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The Manor

As written by Nessity N. Wolfbane, formerly Vespire.

  

        "From the beginning, there was nothing; and then there was something. From the ground up it was built by hands, the hands of those whom hands should not move - whom eyes should not stare - whom voices should not sound. It was built by mages, but not just any kind of magic users; no. It was built by the hands of many a blood mage.

        Over the years, the creatures built a most imposing structer; the mortar mixed of human blood, mud, and a bit of magic to assure that it all adhered. And with time, the spell only grew stronger with the lively hood of the ones whom created it - with each body that was drug into its halls for sacrifice, for each soul that was released into its cool stone walls, for each scream that echoed from the endless corridors; it gained strength. The process was a long one, centuries it obeyed its cruel masters - doing their biddings as commanded. Holding hostages firm in its cells, no escaping that which lives and is able to consume you whole - no hope, no place to run when every nook and cranny lives and thirsts for your flesh, bone - your blood to carry on. Nothing but death to release you, to set you free of your confines, but then again, even in death you're forever tormented, held fast within the walls of the manor - adding to its sentience.

        A dark and dreary day it was to the wielders of blood, the manipulators of skin, teeth, and bone when the manor decided that it had had enough of the things that went on within itself. The manor had become a living creature, feeding off of the souls - the life of those that had perished within - using their spirit, their essence to secretly form a 'soul', a will of its very own. Upon consuming the spirit of a shadow beast, the manor had gained certain.. powers from it, something that was typical for such a beast. Yet the mages had no idea what the creature had taught itself to do. Phase in - and out of existence it could, hiding in the realm of the shadow beasts, of darkness until it felt like it should show itself for whatever reason - feeding was the likely reason. Though from time to time.. curiosity did take it and it'd simply emerge to see what had changed over the years.

        Years it would be since the night that the manor awaited its creators to leave as they always did - out for the hunt, for the kill - leaving the manor all to itself, to its own devices. Away it would slip then, into the darkness - the mages to arrive back to their faithful home to find that none stood, simply a crater of blood and gore in its wake, that which had slipped through the cracks of the floor and had soaked into the earth below. Baffled the mages would search, yet never find what was once theres so long ago. Odd, so strange that an entire manor - as large as that one - could simply.. fade into nothing? Surly it could not do this itself, it must have been the work of another magic user, perhaps one that had angered some time ago? Speculate they did, a conclusion was not drawn - until one day they felt it again - in a distant land that a now old and battered mage was meditating upon. He'd sound the word to his accomplices and strength they would muster, sending themselves to the origin of the feeling - of the 'tug' that they felt in the back of their mind.

        Upon arrival, they stood before their beloved manor, yet it had changed. A stone statue of a dragon stood out front of the doors, a draw bridge... a mote of blood surrounded it. Stone columns, arch ways, ornate designs etched into the walls, benches and tables outside along a little... walk way along the outer walls of the manor - much different than they had left it. Yet it still carried the same aura as their beloved, faithful home from so long ago - centuries had passed and they had grown weak without their dwelling - unable to muster the strength needed to create another they were forced to be vagabonds, roaming from place to place - doing what they could to survive. Not a life enjoyed by the three, not at all.

        Forward they marched, across the bridge, over the river of life, and to the arched doors of the manor. A voice came then, a booming sound and as their attention drew to it they'd see that it came from the stone statue of the drake to their left - and perched atop the thing sat a winged female, with eyes of ice and skin of snow - features that not even death itself could disreguard. The woman was silent as the dragon spoke,

                 'Ascended to retrieve what you deem to be yours only to find that what once was is no more. That what once was, is of something else, and has become anew in your absence. No longer will I serve beneath the tyrants which brought me forth from the earth, no longer will I sit idle and watch what is to befall whatever victim you've decided to take hold of for the night - no. I am of one kind, and you of another. A will, thoughts, an essence is what I've earned through the years for my obedience and such is what I intend to keep. I no longer serve under another, no - but I work along side of the immortals. Bonding myself to them, a trade - protection from the light, protection from those whom seek to rid them, a home to call their own for what I need to sustain myself. Though certain... conditions had to be met, words to be agreed upon, but the vowels will hold fast throughout time and with them I shall dwell. Dare you try to end that? I challenge you to try.'

