Spardia (human form) The Slums weren’t all that unusual for Spardia to visit. After all, it was where her more favored siblings happened to frequent for secretive meetings and the like…plus it was a rather nice change of pace to be somewhere that was generally of uncaring nature. Murders happened, kidnappings too, people starved…and no one batted an eye. So when a young lady waltzed in with a small posse of canine companions she earned hardly a glance.
And that was good considering her newest endeavors. After a brief meeting with the Blood Bard known as Kanozan with her story of family betrayal and her own agony, she had been introduced to his lady friend. Or, as it more properly stood, his Goddess friend. Ryzar, the Goddess of Mutilation and Torture, had laughed as she bestowed upon Spardia the book of Blood Tomes. The very book that had begun the blood mage movement in medieval time; now in the paws of a jaded, slighted heart. Spardia had read it greedily as if every word filled her hungry soul. Henceforth she had made many trips to the Slums in search of those foolish enough to be allured by money…that they would never receive.
The innocent but greedy souls had given their finest gift to the young and lovely lady—their blood. And oh the things she had been able to learn with it—the skills she was so near mastering it made her very core ache for just one more body in her shallow grave and one more soul on her conscious. The more blood she bent and transformed to her will the madder she had become—even now her ice blue eyes had but pin-pricks for pupils as the adrenaline of the hunt filled her mind.
There was something besides a willing body that caught her attention however; the sight of a building now far off simply melting from the skyline. The young creature angled her head curiously at it, short cropped silver and grey hair dipping lower with the action. She changed course towards the silently fallen building, waving her three otherwise silent companions away. There were only a few here who might be capable of such things…and she would meet them at long last alone.
When she happened upon the scene it was almost a beautiful sight—only those red tendrils held the wrong captive in their grasp and the wrong vampire lay broken on the ground. The younger men, from the looks of them seated right next to her father, were his sons as well. Brothers, half or otherwise, that she had never met. How predictable—the old man was doing well to spread his filth throughout the lands.
She desperately wanted to speak, to call out to them full of prideful challenge and dare them to deny how mighty she was becoming—how far she had brought herself alone after all these years. But it seemed so ill in timing, at such a pivotal moment where everything might break apart by even a whisper from the unexpected. So instead she stood there; red cloak looking sleek as if it were made from congealed blood, slender black boots upon her feet and an equally black gown underneath the cloak. She crossed her bare arms as she surveyed the scene of her parents being so beside themselves with worry and rage… and do you know what?
For the first time in years, Spardia cracked a genuine smile. Oh, how she wished to make them howl with her new abilities, her self-made redemption.
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