Blood and Silence
By Wicked Ishtar
The lovers danced in each others arms as they entwined themselves. Her neck offered to him as his shoulder was to her. Both drinking and being filled, both reveling in the frenzy of the blood. As dawn approached they both held out longer and longer till she could not resist the call of slumber and he gently laid her to rest. As her body took on its daily form he laid his head to rest upon her bosoms and let himself succumb to the call of day as well.
Kringrel was near mindless. He knew very little of his existence beyond the over whelming craving to feed off the life force of the living. His incorporeal form wandered back through the halls of the castle. The cobwebs and muck hung heavily upon the stone and splintered furnishings seemed held together by mold. Denizens of rats looked upon him with red schemes in their eyes and wandered between the shadows. In the shadows where creatures of unspeakable disgust. The flesh forever rotting from their bones. His form wandered meaninglessly through the corridors deeper into the keep. He passed by fellow damned creatures without notice.His scarlet eyes forever searching for life.
The storm from the night before had stirred the seas something fierce and the hauls were more bountiful than usual. Many of the villagers were happy with the flourish of productivity and took it as a good sign. A few staunch elders made comments of the Paladins absence. Others exchanged looks that spoke of things only they knew. A small carnival sprang up in the town square and carried on for quite some time. Some warned that the people should not ignore the norm and go back to their houses for sunset. For the most part the warnings were ignored and the sun began to set.
Her soul slinks ever closer to her body from the mountains. She notices the villagers making merry with no signs of stopping. A blink's span of sight, the smiles of the people, stays in her mind as her soul returns to body and her nightly form returns in a kindled surge. She and her lover awaken in time to each other. Both have seen the villagers and both are displeased by their wickedness. With silent looks of knowing they don their clothing. She beckons to the shadows to enshroud her while he summons forth his pact with the spirits and becomes a large crimson wolf. She climbs a top his back and they depart swiftly towards the village.
The bonfire burns high as the ale and spirits are lifted higher. Many of the younger villagers make light of the fact the Paladin has yet to return while the elders have already retired to their homes and closed their shutters tightly.
The loud sounds of festivity are broken by the piercing howl of the large crimson wolf as it enters the village square. The writhing form of shadows slides from its back to stand beside it. Everyone was struck with fear and remained where they were. They know now the folly of their festival and cower to the presence of the Keep's Master. A cloud of black dust flies forth from the shadows into the fires which are instantly changed. The colors shift from red and oranges to blues and whites. What was once a source of heat becomes a source of seeming cold as the heat is drawn into it. Slowly the fires freeze into a spire of ice and frost accents the ground of the square and the surrounding area.
The shadows deftly climb the frozen spire and stands paramount to those below it. At once the shadows fall away like serpents sliding from a tree. As they fall and dissipate any unfortunate being touched by them falls frozen to the ground. She stands in her wicked glory before the people. Her black hair braided into a length that reaches the ground. Her gown clings to her completely and looks almost as if the night sky itself were wrapped around her. She holds her arms out to south and west as her voice rises from her in a haunting tone.
Kringrel is suddenly pulled from his surroundings by some unknown calling. In a blink of ethereal travel he finds himself amidst a sea of that which he has been craving. He does not take notice of the other creatures that have arrived with him. An unhallowed cry from non existent lungs streels forth as he grabs the nearest living being in his incorporeal hands and drains them of their life. He moves from victim to victim, oblivious of anything more than his own desires.
Hordes of undead minions burst up through the stones of the square or appear from the ether. Panic ensues as they begin to sate their starved appetites. Bodies are mangled as the flesh is torn and devoured. No one is left untouched, child and old alike. In everyones mind a single thought is heard. "Behold the price of treachery!" The dying cry out for forgiveness while the wiser who stayed inside bow their heads low and work to shut out the screams of pain and anguish.
Ruthgar like the other animals in the stable can smell and hear the evil. They are calmed slightly by the security of their stalls. That is until a swarm of rats begins to pour from the wood work to bite at the feet of the livestock. The varied panicked and pain filled cries of the animals forms an almost twisted melody when it combines with those of the villagers.
Despite their valiant efforts to trample the rodents many cannot battle the sheer number and end up on their sides as their feet are eaten from the ankle down. In the end only Ruthgar is still standing though bleeding from several small wounds. He is near his last bit of strength when the vermin disperse as quickly as they appeared.
As the melody of screams becomes more set in its chaotic waltz the wolf rises to its hind legs and she walks to it. Taking paw in hand she begins to waltz with it through the carnage. Her laughter is like ice upon the ears of the villagers in their homes. The couple dances around the square as if they were at a ball, splashing through the pools of blood without regard. As the streets became cleared of life and the perverse melody dwindled down to more moaning she climbed a top the wolfs back once more and rode off towards the mountains. The minions disappeared once more to return to the keep. Kringrel continued to pursue the corridors in hopes of finding more life.
The people slowly ventured from their homes to make some semblance of peace in their village. The bodies were so mangles that one mass grave was all that could be done for the bits and pieces. The town magistrate would have to figure out who was dead by going through his records. As they labored to clear the streets and tend to the dying the mountains rang with the howls of wolves.
