Nocturne
It all ended, abruptly, as far as my research can show. Hours pouring over the scant few manuscripts available. What I can best describe for you, dear reader, is that the sky was filled with hell fire. The world burned, white ash filling the sky, the ground burnt. The sky driven asunder. Them the Beasts came, and savage aberrations in the mockery of human flesh, but the worst of all was the Wolves. Werewolves is the name humanity gave them, fueled by a need to consume humans, they spread like a plague. All of these demons. Destroying the last vestiges of hope. Save one, Vampires, led by the Elders of their race. Together they, and the surviving humans, took the war of survival to the horrors of the night head on. Blood baths extending years with countless lives lost. But in the end, Nocturne was forged from the fire, a beacon in the night. Nocturne, the moonlight glow of our two kindred's intertwined together, for it is all that stands between oblivion and us.
Now the Elders you ask, the enigmatic progenitors of all Vampires, the source of their very existence made manifest. They where the first of their kind. There might have been more of them, but only three is there recorded definitively, but that is just conjecture. There is Vlad, the general and stalwart as stone; Marcusz Aurelian, the philosopher and patron of the arts; Amelia the warrior and deliverer of justice. All three of them alternating in their duties as rulers. Though they do not proscribe themselves as monarchs. One ruling while the other two slumber. Only more than one being awake in times of need. It is through their wise hands we have endured.
But credit must be given where it is due. Nocturne's strength flows from its people. The Nine Provinces that make up our great realm. A land constantly beset by threats within and without.-Excerpt from the Personal Memoirs of former Court Historian Vergil.
April 27th, 800.
In the eight-hundredth year since the founding of our glorious realm, the province of Morhemia was stricken with rebellion, The Cult of the Savior Christ, a radical religious group that had festered in the Province has taken up arms in secession. At a time when the Lords of Morhemia are constantly beset by the Winter raids of the Lycans and Germanic raiders. Count Vaclav VIII of Praha and several barons converted to the Cult gathered their levies around the ruins of Prague. Around the fortress that stands in the middle of the ruined city. The stone rubble being the only reminders of a civilization long since reduced to dust. I traveled with the main army led by all three Elders personally. Arriving on the 27th of February well before the snows had melted away. Before the rebels deemed they where under immediate threat. They where wrong. I must go for now. -Letter to Anja, Vergil's wife.
The Siege of Prague, the most recent siege of large magnitude, over 25,000 soldiers took part on the side of Nocturne alone. The Rebels it was estimated to number over 30,000 for they had taken their wives and children into the vast fortress occupying the central portion of the ruined city. The snow crunching under foot by the countless boots and armored shoes of the besiegers as they stormed the outer ruins. The fighting was fierce and bloody as the Provincial levies and Guard fought their way from ruin to ruin. Across galleries, half sunken bridges, room to room, even staircases half worn away were fought over savagely.
"AAAAAAAHHHHH." Vergil snapped out of his literary sermon as a roar came from his rear. Stylus in hand he whipped around, the shortsword on his waist not drawn, his armor heavy on his under developed frame. Vergil's eyes widened as a mail festooned man with a great brown beard swung an axe. Thunk. His left eye erupted into red mist as an arrow lanced into his skull. The man died grasping the shaft as Vergil whirled around once more. A Guard archer had saved his life, but had already moved on, as the din and cries of battle carried on. The battle had divulged into groups of rebels and loyalists fighting a moving war through the bewildering streets and ruined neighborhoods. Vergil could see Guard archers firing at rebels running in the streets at ranges no more than twenty meters distant. Both groups could even be in the same structure, but on different floors, fighting in demolished buildings whose original purpose was long since lost. A crackling whipped over head, Vergil look up, in time to see a barrage of flaming shot fired from the trebuchets and catapults sitting just outside the ruins. Some of them where solid shot that burst through walls and collapsed towers. Others had caskets and jars filled with Hellfire. A substance originating from Konstantia. A substance that burned hotter when water was poured onto it. It was known as Grecian Fire by the Konstantian's. Showering flame across courtyards and into buildings. The cries of men as their flesh bubbled and sloughed off caused Vergil to blink in terror.
