It was not until the spring of the third year of Kain's invasion that
Vorador finally conceded, and allowed Lord Roland and a chosen few of his
retinue admittance to his lands. Although several meetings had been held
on neutral ground to establish the framework for the proposed treaty, old
grievances died hard, and had continually interfered in the uniting of the
two peoples. As for Kain, much of the self-proclaimed Emperor's activity
had heretofore been focused in the North, as he amassed troops and weapons
of war in preparation for his return to Southerly climes. This dreaded
time, it seemed, had now come to pass. And so it was that one windswept,
remarkable evening, the first humans to set foot inside Vorador's inner
sanctum - other than as a source of food - in many a century, joined the
Sado-hedonist in his Council Chambers.
"Will Seline not be joining us?" Began Vorador, by way of greeting, his liking for the impulsive young woman evident by his dismay at her absence.
Roland's silence made the undead glance at him in concern. The Lord Protector swallowed against the lump that had arisen in his throat and said, "The Inquisitors. . ."
Vorador closed his luminous eyes. "When?"
"Two nights ago. They allowed her to get almost to the Stronghold before they attacked her in plain sight." Vorador's face belied his distaste for such flagrant flaunting of power.
"They hung her body from the walls of Meridian - what was left of it."
The Ancient offered his sincere condolences. He was well aware of the relationship that had flourished between the Lord Protector and his trusted agent. The young woman would be missed - but now was not the time to dwell on such morbid thoughts: there was work to be done and a treaty to be concluded at long last.
"You have your audience," Vorador informed him, not without compassion. "Speak."
Roland put aside his own grief and stepped forward in a stately manner, his presence as arresting to members of the Vampire nation as it was to those of his own.
"Kain lays siege to the land. Both Uschtenheim and Meridian have fallen to his army of unholy Inquisitors," Seeing that the assembled undead were less than impressed, he added, "- as well as Nupraptor's Keep." That assured their attention.
"If we stand together, our combined forces may be enough to stem the tide of his conquest before all our peoples are crushed beneath his iron fist."
An influential Ancient spoke up, voicing the thought that had already run through the minds of several other immortals in the room.
"Tell me, Human, why should we ally ourselves with you? We are old and powerful - your affairs are none of our concern."
"Kain's Inquisitor Squad will come knocking on your door as surely as they will call on mine, Vampire. The time for united action is now."
Vorador nodded in agreement, casting a quelling glance at the Vampire who had spoken. "Much as it galls me to say so, we can no longer afford to be enemies."
"I appreciate your candour, Vorador. Rest assured we will do nothing to abuse your trust in us."
"Trust? Who said anything about trust? We are allies of necessity, no more."
Roland smiled affably at the vampire's attempt at a stony front in the presence of his peers. "Agreed."
"Very well," continued the emerald-skinned immortal, withdrawing a map from a well-stocked drawer. "Let us choose the best location to make our stand."
Unfortunately for Vorador, this was a decision that was never his to make, as the sound of a skirmish reached his sensitive ears.
"To arms! We are attacked!"
Several thirsting blades emerged naked and glistening from their sheaths, their owners rising to the challenge with lusty roars and growls, each according to their nature. As one entity, the unusual hotchpotch of Human and Vampire warriors charged through the torchlit corridors of Vorador's mansion, ready and willing to meet Kain's lackeys with the courage of the righteous.
The first wave of the conqueror's offensive strike had reached the outer doors, and its members were even now busily dispatching Vorador's personal guards with a combination of swordplay and fire. Roland was first into the fray, cutting down the leather-armoured fiends and sending any who faced him flying backwards into the swamp, where the waters claimed them with hisses of steam. Vorador had called the rest of his Vampire forces to arms, and, unprepared as they were, they surged forward to range themselves on the steps, their lack of protective clothing deterring them not a whit. The swamp-dwelling Vampire chanced an analytical glance at the army that surrounded his home, searching for the tell-tale white locks of Nosgoth's ravager. Kain was nowhere to be seen.
Presently, it seemed that the ground forces were thinning, the combination of Sarafan and Vampire defence working admirably to repel the would-be invaders, and Vorador's eyes flashed as he sensed the impending approach of victory.
"Vorador," came an uneasy request for attention.