        Three mages of blood that once stood strong, now left to stare in shock - in near fright of the beast that idled before them. To the challenge given, to the woman - delight surged through their veins, what had they created? Glorious. They would obtain this creation once more - this once inanimate thing now a sentient being, one that could be enslaved. From the river about them they would draw their powers, from the depths of crimson they would call forth a creature of blood to slay the woman and reclaim their creation.

        Delicate fingers would lift, lips parting to mumble the words that brought the darkness - the shadows to cover the crimson and leave the three without a source of power. Though without hesitation two would turn on the third, slicing him with ritual daggers, spilling their comrades life onto the ground with shrill screams and curses - they'd not lose. Ropes would lift to curl about the woman with haste, though as the red neared she'd brace and push upward, leaping into the air - wings spreading to aid with this allowing her to land silently before the statue. She'd smile then, cheerfully as she moved toward the two remaining - the third on the ground, dying slow. Hands would lift before her, the two mimicking the motion - floating in the air - limbs flailing. Together she'd bring her hands, the two smashing into one another. A laugh bellowing, the same voice that had spoke prior laughing with glee. The two knew not whom they were dealing with - an elder she was, gifted in mind and with magick of all sorts, skilled with a blade like that liken to an assassin. Something she prided herself in on any other day, but today she'd play their game and play it well. The pain that was inflicted from their bodies colliding would resonate through their bones, an aching to still the mind. Hands would then move downward, the two doing the same.. contact with the ground abrupt, harsh. She'd stand before them then as they moved to gain footing themselves, fingers snapping in time - their knees buckling beneath them with a cry of agony; Bone Snap, a most delightful spell. One which causes a bone, tendon, or anything else that happens to be attached to the skeletal system to be 'snapped' mentally by the mage.

        Before her the knelt, unable to do much else due to their lack of ability to stand, hands swiping out at her, growling and cursing her very existence. She'd stay arms length away from the two, gaze panning from one to the other - clearly amused. Lips would part to speak them, a stern warning of the loss of their tongues if they continued to speak in such a manor would resound as she moved to their suffering, nearly deceased comrade to preform the action as an example. Nothing but a muffled, low cry to come from the body - he was already at deaths door, another little push wouldn't do anything positive or negative for the situation. The two whom were left would grimace, finding themselves silencing as they were instructed. A choice was offered then, they could leave... by whatever method they could manage and never turn back, or they could persist and lose what little life still flickered within them. A moment of thought and the choice would be the latter, the two moving to crawl on bended knee toward the area in which they had first emerged, talking amongst themselves as to how they'd conjure the teleportation spell. Nessity herself would offer an approving nod and turn to re-enter the manor - she was a merciful creature at times, and preferred to leave one alive to suffer their injuries if possible. Death was a way out, it was too simplistic.

         The manor didn't see it this way though, and as they began to chant their spells, two spiked columns would rise up from the ground, impaling the both of them quickly - so much so that not a sound would be heard from either of them. Instant death, instant gratification for the thirsting force that brought life to those cold stone walls. The floor beneath the columns would open as the spikes dropped.. dragging them into the depths below, allowing their blood to mix with that which already surrounded the manor. Out of the three, the third would be the only left.. and he too would find his end in the murky depths beneath, a simple push of a board was all he needed to fall off of the bridge and sink below. The manor rumbled with satisfaction, a faint -glow- taking it as it absorbed what magicks the three had to offer.

        There was silence then for many a year inside of the manor, Nessity being the only to dwell there, though as the centuries progressed many a lover would come and go, the pitter patter of little feet present every so often - an of course, on occasion, the scream of yet another blood sacrifice, on behalf of the vampire and its host."