60 Days
Scene Name: 60 Days
Date & Time: 09.12.2011 - Night
Characters: Alekto, Anglia, Drakth

Blodtwulf Tower - Atrium

The crown of this room is supported in a great Dome shaped by six massive buttresses of black granite. These flow down into thick collums, all carved into a heavy swirling pattern. Further etched with acid, scenes of men turning into Wolves, and wolves turning into Men. An endless cycle. The ceiling, this being two feet higher than the butchresses, is bedazzled by scenes of War. The sky behind charging armies, or a ferocious figure wielding a terrifying sword, are red with burning trees, bodies, and villages. In the center, where the buttresses meet, is a giant spire that drops down eleven feet to a sharp tip made of dark granite. This great device is called a Keystone.

The spire is notched with small 'caves' to make it look like a beehive, and from each notch flows oil. One-Hundred-Ten notches decorate this object, and as the oil rains down from above, it spews with enough force to collide with the walls, and then be collected at the base by a basin that swirls on six different levels. On each foundation collum is a massive snarling wolfhead, that spews forth a streams of flame. And these gouts of The Eternal Flame light the room with an unequaled ferocity.

The floor of this place is red with tiles. On each is carved a snarling wolf's face, holding in its jaws a dead and half-eaten serpent. A set of stairs swirls upwards in the center of this grand hall, while a seperate entrance to another area is decorated by a large arch made up of stone blocks.

Around the second room are massive twenty-foot-high statues of faceless figures. A naked and busty woman leaning into the grip of a masculine winged figure. One hand capturing her breast, the other her womb. The woman's arms drape backwards over his head and face, with her hair overtaking his more manly parts.

Between each statue, is another. A lithe female stands at fifteen feet high, nude save an urn that rests on the left shoulder. The urn spills water down her body, and creates decency. She is faceless, but one gets the sense of innocence and faithfulness. Behind this is the looming and ferocious figure of a Man, his wings curling about her, as if they will soon embrace and steal away her body.


War is all He knows.

..And Tribe..

..And Family..

..And Honor, in a crude manner. Especially when it belongs to Oaths written with Blood. The Chieftain stands in the Atrium now, staring at the wall painting of 'The Tribe'. His wings stretch on their own, to keep bloodflow within the limbs (this is why bats hang upside down). So every now and then one can hear the rustle of membrane as it stretches to its maximum length and shivers, before returning to his back. The secret entrance is /wide/ open, the outside wall is typically cosmetic and made from wood and coral. Decorated to look like a piece of the environment, those evil and protective Grounds that Drakth has taken as a sign that Noxctalis itself approves of his Way. The inside wall, is actually made up of building stones and through a counterweight system Katherine has designed and he has put into place - it operates by just one lever from the inside and a more..primal..trigger from outside. But! Now it is open.

The Warlord's blood trickles down his arm from a small wound in his elbow, set there on purpose it is like a cellphone in his mind. For, how often does The Wolf Lord bleed?

Ghosts plague his quarters, and his patience runs thin. As always, but less so now. Beneath ones feet in this room, is his testimony to the devotion of removing the stain named: Snake.

Anglia spends most of her time in the gardens, the girl tending to the flowers carefully while also letting her daughter get to know all those flowers, even if she's a baby. Aurelia is fast asleep, having just fed, the baby sleeps like the dead. Anglia walks over to the entrance. She pauses, surprised that the entrance is wide open. Why? Her expression is still emotionless and the girl is still silent.

Autumn has begun to set on Noxctalis, though given the nature of most of the Decayed wildlife that thrives here, it is hard to tell the difference in the atmosphere for those that are not native to this world.

Where before the open doorway was empty, revealing the landscape of the Blodtwulffen grounds and the horizon of flames the sear Noxctalis lands, now there is a body. Alekto. She stands dressed in white - a star on the background of this dark Hell. A sheer silk scarf is wrapped up behidn her neck, crisscrossing along the hills of her bossom, and ties with tails of silver at her back. Her stomach is bare, revealing black lines of ink or perhaps veins tained by the Decay. Her modesty is further maintained by a pair of white slacks that billow around her feet with execess fabric that makes the paints appear more like a dress than aught else. She holds in her arms a black bundle, but remains silent as those unnatural eyes remain trained on Drakth's figure.

The Warlord sniffs the air and his warbraids shudder, like serpents on the head of a mountain. He, unlike others. Did not play games. He found talk to be a waste of time, and it was only the women in his Tribe that had consulted him not to take Yaksha's offer and greedily take the gift of a human army. Of which now, lay massacred around the Grounds. High above, new Blodtwulffen existed and exposed their Divine Right to Exist to eachother in the only true art form: War.