The Vampire glanced at Roland, eyebrows raised in response. "Hm?"
"Is there another way out of your fortress?"
Reluctant to give his recent and barely-trusted ally such sensitive information, Vorador queried his reasons.
"We may have to evacuate."
Vorador frowned, a derisive puff of air escaping his lips. He failed to take in another breath, however, as he too saw what had caught the lord Protector's attention. From the high-rising ridges that surrounded the waterlogged clearing, black-mailled figures were marching in a well- practiced rhythm. Line after line trooped into the clearing around the high-walled abode, turning the plain below black with their combined presence. Vorador could not even hazard a guess at their numbers: suffice to say that the presence of the forty or so partisans in his mansion equalled less than a quarter of the oppressive company that marched relentlessly towards them. Nonetheless, he held firm.
"I will not surrender my house!"
Roland turned to the Vampire in concern, the latter's recalcitrant attitude assuring him that there was no chance of convincing him otherwise. He sighed. He had already agreed to stand by them - besides, if it had been the Stronghold under attack, he would not have abandoned it either. Roland's consternation increased as he recognised the armour of the westernmost contingent - the matte black chainmail, steel greaves and gauntlets, and wedge-shaped helmets identified them as none other than Kain's elite, the dreaded Inquisitors. From the size of the party even now walking towards them, the Vampire Master had sent them all.
Roland's grip tightened on his broadsword. He had faced death many times and in many forms, but few of his experiences had chilled him to the same extent as this: the sight was enough to shake even his iron nerve as the Inquisitors led Kain's army of the undead against a scant few defenders in what was little more than a fortified manor house. Roland steeled himself for what was to come: if it was his fate to walk the Vampire Halls of the Dead this evening for his championing of their cause, they had better have a stein of their best beer waiting for him when he arrived.
A single word, and the assault began in earnest. In a very few minutes, the front of Vorador's mansion was swarming with Kain's pets, their casual disregard for their own safety surpassed only by their disrespect for their opponents. No code of honour was observed by these obsessive creatures, born of thirst, and no quarter was given to any adversary, no matter the direction of his gaze, nor his possession of a weapon. The outcome looked grim. Roland shot a quick glance to his left where the main door was straining beneath a heaving, writhing mass of combatants, his momentary shift in concentration earning him a glancing blow across the forehead. From his prone position on the floor, he managed by luck more than skill to impale his opponent on his blade, the creature's tarry vitae pattering on his breastplate as he skewered it alive. Regaining his feet with a dizzy stagger, Roland attributed the sight that met his eyes to his disoriented state: it seemed almost as though the rearguard of Kain's troops was beset by a strange plague, one which caused them to violently lose their heads or leap into the air in spiralling fountains of gore.
Shaking his head fiercely, Roland took a closer look, taking sparse moments between his gutting and slashing strokes to peer into the hazy distance. His vision had not misled him. Some other contingent had converged on the attacking army from behind, and was even now cutting a bloody path through the exact centre of the horde in a frantic attempt to reach sanctuary. That the party was small it was obvious: in a quick scan of their potential allies, Roland counted less than a dozen hacking blades. Nevertheless, they seemed to be making progress. The tight-knit group made its dogged way to the embattled forces on the blood-soaked steps of the mansion, cutting down the lesser creatures who strove in vain to inhibit their advance, to arrive at last at Vorador's side.
The Ancient withdrew his blade from a vanquished adversary and turned to greet his unexpected reinforcements, addressing the sable-winged creature he took to be their leader.
"You are most welcome here, friend."
Raziel grinned in response. "That's good to hear, Vorador." With a steadily widening smile at the other vampire's confusion, the Dark Lord turned his blade on the remainder of Kain's demon horde.
With the arrival of Raziel's fresh, well-seasoned Elite, the prospects of a favourable outcome for Kain's army turned sour. The ground troops' repeated attempts at penetrating the mansion were met with staunch rebuttal and an increasing loss of life. Finally realising the futility of this particular assault, the Head Inquisitor called a retreat, the prospect of informing the Vampire Master of the reasons for their withdrawal darkening the creature's mood.
