Introduction - Azrael's Ghost


Azrael was dead, to begin with.

There was no record of his burial in any public office or clerk's files, as it had been a clandestine venture between herself and her son, performed under the cover of a cloudy night, but Rose had seen the stake lodged in his heart with her own eyes, and run her fingertips through the rivers of gore spilling from his severed neck.

Azrael was definitely dead. Of course, he had for some time wandered through life with chilled blood and the unbeating heart of a vampire, so one would think that his travel to the grave was a short journey, but not so for the people who missed him.

Rose certainly felt the misery of his absence. They had been friends, it seemed, for lifetimes, and lovers right up to the fateful moment that their relationship had been consummated in the ill-fated, abbreviated marriage. She never stopped wearing his ring, despite the occasional disapproving glances from her son - the silver circlet remained, always, just below the surface of her leather gloves.

Oh, but for someone whose heart was so tender in this one regard, she was encased in steel on every other front. One would be hard pressed to find a more greedy, ruthless slaver in all of Rhy'Din, determined to take what she could of humanity, to buy and sell souls like so many shares in pork bellies, as though it were her regal privilege.

The emerald dagger points sparkling in her eyes appeared to challenge every free man's very right to exist, and the lush cupid's bow of her lips seemed always just on the verge of curling back over fangs that would devour a slave at a fancy. Years of living a soulless existence had drawn in the hollows of her cheeks, carving fine, patrician curves from the sculpted ivory of her skin. Even the flaming tendrils of hair that, on another woman, might have crackled with hearthside warmth, on Rose only seemed to blaze a threatening heat, tinted just to the angrier side of red. Her bloodless features could chill any man, mortal or otherwise, to the bone, and could not be thawed, even by the warmth of Christmas cheer.

That's not to say that she couldn't be pleasant when the occasion presented itself. On the contrary, her venomous gaze often found peaceful coexistence with a tranquil smile, displaying a charm to coax the very stars from the skies with a fluttering of her lashes... when it served her purposes, that is, to lure some new property, some weak-minded soul into the vortex at the center of the spider's web.

In spite of the occasional cherubic guise, no man ever dared to greet her on the street with a wink and a tip of his hat; they scurried on by, keeping their eys lowered for fear of garnering her attention. And the courtesies afforded other ladies? Having doors held and drinks offered? Eloquent love sonnets written in her name? Not for her.

But, frankly, she couldn't have cared less. In fact, she enjoyed the look of terror on the youngsters' faces, reveled in the knowledge that hers was a name that mothers whispered to their children at night, to frighten them into staying safely abed, relished the manner in which the weak and the old scuttled out of the way of her brazen, swaying stride, and the way that every particle of light seemed to retreat when she walked into a tavern.

The Carollers

Once upon a time, on Christmas Eve, of all nights, while all the rest of Rhy'Din was out celebrating, or resting cozy by the fireside with their families, Rose sat in her office at the Consortium estate, poring over the reports of the booming slaving house. One could almost see the dollar signs dancing pinwheels in the emerald of her eyes, as the numbers on each successive page skyrocketed higher and higher. Trading in human flesh was her business... and business had been good this year.

Even from within the dark heart of the estate, she could hear the wind screaming against the stone walls outside, carving the night air with its chill laughter. The first snowfall of the season had not yet come, though judging by the clouds swarming the sky, it threatened to lay down its first dusting of powdered peace any time now, perhaps by morning. But for now, the baying winds were her comfort, the bone-chilling temperatures her ecstasy.

Th' three brief knocks were th' only warning t' Kae's supple form slippin thru th' doorway, pullin a large wreath o darkest green holly leaves wi' him... settin up 's brightest smile an loopin th' wreath in spinning arcs 'round 's wrist. A flash o silver 'round 's other wrist shone jus as brightly as 's grin.

"Merry Christmas Rose-luv!"

"Oh, surely you jest." With a roll of her eyes and a twitch of her lips, she slammed a rose quartz paperweight down atop the ledgers, and pushed away from her desk, rising in a trademark serpentine and flowing towards him. Her nose crinkled in distaste at the sight of the wreath, and she twittered out a string of words so clipped they might have been expletives.

"Merry Christmas, indeed... What a lot of nonsense!... What utter rubbish!"

"Aww.. poor Rosie dun believe in Christmas?" 's smile ne'er faded, mayhaps grew a little more playful, a lil predatory as 's hands closed 'round either side o th' wreath. Wi' that as somewhat o a barrier held b'tween them, 's steps advanced on her, menacin in a way wi' a threat o spirit an cheerfulness.

"E'en if'n nothin else, 's an excuse t' have some fun."

"Ech..." Lifting a gloved fingertip, she motioned him to stop, with an expression that said, 'Another step closer with that wreath, and you'll find yourself eating it for Christmas dinner'. "Besides, how can you find it in your heart to have *fun* at this time of the year? You're fettered enough..."

At that, her arm snaked out, and slender fingertips wound through the tangle of holly leaves, plucking a spring of the prickly delight and tucking it carefully into the top of his collar, then giving his ear a tweek for good measure.

