The Crimson Moon
Volk'ath Tsh'avakhiin imposed herself to the court, her unique brown hair scintillating under the glow of the dimly lit candle torches, comfortably hooked onto the wall. Bright blonde highlights were visible on the end of her fringe, her hair was tightly cradled on both of her shoulders. She was tilting her head slightly - as if focusing on something but it is still unknown. Her face was astute and wondered the air, she looked strange, recognisable. She took one step forward, the huddle of people stepped back cautiously, unbeknownst to their terrifying fate. Volk'ath lifted her blade, bejewelled with rare and precious minerals and encased in a sharp golden lining. The air divided as her blade was plunged downwards, dismembering one of the people in the process. It was in her nature, and ancestral line, that she is swift, shrewd and obstinate.
They were the Voruk'na - they wore ebony coloured assassin attire, with the slightest tint of azure that was easily visible along the neckline. Their apparel was softly woven and carried an intimidating symbol on the left breast, the 'Voruk'na Tsh'haviisk' emblem. It was a angelic white colour that eased the eyes, it was in the shape of a Malgomaroth. The Malgomaroth bared acicular teeth, serrated and curved for a finer and deeper pierce. It had bifold heads which were both of a reasonable size; the heads were out of proportion with it's body.
One of the Voruk'na, a female with a feeble stature, stood forward, steadfast accompanied by a male. He was larger in stature, with broader shoulders, his face was shrouded - covered by a mysterious mask. The woman clenched her sword tightly, breathing anxiously. A bead of sweat rolled down her forehead, giving the impression of her nervousness and fear. The male swung his blade to the left aiming towards Volk'ath's shoulder - the female quickly following but reversing her swing to the right. Volk'ath turned to the right, countering the female and pushing her blade forward, through the stomach of the woman and piercing the male. The both fell to the floor with a thud.
Suddenly, as if an ominous aura began to shadow Volk'ath, the group took yet another step back. Another few, tried to succeed in an attempt to kill her which ultimately failed. Within a few minutes, limbs were lying across the floor, craniums crushed or split into two. Blood painted the walls and Volk'ath's face. She grinned slightly to herself before kicking a survivor, who in vain was dragging himself away. The grin quickly dissipated before she left the dilapidated sanctuary.