As dawn approached, the respective leaders of the allied forces involved in the skirmish, along with a few of their closest cohorts, converged on Vorador's recreation room. Opulently decorated, as befitted a creature of the elder vampire's reputation, the chamber afforded the battle-weary allies a measure of seldom- experienced comfort, while their host provided suitable hospitality. Vorador and Raziel were last to enter, having spent some time discussing the latter's presence and motives. Now, having dispensed with such formalities, the hedonist took to offering around a carafe of mulled wine, out of respect for his human guests.
As though suddenly aware of his lack of manners, Vorador paused in the distribution of the libations and began the introductions. Raziel, who had been eyeing the young knight curiously, instantly rose to his feet and approached the man. Roland regarded him warily, ready to defend himself from this unusual-looking immortal, if necessary. To his utter surprise, the winged being nodded courteously to him, the gesture closer to a bow than even Raziel would have admitted. This Sarafan Knight was legend, an almost mythical figure of whom he had himself heard tales as a fledgling - even the Lieutenants had been awed by the fabled deeds of this incomparable human.
Raziel extended his hand. "It is an honour."
Lord Roland attained his feet out of courtesy in response to the gesture, and took the creature's three-clawed hand in a staunch grip.
"Er . . . likewise."
With an enigmatic grin, the Dark Lord resumed his seat next to Vorador while Isca paced restlessly nearby.
"Your lieutenant seems ill at ease," commented the Ancient as Raziel's second-in-command proceeded to wear a groove in Vorador's red carpet.
Raziel gave a long-suffering sigh. "He's besotted."
"Ah. I understand. Here my friend," called Vorador, addressing the restless immortal, "Try some of this - guaranteed to put hairs on your chest."
Isca scowled at the goblet as though it had affronted him personally. Nevertheless, after a moment's consideration, he accepted it.
"That's the way. Listen, if it's a girl you're after, I have several lithe young . . ." Vorador broke off mid-sentence as the young vampire's glower convinced him that silence would be prudent.
Turning his attention back to Raziel, he asked. "So, let me see if I've got this straight: you travelled here from the future to ensure that you don't get turned into some bat-demon."
"And to ensure the Cabal is not slaughtered," added Raziel with a charming smile.
"Of course," replied Vorador dryly. "But surely, since you appear to manifest the characteristics of neither bat nor serpent, surely you can surmise that the events you witnessed will not come to pass."
Raziel eyed the contents of his goblet mournfully until Vorador motioned to one of his aides to refill it. He grinned his thanks before continuing.
"It may be that the effects of Kain's manipulation of time are so far- reaching that their consequences have not yet reached the denizens of the far future. I intend to leave nothing to chance, Vorador. The events we witnessed," he paused, meeting Isca's gaze, which spoke reams of his impatience and his fury at his own impotence in the matter. "Suffice to say we will take all possible action to ensure they do not come to pass."
Isca, at the limit of his tolerance, slammed down his goblet and made for the exit, seeking the relative cool of the night air.
Raziel stared after him uneasily.
"He will not go far." Commented Vorador.
"I'm not so sure," replied he, rising to follow his son. "I wouldn't put it past him to try to track down Kain in some ridiculous attempt at gaining satisfaction through single combat - for something he probably didn't even do."
Vorador raised an eyebrow.
"He just needs an outlet for his frustration." He informed them, according them both a wry smile as he left the room.
"Women." commented Vorador to his amused companion, "Ever the downfall of the brave."
*
Review Response:
Deionarra:
Freya's flawed? Oh yeah. That was intentional. (eek). As for her returning - dunno yet - I'm currently thinking revenge motive for Isca . . .
As for BO2, yes it was highly overrated - God only knows why they couldn't have used the Soul Reaver engine for it (duh!), and the gameplay did consist entirely of endless repetitions of 'kill-the-baddy-drink-his-blood- flip-the-switch.' However, it's more than worth the effort just for Kain's cinematic scenes - Simon Templeman, WE'RE NOT WORTHY!
*grovel grovel*
MikotoTribal:
Well, this chapter did originally go something like this:
"Speak," began Vorador by way of greeting.
"Ze vampiresh lay ziege du our landz" replied Donald, preening his white feathers and straightening his sailor suit.
"And you think cartoon capers will save us?"
Donald and Goofy broke into a sickening song and dance routine which induced several of Vorador's trusted servants to swan-dive into the swamp.
