Our Dry Angels (Invite only by request)

[Sinister]

It's the fourteenth century of the common era. Men huddle by lamplight through dark shadowy cities and sail by wild stars. But in their numbers, their friends and the lists of names around the world are the monsters of bad dreams. Forever remembered in laughed-at tales as caricatures of creeping misshapen things condemned to ever hunger for living blood. In those hidden faces exist the society of Our Dry Angels...

But those monsters...do exist. Those creeping misshapen nightmares normally were leashed in like hounds by the vampires...but what happens to the world when even the cruelty and malice of the vampires can't keep these beasts from the throat of the earth... What happens is that John Wight, the oldest of all vampires, pens a note, scrawled fantastically on folded toughened vellum paper. Copies of the note are sent around the world...

One was sent to the Lorraine manse in Wasserlundt. The manse was without a light in it’s windows nor a puff of smoke from any chimney. In it’s many hundred rooms, stirred no single creature beyond mice, rats and bugs. Sitting, unfolded on the desk of Jean Francois Lafayette was the very same note. Scrolled on it’s toughened vellum with large looping text was the following:

“What I pen concerns all ye peoples of the moon and righteous governors. Let no governor stall. The diet of our nobleborn must meet all in Stanes. Let those, seas away, sail ye now without fail. Let those miles away begin their entourage. We can, none of us, hold back our own numbers now. I shall receive all our brethren with oaths of safety. Fair ye well, until we receive you at your journey’s end.

-W”

Scrolled on a personal journal, also on the desk was the following:

“Entry September, 3rd,
Dearest Lorraine,
Wight calls and I must away. I wish you to stay, do not follow. Keep our foresworn at your side at all times no matter where you go. The attacks on us must stop. The diet of governors will find a way. All shall be well. stay true to me, my dearest love.
-JfL"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Napier was a small Wasserlundtian caravel ship. It was black from bow to stern. It had been sighted bobbing along the coast of Wasserlundt and was currently wanted for impoundment concerning charges of piracy. Somehow…the boat always seemed to slip away in clots of mist and sea spray.

Now the helpless little ship was being forced through billowing and swelling seas, pelted with rain and shoved with wind. It was stuck. In trying to maneuver the narrow channel between Wasserlundt and Sundenen it was caught between the sharp Rocks du Lorelei and the Wasserlundtian coast. It was bobbing and rocking back and forth like a splinter of driftwood trapped in a tide pool with no particular place to go.

Captain Aaron McKuen was a big fella, rough and swarthy. Six-foot-three with a wiry brown and gray beard. Born in Sundenen fifty years ago, he had made his coin purse from salvage and commandeered national property. He smelt like the grog and limes he kept on his person. Braces of pistols tied to ropes were dangling off his neck, shoulders and waist. His rough hands spun around the wheel of the ship as lightening flashed and rain smacked the deck. He was belting out rounds of “The Dreadnaught”, an old shanty that he would sing when the sea was mean. But cruel sea or not, there was a laugh behind his eyes that may have sounded through the broken lyrics of the song.

No other shipmate was on deck at the time. ‘They’re all bilge-rats…yellow to their cores.’ He thought moments before he began his hearty song. Superstition from the storm and the one or two deaths days ago. The boys below deck only heard of the ‘bloodless fevers’, but McKuen knew what it was and couldn’t care less. He had a big sack of gold in his cabin that he had counted and recounted. They could fall like flies, one for every gold coin he had. He dared the roar of the bruised dark-blue storm with shouts of song.

“Now the Dreadnaught is sailing the Ocean, so wide,
Where the high roaring seas roll along her black side.
With her sails taughtly set for the Red Cross to show,
And away in the Dreadnought to the west wind we'll go!”

“Derry down, down, down derry down.” Came a heavy accentuated voice in song. McKuen turned; his scarred wet face, roughly shocked. A pale porcelean figure smiled, shrouded in black habiliments and pitch jet hair that dangled to his shoulders.

