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Post by Stormwall on Jan 29, 2017 3:20:12 GMT
The armies of Vaundsburg have marched on the neutral kingdom of Therien and been rebuffed by the powers of central and northern Ardell. Now the people of Vaundsburg have risen up against their vampiric overlords and their millennium-old Empress, Eleonore Rousseau. All across Vaundsburg, angry serfs with torches and pitchforks are ramming stakes through vampiric hearts. Assistance has come to Vaundsburg, foreigners supporting the uprising, but the great armies are occupied at the capital city far away.
It is believed that an elder vampire, the Empress or one of her closest advisors, has just fled to Uberghof Island. The cliff-sided island lies in a treacherous, fast-moving river, and undead have torn down the only bridge. A few small boats are managing to reach Uberghof, where their passengers face a treacherous climb and then a deadly fight against undead and professional soldiers.
Uberghof is the private residence of the Empress, and the home of her centuries-old archive, one of the largest and most secretive on the continent. Of those who climb into Uberghof tonight, under a mercilessly bright moon, some are there to kill a vampire. Others are there to loot the residence. And perhaps a few have come to strip the library, claim it, or burn it all...OOC/ The scale of this thread is personal, meaning a character and/or a squad. Maximum: 1 PC, 9 NPCs. The island has steep sides, and the top is all forest and a sprawling estate. Notable locations: the residences in the north, the archives in the south, the armory in the west, and the prisons in the east. Feel free to start at the top of the cliff, having just made the boat trip and the climb. I have no intention of DM'ing this thread. Spoiler: yes, the Empress has fled here in secret. As far as anyone knows, she's probably still at the other thread's location.
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Post by Ernst Walcott on Jan 29, 2017 4:13:51 GMT
A gauntlet covered hand sunk into the dirt atop the island, fingertips digging deep into the spongy ground before dragging deep furrows through the dirt as it sought purchase. Another joined it, moments later, and a great mass of metal drug itself from the depths of hell to crawl onto the surety of dry land.
Thunder peeled from a storm in the distance, moonlight illuminating a pair of skeletons approached the kneeling figure. Well, they would have been skeletons were it not for the rags of flesh hanging from their decrepit frames.
Sensing weakness, they surged ahead, shambling in awkward fashion.
A leg bent, sending a boot into the ground, and the armored mass launched a shoulder into the first one, cracking it's ribcage and sending it back. A hand lashed out, bashing the second aside, and then it was drawing a great poleaxe from it's back - it swept upward, then descended, axe cleaving the broken undead in two.
Dragging it across the ground, the second was tripped up as it came forward once more, and then the speartip was plunged downward into it's skull. Pausing to take a breather, Ernst tugged his weapon free and made his way into the woodland before him, a prayer for salvation hanging from his lips.
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Post by Prince Ineirin on Jan 29, 2017 4:47:43 GMT
Ineirin wiped the sweat from his forehead as he hauled himself to the top off of the cliff-side. His eyes glinted in the moon-light as the rest of his honor-guard pulled themselves to the top of the cliff. Nine in total, including his squire Gwythion. The other three had stayed behind to guard the other side. Others were making their way across the river, but they didn't have the Sea-Blood.
That had parted the currents, even shifted them to send them where they needed to go, and landed them at the base of the island. But as far as he could see through the gloom, the Aerlion Knights of the Gull were the first to the top of the cliffs. But where to go from there? Ineirin unsheathed his sword and started walking through the island. Torchlight glimmered in the distance and he slowed.
The honor-guard unsheathed their own swords- the only sound the rasp of steel as it left the scabbards. Their armor they had well-oiled and draped beneath gray tabards for the night's work. Still Aerlion crest, but better to mask itself in the night.
Ineirin could see four potential targets. Buildings that looked like homes. One that looked more heavily guarded- something more important, and something he couldn't recognize. But those weren't his goal here tonight. The empress wouldn't be here tonight- not with the capital under siege-, but if they could secure the residence's military targets and free the prisoners, then they could cut the foundation from underneath the confidence.
He gestured to the fortified building just below them. An armory perhaps. Not quite a garrison. The rest nodded and followed, spread out in a line as they picked their way through the trees. Ineirin held up his hand as a gatehouse came into view. They waited and watched. Doors were secured, guards were posted, and archers above. It would be far from easy to make their way in.
