Draven
I'm Your Worst Nightmare Dressed as your Day Dream
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Draven was not one to usually for wars. Individual, one on one battles, yes, because he could cheat as he desired, using potions and traps that could be carefully thought out. But contrary to popular belief, Draven was no warrior - he had never truly been formally trained as one. Sure, he had dabbled in the art, and was a quick learner, but he had never been and never would be a master. Still, what drew him into the site of this war was that delectable smell. It was better than a hot pussy, wet with need. It was better than the iron tinged perfume of a fear ridden pup whose chest was cracked open and was bleeding out yet still conscious. It was better than a feast of twelve different mincemeat all mixed together, fresh, with savory juices on top… It was better than all of those things all combined together… and it was drifting come from the swampy land around Caidir Olc. His fangs ruptured forth from his mouth, hunger leaping into his throat as he starting to salivate at the thought of ingesting such a delicacy… and without being able to help himself, he allowed his body to follow his nares deeper into Laod Mor. Exposing Draven to that scent would perhaps become the most regrettable error of the Tempests - for beforehand, Draven knew nothing of the rainbows, nothing of how delicious they tasted. But he would soon, or at least would have developed a desire to taste them… And now that he had their scent within his nares, within his mind, he would never let it go. And why was it the fault of the Tempests? Ah, well – the Tempests had drag it to the battle with them, the lingering cologne of each of their wards caressing the tips of their pelts.
And along the way toward the battle, he had found a lost femme, and without hesitating, he focused his vampiric powers upon her and used them to hypnotize her, to turn her into one of his Mesmer‘s. He had ordered her to go forward, to follow him in battle, to fight at his side against his foes no matter what she wanted to do. He wasted no time or effort telling her to hide her emotions – he did not give one flying fuck how she felt or how the Tempests saw her – all that was important to him was that she went against them with all that she had, even though she did not believe in his cause, even if it killed her. Her name was Laenaya – not that Draven would know that for a while – and she was an Ethiopian wolf, and without understanding what was going on, she ran at his side, tears streaming down her face, confused and without a clue as to what was going on. Finally, the pair of them broken through the curtain and his gaze had laid upon the Tempests…and Thackary. Draven felt desire flowing into him at the sight of that brute… his blood already spilled... but then returned his attention to the warriors. He only had experience with them because of Motionless’ little guard dog, Drizzt… Or so he had thought. For he now realized that he was much more intimate with these then he realized - there in front of him was the wolf who had pulled him off of Losa all of those months… Years ago. It seemed that Aindreas remembered him as well, for he spoke Draven‘s name like a curse and had launched at him.
Now, as said, Draven was no warrior, but he was a cunning thing, and it was only that bit of cunning that saved him from his neck being snapped. Aindreas’ plan to throw him into the pond still worked, and Draven roared as he felt the contact of teeth in his scruff. The sheer force of Aindreas’ weight and momentum flipped Draven over Aindreas’ head and toward the murky water, and at the point of release, there was no release… But instead a terrible tearing noise as Aindreas daggers tore through the layers of skin in his scruff. And perhaps he was still lucky, for though he rose Just in time to meet Aindreas’ attack, and though he felt a sharp sting of pain and his bone where did indeed fracture, it was a minor wound compared to what it could have been - it was hardly a hairline fracture, something he could definitely still put weight on and that would not do too much to hinder his movements. Hell, with a few weeks rest would be good as new… It seemed that lady luck was on his side and a prevented him from having his ulna and radius completely shattered by the strength of his opponent‘s jaws. But now it was his turn to counter attack, and attack he would.
With Aindreas below him, his teeth still wrapped around Draven‘s leg, Draven snatched down on the top of Aindreas’ own neck, and pushed all of his weight down trying to force Aindreas’ face into the water. He knew that this was not a good position to actually drown him in - Aindreas would be able to slip out of it eventually, but the vampire hoped to blind his eyes with the dirty thick water, or to block his nares, anything to disorient his attacker, his opponent, his enemy. And then, if he manage to do so, he would keep close and release, taking only single step back so that when Aindreas broke through the water, Draven would lunge at him and try to pierce into his thoracic cavity with his long, hungry fangs. He would be satisfied with any hit, but what he wanted most was to tear long gashes through the intercostal muscles, to hear the fragile sound of air leaving, have a lung punctured… But more than that, he wanted to feel it, he wanted that power over Aindreas heart, over his life…
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Ω Draven Ω Untamed Vampire Ω Pack in transition Ω Azura Ω
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