Oh and the ending to the previous chapter went something like this:
The inquisitors were merciless, and no noble was safe from their relentless tickling with feather dusters, nor their malicious name-calling.
Kain's head Inquisitor waited at the Mayor's house until his family had finished their dinner before presenting them with tickets to the next Britney Spears concert.
The Inquisitor would ensure they attended.
Up to you - influences from Kingdom Hearts or BO2.
: )
"Will Seline not be joining us?" Began Vorador, by way of greeting, his liking for the impulsive young woman evident by his dismay at her absence.
Roland's silence made the undead glance at him in concern. The Lord Protector swallowed against the lump that had arisen in his throat and said, "The Inquisitors. . ."
Vorador closed his luminous eyes. "When?"
"Two nights ago. They allowed her to get almost to the Stronghold before they attacked her in plain sight." Vorador's face belied his distaste for such flagrant flaunting of power.
"They hung her body from the walls of Meridian - what was left of it."
The Ancient offered his sincere condolences. He was well aware of the relationship that had flourished between the Lord Protector and his trusted agent. The young woman would be missed - but now was not the time to dwell on such morbid thoughts: there was work to be done and a treaty to be concluded at long last.
"You have your audience," Vorador informed him, not without compassion. "Speak."
Roland put aside his own grief and stepped forward in a stately manner, his presence as arresting to members of the Vampire nation as it was to those of his own.
"Kain lays siege to the land. Both Uschtenheim and Meridian have fallen to his army of unholy Inquisitors," Seeing that the assembled undead were less than impressed, he added, "- as well as Nupraptor's Keep." That assured their attention.
"If we stand together, our combined forces may be enough to stem the tide of his conquest before all our peoples are crushed beneath his iron fist."
An influential Ancient spoke up, voicing the thought that had already run through the minds of several other immortals in the room.
"Tell me, Human, why should we ally ourselves with you? We are old and powerful - your affairs are none of our concern."
"Kain's Inquisitor Squad will come knocking on your door as surely as they will call on mine, Vampire. The time for united action is now."
Vorador nodded in agreement, casting a quelling glance at the Vampire who had spoken. "Much as it galls me to say so, we can no longer afford to be enemies."
"I appreciate your candour, Vorador. Rest assured we will do nothing to abuse your trust in us."
"Trust? Who said anything about trust? We are allies of necessity, no more."
Roland smiled affably at the vampire's attempt at a stony front in the presence of his peers. "Agreed."
"Very well," continued the emerald-skinned immortal, withdrawing a map from a well-stocked drawer. "Let us choose the best location to make our stand."
Unfortunately for Vorador, this was a decision that was never his to make, as the sound of a skirmish reached his sensitive ears.
"To arms! We are attacked!"
Several thirsting blades emerged naked and glistening from their sheaths, their owners rising to the challenge with lusty roars and growls, each according to their nature. As one entity, the unusual hotchpotch of Human and Vampire warriors charged through the torchlit corridors of Vorador's mansion, ready and willing to meet Kain's lackeys with the courage of the righteous.
The first wave of the conqueror's offensive strike had reached the outer doors, and its members were even now busily dispatching Vorador's personal guards with a combination of swordplay and fire. Roland was first into the fray, cutting down the leather-armoured fiends and sending any who faced him flying backwards into the swamp, where the waters claimed them with hisses of steam. Vorador had called the rest of his Vampire forces to arms, and, unprepared as they were, they surged forward to range themselves on the steps, their lack of protective clothing deterring them not a whit. The swamp-dwelling Vampire chanced an analytical glance at the army that surrounded his home, searching for the tell-tale white locks of Nosgoth's ravager. Kain was nowhere to be seen.
Presently, it seemed that the ground forces were thinning, the combination of Sarafan and Vampire defence working admirably to repel the would-be invaders, and Vorador's eyes flashed as he sensed the impending approach of victory.
"Vorador," came an uneasy request for attention.
The Vampire glanced at Roland, eyebrows raised in response. "Hm?"
"Is there another way out of your fortress?"
Reluctant to give his recent and barely-trusted ally such sensitive information, Vorador queried his reasons.
"We may have to evacuate."