“Yar shudn’t be above deck, Jean!” The raspy salt’s voice warned. The man’s face was beaded with rain, a plaintive smile on his lips. He lifted his palms to the skies.

“But it’s such a beautiful night.” He said, growling restlessly with his accent above the storm.

"'Tis more'n I can speak ta." The pirate said. "Beauty bein in tha eye of the beholder 'n all."

Jean nodded appreciatively. "It's true." He said, happily. "But do you think it's beautiful?" Jean said, teasingly.

"Speakin as a sailor…It's been prettier." He said, laughing away.

“Where is my little Marilynn?” The vampire cawed out against the storm. He looked around, his smile on the way out. “Where oh where is my little Marilynn?”

“She’d be in tha hold, tryin ta keep dry.” Jean wrung his hands and drifted away on the shaking ship towards the cargo hold.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Huddled under a pendulous lantern, was a small blond Wasserlundtian woman. Her adorably young and mousey face was rested on the side of a dark red Casket. She looked so frail and perfect. Jean had selected her for more reasons than her brains. She had two perfect light Wasserlundtian breasts that radiated from under her white linen nightgown. Her small bare feet were dug into the wood of the floor, trying to grip it and keep the cakset from sliding around as the ship shifted and tilted. Scratched into the polished wood of the casket were the untidy childish words: “I am best left where I lie, May God Forgive.”


It was the slinking figure of Jean Francois Lafayette that caused her to start with a sharp panicked breath. Having seen him, she seemed to relax a little. Her gorgeous messy blonde hair capped and framed her delicate pale peachish face. Although she was relaxed, she seemed visibly nervous.

“Jean.” She squeaked in a far heavier accent than Jean. “Zie ship…iz it going to break?” She asked, fearfully. Jean didn’t say a word, he just walked into the circle of lamplight. His face was silhouetted and looked…stark. The bulging and slimy timbers inside the hold, didn’t speak of promise.

“The situation isn’t it at all promising.” Jean admitted, smiling lightly. Jean had seen the outside, the situation wasn’t at all promising. For him to have admitted that giant understatement, was a bad sign and it showed on Marilynn’s tiny face. His smile widened reassuringly at her. “We’ll be okay, you’ll see.”

She nodded wordlessly, trying to keep hope on her face. Jean stepped closer, where Marilynn could see the whites of his eyes. His perfect pallid bone-white face shone like it was sculpted out of soapstone. His face was…as she had always known it to be, smiling sadly. He stood over her and reached down with his hand, stroking her cheek.

“Marilynn.” Jean called out, as if reminding her. Her eyes shot up, terrified. “My spies tell me that Lorraine Manse is empty.” She began to shake her head, denying an accusation that hadn’t been spoken yet. Instead of gripping the timbers with her feet, she started to back away from Jean. Jean’s eyebrows lifted with a searching gaze. “You told Lorraine where I was going and gave her my other pirate captain Bambatu.” It hadn’t been a question, it had been a indictment.

“No.” She whined with her accent. “No…no, no!” She cried, shaking her head. Jean smiled with expectation, like a cat that was holding a mouse by the tail. His fingers gripped her shoulders like iron vices and he dragged her to face him. She wasn’t speaking she was just shaking her head pleadingly. “I vouldn’t do dis if I didn’t care.” She begged.

Jean petted her head and hushed her. “I know. And I wouldn’t do this if I didn’t love it.” He said, baring his pointed fangs. He brought his head close enough to smell her. Her face was wide with terror and she tried to gently push him away. Jean loved her smell, the simple smells of soap and wild herbs. He opened his jaw and inhaled her scent, causing her to moan in dread. Right below her jaw-line on the nape of her throat were two old scars.

Jean felt the tips of his fangs press against the soft flesh, he heard Marilynn’s fast-beating heart and the quick susurrating ingress and egress of panicked breath. A quick clamping bite and Jean’s ears were filled with the delicious groans of pain and despair of his lovely familiar.