A soft whistle later and the men diverted their course away, following the estate walls. It wasn't meant to withstand a siege like Leionesse was or Arleionesse. No, these were just general security. Human guards, from what he could see, but the undead were around here somewhere. The prickling in his veins alerted him to that.
They would have to be cautious. Each man carried a satchel of wooden stakes, just in case. But they had the Sea-Blood too. And for the undead, the Sea-Blood burned like a drowning's sailor's lungs and suffocated them as the Sea-King returned them to the natural order of things.
They paused and crouched in the trees, watching. There was a side-gate in the wall. Guarded, but not as heavily as the gate-house. A servant's entrance, perhaps. Ineirin nodded and they formed a tight line, two men abreast with shields ahead and above. Typically used to board a hostile vessel, it worked just as well here.
"Go." Ineirin's voice was low and tight and they marched forward, each step in sync and quiet. Trees brushed past them and then they were in the clearing before the walls, breaking into a tight jog as they rushed the gate. The guards turned in surprise and raised their weapons. But the knights were already upon them.
Spears were batted aside by the lead shields as they split from the formation, moving to engage the guards. Ineirin caught a spear-haft on the side of his shield and pushed it upwards while his sword lunged forward to jab through a gap in the armor.
Weapons and armor clanged in the night and then it was over. The guards had fallen and the knights were slipping through the gate into the opening of the estate.
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Post by Trechtus on Jan 29, 2017 18:11:10 GMT
UBERGHOF ISLAND
WESTERN END, WITHIN THE PRISON
The problem with really, really old buildings like these is that eventually they became poorly maintained. Foundations crumbled, stones became loose. It opened the door for all sorts of vermin to writhe their way in. It wasn't as if Vampires could be bothered to learn any basic home improvement skills and it wasn't as if the feeble, living mortals who did have those skills were rushing out to Uberghof Island to render their services. They knew how it worked. They would be shipped out here, make the repairs, and then the Vampires would probably drain them to the last drop of blood and turn their corpse into a thrall.
Why spend money when you could save it and have a new undead foot-soldier to top it off? This was Trechtus' impression of Vampyric Modus Operandi, anyway. Perhaps he was incorrect. He did not care enough about Vampire Social Justice to dispell his stereotypes about them. Frankly he did not think the Vampires of Vaundsburg cared either. If they did, they would have decked their men out in any color that wasn't dark red or jet black. But what did Trechtus know about fashion, anyway? The thought occurred to him, but in his current state it was difficult to maintain any thought other than the task at hand.
One of the cells of the prison had an exposed patch of dirt in the wall. The product of the aforementioned centuries-long decay and the maddened scratching of former occupants. No one had bothered to repair it because it did not appear to detract from the cell's overall structural integrity. It wasn't as if some godforsaken creature, composed entirely of worms, would be burrowing through the wall. Thankfully enough there was no one in the cell to witness anything. Without warning, the head of a large, blueish worm poked itself out of the dirt. It squirmed around, wiggling itself free, before falling loose and hitting the floor with a muted, wet thwuck.
It writhed on the ground for several moments. A normally mundane occurrence, but in actuality this one had been sent ahead as a scout for the colony. Upon finding the cell deserted, four more worms poked out from the wall. Then there were ten more, thirty-six, ninety-eight, and then too many to count. They started plopping onto the floor, one after the other, collecting in a massive heap. This would have been an impressive display, but it would be about ten minutes before enough of them got through that Trechtus could take proper form. Until then, you can enjoy the mental image of all this.