Vorador frowned, a derisive puff of air escaping his lips. He failed to take in another breath, however, as he too saw what had caught the lord Protector's attention. From the high-rising ridges that surrounded the waterlogged clearing, black-mailled figures were marching in a well- practiced rhythm. Line after line trooped into the clearing around the high-walled abode, turning the plain below black with their combined presence. Vorador could not even hazard a guess at their numbers: suffice to say that the presence of the forty or so partisans in his mansion equalled less than a quarter of the oppressive company that marched relentlessly towards them. Nonetheless, he held firm.
"I will not surrender my house!"
Roland turned to the Vampire in concern, the latter's recalcitrant attitude assuring him that there was no chance of convincing him otherwise. He sighed. He had already agreed to stand by them - besides, if it had been the Stronghold under attack, he would not have abandoned it either. Roland's consternation increased as he recognised the armour of the westernmost contingent - the matte black chainmail, steel greaves and gauntlets, and wedge-shaped helmets identified them as none other than Kain's elite, the dreaded Inquisitors. From the size of the party even now walking towards them, the Vampire Master had sent them all.
Roland's grip tightened on his broadsword. He had faced death many times and in many forms, but few of his experiences had chilled him to the same extent as this: the sight was enough to shake even his iron nerve as the Inquisitors led Kain's army of the undead against a scant few defenders in what was little more than a fortified manor house. Roland steeled himself for what was to come: if it was his fate to walk the Vampire Halls of the Dead this evening for his championing of their cause, they had better have a stein of their best beer waiting for him when he arrived.
A single word, and the assault began in earnest. In a very few minutes, the front of Vorador's mansion was swarming with Kain's pets, their casual disregard for their own safety surpassed only by their disrespect for their opponents. No code of honour was observed by these obsessive creatures, born of thirst, and no quarter was given to any adversary, no matter the direction of his gaze, nor his possession of a weapon. The outcome looked grim. Roland shot a quick glance to his left where the main door was straining beneath a heaving, writhing mass of combatants, his momentary shift in concentration earning him a glancing blow across the forehead. From his prone position on the floor, he managed by luck more than skill to impale his opponent on his blade, the creature's tarry vitae pattering on his breastplate as he skewered it alive. Regaining his feet with a dizzy stagger, Roland attributed the sight that met his eyes to his disoriented state: it seemed almost as though the rearguard of Kain's troops was beset by a strange plague, one which caused them to violently lose their heads or leap into the air in spiralling fountains of gore.
Shaking his head fiercely, Roland took a closer look, taking sparse moments between his gutting and slashing strokes to peer into the hazy distance. His vision had not misled him. Some other contingent had converged on the attacking army from behind, and was even now cutting a bloody path through the exact centre of the horde in a frantic attempt to reach sanctuary. That the party was small it was obvious: in a quick scan of their potential allies, Roland counted less than a dozen hacking blades. Nevertheless, they seemed to be making progress. The tight-knit group made its dogged way to the embattled forces on the blood-soaked steps of the mansion, cutting down the lesser creatures who strove in vain to inhibit their advance, to arrive at last at Vorador's side.
The Ancient withdrew his blade from a vanquished adversary and turned to greet his unexpected reinforcements, addressing the sable-winged creature he took to be their leader.
"You are most welcome here, friend."
Raziel grinned in response. "That's good to hear, Vorador." With a steadily widening smile at the other vampire's confusion, the Dark Lord turned his blade on the remainder of Kain's demon horde.
With the arrival of Raziel's fresh, well-seasoned Elite, the prospects of a favourable outcome for Kain's army turned sour. The ground troops' repeated attempts at penetrating the mansion were met with staunch rebuttal and an increasing loss of life. Finally realising the futility of this particular assault, the Head Inquisitor called a retreat, the prospect of informing the Vampire Master of the reasons for their withdrawal darkening the creature's mood.
As dawn approached, the respective leaders of the allied forces involved in the skirmish, along with a few of their closest cohorts, converged on Vorador's recreation room. Opulently decorated, as befitted a creature of the elder vampire's reputation, the chamber afforded the battle-weary allies a measure of seldom- experienced comfort, while their host provided suitable hospitality. Vorador and Raziel were last to enter, having spent some time discussing the latter's presence and motives. Now, having dispensed with such formalities, the hedonist took to offering around a carafe of mulled wine, out of respect for his human guests.