The coppery taste, appetizing and wondrous beyond the skill of any cook, flooded Jean’s mouth. It tasted so warm. Jean had been preying upon the cabin boys and hold workers, but he had gotten carried away and one or two of them had died. It was a depressing result. None of them seemed to be able to satisfy…they spent so quickly and they broke like fragile little toys. He didn’t mean to kill.

“Pleaze!” Marilynn screamed, urgently. Tears began to race down her cheeks and come from deep sobs. “You’ll kill me.” She sobbed. Jean pulled himself away from her neck. The corner of his mouth was red with a little trickle of her blood. He kissed her eyelids, leaving two red marks. Her fingers went to her neck and pressed against the wound, which must’ve smarted sharply. But she wouldn’t die, she wouldn’t turn into one of those hateful savages…Jean needed her here and now. He admitted to himself that he didn’t care that she told Lorraine and helped her escape the Manse… It was just one of his excuses…she knew it too.

“Vie…vie do you hate me...?” She asked, mostly to herself. Jean wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. He could hear the rumbling of the storm outside. He could feel the sick motion of the ship. Laying there, holding Marilynn’s anemically pale body close to him like a small child would it’s favorite teddy bear, Jean’s mind drifted softly over thoughts of the Diet of Governors…over John Wight…Over Sundenen’s shores that they might reach in a ship or floating atop a coffin...

[Zell Dincht]

Governor Lord Nailim Renres sat at the rear of his parlor. Windows open, the cold nights breeze enticing him to awaken from his quiet propensity. He looked at the letter on his desk, let out a long sigh and then set it down.

'This is going to be quite troublesome... I feel it,' he thought to himself. He knew that there had been much upset in the world as of late. Someone was bound to call for the governors at some point... now if he didn't hate them all, he might've thought it was a good idea. There would be much he wouldn't say.

The lights in the parlor flashed as the storm outside grew harsher. The door at the rear opened and his grace's familiar, Kai stepped through. He was a handsome man whom possessed an uncanny lust for the dark arts.

Governor Lord Renres turned and awaited his first meal. The young man made his way through the room towards his master: a smile on his face. The reason he had been chosen was, for the most part, his thrill for being fed upon. Kai would wriggle and scream with ecstasy, it only made his grace push the human's limits further and further.

His grace moved towards the boy and in one smooth motion took his arm- ran his teeth up it to his neck. They found their familiar gateway to life. When Kai let out an exasperating sound, somewhere between a moan and pure anguish, his grace opened his eyes and released the familiar.

"Come Kai," he wiped the small trace of blood on his mouth on the young man's cheek, "we have much to prepare for."

\\

The vampire Governor was in his council room speaking with all of his advisors. They were being instructed to maintain order as per the usual count. There would be no need to inform anyone of his departure, no one would notice anyways. There would be five of his grace's guard to accompany him out to the island where Stanes existed, the legendary city which housed Grand Castle Wight. And of course his familiar would be joining him as well.

The journey would take but two days. Who knew how long he would be forced to stay in the company of those Vampires who he destained so much.

\\

As the small caravan began to cart away all of his grace's required fare Nailim was busy penning a note to his commanders. They would need to know where he was going, and also to be prepared should he need their assistance. You can never know just what will happen when the diet of governors come together.

Kai was busy packing the wardrobe of his grace and there was little else to do for Nailim until their departure. He would be cloaked in his carriage for the bulk of the journey. They would need to take a ferry at one point: likely not until the second night of their journey.

Nailim walked stiffly into the wardrobe that housed his vast collections of habiliments. He looked his familiar up and down, thinking back to the day they had met... only four years anterior to this very night.

It was midnight... the hunting hour preferred by his grace. There was a small village on the southern shore which yielded the strongest of people. They were hardy and resisted his grace's bloodlust with all their passionate strength. He would venture down to feed once or twice a year... something of a dessert you could say. He had been high above the human village waiting silently... patiently for some fool to be out alone at night. It was much easier this way... he could keep coming back and no one would realize what was actually happening to their fellow denizens.