"You. Boy. Stay out of the way."
Vergil felt an armored hand grasp him firmly on the shoulder, spinning him around, it was General Nieman. Nieman was a human and with him was a company of Guardsmen who fanned out to clear the remaining rebels in the area. "But I--."
"Get out of here. Go back to the command tent!" shouted Nieman as he shoved Vergil out of the way. Beginning to bark orders to his soldiers. The Siege had gone on since late February. Fighting was still heavy and the rebels had ample food stocks to last a year. Vergil hurried to the rear. Using his briefly gained knowledge of the streets to find a plaza. The cobblestones decayed and almost governed fully with grass. A tent had been pitched and surrounded by Death Dealers. The vampire soldiers loyal solely to the Elders. They eyed Vergil as he entered the tent. It was large, able to comfortably house over fifty individuals, tables and chairs had been set up, some covered with maps or other dispatches. But it was the voices in the tent that gave Vergil pause. He froze.
"Your Historian returns Marcusz. With his head still attached." The voice of Vlad held the slightest sign of contempt. Contempt for his peers bookish pets. Perhaps not pet, but pupils perhaps, either way Vlad held a disdain for the notion. But didn't bear any ill will to Vergil personally. Marcusz stood across from Vlad, his helmet off, crimson hair down to his shoulders. His green eyes held a friendly semblance to Vlads cold indifference. "Come. Take your notes." said Marcusz as the elder turned away. Vergil scurried up to the table awkwardly and began scribbling.
"We have begun to reach the river in several more locations My Lords and secured the last stone bridge standing. Nieman expects the ruins to be completely cleared within a day or two." said a Guardsman in the livery of a Captain.
"Tell Nieman to consolidate and prepare for the final assault on the fortress itself. Is the siege equipment ready?" replied Vlad. The captain nodded but spoke once more. "There is something else My Lords. The raid by the Death Dealers last night on the rebel outpost in the southern district, well, we found something."
"Such as." said Marcusz now curious. The soldier looked at both Elders for a moment, "Sewers."
"We need more than shit to end this nuisance Captain." sneered Vlad.
"I beg your pardon My Lord. But we think we found an entrance into the inner courtyard of the castle through them."
"I will go." The female voice, sultry, came from behind Vergil. Causing the historian to jump, dropping his stylus on the table, and drawing a chuckle from Marcusz while Vlad looked annoyed. Vergil took a step to the side. Bringing into his vision the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Amelia. The female Elder. She was armored, blades at her hips, crossbow slung over her back. Vlad nodded, as did Marcusz, but Vergil made to speak. "Yes you may go." Marcusz answer was all Vergil needed. The historian chased after the rapidly receding back of Amelia.
The Sun had sunk beneath the clouds when Amelia, with Vergil in tow, arrived at the sight of a raid carried out last night on a rebel outpost within site of the castle's Southern walls. The bodies smeared with dried gore and coagulated blood still occupied the positions they had been when life left them. A gathering of at least twenty Death Dealers, a company of Guardsmen, and a gaggle of knights and accompanying men-at-arms from the provinces were there. Amelia was led down to where the water of the river coursed by. A slick stone staircase led down to an entrance. The gloom was impenetrable. Amelia walked in with the soldiers following. Vergil clutching his journal as he desperately tried to use the nearest torch held by a soldier to write. For while Amelia and the Death Dealers did not require light to see in the dark, the human soldiery and Vergil did, so the vampires led the way. Moving through the labyrinthine underground. Vergil had heard stories from soldiers about the underground places in Prague. For fighting had drifted down into the sewers as well in other locations. Mockingly called the 'Underworld War' by the soldiers of Nocturne. Vergil didn't exactly want to get stuck in a close range melee fight.
