Topic: Generous Gifts and Gratuities

Miss Moira

Date: 2010-01-27 19:18 EST
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OOC Note:

This is a thread dedicated to the many? engrossing, well endowed hands reaching out to the aid in the Institute?s ambitious purposes and causes. Whether your gifts be openly beneficial or more of a subtle ?under the table? sort of manner, please describe and place them here.

Also, knowing full well the sordid nature of the Institute and it?s many faces, both students, educators, and founding members, not all of these gifts may be positive additions, or be from folks advocating the Covenant?s presence.

Whether with us or against us, post your ?gifts? here. Images found or created are welcomed and encouraged! :)
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Miss Moira

Date: 2010-01-27 22:25 EST
The first of Lady Samovila?s gifts to the school would come in the form of live, eldritch muscle; a dozen of her most fierce and clever Canidae Superior. They were large, proud creatures heavily schooled in their purpose as an extension and representation of their Mistress? power.

Moira only controlled valuable creatures, and valuable they would prove. These wolves would have the ability and authorization from the vampiress herself to phase between the bones and sinew attached to their triad of forms; man and woman, wolf, and the brutish, berserker beast in between. Though not all of the twelve held the age or power to service all three forms outside of the moon, most did. One could not send all their best soldiers to guard and leave their homestead unprotected, now could they?

Marrok Wulfric, lead thrall of her wolves, would serve as a personal emissary between the Covenant, more specifically the Institute, and his mistress, now that the vampiress knew that Lord Arkon deemed her pet a proficient enough creature for service.

Each wolf would come equipped with their weapon of choice, be it sword, axe, cleave, or morning star. Most of the lycans did not choose the extension of blunt or blade; their bodies were honed and weaponized things all on their own. Razor appendages, serrated teeth, gaping maws, lightning swift reflexes, fiendish strength, years of rigorous training, instinctual drill, and near infallible sensory organs. Moira was immensely proud of this carefully chosen regiment, and her pride showed in the flesh scoured mark of her household on the upper right bulks of their biceps.

It was only Marrok who held the vampiress? mark over the space of his heart.

The wolves would serve as muscle and guard, trespassers and harm bringers beware, the wolves are deathly loyal and are immune to many common or complex series of mind altering spellwork; there is not much to break the bond between ethereal mistress and servant.
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Raithmoore

Date: 2010-02-01 16:01 EST
The creak of brittle bones heralded the arrival of the small group of lesser liches. Though these beings were infinitely less powerful than Raithmoore and heavily controlled to keep them in line, they held their own power and would put it to use in whichever way the Shaitan wished it.

They came clad in armor and finery of their past lives, tarnished and lackluster, but the malice in their eyes shone bright. These were creatures of evil and hate, but also of patience and intelligence. Though resigned to submit to the will of Raithmoore and thus to the will of the Shaitan, the liches were powerful entities who harnessed a variety of dark magics with considerable skill.

One stood taller than the rest, his cracked skull topped by a tarnished crown of gold and jewels, crimson flames burning the hollow sockets of his eyes. He was called Azakul, and he bore a letter from the Lich King Raithmoore describing their purpose to the reader.

These unholy beings are my representatives and gift to you to use as you so please. Know that I have taken a great interest in the Covenant and its exploits, consider this an act of faith and a promise of what may come of our alliance later on down the road.

Use Azakul and his liches at your pleasure.

~ Anatar Raithmoore
Lich King of L' Che'el d'lil Elghinyrr

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Arkon Daraul

Date: 2010-02-02 20:41 EST
The judicious flicker within ailing saffron gems would scour the sinewy beast that bowed before him, his vacillating introspective a subconscious demand for the lingering inspection. The ossein length of uncovered fingers strummed across the ashen plateau of his desk, a common melody that accompanied such menacing contemplation.

The value of the Lycanthrope gifted to him by the decadent vampiress, Lady Moira, was as plentiful a boon as could be found. The sheer ferocity of the creature could not be denied, and its intense training at her malevolent hand meant that the beast was obedient and compliant. He was certain the werewolf would be a sanguinary sentinel if instructed, though had little use for him directly; the accompaniment of one such as he would be more of a hindrance to his insidious itinerary, through no fault of his own.

The softest of movements from the margin of his peripheral would exhort his gaze from the subservient obeisance of the creature, the subtle stray bringing the wan lamp of shimmering oculus to the slumbering form of his alluring thrall, Avitu. Her persistent ambition was eclipsed only by her unwavering desire to appease his every command, and while the industrious lengths of his malicious designs had stolen him away for the past few weeks, her efforts were far from unnoticed. She had completed her second trial with more vigor than the first, which said something considering the fervor in which she executed the original series of challenges. Her accomplishments would result in the surging ascension onto the next plane of dark gifts he had for her, but beyond that, the devout aspiration that she showed deserved something more.

"Marrok." The antediluvian inflection of the Dark Mage echoing within the vaulted chamber of his study. "For the time being you shall take on the role of guardian to Avitu. Until otherwise commanded, the illumination of her life shall mirror yours. Keep it a glow, and yours shall remain lit. Allow it to expire..." He let the implication hang in the air with only the solemn dread of stolid countenance as an answer to any question regarding the unspoken meaning.