Golden eyes, like searing hateful suns train upon the doorway and that expression softens when he spies Anglia. Then moreso when he sees his…Shaman? Alekto. For, that is how she truly acted. Coming and going as she pleased, with no real ties save for those held in secret. A fist presses to his heart, "Mein Fraulein Alekto." The deep Germanic growls out, and to Anglia. The Healer of The Tribe, he opens a hand with no other word. Turning away from the living portraits. The bleeding arm is pumped, to urge more ichor from his body.
Anglia blinks when she notices the blood flowing from Drakth's arm. She walks over to his side and glances at Alekto also when the woman appears so very soundlessly. Anglia curtsies politely without a word, the girl unable to speak. She then turns her attention back to Drakth and gestures to his arm, her intentions clear. She cannot stand to see one wounded, no matter how small the wound.

The Ancestress nods to Anglia in turn. "You bleed," Alekto states then to Drakth, her attentions distracted momentarily by the drip-drop of blood oozing from undead flesh. She wrinkles her nose, shakes her head, and tightens the loop of her arms around the dark bundle she holds. She begins a slow pace that draws her towards the towering figure then. She turns that sharp, tattooed visage towards Anglia in a flurry of ivory dreadlocks, hissing at the innocent slave to warn her away from tending to the Master's wounds.
"You bleed, when you should burn. As my land burns, as I burn…" She wriggles as she moves, as if trying to shed her flesh as she walks, tries to shed the pain of her connections to this world. When she arrives before Drakth, she forceably shoves the bundle into his chest. "A present," she coos, her features suddenly encompassing a soft, brilliant smile.

The Healer is waved off, "Nein. It is not my blood. Hers." The head nods towards Alekto, though he knew she may not understand he was Chieftain - and that is all that mattered. The Ancestress is eyed, the flames of his Atrium casting a golden glow upon the flesh and acting as 'false sunlight'. Flames, prefered to actual lighting. He never could stand that soft glow of glass suns. When she comes towards him with her gift, he stands taller. When she hisses at Anglia, there is a deep rumbling. "Blood Oaths are taken seriously where I am from. You wanted The Snake dead. This is how it happens, Fraulein Alekto. Did you think it would be peaceful? Did you think I would ask him to go?" The electrum boot of his right foot snaps down against the floor, against the image there. Against that Icon that is The Blodtwulffen Flag. The Snake-Eaters. The bundle accepted, yet he waits for Her to pull the cloth aside and reveal what is there while the other arm is offered. As was his Oath.

Golden eyes, black slits. They focus on Alekto, and a wing moves out to encompass and draw Anglia away from the Shaman. As for his emotions? He was grim-faced. And that Great White Smile hid beneath black, blood stained lips.

"I thought you would display brain over brawn," Alekto says sweetly without losing that endearing smile. She cants her head to the side, blinking up from beneath the tangled lines of her snowy dreadlocks. She reaches forward then and pinches a corner of the bundle, but dares not look upon what is inside herself.

Inside is a babe. A boy. Long since dead. It is hard to tell the source of its untimely demise. Perhaps it is the grouge in the side of its head, though it is possible that was an after affect of the burns that crisp its flesh along the left side, crumbling portions away to ash where it reveals bone. "Could he have been mine? Cousin? Brother? Son? Or, perhaps he could have been hers," she turns those white irises towards the protected slave. "Certainly not yours though, Drakth - for it is your kin that attack, right? They are not the victims, not ever the victims." She laughs aloud and grins, turning that unsettling gaze of ebon and white back to the towering warlord.

Anglia doesn't even blink when the woman hisses at her while normally she would've stumbled back in surprise and fear. She allows Drakth to pull her to his side, not like she would've been able to go against him. She holds her baby protectively, the child safely wrapped in a bundle on her chest. When the dead child is revealed, the girl's eyes widen, the first sign of any type of emotion since that which had taken her smile. Her hands tremble first, her entire body soon following. She bows her head, hiding her expression with her bangs, her eyes never leaving the child.

There is no sarcasm, just brutal honesty. To describe Drakth is easy, a runaway train on full speed. A Juggernaut with purpose since it was sealed in Blood. A firestorm isn't right, for he was not uncontrolled. Berserker, for sure. But these acts against The Land itself are focused and precise: A General. Casualties are disregarded. War, is War.

