Crits are encouraged. Bear in mind this manuscript was written around a year and a half ago, and though it has gone through some serious editing, I always miss out bits and pieces like stupid grammar mistakes and the like.
Edit:// fixed up some narration and descriptive errors.
Unknown Location, Lymuria, 2007
Edit:// fixed up some narration and descriptive errors.
Unknown Location, Lymuria, 2007
The room was dark, as it always was, and as he always remembered it to be. Darkened and tainted, just like the creatures that ruled it.
Denometry Strike shifted in his seat, the balcony rail in front of him laid with the intricate designs of the various Symbolists that had engraved them. Wooden symbols nearly jumped out at him, darker than the gloom surrounding his eyes.
The tall balcony structure on which he sat curved around a single, white circular stage. Come to think of it, the chairs on which he and the others sat were more like thrones; the designs carved into the old wood depicting tales from each of their respective clans and species. It would have been a nice touch if an arrogant, selfish, but ultimately greed-inducing, drunken power did not still seep from within the grains. When he had first sat in this very chair, their voices spoke of death and decay, rotten and bloody times, deception, deceit and corruption. Tales of what his kin had done dripped into Denometry's mind. It swam with their whisperings as their fingers trailed down his spine, told him what he had to live up to. Fear had no hold on him now, not even a slippery grip on his thoughts. Fear had been driven out back then.
It nearly drove him insane.
He felt another presence pop into existence about two chairs down from him, into one of the bends of the semi-circled balcony. Tensed muscles relaxed. Merely one of the Necromancers, or that Reaper, showing off again, he decided. The Reapers always disgusted him slightly, what with their tendencies to, as it was so easily worded, ‘play with their food’. He chuckled to himself at the irony – after all, he was a vampire, and no better. But he usually didn’t have a choice in ripping apart his meals. They hunted for the fun and thrill of it.
“Gentlemen.”
The call for silence was not needed, as not even a hush of voices– or a breath – broke it. Although the quiet silence gave way to a rather more interested, listening one.
“It has been a long time since we last met here. Almost a decade.”
“An eye-blink…” someone murmured. Denometry frowned distastefully. Such ignorance he thought, his eyes barely picking out the Reaper’s features. Unlike the other figures in the room, with cowls and dark clothing covering rigid, stiff bodies, he had curled into his chair, a lazy hand drooped over the arm of his seat and that irritating smirk just visible.
“Whether that be or not, it has been a decade too long,” the voice continued, coming from the arc of the semi-circle. “Some of you may be relatively new to our… organization.”
A silence.
“The situation has deteriorated since we last met. An undesirable resistance has halted purging of this filth-ridden universe. Rest assured, those who have remained faithful to me, or have accepted me, will be greatly rewarded. You have all heard of my latest… project, shall we say?”
Murmurs of agreement passed around the room. Denometry couldn’t help looking up to the top of the chairs, and to one of the figures seated nearest to his leader. Said figure merely flicked back its blonde hair, and the vampire picked out a smile on its face. Unease stirred itself inside of him; never had something so small unnerved him so much.
“However, that will have to wait for another, more suitable time. Let us now set the foundations for our purification. Our plans, if unhindered, will go forward within a week. Denometry and Estrapade will begin their work, and we’ll start. Soon.”
Denometry bowed his head deeply at his Master’s words. “Yes, my Lord,” he murmured, touching a hand to his forehead. Likewise did the man beside him. Estrapade.
“I do not need to warn you of the consequences of the failure of this task?” his Master asked, and the pair murmured a, “No, my Lord.”
“Excellent. You may leave to prepare.”
Denometry bowed his head deeply, before touching one of the symbols on the outside of his chair arm. The darkness welcomed his fingertips, wrappings its cold fingers around his back and hands, eating at his dead, pale skin. What once caused him to convulse with disgust and forced him to lean against the wall in light headed nausea merely sent a slight shiver down his spine as he opened his eyes into one of the long, well-lit corridors of the Ferriodre Courts. Estrapade emerged as graceful as ever from the wall, some of the shadows still clinging to the back of his arms and legs. They faded and stripped off him almost remorsefully as the Necromancer turned to face him.
“To London?” he asked in his quiet, cool voice. Denometry nodded once, before striding down the corridor purposefully, checking the knife hidden in his sleeve lining.
This was where it would begin.
And he would reign victorious, Denometry was sure of it.