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Post by Bastion on Jan 29, 2017 20:54:38 GMT
There was only but one choice. A moment’s hesitation, or even a single misstep, and Bastion's Gigantic form would be cast down to the dagger-like rocks below. The thought of being impaled by those earthen Spears was unpleasant and emboldened him to his purpose. He could feel every fibrous strand within his body stretch and compress, as his adamantine fingers found unsteady purchase in the Cliffside, dragging him towards the summit in defiance of gravity. As his ascent had brought him out of the massive, but naturally formed arch, Bastion could feel droplets of something patter against his horned helm - filling his mind with thoughts of hidden defenses brought to bear, or the fury of the earth soon to be realized. With more and more droplets crashing against the castle-forged steel of his helm, His smoldering orbs looked towards the heavens and flickered softly as the iron-tinted clouds rolled wet curtains of rain across his armored form.It felt… He wasn’t sure how it had felt. Nevertheless, the Construct had taken heart that he had not climbed into an ambush. As thunder peeled across the horizon and illuminated his surroundings, Bastion made the final stretch towards the precipice with as much haste as his hulking form could muster. It wasn’t the smartest thing that he could’ve done - but the longer that he spent clambering up the Cliffside, the more time the Defenders within had to realize that not all was well. Having nearly lost his grip upon the treacherous crag thrice since he had rushed towards the summit, Bastion’s armored fingers entrenched themselves within the earth of the plateau. Satisfied that it would support his weight, the Construct swung himself upwards with all his might and rolled across the lip of the bluff as it started to crumble beneath him. He pressed onwards as more and more dirt came loose, spiraling down the path of his ascent and plunging into the darkness below. Bastion couldn’t stop. He had to keep moving forward. When the ground beneath his feet became reliable and more compact, the Construct dropped to his knees and pulled a length of rope from his pack. He had to work quick, as even though he had the cover of night and the dense thicket of trees before him, the lightning would brighten the skies just long enough for him to be spotted by a roving patrol of Guards. His fingers worked as fast as they could, sending one section of coiled twine over the other and tightening the rope around the base of a nearby tree. With the knot tied, Bastion yanked upon the lariat to ensure it would hold before tossing it over the lip of the edifice. He was certain there were more that would seek to lay claim to the spoils beyond yonder walls, and it was in his nature to make certain that those who followed would see their ascent eased by a secured line of life. Rousing from the burgeoning mire that the plateau had become, the Construct fanned his fingers around the textured hilt of his Bastard’s Blade, unsheathing the weapon mere moments later as the skies above crackled with their elemental fury. With it’s glittering silvered edge free from its ebony-hewn leather prison, and his towering shield adorning his artificial fist, Bastion stalked towards the distant Estate - flattening the earth beneath his puissant tread. He was hired for a two-fold purpose, and this night Bastion would not only save the Lost Daughter of a local Father - He would Kill the Beast.
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Post by Ernst Walcott on Feb 2, 2017 0:07:21 GMT
South End - Near the Archive
Though he didn't realize it, Ernst had gotten turned about on his climb. Thinking he was North, where he could hunt down his target, he was instead headed south. It was hard to navigate by the stars through his helmet, but he was certain he was heading in the right direction.
A pair of guards rushed him, and he leaned forward, throwing a shoulder into the shield of the lead. Cracking it, he knocked the man over and swung his poleaxe around. The second, realizing how ponderous and slow Ernst was, danced away quickly.
It was folly to engage in close combat with something so large; you needed to whittle him down. This had the unfortunate side effect, however, of leaving his shield bearing friend to die. With a stomp of a heavy boot, Ernst pulped the guard's head.
Keeping his attention on the man with the broadsword, they began the slow circular rotation common among fighters sizing one another up. Hefting his poleaxe in two hands, he kept it in a light guard, until his opponent lunged. Swinging out, the duelist fell away, waiting for the swing to finish before darting forward.
Planting himself, Ernst let his weapon finish it's arc, and then snapped the butt end into the man's stomach. Stumbling backwards, he found the Judge hot on his heels, dragging the axe-blade along the dirt before swinging it around in an upward slice for the jaw.
This caused him to rearrange his stance, opposite foot coming forward to get momentum behind the blow that sent a jagged line of red along his opponent's chest. Sensing another opening, the duelist lunged, coming in for an lunge to the midriff, only to find the Judge stepping into the attack.
Metal scraped across metal, and an armored elbow snapped down into the barely-armored neck of the duelist. Finding himself face down in the dirt, the last thing he felt was the kiss of axe on flesh as his head was rent from his body, and then Ernst was moving onward.
The Archive - or what he thought was the residential area - lay just before him.