That was when Kai had stumbled out and about... he was alone, carrying a book and candle. He was scrying with some artifact... Nailim was perplexed at the humans behavior. He was far too young to possess any real skill with the magix of the world. It took decades for humans to develop any real proficiency with the craft.

Noting his hesitation, Nailim knew he needed to strike now. He had traveled days for this... he would enjoy every last drop of the human's life force. He sprang from his perch and landed silently a few meters behind him. He stalked his prey, cape billowing in the cool breeze.

"Good evening," he whispered, "what a tender thing you are." The young man was startled and quickly turned about. Nailim was shocked by the young man's countenance; however, this did not keep him from his task. He lunged at the boy pinning him to the ground taking his sweet time, attempting to instill as much panic and fear in his prey before making his kill. The adrenaline was always a nice touch to the rich blood that flowed through human's veins.

When he sensed the panic in the boy's heart he pierced his neck and made haste with his feast. Only, the more that he drained the man of his life... the less scared the young man became. He was enjoying it! Nailim stopped. Blood dripping from his teeth he looked into the half-dead eyes of his prey. There was something very baffling about this human. He decided to not finish him off. Instead he gathered him and flew him off to his keep.

That had been the start of having Kai in his life. He'd been Nailim's second familiar.. the first.. well...

"My Grace," Nailim came back to the present. "My Grace, are you alright?"

"Yes, Kai." He was ready to move onwards... to make way to Stanes. "Come, let us depart." Kai made a small bow and grabbed the last of the bags they would take.

'What a world I live in.' Nailim thought before leaving his chambers.

[Xeim]

It was a dark room with dark furnishings. The maroon curtains were pulled as tightly closed as they would go, if not tighter, and the only light in the room came from a single, well-used candle. The candle was resting upon a small, mahogany table with a single drawer attached to the bottom of the tabletop. Next to that table, in the shadowy, cobwebbed corner, was a mirror with a tarnished, silver frame and frosty glass. Reflected in that cloudy surface was the elegant figure of a pale, young woman of medium height and deathly beauty. Her black hair was braided and pinned up in a tight, flawless bun. Piercing emerald eyes were carefully inspecting the reflection as if they needed to memorize ever inch of it. Pale, ivory hands reached up and smoothed over the skirt of a long black dress, and straightened the red corset that was worn atop it.

"Terrance," the reflection said with a low, careless voice.

"My lady," responded a light, male voice whose source could not be seen from the large oval of glass.

"It is finally done?" the woman continued, turning to gaze at other angles of her attire.

"We have just been informed."

"Mm...then arrange passage over the mountains. We must head north." And she disappeared from the mirror.

"It is already arranged, Lady Arabelle," the man said softly, and he bowed as his mistress approached him.

"Up," she growled softly, and pushed his head up with her neatly manicured hand. With a malicious smirk, Arabelle let her soft palm cup the brown haired man's cheek. "You..." she whispered, and as she did so the man's breath caught, and his brown eyes closed slowly. But Arabelle only chuckled, and she let her hand drop to her side as she slunk arrogantly from the room.

~----~

The late evening air outside was frigid, and the surfaces were icy. Arabelle adored the cold; it was one of the few things she would ever admit to enjoying. But she was soon to leave this southern paradise behind, as the Northern lands beckoned. With an irritated frown, Arabelle began to stroll down the icy streets of her home, Jaatynyt. People hurried along the streets, wrapped in layer upon layer of heavy clothing, while Arabelle strolled along calmly, breathing in the frozen air. Everyone was so frantic, it made her purpose on these streets hard to accomplish.

But the woman was not walking in vain. A few meters ahead of her there was a tall, young man closing up a shop for expensive jewelry. A plain sign above it read "Andrew's Fine Jewelry." Arabelle's frown quickly turned into a smirk as she approached the well-dressed man. He had on an expensive looking suit, and a tall, black top hat.

