Lennard Köppen's Story

It was time.

Zosimos was to be officially escorted to Wing City for pre-trial holding. He himself had given up fighting back, confined with a magical device that didn't allow him to commit crime not atrocity, nor anything type of violence. He had been surviving off of rats, and the finger and toe scraps of what Daemala didn't always want. Usually rotted to the bone, but he relished the flesh regardless.

Two large vampires- members of the Forces Vankoryth, strong of blood in their own abilities to easily overpower the weakened he- grabbed a hold of him be either of his arms and wrestled him out of the cell in the Dungeon. Dank drips echoed where his screams failed to reach, before his silence was commanded with a knock to the head.

Oh how far Zosimos had fallen. He could not shape shift. The shadows were no longer his home. He was in his weakest form-practically a mortal, and for the crimes of what?

Daemala wasn't here, and for that he was glad. None of the Sangue di Bistreo were present, though they'd be at the trial. Whose side would they take? Their ancestor? Or those who accuse him of what?