The morning air in Blackwood was thick with an eerie stillness as Darius, cloaked in the early morning dew, carefully navigate his way to the Inn where he had taken refuge. His steps were deliberate, each one calculated to mask the injuries he bore from the recent confrontation – a confrontation he hadn't anticipated. Aria, Thorne, and Gabriel had launched an unexpected attack, a violent convergence that he barely escaped.
Greeting the Innkeeper with a practiced nonchalance, Darius ascended to his room, closing the door behind him. Alone in the sun lit space, his mind revisited the near-capture. A wry smile curled on his lips. "Those fools nearly had me, they are a match for me? If I wanted to kill them they would be dead." he muttered, surveying the damage. His arm, still marked by a deep unhealing wound, serves as a tangible reminder of the altercation. "Oh, fuck! Fuck! they definitely used vervain," he yelled in agony.
As he rummaged through a nondescript brown bag, Darius extracted a small vial containing a red, powdery substance. Taking a handful into his mouth, he grimaced as the transformation took hold. His eyes turned a deep crimson, and veins on his face seemed to writhe beneath the surface. The pain, excruciating at first, gradually subsided, leaving only a lingering sense of relief.
Moments of respite passed, and Darius, now composed, made his way to the dining area of the Inn. There, a subtle awareness pricked at his senses from the far end of the hall. A man wearing a black hood covering most of his face kept looking his way.
Unfazed, he ordered the maid to bring him chicken fingers and honey lemon juice.
Inhaling the aroma of chicken fingers, he reminisced about his human days when they were his favorite. Satisfied, he sipped honey lemon juice and generously paid the maid. She observed the untouched chicken fingers, noting that this enigmatic guest doesn't eat food, but drinks a lot.
A plan unfurled in Darius's mind. He stepped with purpose, drawing the mysterious presence into a meticulously chosen alleyway. Swiftly, he attacked, unveiling the hooded figure's identity in the sunlight. Recognition flashed across Darius's face as he stared into the eyes of the man he had just cornered.
"Seraphina sent you, didn't she?" Darius accused, his voice a low growl. The mysterious man remained silent, a chilling reminder nudged at him that Seraphina has a penchant for cutting off the tongues of her human slaves. At one point he heard that she keeps the severed tongues as souvenirs and rates them according to length and thickness.
In this moment, faced with a mute informant, Darius found himself at an impasse, uncertainty clouding the path forward.
Darius felt an urgent need to know the contents of the messages sent to Seraphina, and the mystery swirled in his mind like an unsolved riddle. Scanning the surroundings for any sign of a raven, he found none, prompting him to guide the mysterious man to his quarters at the Inn. Once inside, he presented paper, ink, and a toothpick, urging the stranger to transcribe a summary of the messages sent to Seraphina. The air in the room hung heavy with suspense as Darius made a solemn promise that the man's life would be spared in exchange for this crucial information.
The grand hall echoed with the muted conversations of high-ranking vampires, their elegant attire contrasting the stone walls adorned with ancient art paintings. Seraphina, regal and poised, presided over the assembly from her ornate throne. However, the air was thick with tension as she asked who amongst is responsible for the unsanctioned attack on Ipsich.
Among the gathered vampires, Roald the Cleaver sat with an air of nonchalance, his defiance evident in the subtle curl of his lips. Seraphina's eyes narrowed as she scanned the faces, and when her gaze landed on Roald, an ember of frustration ignited within her.
"Roald," she intoned, her voice cutting through the murmurs like a blade. "What treachery have you sown in Ipsich without my command?"
Roald, undeterred, met Seraphina's gaze with insolence. "Why wait for orders when swift action yields results? Soon Ipsich would be ours and the mighty Blackwood," he retorted, his tone dripping with defiance.
Seraphina's nostrils flared, and the atmosphere crackled with tension. Rising from her throne, she descended the dais with a grace that belied the storm brewing within. As she approached Roald, a silence fell over the hall, every eye fixed on the unfolding confrontation.
"You insolent fool," Seraphina hissed, her eyes ablaze with centuries of authority. "Do you dare undermine my leadership, Roald the Cleaver? You are not above my commands."
A murmur of anticipation rippled through the assembly. Roald, unfazed, stood, meeting Seraphina's gaze with a brazen smirk. The defiance in his eyes fueled the ember into a roaring flame.