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Post by Taenor Stormwind on Feb 2, 2017 18:08:31 GMT
Desiring to save his arcane energies for any battle he may happen upon, but not one to miss out on accessing a centuries old library, Taenor was utilizing physical strength in climbing up the southern cliff face. He'd seen an armored figure make the top mere moments ago, and not come tumbling back down. To Taenor, that meant that there was a good chance he'd be able to rest a moment when he got to the top. His traveling clothes were dusty from the climb, but after a few more minutes of finding hand and foot holds, the mage of the Runic Circle pulled himself up and over the lip of the cliff, and rolled away from the edge. He scrambled up to his feet, eyes scanning everywhere before going to a knee to catch his breath. As he stopped to breath, Taenor checked the various tools he had brought with him. Among them were a large pack with an extremely large extra-dimensional space within it, a bracelet that allowed him to defend from physical damage as if he wore a shield with a minor energy expenditure, a necklace that held energy he'd stored up over the last few days, and a staff that would help him channel destructive magic more easily, reducing the strain on him. When a Wizard has time to prepare, they do it in earnest. Taenor pulled the staff from his pack, then donned the pack again, tightening the straps down. He stepped forward, keeping his hood low over his head as he scanned the scene before him. A few meters ahead, towards the building Taenor was wont to believe was the Archive he looked for, a large, armored form dealt death blows to a pair of other humanoids. As the armored figure moved further into the island, Taenor assumed it was someone else here to aid in the downfall of the undead empire. Taenor could call out and join this figure, but he didn't know it's purpose, and didn't want to distract from his own. Thus, the mage continued forward, following the wake of the armored figure. His gait was unhurried, as he scanned his surroundings. Every step was taken with the staff touching the ground with his right foot, the moonlight glinting off of runes carved into the dark wood. Ernst Walcott
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Post by Harrier Wren on Feb 4, 2017 18:13:38 GMT
Ernst Walcott Taenor StormwindSOUTH SIDE OUTSIDE THE ARCHIVE Hands still a bit sore from the climb, Harrier slipped between the trees. She could hear violence ahead, and smell the brazen, complex magic of a practiced wizard, separate and distinct from the background nonsense of basic necromancy. That rotten undercurrent grew stronger in the back of her mind, and she paused, setting her staff against a tree. A handful of undead were shuffling through the trees, quicker than walking speed, and they appeared to have her trail. She unslung the harp from her back and unwrapped it, then set her fingers to the strings. Music in a minor key filled the woods; there was no helping that. The tone was wistful, unsettling, sad, like a bone-deep craving for something forbidden and unattainable. The undead slowed and stopped as her black magic wove into their numb, emaciated spirits' connections to their bones. Piece by piece, she knew, they were remembering what they'd been in life, and awakening to some approximation of their old sentience. With that awakening came disgust and shame. They walked away, all in different directions. A few went off the cliff, perhaps by choice. Harrier reclaimed her staff. Harp in hand, she kept walking.
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Post by Prince Ineirin on Feb 12, 2017 21:12:50 GMT
To the Armory
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Ineirin paused to catch his breath as he stepped into the estate, eyes roving across the darkened grounds. Distant, faint brief sounds of conflict caught his ear and then faded. So others had come this night as well. They would not be on their own. The others nodded that they were ready to continue and he returned the nod.
The small band made their way into the grounds, trying to stay low and out of sight. It wasn't possible to pretend to be guards. Their armor and weapons were clearly not of Vaundsburg. Even darkened and hidden in night-time clothes, they were still clearly Aerlion with the crest of the gull clearly emblazoned on the armor. Besides, deception was beneath them and would bring dishonor to themselves and Aerlion. The Sea-King would not be pleased.
Guards fanned out of the the fortified building and Ineirin paused, holding up his hand. The band stopped and moved into a line, shields together. Ineirin held the center, tightening his grip on the sword as he stepped forward. The others followed along with him, walking slowly to meet the guards. They had good quality equipment and seemed to be professionals.
But they weren't Knights of the Gull. Nor were they the blessed descendants of the Sea-King himself. In Ineirin's mind, that was what made the difference.
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Post by Harrier Wren on Feb 13, 2017 20:27:06 GMT
Ernst Walcott Taenor StormwindENTERING THE ARCHIVE Once more, Harrier slung her harp across her back by its strap. She took her long walking-stick in both hands and held it diagonally across her chest, a basic guard. The archival building's side door yawned open. Glancing around, she slipped inside. A short and claustrophobic stone passageway put her at a crossroads of sorts, a four-way intersection. Steel-clad doors blocked off all three branches at varying intervals. Behind them could be essentially anything: storage rooms, barracks, library shelves, treasure vaults. Doors opened to left and right: this saved her from indecision. There were four guards, two on each side. In the gloom, they didn't look like much, but Harrier sensed strong, permanent necromancy at work. Undead, then, the serious kind. As they drew their blades, she rubbed her ring and stepped back away from the intersection. A flicker of smoke or mist darted away to her left. The passage restricted the undead guards to a two-abreast approach. She kept her staff up, not that it would do much good in the warding-away department, and backed off almost to the side door where she'd entered the building. In the second rank of two guards, the leftmost's eyes burned blue as Mathquil, her scout-shade, took control. The guard lashed out quick and hard. As the other three guards began doing their level best to chop down their erstwhile fellow, Harrier dropped her staff and unslung her harp again. A keening, atonal song lent a shudder to their movements. The music became wistful, melancholy. One by one, the three enemy undead sank to the floor. The glow faded from the fourth guard's eyes; he crumpled as Harrier's ring grew cold again. "Nicely done, Mathquil," she murmured, trading the harp for the staff again. She pressed on, straight ahead.