As though suddenly aware of his lack of manners, Vorador paused in the distribution of the libations and began the introductions. Raziel, who had been eyeing the young knight curiously, instantly rose to his feet and approached the man. Roland regarded him warily, ready to defend himself from this unusual-looking immortal, if necessary. To his utter surprise, the winged being nodded courteously to him, the gesture closer to a bow than even Raziel would have admitted. This Sarafan Knight was legend, an almost mythical figure of whom he had himself heard tales as a fledgling - even the Lieutenants had been awed by the fabled deeds of this incomparable human.
Raziel extended his hand. "It is an honour."
Lord Roland attained his feet out of courtesy in response to the gesture, and took the creature's three-clawed hand in a staunch grip.
"Er . . . likewise."
With an enigmatic grin, the Dark Lord resumed his seat next to Vorador while Isca paced restlessly nearby.
"Your lieutenant seems ill at ease," commented the Ancient as Raziel's second-in-command proceeded to wear a groove in Vorador's red carpet.
Raziel gave a long-suffering sigh. "He's besotted."
"Ah. I understand. Here my friend," called Vorador, addressing the restless immortal, "Try some of this - guaranteed to put hairs on your chest."
Isca scowled at the goblet as though it had affronted him personally. Nevertheless, after a moment's consideration, he accepted it.
"That's the way. Listen, if it's a girl you're after, I have several lithe young . . ." Vorador broke off mid-sentence as the young vampire's glower convinced him that silence would be prudent.
Turning his attention back to Raziel, he asked. "So, let me see if I've got this straight: you travelled here from the future to ensure that you don't get turned into some bat-demon."
"And to ensure the Cabal is not slaughtered," added Raziel with a charming smile.
"Of course," replied Vorador dryly. "But surely, since you appear to manifest the characteristics of neither bat nor serpent, surely you can surmise that the events you witnessed will not come to pass."
Raziel eyed the contents of his goblet mournfully until Vorador motioned to one of his aides to refill it. He grinned his thanks before continuing.
"It may be that the effects of Kain's manipulation of time are so far- reaching that their consequences have not yet reached the denizens of the far future. I intend to leave nothing to chance, Vorador. The events we witnessed," he paused, meeting Isca's gaze, which spoke reams of his impatience and his fury at his own impotence in the matter. "Suffice to say we will take all possible action to ensure they do not come to pass."
Isca, at the limit of his tolerance, slammed down his goblet and made for the exit, seeking the relative cool of the night air.
Raziel stared after him uneasily.
"He will not go far." Commented Vorador.
"I'm not so sure," replied he, rising to follow his son. "I wouldn't put it past him to try to track down Kain in some ridiculous attempt at gaining satisfaction through single combat - for something he probably didn't even do."
Vorador raised an eyebrow.
"He just needs an outlet for his frustration." He informed them, according them both a wry smile as he left the room.
"Women." commented Vorador to his amused companion, "Ever the downfall of the brave."
*
Review Response:
Deionarra:
Freya's flawed? Oh yeah. That was intentional. (eek). As for her returning - dunno yet - I'm currently thinking revenge motive for Isca . . .
As for BO2, yes it was highly overrated - God only knows why they couldn't have used the Soul Reaver engine for it (duh!), and the gameplay did consist entirely of endless repetitions of 'kill-the-baddy-drink-his-blood- flip-the-switch.' However, it's more than worth the effort just for Kain's cinematic scenes - Simon Templeman, WE'RE NOT WORTHY!
*grovel grovel*
MikotoTribal:
Well, this chapter did originally go something like this:
"Speak," began Vorador by way of greeting.
"Ze vampiresh lay ziege du our landz" replied Donald, preening his white feathers and straightening his sailor suit.
"And you think cartoon capers will save us?"
Donald and Goofy broke into a sickening song and dance routine which induced several of Vorador's trusted servants to swan-dive into the swamp.
Oh and the ending to the previous chapter went something like this:
The inquisitors were merciless, and no noble was safe from their relentless tickling with feather dusters, nor their malicious name-calling.
Kain's head Inquisitor waited at the Mayor's house until his family had finished their dinner before presenting them with tickets to the next Britney Spears concert.
The Inquisitor would ensure they attended.
Up to you - influences from Kingdom Hearts or BO2.
: )