He didna really fall back any at that slight attack, but didna advance anymore either..... yet. "Ahh.. there is that, but 's of no real consequece, e'en now. An anyhow, what reason've you got t' be so grouchy? " Th' wreath dropped down t' 's side, still firmly cletched wi'in 's slender fingers, an th' free ones lifted up t' flick th' air inches from her bare neck "Yer free enough."

Well, she could hardly argue with that, and so her only recourse was to fall back on the one word that always seemed to sum up what she thought about life, the world, and people in general. "Nonsense."

"Least ya could cheer up e'en a little. Dun hafta be more morose than usual just 'cause of a season"

"What else can I be?'' she retorted. "Thanks to all the big corporations of the world getting together and latching on the that "wise men bearing gifts" scenario for all its worth, I now have to buy everyone I've ever met a gift, and in the end, all my hard-earned fortune will go right down the drain. Ugh! If it were up to me, everyone who goes around spouting off about a merry Christmas would be boiled in cranberry sauce, and buried with a stake of holly..." At that, she stopped cold, as if suddenly thinking better of the stake idea. "Well, boiled, at least..."

"Rose-luv!" Simply taken aback.. literally, he took a step back at that, th' wreath again takin up space 'tween th' pair in lieu o a shield.

"Kaelen," Rose retorted, with a smirk that hung just on the verge of impatience. "Enjoy Christmas if you like, but leave me free to celebrate in my own way..."

As jade orbs perused about the chamber, no a wreath, no a drop o festive red and green, no a smidgen o snowflake. "Dun look like yer celebratin much o anythin in here... "

"Oh... if only you knew...," she purred. Her gaze drifted from him for a moment, and turned in apparent perusal of some crack along the paneling, but her eyes were distant, glazed over in the contemplation of her plans for a new pet, who was at this moment being bathed and groomed in her slave quarters. "Not that it's any of your concern, of course. But all the same, so long as you leave me out of it, I wish you a pleasant holiday, truly," her voice devoid of any sincerity or warmth, or even tonality, "not that it will do you much good. You'll still be owned at the end of it."

"An jus who says bein owned is no good?" Blonde brows perched high up on 's brow in silent demandin, tho there's no way 's gonna get a satisfactory answer t' that'n. "I fer one, havin seen as many Christmases come an go wi'in a pixie's lifetime, e'en despite th' munbojumbo religious applications tha really do no good about here, think quite a bit about th' yuletide. If fer nothin else than a time fer mos people t' be a little warmer on th' inside, a lil more happy, a lil more open t' that hug their friends jus wanna give 'em." An which th' distance closin 'tween 'em might suggested she's about t' recieve. "So owned er no, ya c'n count on me t' celebrate."

"Hmmph... ," she replied, somewhat restlessly, plucking at the tip of his chin. "Keep that speechmaking up and we just might suspend you over the foyer - we could use a public address system." With a dismissive wave of a gloved hand, she breezed past him, slipping her grasp around the doorknob and flowing back out of the way, to offer him a way past.

Missed 's chance there.. ahh well. As she turned, 's own semi drooped posture immediately straightened, an wi' a tug at th' hem o 's leather vest, swiveled t' trail on those slick heels, pausin at th' doorframe. "No e'en gonna come upstairs fer cookies an milk later?" 's face stretchin inta th' cutest pout he c'n manage.

"Good evening," she whispered, her smile nothing if not tranquil.

"'s a pity, really. Gonna be lotsa chocolate if'n I have anythin t' say about it." He darted forward t' offer a lil peck on that porcelain cheek, an quickly stepped away. "I do hope we're still friends, an since I'm th' cheerful one round here, I'll jus be wishin ya a Merry Christmas anyhow."

"Good evening," she whispered once more, that serenity beginning to crumble around the edges.

As he sneaked out th' threshold on always bare feet, "An a happy New Year!"

"Good evening," the lull of her whisper seething into a hiss, her eyes narrowing to green glass splinters, and she slammed the door behind him.

As soon as 's out of seein distance, swiveled about, an wi' a swift dart an a lil faerie magic, thrust a tiny icicle into that door, an hung th' wreath he'd been carryin on it.

"I don't know where he gets it, I can't imagine what he finds to be so chipper about," Rose muttered under her breath as he passed, "...but it's nearly enough to make me ill... and that's saying quite a lot..."

((Note: The text above is a collaborative effort between myself and Kaelen Reed's mun.))

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But her peace was not to be long-lived... as soon as the happy-go-lucky slave had skipped out, another rapping came at the door, and being in the position to open it once more, she did so, expecting to see Kaelen's face and to hear one more entreaty to come celebrate. Instead, she inadvertently allowed passage to two insanely jolly little men - short, with little apple rounds for cheeks, and wispy, frosted beards... not elves, but rather gnomes, judging by the coveralls peeking out from beneath their woolen ponchos and mufflers.

"Morkai Consortium, I believe?" squeaked the taller of the two, drawing himself up to his full height, an officious three feet, and clutching a ledger book to his chest, along with a black felt bowler cap. "Have I the pleasure of addressing Mrs. Morkai?"