The group kept walking, the slimy walls, the stench causing soldiers to cough. Eventually they arrived in a circular damp chamber. Dim light came down in a straight shaft. Water dripped from the ceiling. Amelia squinted upwards. Making hand signals to nearby soldiers, gestures to Vergil that seemed random, a series of crossbows where produced. Amelia made ready as if to pounce when a Death Dealer spoke up. "Please my lady let us go first." Vergil had learned a few of the soldiers names during the two month siege. The Death Dealer in question was named Reinhardt and his closest compatriot to his left was Beaufort. Amelia straightened and stepped back. Both dealers moved near the shaft in the ceiling just large enough for a few people to crawl through at the same time. Both leapt into the air and grasped the stone with their hands. Their vampiric grip and strength allowing them to climb unaided. But it was still exhausting work as they tried to keep quiet. That much Vergil could tell. Amelia leapt up into the shaft right after followed by other Death Dealers. Vergil peered trying to get a better look. Seeing Beaufort take off his helm to peer over the edge of the stone lip. Before putting it back on and rolling over the edge into the unknown. Reinhardt and Amelia followed a second later. That was when the human soldiers bearing crossbows moved to the lip and fired. The bolts replaced with grappling hooks that hooked over the lip and allowed them to clamber up while the Death Dealers one by one leapt up.
Vergil grunted with the effort, his journal held between his teeth, his stylus tucked within his belt. Grunting as he pulled himself up, sounds above erupting, he felt claustrophobic. Using this to propel himself with renewed vigor he reached the edge of the lip. Crack a bolt skittered as it struck the stone next to him. They had climbed up through an empty well, Vergil could only assume what the ancients had built it for, but the walls of the castle reared up in all directions. Cries from all directions growing louder at the surprise of the Nocturne forces erupting into the center of the castle became known to the rebel garrison. Vergil tumbled over the lip onto the grass of the courtyard. Looking about himself he saw humans versus human, vampire versus human, and corpses littering the courtyard in increasing frequency.
Vergil saw Beaufort swing his axe, a rebel soldiers head rolling from his shoulders; Reinhardt stabbed another man through the neck with his sword. Others fired crossbows at point blank range followed by drawing their main weapons. Amelia was in the thick of it all. Her sword slicing through limbs, necks, and puncturing torsos. The sky illuminated by a thousand flaming arrows as the assault began by Vlad and Marcusz outside the castle. Vergil moved, crouching, moving from cover to cover taking it all in. The horrific cries, the gush of blood, and the beautiful fury of Amelia as she tore through rebel after rebel. Vergil was captivated. A grunt to his left, Vergil fell backwards, a sword buried itself in the dirt. A sword came over his head, catching the foe in the fore arm, causing the man to scream. A second blow opened up the enemy's jugular. Vergil looked up to see Reinhardt, "Watch yourself." The vampire dashed off as the fury of battle spread from the courtyard up to the ramparts and the walls. Nocturne soldiers still streamed up out of the shaft while it seemed others clambered over ladders carried over by raft from across the river. The rebel archers and crossbowmen delivering withering fire, but caught off guard by the fight in the courtyard, were pressed in two directions.
"WATCH OUT." Vergil heard someone shout as a flaming projectile the size of his torso struck a nearby tower. Causing chunks of masonry to plummet into the courtyard. Squashing those caught in this deadly shower to bloody pulp. Vergil drew his shortsword, clutching it close, as he ran to the nearest group of soldiers. Seeking to surround himself by comrades. He was no fighter. But he felt the urge to be closer to Amelia. So he ran in her direction. Weaving through battling soldiers. As he was about to reach her, a whirlwind of death, a howl pierced his heart. Vergil looked up towards the gate of the main keep. Flung open he saw figures dressed in the livery of the priesthood of the Cult. Except they where hunched over, jerking about, their bodies changing right before his very eyes. It was a hideous display as their faces elongated, fingers into claws, fur sprouting from their skin. Savage eyes and maws.
"To me! Take them head on!" bellowed Amelia as the soldiers of Nocturne closest to her followed her into a furious charge. Lycan, Vampire, and Human met in a clash of steel and claw. Fang and tooth. Vergil watched as Amelia grabbed a Lycan by the throat, heaved, and smashed it maw first into the ground. Her blade stabbing it through the heart. Vergil watched as Reinhardt opened a Lycan from neck to groin with his sword. Watched a Lycan tear a man's arms off while another swiped is claws to decapitate another soldier. It was something Vergil never wished to see again. Something that would haunt him to the end of his days.