The child is looked on with unfeeling eyes, another layer of his Curse. He cannot possibly feel anything for what isn't Blodtwulffen. Even though there shines a light of wanting to, of recognition from human days. But comparing this dead thing to, say, Aurelia? Anglia's child? There is no connection. Not to him. Alekto is looked at, as if the gift had not the affect she may have looked for. "The mother should have killed whatever creature did this." There is a heavy shrug, "The Enflammed are not my kin. They are wretches, weaklings. With no willpower to fight against The Fire. Berserkers, Eaters-of-Men. Snakes live in holes, They will.." He licks his teeth, the first sign of those barbaric fangs. Not like Alekto's. Not like Asmodeus. Who's fangs were delicate and could heal the wounds, or cause arousal. No, no. These were /shark/ teeth. For tearing things open, and devouring the soul that resided in the blood. Then he turns his eyes back, to look at 'The Tribe' painting. Then, to Alekto. "I have gift also, Fraulein. I have killed a Snake, and found their weakness. I, have fooled even you…" There is then a proud smile, as he offers his unused hand to the Ancesteress. "The Enflammed kill off food. Starve The Snake. Make him come out of his hole, make him put foot to ash and leave a trail….The Dire Wolves hunt for his blood - of which I have taken from his Daughter. And I have set into motion his death. A Snake-Eater in the Snake's Pit." Then, a snap of the teeth as he tosses the corpse to the flaming oil pools and the room flares to life. "When The Snake is Dead. Blodtwulffen will leave the Tower, and kill all Enflammed and stand at Your Call. At Noxctalis's call, and guard. As Oathed. We will cleanse this place with Fire, and when your enemy is dead - The Eldest - You - will lead Noxctalis." The bloodied arm is offered again, "Take it."
Forgetting to finish his sentence, being awesome like that. He growls out, "The Enflammed will flush out The Snake. With Fire. As cowardly as his kind are…" There is a shrug, "He may hide. Like all wretches that do not truly deserve to live. Where I come from, The Blood Eagle was given to his kind without mercy. I will do this, For You."

Anglia wraps her arms around the bundle on her chest, nuzzling the sleeping child, calming herself with the peaceful beating heart of her child. She tenses when the dead child is so carelessly thrown into the flames. Alekto's present seems to have more of an effect on Anglia then on Drakth.

Alekto's gaze follows the arc of the lifeless child and bundle. In a blink Alekto has caught the discarded 'prsent', falling to her knees to avoid plummeting into the ring of oily fires herself. She pulls the dead babe and its wrappings close where she crouches protectively over it. "YOU DO NOT FIGHT A SNAKE!" she screams, her shriek rebounding around the dome. She stands and flips back her disheveled dreadlocks, suddenly and unexplicably composed once more. "You fight a devil, blessed by a wicked God. This is no snake that can be run out by earthly flames. You speak of weaklings who hide and yet you stay here in your tower. You are wretch by your own defition. And you are blind to your own acts. But, how long can you keep the blindfold on your kin, I wonder. The halfbreeds are not as heartless as you, I think." She begins to cradle the dead child, rocking him back and forth and cooing sweetly as she looks to Anglia.

"Drakth, heed my words now - if you make me, I will chose the lesser of two evils. I balance a choice of a Decayed world, or no world at all. Which do you think I will chose?" She tenderly pulls the black blanket back over the dead child's face, begins singing the poor lost child a eerie lullaby, and turns towards the doorway.

The lever is pushed near his side, and those walls come slamming shut on either side. Dust settling as they do, and Anglia is slowly moved aside as his skin begins to flush and with that flush comes waves of palpable heat. "God? You think I fear a cowardly God?" There is a serrated howl as The Skycleaver is drawn from its sheath, and that murderous blade's psychic imprinting for bloodlust just boils his blood. The wind howls around the blade, the flame's light is bashed aside by moonlight and the skin…oh the skin…it tingles like it was about to be hit by lightning. "You.." Heavy bootsteps cause the floor to vibrate as he moves forward, "..Let a creature who rapes….tortures….maims….turns….and whatever else foulness to his own Daughter. YOU, could kill him with ease. YOU, let him turn children. YOU, let people suffer for your unwillingness to outright destroy the evil here. Lesser of two evils? At least I protect my Family, I uphold my Oaths to the true leader of this Realm. YOU. Find Faith. She is your present, from me." There is a viscious snarl, as his teeth are bared and he does not threaten but his wings are expanded. The sword set hard into the floor, "I will kill 'The Devil' with this blade. As it has slain a vile Goddess, and like all their kind fancied herself 'immortal'." The word is wretched out, "Point me at this fake God. Arrange this Devil to come out and die with dignity, and THEN I will kill all Enflammed and let your Realm go back to it's wretched state. Better than before. As. We. Oathed." The air he exhales is steam, and his jaw clenches. "You treasure Life so little, you are not even willing to kill for it. My Tribe knows our place, and my 'halfbreeds' are higher than any other wretch outside this wall. Take into mind that THEIR words, have halted my progress. My Blood Oath ends when Asmodeous dies, Shaman."

