Another dawn slowly rises over the parapets of the Dreaming Castle.

Watching the shadows fade her eyes change from an icy grey to a deep blue as a strange sadness steals over her.  She looks down at the golden hilted soul blade in her hand, the blood that had graced the blade had long since been absorbed into the swirling darkness of the hungry demonic dagger., though a few drops could still be seen glistening on the form of the golden dragon that formed the hilt.

Her eyes flash to a deep crimson as her thoughts turned to her half brother.  Lord Marcus of Breton. She smiled inwardly as she remembered, and thought The Late Lord Marcus of Breton, and with this thought she caressed the soul blade as if it were a treasured Lover.

Her mind savored the memory of luring the arrogant man to his own bed chambers. How stupid he had been to think he could ever posses her. How easy it had been.  How it had filled her dark heart with pleasure to look into his eyes as he realized he was a dead man.

She closes her eyes as they turn to gold her body shuddering slightly, as she relived the moment her soul blade sank deep into his heart..drinking his blood and stealing his pathetic soul.

He had made one last attempt to save himself. Grabing desperately for the Rune blade he kept under his pillow and slicing her deeply across the shoulder. Opening her eyes she looks at the wound. Her eyes turn black and she winces slightly and watches a small trickle of blood seep from the wound.

She cursed herself softly for her carelessness. For it would take much to heal a wound from the Rune blade. But she thought it was worth it none the less.  Her eyes turned grey as she again was lost in the sweet moments of Lord Marcus's death.

He had Murdered their Mother for Leaving their Breton home in the High Rocks and falling in love with Prince Valad De'Laurent of the Gold Dragon Clan, and then daring to have a child to him.

A Mongrel child he had called her.

Her eyes turn back to blue with the memories of her childhood. Here in the Dreaming Castle they called her Princess out of respect for her father. But they too thought her unfit to rule. For wasn't she A Mongrel child. Their Mongrel Princess.

Not Dragon, Not Breton. an odd mix of both. with her long Strawberry blonde hair framing her delicate features, her beauty was unmatched. Her eyes showed her feelings like two shinning beacons as their colors swirled and changed with her moods and feelings. She did not act as a princess should act. She wore the soft gowns of femininity when the mood struck her but much preferred the second skin of a catsuit and soft leathers which gave her the freedom to move and fight. She learned to fight with the warriors.  And her magic was stronger than both Dragon and Breton by far.   Her soul was not that of law as the rest of  the Gold Dragon Clan.  But a strange mix of Law and Chaos. Of Honor and Rage.

she opened her eyes again emerging from her memories, turning her mind to the matter at hand. Her eyes turn back to an icy grey.

She knew the Bretons would be here soon.  She knew they would know on finding Lord Marcus's Lifeless, Soulless body that she had been the one who had committed the defiant act.  She smirked thinking how could they Not.  For had she not carved the head of a dragon into his chest before she left and had she not placed a bloody kiss upon his cheek .And as sure as she knew what she had done had been right.  She knew the Gold Dragon clan would hand her to the Breton Mob.

Her father long dead in the Last great Dragon Wars there was no protection here.

Not for her. Not for the Mongrel Princess.

 "Yes" she thought " tis time to go."

Wincing slightly in pain she tosses her dagger into the air..It vanishes.  Sighing softly she takes on final look around her room.

Then suddenly in a flash of Gold, she is gone.

And so began her adventures in the Land of Rhydin.

After wandering aimlessly trying to find one who could heal her injured shoulder she met Jerrede Silverleaf and His Warlord Rowan Arikel. They healed her shoulder and gave her the family she had so longed for. This longing blinding her to their true intentions..their true nature that was hidden behind a facade of honor and friendship.

The Warlord Rowan become her best and greatest friend..and then her greatest betrayer...
Saved from death by her oldest Chylde FroznFirez...and Her Sister Stormy ever at her side...
She now has trust for few and love for even less..
The head of the traitorous warlord resides on a pike; one of many that line the battlements of Nightfirez Keep...
She had changed much...and earned power beyond her dreams....
Sired by Malakite who though thought to have gone to his final sleep is searched for still by Night. While searching she diablorized one who sought to challenge her,
and  With the Siring of a garou became 3rd generation Tzimisce. Kheribum of the Clan Daemonus Angilingus,Regent of the Free Sabbat, High Priestess of Pain and Suffering in the Basilica Diabolique. Ruler of the Neither Worlds
the nine plains of Hell; this is the home and World of the Daemonus Angilingus..
"Abandon hope all ye who enter her world..for something wicked this way comes"
and Ruler in absentia of the Great Lord Callidus of Imyrr of the D.I.E Forum

Sire to her twin sister Stormdream, FroznFirez, LunaFirez, RagenFirez

A collector of Daggers she owns the Soul dagger Galarath
 She also carries two gold daggers with Ruby spyders embedded in their Hilts. These were the daggers of a lost friend. And a Golden Dagger forged with Love and Blood from her beloved sister Stormdream And a Golden dragonhide razor whip rests losely coiled at her hip.

Her eyes change colors with her mood swirling iridescence hiding a deep seated humor and dark amusement that views most with bitter contempt. A shadowed wraith in black enchanted dragonscale armor that shifts across her slender form with each movement..The demon held within restless in it's confines.

 

They  reside in Nightfirez Keep
beyond the Lake of  The Eternal Soul,
in a stronghold no enemy can breach.

Enter our halls if ye dare...
Enter freely and of thy own will...
and may thee leave some of the joy that thee bring with us...
That is ...if we ever let thee leave at all....

Uninvited guests are usually given an  "Icey"  reception in the dungeons.

"That which hath nae killed me hath made me stronger..and that which did hurt like Hell."

"If all Men were Just there would be no need for Valor" (Agesilaus)

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