That's when he saw it, a Lycan prowled the upper battlements of the gatehouse leading into the main keep, Vergil watched in horror as it leapt from its place of hiding. Smashing a Death Dealer aside as it charge bodily into Amelia. Amelia flew ten yards back to crash next to Vergil. The historian held out his sword timidly as the beast roared in. Galloping with its front claws and back paws. Its jaw able to hold a human head easily. That's when he felt in a pain in his side, followed by a feeling of weightlessness, he crashed onto his stomach. Looking back he saw Amelia standing, fangs bare, roaring in challenge. She was disarmed! The beast would surely rend her from head to toe! It widened its jaw as it leapt with such speed you'd miss it if you blinked. Amelia rolled, coming up behind the creature, and with a savage scream leapt onto its back. Grasping it's upper and lower jaw she snarled. Vergil watched as this angel of death shattered the beasts maw, ripped off its lower jaw, and struck it over the head with it. She looked at the historian, and Vergil swore he saw the trace of a smile.
Horns blew along the walls. Marcusz and Vlad had taken the outer defenses and Vergil could see Marcusz among the upper battlements fighting his way along the upper ramparts.
The Siege, and the encounter with the Lycans, sealed the fate of the situation. While Marcusz sought clemency for the children and women, urging them to be examined, and if proven to be not Lycans be able to leave. Vlad and Amelia would hear none of it. Vergil was forbidden by Marcusz to write of what followed. Only that the siege ended in a great victory. No mention would be of the Death Dealers slaughtering all the thousands of innocents cowering in the keep and cellars. Not one of the rebels escaped the Siege.
Vergil would go on to release a history of the 8th Century ending with the Siege of Prague. Followed by self-imposed exile to the Ionian Confederacy. For in the culmination of the Siege Vergil realized one thing.
Nocturne, the vampires, they are not so different from the Lycans in their savagery. The only difference is that the Vampires believe Humans to be their allies. The reality is that they would not hesitate to sacrifice a thousand humans to keep Nocturne stable.-Last Letter to Anja, for Vergil died of natural causes in the Winter of 825.
Valeria, 833 (2833AD)
In the Thirty-Third Year of Amelia's Rule
Valeria, the greatest city in the known world. Stretching up a spur of the Northern-Carpathian Mountains, with plains and woodland stretching south, was a site to behold. Stretching from the level of the plains at the bottom, up the spur to the Nocturnis Mons, The Mountain of Night, the citadel of the Council and Elders over two thousand feet from the plain. The top of the towers reaching 2,300 feet above the plains below, the obsidian black fortifications of the citadel contrasted with the white stone of the city. The golden and silver domes of the Inner Districts, and the Red, blue, and purple domes of the Lower districts. Each district had a slight variation in color and locale. The Artists District which holds the Alchemists Corner was renowned for producing a variety of aromas and devices; the Builder's Guild with its carpenters and engineers worked feverishly; the bankers of Gold-Notch-Alley arrayed with their family crest emblazoned above their doors.
The city was prosperous as the Sun rose to noon. Its bustling activity blocked by the closed windows and doors of the Council chambers. The Council Hall was a grand gallery arrayed in a semi-circle. On the flat wall, facing South, sat the reigning Elder on a simple stone throne, the Court scribe to their left; arrayed before them where the simple benches of the Council and attending Provincial representatives. For the Provinces could have a representative present to voice concerns, but could not cast a vote.
Amelia sat, wearing fine blue silks, her hair braided. She sat with her back straight as the clamor of politicians filled the air. It was an open session. No organized list of items to discuss. Anyone could have the floor and make proposals, civilians could bring petitions, and lobbyists could line pockets. Amelia despised the politicking aspect of her duties. But while Marcusz and Vlad slept it was her turn to act as the chief executive force in Nocturne.