By Wicked Ishtar
The lovers danced in each others arms as they entwined themselves. Her neck offered to him as his shoulder was to her. Both drinking and being filled, both reveling in the frenzy of the blood. As dawn approached they both held out longer and longer till she could not resist the call of slumber and he gently laid her to rest. As her body took on its daily form he laid his head to rest upon her bosoms and let himself succumb to the call of day as well.
Kringrel was near mindless. He knew very little of his existence beyond the over whelming craving to feed off the life force of the living. His incorporeal form wandered back through the halls of the castle. The cobwebs and muck hung heavily upon the stone and splintered furnishings seemed held together by mold. Denizens of rats looked upon him with red schemes in their eyes and wandered between the shadows. In the shadows where creatures of unspeakable disgust. The flesh forever rotting from their bones. His form wandered meaninglessly through the corridors deeper into the keep. He passed by fellow damned creatures without notice.His scarlet eyes forever searching for life.
The storm from the night before had stirred the seas something fierce and the hauls were more bountiful than usual. Many of the villagers were happy with the flourish of productivity and took it as a good sign. A few staunch elders made comments of the Paladins absence. Others exchanged looks that spoke of things only they knew. A small carnival sprang up in the town square and carried on for quite some time. Some warned that the people should not ignore the norm and go back to their houses for sunset. For the most part the warnings were ignored and the sun began to set.
Her soul slinks ever closer to her body from the mountains. She notices the villagers making merry with no signs of stopping. A blink's span of sight, the smiles of the people, stays in her mind as her soul returns to body and her nightly form returns in a kindled surge. She and her lover awaken in time to each other. Both have seen the villagers and both are displeased by their wickedness. With silent looks of knowing they don their clothing. She beckons to the shadows to enshroud her while he summons forth his pact with the spirits and becomes a large crimson wolf. She climbs a top his back and they depart swiftly towards the village.
The bonfire burns high as the ale and spirits are lifted higher. Many of the younger villagers make light of the fact the Paladin has yet to return while the elders have already retired to their homes and closed their shutters tightly.
The loud sounds of festivity are broken by the piercing howl of the large crimson wolf as it enters the village square. The writhing form of shadows slides from its back to stand beside it. Everyone was struck with fear and remained where they were. They know now the folly of their festival and cower to the presence of the Keep's Master. A cloud of black dust flies forth from the shadows into the fires which are instantly changed. The colors shift from red and oranges to blues and whites. What was once a source of heat becomes a source of seeming cold as the heat is drawn into it. Slowly the fires freeze into a spire of ice and frost accents the ground of the square and the surrounding area.
The shadows deftly climb the frozen spire and stands paramount to those below it. At once the shadows fall away like serpents sliding from a tree. As they fall and dissipate any unfortunate being touched by them falls frozen to the ground. She stands in her wicked glory before the people. Her black hair braided into a length that reaches the ground. Her gown clings to her completely and looks almost as if the night sky itself were wrapped around her. She holds her arms out to south and west as her voice rises from her in a haunting tone.
Kringrel is suddenly pulled from his surroundings by some unknown calling. In a blink of ethereal travel he finds himself amidst a sea of that which he has been craving. He does not take notice of the other creatures that have arrived with him. An unhallowed cry from non existent lungs streels forth as he grabs the nearest living being in his incorporeal hands and drains them of their life. He moves from victim to victim, oblivious of anything more than his own desires.
Hordes of undead minions burst up through the stones of the square or appear from the ether. Panic ensues as they begin to sate their starved appetites. Bodies are mangled as the flesh is torn and devoured. No one is left untouched, child and old alike. In everyones mind a single thought is heard. "Behold the price of treachery!" The dying cry out for forgiveness while the wiser who stayed inside bow their heads low and work to shut out the screams of pain and anguish.
Ruthgar like the other animals in the stable can smell and hear the evil. They are calmed slightly by the security of their stalls. That is until a swarm of rats begins to pour from the wood work to bite at the feet of the livestock. The varied panicked and pain filled cries of the animals forms an almost twisted melody when it combines with those of the villagers.
Despite their valiant efforts to trample the rodents many cannot battle the sheer number and end up on their sides as their feet are eaten from the ankle down. In the end only Ruthgar is still standing though bleeding from several small wounds. He is near his last bit of strength when the vermin disperse as quickly as they appeared.
As the melody of screams becomes more set in its chaotic waltz the wolf rises to its hind legs and she walks to it. Taking paw in hand she begins to waltz with it through the carnage. Her laughter is like ice upon the ears of the villagers in their homes. The couple dances around the square as if they were at a ball, splashing through the pools of blood without regard. As the streets became cleared of life and the perverse melody dwindled down to more moaning she climbed a top the wolfs back once more and rode off towards the mountains. The minions disappeared once more to return to the keep. Kringrel continued to pursue the corridors in hopes of finding more life.
The people slowly ventured from their homes to make some semblance of peace in their village. The bodies were so mangles that one mass grave was all that could be done for the bits and pieces. The town magistrate would have to figure out who was dead by going through his records. As they labored to clear the streets and tend to the dying the mountains rang with the howls of wolves.