Seraphina, however, would not tolerate such insubordination. In a swift movement, she closed the distance between them.
Her words, a venomous cascade, relentlessly berated Roald's every action, exposing the vulnerabilities of his arrogance. Mocking him, she taunted, "You're losing in Ipsich; my informants there confirmed it. Do you believe you can effortlessly sweep in and conquer a war? You're nothing more than a perpetual loser, destined to remain so until your last breath." The charged air crackled with tension as Roald, refusing to yield or apologize, retaliated with the utmost viciousness, declaring, "You're nothing but a wretched whore who deserves to be roughly fucked hard and taught a lesson."
The hall bore witness to a fierce collision of wills and powers, the energy swirling like a tempest around the combatants. Seraphina h the upper hand. With a masterful display of her prowess, she deftly encircled her fingers around Roald's neck, snapping it with an effortless motion. Ensuring a swift and decisive victory, she cleanly severed his head from his neck, unleashing a splatter of blood that painted the scene in a vivid, macabre manner.
A sardonic smile played upon her lips as she positioned Roald's severed head at the center of the hall. Seraphina's eyes surveyed the stunned assembly, her gaze piercing through the silence. "Is anyone else feeling lucky this morning?" she challenged, her voice a sharp blade cutting through the hushed air. The fear that held the vampires in its grip extinguished any flicker of rebellion, leaving the hall in a tense stillness.
Without waiting for a response, Seraphina adjourned the meeting with a regal nod and retraced her steps to the throne.
Her authority permeated the air, settling palpably as she resumed her seat—a symbol of unwavering power. With a decisive command, she directed one of her guards to dispatch a message instructing the soldiers in Ipsich to retreat.
The grand hall, once filled with the whispers of dissent, now hung in an oppressive silence. Seraphina's message was clear – defiance would not be tolerated. With an air of finality, she rose and swept out of the hall, leaving behind a subdued assembly to contemplate the consequences of challenging the supremacy of their leader.
Seraphina, her chambers enveloped in a bright glow that morning, basked in the aftermath of her confrontation with Roald the Cleaver. A sense of triumph pulsed through her veins, evident in the victorious glint of her eyes. As she stood by the window, a raven materialized on the horizon. Attached to its feet was a piece of paper, a missive that would shatter the complacency she had just acquired.
Snatching the paper with a mix of curiosity and trepidation, Seraphina unfurled its contents. The words inked on the parchment darkened her countenance, disrupting the victorious air that surrounded her. It was a revelation that cut through her like a chilling wind, and her mood soured with every passing word.
In that moment of disquiet, Elena entered the chambers. The noticeable shift in her lover's demeanor prompted her to inquire about the cause. "What is going on, my queen?" Elena's voice held a note of concern.
Seraphina, holding the damning piece of paper, met Elena's gaze. "Your maker and former lover have found another lover," she declared, her tone laced with bitterness, "and now he is distracted."
Elena's shock briefly stole her words, yet she held onto her composure. Seraphina, in her continued tirade, asserted with unwavering steadiness, "Granting him a second chance was a mistake. You convinced me it was a good idea, but now it doesn't feel that way.
He doesn't comprehend the gravity of his mission, allowing distractions like a young man to cloud his focus. We have an opportunity to manipulate an Alpha King to our advantage, and he is squandering it. I entrusted him with this mission because he's the only vampire capable of concealing his nature among humans for a long time."
Elena asked, "but my queen,how do you know this?
Seraphina's frustration simmered beneath the surface. "You think I would send him to Blackwood without keeping my eyes on him?" She laughed, the sound devoid of amusement. "You, of all people, know how I despise surprises."
Elena, grasping the gravity of the situation, pressed for a plan. "So, what do we do now?"
"I will send for the boy he is currently obsessed with to be eliminated," Seraphina declared, a vindictive spark in her eyes. "That should keep on the right trackm."
Elena, a note of caution in her voice, reminded Seraphina of the complications their previous attempts had entailed. "You remember how well that worked out the last time."
A determined glint flashed in Seraphina's eyes. "Those savages didn't do a good job. But this time will be different. I have my slave on it. That boy has to die."
Scribbling something hastily on a piece of paper, Seraphina attached it to the raven's foot. With a swift motion, she released the bird, watching it soar into the blue morning sky, carrying the weight of her vindictive intentions.