"Vaenom Morkai disappeared years ago," Rose sighed somewhat dryly, her lip curling in distaste at the pitch she sensed was coming. "Unless, of course, you're referring to his son, and I was never married to either of them."

The two gnomes exchanged a confused glance, and then the leader turned to address her once more, shoving silver-rimmed spectacles up to the bridge of his nose as he craned his neck.

"But... erm... we were referred to *this* office... ah, well, no matter... we have no doubt that Vaenom's generosity is well-represented by the remaining members of the Consortium," he put forth, as bold as ever, his partner meanwhile wringing his hands anxiously. The shorter, silent fellow had begun to study their surroundings, and while the taller one prattled on, he was inching back towards the door.

"Generosity?" Rose crooned, a molasses smile finally emerging on her features. "Why, as a matter of fact, I *do* share Vaenom's sense of generosity..."

With that, she lifted her hands from her waist and advanced a step, twiddling gloved fingertips in midair, in a gesture of greedy delight.

A pair of bespectacled eyes widened, and beneath foamy whiskers, his mouth formed a tiny "o".

"But... but... in this festive holiday season...," he stammered, trying desperately to remember the spiel, "...in this time... at this time of the year..."

Rose took another step forward, fingertips wriggling like spindly spiders' legs, and her smile remained frozen in predatory serenity.

"Th-the poor... there are so many poor people in Rhy'Din... out in the cold... no food... " Finally, he had the good sense to snap out of his stupor, stepping back nearer to his partner, who clung to the door frame by now.

"What's happened to all the slaving houses?" she purred, a torpid sway carrying her forward. "Have they all gone out of business?"

"I wish I could say that they had...," replied the gnome, shaking his head mournfully. Clearly, nervous as he seemed, he *still* had no idea where he was.

"Oh!" Rose gasped, lifting a hand to her bosom and glancing to the heavens. "You startled me, at first. I was afraid, from what you said, that something dreadful had happened to stop them in their useful purpose. I'm very glad to hear it.''

"But what an insidious price one must pay for the deceptive comforts of slavery! A few of us are attempting to raise money, as a gift for the Poor, to house and clothe them that they may not have to capitulate to the local slaving trade in order to find shelter in this time of the year."

Dropping her hands to rest at the front of her thighs, she crossed one sleek leg before the other, taking one step, then another, and closing the distance between herself and the transfixed gnome, who persisted with his pleas, in spite of the way her tongue flicked out along the curve of her upper lip, like a Serengeti cat about to enjoy a meal.

"*My* dungeons are quite cozy, I assure you..."

"But... but... many would rather *die* than submit to the collar..."

"Theeeeen," she hissed, bending at the waist and leaning in close, to take the gnome solicitor by his lapels, as she quoted another famous villain, one of whom she was very fond, " 'they had better do it, and decrease the surplus population.' Good evening, gentlemen."

At that, her eyes flashed wide, and the two gnomes must have been able to see the gears turning behind them, as she took a mental measure of their collar sizes, because they both suddenly dropped their ledgers, scrambling over each other in their haste to get out of the room, and the patter of little gnome feet, and the dwindling cries, like kittens on helium, could be heard long after they left the front doors of the estate banging behind their retreating forms.

With a satisfied smirk, she righted herself, and glanced around at the floor. Like any good slave, the office boy had anticipated her wants, and had already dropped to his knees to collect the discarded ledgers, and the few scattered greenbacks that had been left behind.

"How very thoughtful of them," she purred, shifting from one side to the other and smiling with demented glee. She was rather proud of herself, and suddenly in a far better humor than she had been all evening.

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Meanwhile, outside, the air temperature continued to plummet, and the winds battered at upper story windows. Elsewhere in Rhy'Din, great carriages were traversing the streets, carrying great men and theur families to holiday dinners in great homes. On a downwind street corner, a gang of ragged young boys huddled about a bonfire, and their ruddy faces, made old before their time by the harsh realities of street life, were touched with a rare cheer as the reflections of flames danced over their features. At the Red Dragon, a host of regulars could be counted on to ring in the spirit of the season with rousing song and toasts all around, and the shops and stalls of the Rhy'Din Marketplace, still bustling at this late hour with the trample of last-minute shoppers, were hung with holly and sprigs of mistletoe.

And even in the front of the Morkai Consortium estate, one of the least welcoming strongholds in all of Rhy'Din, a crowd had gathered, braving the weather, and the reputation of this ominous house, determined to usher in the yule with the sweet harmony of Christmas Carols...

~ God rest ye merry, gentlemen; let nothing you dismay ~

Sweet voices rose into the air on the wings of angels, penetrating even the stone walls of the estate with their treacle. At the first few notes, a loud clatter arose from within the front halls, as a pair of stiletto heels rushed across the tile floor.

~ Remember Christ our Savior was born on Christmas Day ~

-- WHAM! --

The front doors swung back on their hinges, and Rose appeared in the portico, backlit by the guttering torches of the foyer, her arms lifted to rest against either side of the door frame as she seethed, hissing at each successively sugary verse.

~ To save us all from Satan's pow'r when we were gone a-stray ~
~ O tidings of comfort and joy, comfort and joy! O tidings of comfort and joy ~

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