until she could swing herself onto her saddle, forgoing her harness and clips.

Looking at her fellow Knight, the last of her earlier mirth gone while she directed him, "We will get back up into the air and then we will circle once and Norvyk will grab you with his front claw. And please, for the love of the Eldyr tree, keep your mouth shut. I can do nothing if he decides to drop you out of spite."

An affirmative snort of air expelled from the dragon's snout. One would have imagined that he'd have liked that very much actually.

Valborast Valchek

 

[Valborast Valchek]

Command obeyed to remain silent, the Crimson Knight awaited the clutch of claws with outstretched arms, facing away from the dragon. A prickling sensation passed over him as he felt eyes and claw descend upon him, yet did not waver to such base instincts. He was a knight, and further, he was accustomed to great winged things seizing upon him to keep pace with vampire kin who had the gifts of mist, the gifts of bat form. While such embrace did not phase him, he was braced against the reality that he was at Petra's, and Norvyk's tender mercies should he speak eagerly of his opinion or plot.

The sudden rush into the air was sudden as it always was, yet the threat of being scorched should he speak was palpably new. Yet, this was endured for the sake of the expedience required with little outward sign that any of this was unusual. Mind to the task as air currents made themselves familiar. Far cooler and fresher than the underground of Zakron in flight, the ceiling of the underground society a permanent concern in freedom to gain endless altitude.

Air buffered against his pale face as they did soar and proceed on. These moments in flight offered Valborast some time to think as the land below yielded to cutting, pumping wings. Words would be exchanged with the fullest advantage of pain, this much he resolved in his mind.

Eyes scanned below keenly to their prey, and considered the spell within his domain to allow himself to drop as kindred might upon the unsuspecting, silently; gravity laid low by shadow works. If the messengers were mere fledglings as he suspected, this may be a simple thing, he thought. If not, well. A proper entrance was required to bear the retort of Valchek, he mused.

The terrain revealed itself in full measure from the height offered...

...two kindred.​

Two kindred wreathed in black cloak and burgundy trim, supple shadow woven hell damned leather breastplates that loaned much obfuscation failing to fulfil their purpose to full course. The dark yielded much to the knight's eyes, for vantage and experience of probing the dark with heightened senses did grant him such perception. Understanding of the world he now was denizen had seemingly been lost on those they stalked from winged vantage. Proud moons that were all aglow this night, and foiled what hope these two had of avoiding detection, tall grasses tipped with dew did shine as glass shards in the glare of night's twin eyes.

The kindred's movements were slower than full pace of kindred sprint, yet hurried in their task to return they surely were. One moved as if they were but a shadow lurching out from stationary object, as if a pendulous sunset and sunrise were behind them, outreaching in rushes of black before retracting to gather themselves in languid coalescence. The other was less refined in their movement, all gangly leg and low hunched back, spine clearly malformed. Lesser thing that one of the curse, Valborast thought, the other greater for the understanding he shared of opaque travel.

It would be that one that he would descend upon.​

Valborast made that decision known silently to Norvyk, pointing with two index fingers at the sorry creature with hunched spine and clambering gait that had been made to bring such news to his door. He suspected if he were to try and ambush the other, it may sense his descent for virtue of the kinship of magic domain. That kindred glided forward with bursts of momentum as if travelling across ice with ease, and pouncing upon it. The one that he had chosen bounded desperately yet predictably.

Claws released.

And Valborast was away.

Valborast descended, cloak now unfurled to full effect as wings of his own to glide, the black of night adopting itself to the task of concealing such approach. With all the silent grace and horror of his former kinsmen did he pierce the sky, cloak extended without hands to extend the material so. It knew how to perform this terrible drop and rush by virtue of black arts sympathetic to the cause.

To keep up with the kindred in his youth he had learned this technique, and now, he smirked as he considered the irony of such an approach. Yet such emotion succeeded into deeper darker things, as he indulged the wellspring of scorn that had so recently erupted from the news these two kindred had so cruelly imparted.

Riven was within clasped hand yet undrawn. Not yet. The gleam of silver might betray the motion.

Riven remained silent and marvelled at the irony Valborast had smirked at.

That smirk was now replaced with flared nostrils, furrowed brow, clenched jaw, knuckles tight, blade moments from release.

And then all at once, silent as the grave, Valborast made penetrating impact, blade point drawn and thrust out, all force from the descent guiding the blade into base of buckling spine to the hilt. Impaled by the blade prison, the kindred gave out ragged wheeze which turned into laboured shriek, heard by the one in front, who cocked head back to see what foolishness it's henchman was folly to.

It paused, arresting the shadows about itself to form clear and proper figure as he turned, his own serrated blade snapped out from erupting scabbard as fangs revealed itself as it did sneer at the fate their task had been dealt. Eyes flashes red for a moment as it understood the affront that had been delivered to it's fellow, and considered what approach best.

So arrested by blade, buckled by such punishment, it was captive audience to Valborast's introduction.

“Diablorie is but a whim away, morsel,” Valborast intoned as his eyes locked with the faster vampire, clothes returning to the crimson which was his hallmark, threatening much as Riven began to manifest it's hunger to that which he had been gifted.

'Riven' it spoke over and over to the enthralled kindred in subconscious threat, pounding against immortal conscience and confidence with affirmation of what Valborast spoke, inciting rare found dread in that which does feast on fear.

It was to Petra and Norvyk to decide their approach from here, Valborast's captive quarry arrested by Riven, the other standing moments away from fleeing or fighting. Blade in hand, shadows pooling about himself as the greater of the two gathered confidence as it's kinsmen was ensnared by potential total consumption of it's soul.

Eyes locked between the two shadow weavers, hate in both in equal measure, as Petra and Noryck made good on their initiative...

Petra Darthinian