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Post by Solaiel on Feb 14, 2017 2:42:39 GMT
The black scales covering Dawnbreaker's hide made him almost invisible at night. This was especially true as clouds temporarily shrouded the moon away for a while. Only the rhythmic thuds of his wing beats could be heard if anyone was close enough to listen. The Dragon circled around to the south and paused for a moment to cast his eagle eyed gaze upon several small sea faring vessels in the water. People were climbing the cliffs. It seemed that the the battle for Vaundsberg had an additional albeit smaller front. Moments later the high born dragon landed on the grassy grounds nearby the Archive. Dragon blood dripped from nearly man size claws. A ballista bolt had managed to wedge its way between the armored scales on his left shoulder. At first it seemed that the dragon was favoring that arm since he hadn't placed that talon down yet. However, there was actually a disheveled woman held carefully between the bloodied digits. The majestic creature lowered her to the ground and released his careful grip. The fact that Mirielle was alive was no doubt miraculous. One wrong movement and he could have crushed her. "Did you enjoy the ride, little one?"The dragon's voice was deep and carried easily. He was simply incapable of whispering. It also didn't help that he lowered his head into her personal space to eye her closer to her level. Hot breath emanated from nostrils just a few feet away as intense emerald green eyes almost seemed to glow in the moonlight. "You were prisoner to the lizard people?"Mirielle Merlon Ernst Walcott Taenor Stormwind (Somewhat close proximity)
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Post by Taenor Stormwind on Feb 15, 2017 13:38:59 GMT
The Runic Mage slipped around the corner of the archive just moments before a large shape slid from the sky and alighted upon the ground. Dust and leaves flew up outside the archive as the dragon, Solaiel, settled and began to speak to someone. Taenor looked back around the corner and his eyes widened as he recognized both creatures. " Lesaen'ta" Taenor spoke the word, and the world alighted with the eddies of magical energy. His mind took in the magical signature of the dragon and his companion, memorizing it. He was mostly sure that this was the dragon that had attacked the airship he had been on. Right after the Gryphon had saved his life. The woman, he was mostly sure, was the young lady who had been with the giant lizard man. 'Perhaps she really enjoys the company of the cold blooded...' He thought to himself, though he also noticed the scent and sight of blood upon his claws. Divergent duties warred within Taenor. His duty to the Runic Circle said he should go grab as many artifacts from the archive as possible. The slightly naive idealist in him said he should go save the maiden. He was outfitted for battle, and full of mana. However, a dragon was a frightening proposition to come against even when prepared for just that. Which he wasn't. Then there was also the fact that the Vampire Empresses guards would likely be descending upon this area, now that a dragon had landed. That would further endanger his mission. With a sigh of sorrow, Taenor turned and moved back along the wall towards the door to the archive. He tried to console his conscience by reminding himself that more could be saved if he kept dark artifacts out of the hands of the wrong people. And with dark artifacts, anyone's hands were the wrong hands. Taenor had lost sight of the warrior who had been ahead of him, but he saw the main door ahead. With two guards looking directly at him. With a split second to decide, Taenor strode right up to them, noting both were human and well outfitted. He put on his haughtiest scowl and pointed his staff at them. "You two!" He said, adding as much scorn as his fluttering stomach could allow into his words. "There are enemies on the ground, and a blighted dragon! Why are you standing around?!" His voice boomed, and his face reddened. He turned and pointed his staff at the other way. "I have dealt with a mage who pulled himself up the cliff, go deal with the drake. I will ensure no one enters." The guards looked at eachother, despite their training, they were confused. "MOVE!" Taenor growled at them, letting an eldritch light flow from him into his staff, lighting the runes up ominously. The two soldiers nodded and jogged towards where the dragon had alighted. Once they were out of sight, Taenor deflated with a sigh. He looked around for a moment, then turned his enchanted sight upon the door. Green bands of knotwork told him there was an alarm on the door, woven in strongly. With another glance around, he took out a cold iron stylus and began to etch runes into the wood, carefully beginning to circumvent the alarms. Harrier Wren Mirielle Merlon Ernst Walcott
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Post by Mirielle Merlon on Feb 15, 2017 19:18:16 GMT
SolaielPine needles pricked Mirielle's bare feet as she stepped down from the dragon's claw, clutching her sketchbook. Her original clothing had been shredded, bloodstained, and ultimately burned; the saurians of the City of Gold had provided her with a bolt of faded scarlet silk. She wore that as a knotted, belted toga of sorts. It didn't do much against the wind or the chill of the night. She held her sketchbook tight against her rebelling stomach. "Once I realized I was alive," she said carefully, "and was probably going to stay that way -- goodness knows you could find more satisfying meals than me -- then yes, I enjoyed seeing the siege and the countryside from above." She flinched back, but largely held her ground, as the dragon's head came in closer than she'd like. "I wasn't their prisoner. Their king-priest saved my life at Ethenveld Castle, and I've been traveling with them ever since. After the siege, they were going to take me home to Ashdell. I'm Princess Mirielle of the House of Merlon." She raised her chin. "May I know your name, sir? And where I am?"