"Excuse me but..." Arabelle began, and her voice took on a distinctively teasing air, "You wouldn't happen to be Andrew, would you?" The man turned to her and looked at her, irritated.

"We're closed," he said curtly, and began to walk away.

"Yes, yes, I know but...my friend. You see, she loves this shop, and she told me that Andrew was a real charmer." Arabelle didn't need to worry about Andrew being a long dead old man, or even the name of the owner's best friend. No, she would have this man tied around her finger soon no matter what she said. "I saw you come out of the shop, and immediately figured you must be him." She smiled a fake, seductive smile then and looked into his eyes.

She had him. "Well...Andrew...well, yes, I do in fact happen to be Andrew. Did you...?"

"Walk with you? I'd love to," she said with a malicious chuckle. But he didn't seem to notice.

"So, you are...?" He asked as they walked along, and turned to her with an annoying, boyish smile.

"You can call me...Renee," she said, returning the smile. It was always enjoyable to come up with different names on the spot and watch people believe you as you lied to them outright.

"Renee, that's a beautiful name," the tall man said.

"Why thank you. Now, if you don't mind, it's getting late and I'm deathly hungry..."

"Oh, of course, I'll show you to this..." he started, but trailed off as Arabelle started to shake her head.

"Your food doesn't...suit me," she said and advanced toward him. 'Andrew's' eyes screamed that he was getting nervous, but he couldn't run, not now. He was in Arabelle's grasp. The pale light that had blanketed the city through the heavy clouds during the day was quickly fading as Arabelle pushed 'Andrew' backwards into a shadowy alleyway. Her breath appeared in angelic puffs in the icy air as she chuckled up at his now fearful eyes. "I promise you'll like this," she whispered, and leaned in to smell his neck. His smell was that of some old spice...she figured it must be the suit.

He was a little too tall for her liking, though. Grabbing his shoulders, she pushed him down slightly, and leaned up into his face. His breath was coming in short gasps, and his heart was pounding rapidly. "Don't be afraid," she whispered, and pressed her lips against his. He stopped breathing then, and looked as if he might pass out. With a frown, Arabelle pulled away. "Well, you're no fun. Might as well get this over with quickly, then." She leaned into his neck and wrapped her small mouth around it, a smile playing on her features all the while. Her fangs sank into his flesh slowly, and the man's life essence flowed unceremoniously into her mouth. His life became hers, and as he was drained away, she was filled.

It was not long before his pounding heart slowed and his body slumped to the ground. She let him go, and straightened up. With a content smile on her unstained mouth, she looked down at the lifeless body before her. "I'll make Terrence deal with it," she decided, and was just about to leave when she noticed the man's top hat lying on the ground next to him. She leaned down and picked it up.

"Sweet dreams, Andrew," she laughed, and placed the hat upon her graceful head. She held it in place with her finger tips as she walked haughtily out of the alley. The light of day had died, and all around her there was night. Suffocating blackness, freezing terror, and it was only just beginning. Arabelle had a whole, terrifying night ahead of her. She grinned, and this time it was sincere. Oh yes, Arabelle was a creature of the night.

But tonight she and Terrence would depart for the northern lands. She would leave the dirty work of travel arrangements to him; he was always much better at them than she was, anyway. Besides, what use would he be to her if she were to end up doing everything herself?

Still sporting the top hat, Arabelle made her way way calmly back the way she came. She was done feeding for now; she didn't want to fill up on familiar blood when she could be tasting foreign.

It was time for a journey of thrilling terrors, and of course, people to toy with.

~+~

Arabelle and Terrence had soon left the southern mountains far behind. Arabelle insisted upon stopping off at every new country to wonder at the broad variety of reactions people would exhibit to certain...situations. Terrence did not object, though he did often softly remind Arabelle that they probably needed to hurry towards their northern destination. She only laughed, a low, melodic sound, and told him that with the location of their homeland the others would expect them late. And so did their journey go, with more galavanting accomplished a night than traveling.