Anglia didn't expect to be pushed aside, so she stumbles a bit, though regaining her balance quickly. She stares at her Master when his temper starts to show, the girl unable to calm him right now, so it could be dangerous. She glances at Alekto, awaiting her response.

Alekto tilts her head and narrows her eyes at the place where there had been a passage only moments before. "You have grown arrogant," Alekto says with a sigh hanging and shaking her head. "Or, perhaps you always were and I was simply unable to see it. You are right, I am responsible…" She turns around slowly to look upon Drakth with pity. "Responsible for having unleashed a monster upon my people. Remember Drakth: You are an alien here. You are an abomination - you are not of magick, nor of nature - but of some wicked science. You are nothing but something tortured and creatured in your lover's lab. I would rather my land be kissed by a dark God than whatever it is that you wife has made of you. When you can find yourself beneath all the mutilation they have done on your body and soul, then perhaps we will speak again. But, in the mean time… If you know what is good for you and for yours, you wil let. Me. Out. Of. Here."

Golden eyes flare to life, a red glow deep inside of them and the face lowers near to Alekto's own, "You want The Fire to stop? Fine. You will hear three blasts of a horn, and when you do - The Bloodwolves will set out and tear apart our prey - The Enflammed.." There is not a sigh, per say. But a long exhale tinged with a snarl as The Rage seeths through his bloodstream, "..You have sixty-days to quell your own monsters. Sixty. After that, I ignore my Blood Oath no longer and fly out with Mine to kill and tear apart YOUR enemy: Tho'Baan." He turns then, wings snapping near Alekto's form in disrespect. For she has lost much of it. With each step he witholds nothing, and that grim mask is back on his face. The lever tugged to set the weights into a dance that opens doors, over his shoulder he growls. "I will let you see how your weakness to not quell your own demons has let vile things happen. Watch Faith. Because I? Will even stop training her to fight her 'Father'." The word is spit out, no. Vampires did not know the meaning of the word, and certainly Alekto knew what went on. A sad fall of respect for the Shaman, "..And we will see what happens to her, too, hmm? I'll let this world suffer. And become tainted, and corrupt. While you, just sit back and watch. And smile. And laugh because you are sad. When you Howl? Blodtwulffen will rise up, and we will truly CLEANSE Noxctalis of this…monster. Now, Get Out." Golden eyes then settle on Anglia, and he just stares. Trying to draw some form of…comfort? From her.

Anglia glances at Alekto and, before the lady leaves, walks over to her and gives her a small note, her handwriting elegant, but slightly messy because of her trembling (still readable though). 'Please give that child a proper burial, I beg of you.' Just that, nothing less, nothing more. She then returns to her Master's side and touches his arm comfortingly, granting him the comfort he seeks from her. Her touch takes energy from her and gives it to Drakth in the form of gentle, soothing waves of calm, cooling down the flames of the Rage and warming the depts of his soul. Anglia sighs softly, getting just slightly paler, but carefully hiding it.

The note is taken but not the time to read it. Instead Alekto simply holds Anglia's gaze for a short moment and bows her head. There is no doubt that this was the Ancestress's intention the whole while. In fact, within a few days one might find a headstone admist the flowers in the garden that reads only: "The Reminder". either way, Alekto takes her leave without further comment or incident.

The Warlord simply snorts twin clouds of steam from his nostrils, and then that chilly touch comes to his feverish flesh and the entire musculature seems to tone down. A shake of his warbraided mane, and he looks about with new clarity but the sharp gaze is on Alekto. No, no. He meant everything he said. At the end of sixty-days, he would bathe the soil in blood. Enough of the women and their games and cries of a peace that is impossible. He was a Father, A Chieftain and The Warlord, and now he was a Monster. Fine. He would be all these things, and show Noxctalis how weak it was for letting such a wretched thing live…at the end of sixty-days. For now, he watches Anglia's movements with a practiced gaze. He had felt Tho'Baan's bite, and it wouldn't happen again. It was time for The Snake to feel The Wolf's bite, and wolves always bring friends. When she returns, Drakth opens his right hand: "You are…a good girl. One whom is hard to understand.

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