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Post by Solaiel on Feb 15, 2017 23:56:20 GMT
Mirielle's reply and the feisty way she stood her ground, brought a soft chuckle from the dragon. This was a princess indeed. It was good that he found a human with some nerve. She'd need all of the courage she could summon. "You don't want to die? Perhaps we can come to an arrangement. We could be friends, you and I."He felt pretty comfortable that she wouldn't run, so the dragon took a moment to bite the ballista bolt and remove it from his left shoulder. It fell to the ground with a loud thud before he turned to look into the distance. A mage was subtly touching upon his presence. Taenor Stormwind"Your people once called me Dawnbreaker, and I do not know the name of this place. It is the personal estates of the Empress of Vaundsburg," continued the creature as he kept his attention on the mage in the distance. "You may call me Solaiel if you wish."Dragons were extremely rare occurrences in any field, but there were old stories of one named Dawnbreaker from a time before the empire had hunted them to near extinction. The stories spoke of a dragon who enjoyed torturing armies when he appeared on battlefield. Dawnbreaker toyed with mortals for the pure sport and amusement of it. If she had heard of the name, then she would have known that she was dealing with the exact opposite of a benevolent being. Taenor had finally moved to circle around toward the archives. His eyes could clearly see the man, but he refrained from engaging. The undead and humans of the area were less than a threat in this form. A mage could be tricky though, and it was a waste of precious time. Finally feeling confident that the mage had avoided battle, Solaiel again placed his attention on the princess. "This place is where she keeps her library and storage of treasure and magical artifacts. Inside is a trinket that I require. Retrieve it for me and I will owe you a favor. I will take you to Ashdell, and one could do far worse than to have a high dragon in their debt." He was about to explain what he needed when a shout brought his attention down to two guardsmen who had just gotten close enough to see him. It was the two fools that the mage had just deceived into leaving their post. They ran to raise the alarm as soon as they made out the figure of the dragon they were told of. Solaiel was on them almost instantly. His large frame didn't seem like it could move that fast, but he could cover in one step the ground that a man would have to run a great many steps for. There was a sickening crunch as his talons came down and literally crushed the two men. Plate armor and bone alike crumpled under the sheer force of his weight. Silence filled the air momentarily before a bell started to ring in the distance. The commotion had triggered the alarms. Other alarm bells around the island started to follow. Mirielle Merlon
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Post by Mirielle Merlon on Feb 16, 2017 1:36:05 GMT
SolaielA month ago, the dragon's ferocity, proximity, scholarly reputation, and size would have reduced her to paralyzed terror. Since then, she'd participated in hellish events, in the close company of other gigantic, predatory saurians. She still felt fear, but from a distance, from the outside looking in on herself. As the dragon returned from its kill and the bells rang, she tucked her oilcloth bundle into her belt and made it as secure as she could. "I'll take that bargain," she said, with a passible attempt at a level voice. There seemed no other choice; she would simply have to find a way. She took stock of her limitations. The Empress of Vaundsburg was a vampire and a necromancer. Mirielle had no true weapon, no armour, no money, and no magic worth the name. Well, except for the half-translated saurian glyphs in the wrapped sketchbook... Jaw knotted, she went over to the recently crushed guards and took a knife from a mangled belt. "What does the trinket look like, Dawnbreaker?"
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