(Image: “Face B” from Kateverse.Com)


First came Izobella, the storied traveler of dimensions, lost to time itself. She settled in a dimension once ruled by King British, and later marred by Lord Blackthorn. The resident vampire cult residing in the dungeon of Wind got wind of her, and sent her an invitation she could not refuse.

She was tested and then given the never-ending-job of keeping the undead of Vesper cemetery severely pruned, and the tunnels to the Lost Lands closed. Izobella did not argue with such a easy task, and found time to build her last tower, using ensorcelled undead as labor before erasing them from the physical plane (once again).

It was winter when Izobella, meditating over a crucible of flame on the roof of tower, received an insight from beyond. She saw the girl in the flame: tall, slim, cunning. If she didn’t know better, she would have thought the girl descended from her blood. But she had stubbornly refused procreation, feeling it detracted from her necromantic powers.

“I will turn this one, and she will be my heir,” Izobella swore. The flames cackled, and the winter winds howled.


Learning the habits of the thief wasn’t difficult. Thieves are at their worst when hunger and need drive them, taking great risks was an expectation at that stage. A ship was expected in the harbor of Vesper, just your usual shipment of fine cloaks, leather armor, finely made swords and a box or two of good wine. Izobella had a feeling the girl would make her move that very night, and so laid plans to trap her.

Izobella waited in the hold with the shipment, some of which had already been moved to a storehouse. But the best part of the shipment, swords made of rare ore, yet awaited the hands of the thief, for they would fetch a larger price than anything else aboard.

An hour after midnight, the Devil’s hour, there came a careful footfall topside, which in its course, wound its way to the entrance of the hold. Izobella drew her cloak around her, willing the shadows to drink her before she sprang.

Tall and svelte, Ilyana stole towards the shipment of swords, taking the greater darkness of Izobella for a wine stain upon the wall. Drawing a sword from a box, Ilyana drew in her breath, not prepared for the beauty of the blue ore it was made from.

“By the greater power of Hecatia, I bind thee to servitude,” Izobella ordered, suddenly emerging from the shadows like a wraith, her impossibly powerful hands griping the thief, one on her windpipe, the other encircling a wrist.

Izobella watch Ilyana struggle in the torchlight. The command had come off powerful and clean, sundering the thief from her own will. Pressed against the hull of the ship,  she fought the invisible hands that had mastered her mind. For every struggle, the captor needled her with her own memories of personal failures, disappointments, soul-crushing depression. The current failure was pronounced quite loud in Ilyana’s mind, finely making her slacken in the fight against the foe.

“Kal Ort Por,” Izobella ordered, her voice strident and proud.

Where there were two women struggling against each other on the ship, there was now only the creaking of the hull in port, and the howling of the winter wind making its way through town.

Author’s Note:
What can I tell you? It does me great pain to say that the Warhammer server really isn’t set up for the thrill of exploration and dungeoning. I decided to go back to roots and play and journal as I play Ultima Online over at the Whispering Pines shard. More to come of course, UO is where Izobella was born in my imagination.


One Response to “Ilyana”

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: