View Full Version : A Vampire and his Man
((Closed to Vorin))
Somewhere in the dark reaches of the Concordia forest, Jon Walter was lost. The place seemed to be an endless stretch of trees and flesh-rending animals. Several of these beasts had already taken the poor man down while he pursued a sense of direction. There was absolutely no way, Jon convinced himself, that he'd be able to get out of here on his own.
Jon had been walking around for three days and nights since he'd first stumbled into the forest. It was disorienting. Every hill, every tree looked exactly the same to him. And Jon of course had no idea what sort of vegetables were good to eat. He just wasn't equipped to survive in a dense forest. He tripped over giant roots on a regular basis, and had stumbled on spiderbear burrows once too often for his liking.
Yes, spiderbears. Giant beasts that crawled around on eight huge paws, waiting until something came close enough to its burrow (a huge hole in the ground) before snapping down on the hapless victim with its forepaws and ripping bear jaws. They slept a long time though, so Jon had plenty of time to escape once his body was revived. But man, those things pissed him off.
But it wasn't as though Jon was starving. Among the oddities of the forest were dog-sized squirrels, whose fat tails made catching the little suckers a breeze. He'd spent the last three days surviving on raw giant squirrel meat. This was how he spent his third night in Concordia Forest; chewing on squirrel meat and sitting at the base of a big ol' tree. At this point, he'd give anything to get out of the damn forest. 144 years of life had not managed to beat patience into his skull.
The sky couldn't be seen through the thick foliage; all that Jon got were slivers of moonlight through the leaves. As he sat by the tree, the air still and peaceful, the man began to feel a little uneasy. He couldn't sense danger ahead of time like some freaks, but he bet that the feeling was like a weight that grew in a mans stomach. Something was coming.
Jon had never seen anything running around at night. And even when he strained his ears, he couldn't hear anything rustling through the foiliage. But the weight in his stomach kept growing, and was finding its voice. Get out of here! Quickly! It wasn't a conscious thought, it was something deep inside him; something primal. The urgency of this thought drove him to stand. Jon Walter looked around him; even with the specks of moonlight, he wouldn't be able to see shit if he was about to step in it. But the voice urged him on, and the man found himself walking blindly in the darkness of Concordian night.
Moonlight was rare in the Concordia, the forest's floor an unseen enigma to what lay ahead. The stars above were blocked by dark leaves from trees that had been around longer than the cities that sprinkled Corone. The forest was ancient and wild, people and creatures could go undiscovered in it for as long as they wanted. That is, if they wanted to. A new creature slowly emerged from the trees, pushing the branches back with all the might he could muster. His red velvet coat was the first thing one could see in the darkness, a color rarely seen in nature would stick out like a sore thumb. His eyes seemed to have a light of their own as he peered around, limbs heavy with exghuastion and his face lacking its normal luster from the drowsiness. He was Vorin, a vampire and a noble who stalked the realm of Althanas looking to stave off both his hunger and bored. But he was different tonight. For three days and three nights he had pursued an "easy" quarry. The vampire deemed it an easy catch, a slugish human with the qualities of a peasant and the clothes of a beggar. But what was meant to be a quick meal before he made his way to the city of Radasanth quickly turned into a disaster. For the first hour Vorin had been tracking the man, and after that it was all down hill, literally. The vampire had fallen down a dried up river embankment, and by the time he'd gotten up he'd completely lost his barings. And so, for the first two days Vorin tried to leave the great forest, only to end up even more lost, until the third day, when he caught sign of his prey again. That prey was now only a few feet ahead of him, ripe for the picking.
As the chase sat for a quick rest, Vorin let out a soft sigh. He was tired, beyond tired. Death seemed like a blissful alternative to his waking nightmare. His time in the forest had only been woe, humiliation, and pain. From near falls off cliffs, to continued trippings on roots, to the danger of wild creatures, all had affected the noble in some way. "Beasts of every wretched kind have periled me. From polyoped bears, to shrieking birds, even overgrown squirrel have plagued me. And it would be just my luck that it is mating season. I curse animals from having those seasons...and for my boots for being so damn attractive..." He began to rub his temple, attempting to aleviate the pain from his mind, as if to lift the very memories out. But when his prey rose to leave, he knew it was time to end this.
Hungry, tired, and reeking of squirrel love, Vorin prepared himself for the encounter. Normally, he'd play with his quarry, enticing it, creating a little fear, even taunting it a bit. But this creature deserved none of the theatrics, only a quick and ruthless death. The vampire was hungry, hungrier then he had been for a while. His skin was so pale he could have easily been spotted, had there been more light. Vorin made out only the vague human figure, but he could tell it was his prey. The trail of dead squirrel had been easy enough to track in the begining, and clumsy footfalls made many twigs snap.
The noble arched his back as he crept along the trees, trying his best to reach the man's flank. His rapier at his side, he prefered to keep it as a last resort. It usually lost too much blood, and a trained swordsman would react quicker if he saw a sword in front of him. Bit by bit he stalked, his steps as silent as the shadows that fell all around the forest. However, his feet betrayed as a wrongfully placed foot crushed one too many leaves. His position given away, Vorin swooped in a few feet directly behind the man.
Perhaps theatrics had a place in all the vampires meals or Vorin just couldn't reist the urge. None the less, he said the line that had been playing inside his head for the last few hours.
"You sir, are a stupid fellow. You've walked into the very underworld, and now you'll meet death himself."
Jon crept through the underbrush, ignoring the snapping foliage underfoot. Truth be told, he had no idea how loud he actually was as he travelled through the forest. The sounds of the forest floor had long been relegated to background noise. Jon thought he heard phantom noises in the surrounding wood, his body was tense, and his nerves practically shot electricity through his chest with every step. Jon didn't scare easily, but he was nonetheless on the edge of panic.
A root. He felt his foot catch on a thick, knobby loop protruding from the ground, and the countless times he had fallen began to replay in Jon's head. If he tripped now, whatever was after him would get him with no trouble. It was such a childish thought, but Jon would be damned if he let a spook get the best of him. Jon bent down, picked his foot out of the loop, and hopped over it. Quickly.
Before Jon could so much as take ten more paces, though, there came the sound of leaves and grass being pulverized underfoot. And it wasn't coming from him. It was like a fist squeezing his heart, the thing was right behind him.
It must have been the line delivery. Jon was on the verge of adrenaline-fueled panic, every nerve ready to shoot out of his body like a lit bomb. And then he hears something only a complete queen of drama would say in a situation like this. Jon's nerve was soothed, though the hair stood out on the back of his neck. He felt like he could control the release of his fear now. Clenching his fist, Jon spun around to face the thing he'd been running from. He wasn't going down without a fight, and sent that message into the vampire's face.
Vorin was pleased to say the least. No vampiric ability was needed to see the stiffness, or smell the rank scent of fear. His prey knew something bad was coming, that death was following on his very heels. And now it seemed, that death had presented itself as a vision of splendor and taste. However, something in his quarry soon changed. That stiffness, that scent, they vanished all too quickly and were replaced by a new found bravery that only anger and desperation could muster. The vampire was shocked, taken off guard for only a moment, and a moment was all that was needed for the first strike to be thrown.
The noble had not noticed the fist until it was too late, the flesh colored weapon striking through the abyss that was the Concordia and meeting his face. Stunned, the vampire stumbled back, twigs ands leaves crushed underfoot. His eyes grew wide, his mouth conflicted over whether to show anger or shock, eventually meeting on some middle ground.
"How, how could this peon swing at me and I not even take notice!" Finally overcoming his surprise, the vampire quickly moved into action. Steading his feet finally, he arched his back and stuck out his neck in one smooth motion. Unconsiously he'd barred his fangs, the white pearls gleaming with a faint glint of blood from Vorin's own mouth. Finally, he balled his gloved hands into fists, stiffened his legs, threw the swiftest punch he could muster straight at that grotique face, and let out a great roar that only frustration could create. The vampires only intent was to beat this creature senseless, and after so much trouble, he believed he deserved that much.
You give what you get. Jon was about to learn this in spades as he stood in front of the man he just punched. Whoever he'd just hit was pissed. And before Jon could throw himself at the night-stalker again, a fist like a rock flew into his face. Jon's countenance seemed to collapse around the punch; teeth flew loose and streams of blood squirt out of the immortals nose. While the vampire howled, Jon found himself floored, knocked into the dirt.
His face felt like a shattered window, but it probably looked worse. His mouth was all messed up. Spitting out another tooth, Jon felt his rage begin to reach a peak. He hated the forest, hated every damn thing in it, and especially hated everything that killed him. The fucker who'd punched him was just like those fucking spiderbears, and imagining the well-dressed man standing over his dead body was enough to make Jon shatter one of his remaining teeth. Both of them were frustrated and tired and angry.
Screaming with a mouth full of bloody cuts, Jon threw himself off of the ground and tackled his attacker with all the strength his puny mortal shell could throw. Jon wanted to strangle this cockholster in the mud and throw the body into a ditch. Sound and fury were all that could be felt now.
((Bunnying allowed))
The instant that punch hit, the vampire couldn't help but smile. His lips radiated happiness, those fangs just peering out. It was sadistic, even a little childish, the look of a boy who'd just done something wrong and didn't care. Because to Vorin, throwing that punch was like washing his hands of the damned forest. Nobility be damned, even the frilly gloved rich could agree that he'd been through hell. And seeing the man fall, smashing into the dirt, spitting his ivory teeth out, it held some sick entertainment for the vampire. He unclenched his fist with ease, lowering his arm carefully as his eyes watched his prey. Soon the noble's face feigned boredom, though the dasturdly smile remained.
That changed all too quickly however, as his prey got up. The man's eyes almost glowed with heat, his expression reminded Vorin of a corned animal, prepared to face the hunter. The quarry changed, leapt like a jungle creature ontop of the vampire, knocking the very breath out of him as the two fell to the ground.
As the two grappled through dirt and mud, Vorin was mortifed that his clothes were being even more dirtied. He'd already been through hell, his limbs tired with exhaughstion and his head dizzy with hunger. Now the two rolled over again and again on the forest floor, the noble feeling all the filth of the earth cover him, making him grow even angrier. Finally the vampire used what was left of his unnatural strength to gain the upper hand, laying atop the man, his hands grappling with his victim. All he dreamed of, all he could envision was clawing the creatures eyes out, for all the grievences he'd caused Vorin.
((Bunnying approved))
There was dirt and fists and a mess of limbs at first; Jon almost stood a chance. He thought rolling around in the muck, rocks and fallen tree branches was hurting his opponent just as much as it was hurting Jon. But what he hadn't grasped at first, even when his enemy's fist had scattered his teeth, was that the vampire was actually strong. Stronger than Jon Walter, anyway. And that man, dressed in frills and a red coat, had managed to stop rolling with Jon beneath him.
The mere man was thrashing beneath his opponent. He flailed his arms, though he was completely out of breath, and the vampire was simply waiting for him to tire out before finishing the brawl. Jon bucked and twisted, trying to escape, but the pursuit of escape was quickly becoming futile. But there was no way, no damn way that Jon was going to stop thrashing, even when his muscles sprained and his body exhausted itself and he passed out from lack of breath.
But even a determined man will find it hard to wrestle someone stronger than him. Jon gnashed his teeth in frustration, scratching at the vampire's arms desperately, grunting and sweating in the darkness. One of those gloved hands was on Jon's face now, and he couldn't pry it off. The fingers tensed, digging into one of his eyes. And an overwhelming hate buried itself inside him, going further than the roots of his rage. But Jon couldn't get away no matter how much he wriggled and became angry.
...Or could he? Jon felt it; the vampire's grip was weakening. Jon spat a mouthful of blood out as he furiously scrabbled at those gloves hands, shoving them off his face. And then it seemed as though, without even conscious effort, Jon was forcing his enemy off of him. Way too easy. But Jon didn't even give thought to this yet. All that mattered now was... he was being jerked off the ground and into the air?
Jon had been rolling in the dirt long enough to know that he wasn't in it anymore. No, he was sailing through the treetops of Concordia now, soaring into a sea of stars and a brilliant moon. He was picking up speed as he passed wisps of cloud, and could see all of Corone below him. Jon had no idea what was going on anymore; all he could see above him were the stars. The light of the moon seemed to be dimming. The stars began to part in front of him as though stepping aside to let him fly through. And Jon flew through the darkness.
The next thing he knew was hitting the floor with a loud thud.
Darkness. Not the kind that plagued the Concordia, but that real darkness that one can only expirence from the deep recesses of a mind. And then confusion, confusion of warmth, of comfort, of where these things were coming from. It swirled all around Vorin's brain as he slowly opened his eyes to meet soft candle light. His first reaction was a start, and as his body shook violently the sound of splashing water was all around. He looked at his arms, glistening in the soft flames that flickered. The vampire slowly realized he was in a bath, completely unclothed, but fully relaxed. His muscles no longer ached as they had in the forest, and the hunger, though there, was ignored.
His memories of the fight, of his prey were fuzzy. The struggle, rage boiling in his dry veins, they were like pictures, visions seen for only that second when you close your eyes. But that man's face, haggard as a peasant, was etched into his eyes. Vorin's muscles tensed again at the thought, and he slowly rose from his porcilean bed, stepping out as slowly as possible.
The floor was warm, as was the room itself. To his vampiric flesh it almost felt as if he hadn't left the bath. The sweet smells of pungent fruits filled his nose, the smoke rising from the candles was scented with tropical plants. The floor was of fine tan colored stone, polished so that it showed a vague image of the noble. There was no mirror in sight, but Vorin could tell that the mud and filth that had coated him during his harrowing journey had been cleaned off him. The idea that someone bathed him without his knowing was unsettling, yet he still felt better. The cozy room was barren except the tub and wash basin that lay opposite of it. On its counter lay a towel, which Vorin quickly used to dry himself. His eyes adjusted as best they could, now noticing the fine deep red that covered the lower regions on his body. Suddenly, his eyes spotted a door. Whatever lay outside had answers to questions his mind wouldn't stop asking.
As the vampire stept out of his sauna, he entered a room that could only be described by simple yet elegant. It was only a bit larger than the bathing chamber, but had comforts that Vorin had only seen in the finer hotels. There were curtains of lace hanging from faux windows with painted views. The vampire had almost been fooled by them at first, the arist must have been a master at his craft. The carpeted floor was breathtaking to say the least, floral patterns of red and pinks on white had a profound effect on the snob in Vorin. The bed of white cushion came jutting out of the back wall, and on it was a suit of clothing different to Vorin. As he stolled over slowly, he eyed the few other furnishings of oak cabinets and chairs. His eyes finally rested upon the suit, a deep blue color catching his eye, still made out of velvet like his last.
***
Vorin wasn't stupid. The jacket, the breeches, they all fit him too well. These were meant for him, even if they were in a color he hadn't worn in years. As he looked himself over in a full length, brass rimmed mirror, he could only marvel at the talents of whatever tailor had done it. The jacket was of a deep prussian blue with black trim and buttons of gold. A blue vest with silver designs showed what looked to be birds and feathers, and went well if his new frilled white undershirt. His breeches were snugger than he was use to, white in color with a blue streak on either side running up vertically. The finally piece was a pair of knee high black books of shined leather, most excellent equipment for riding.
But even with the distractions of beauty, the questions hadn't left Vorin's mind. Where are my old clothes? Why had I awaken in that bath? And most of all, where was I? The creak of a white washed door told the vampire his answer had just arrived. In stept a girl with brilliant hair that seemed almost alive on her shoulders. In her hand, she held a faint lantern that merely added to the dimly lit room. Her most surprising feature however, were lifeless eyes. Not at all vampiric, but almost entranced. She was human, of that Vorin was undoubtably sure. Her skin, while pale, held real life in it, and most of the undead kin would've announced themselves in a manner almost as melodramatic as Vorin had in the forest. Her dress was richly made, hanging lously on her shoulders. One could tell it was designed for a servant. She ushered Vorin to follow with a slight hand movement that caused the noble to wait a few minutes, trying to think if he was sure as to what he had seen. But as she left he knew this would be a good oppurtunity to realize what was going on.
He followed her out into a dark hallway, the smell of fresh paint seemed to cling to the walls like cement. Her lantern light moved quickly thoguh those halls, the soft padding of her bare feet growing fainter and fainter. Vorin was soon at a jog to catch up with her, entering a large chamber right after her. This room was bright, brighter than any of the rooms before. The smell and sound of fresh water was everywhere.
Vorin felt ill, sickened somehow by the unnatural light that flooded this room. He was not at all ready for what came next.
"Welcome Vorin."
Jon picked himself up, spitting out another tooth. The fall had shaken it loose, and he was in the same condition he'd been in while in the forest; a real mess. His haggard appearance contrasted sharply with the well-furnished circular hallway that he found himself in. The walls were immaculately-cut marble, large paintings of windows were hung over the walls, small couches and chairs were spread across the outer wall, and the glowing candles hung on the walls gave it all depth.
Whoever owns this place must be loaded, Jon thought. He'd be sure to swipe a thing or two while trying to find his way out. The fact that he'd been transported far from the forest of Concordia barely phased the dullard. For one, Walter was just relieved to be out of the freaking woods. But from one end of the hallway, Walter thought he heard a door open, and footsteps proceeded to echo around the circumference of the hall. Walter ducked behind the nearby couch, reaching for his knife.
Soon two short figures stepped into view; the first was a small, pale girl with bowl-cut ebony hair and a red beret leaning to one side. She wore a black frock and a white blouse, and her tiny black shoes made tapping sounds on the thin red carpet. The other was only a little taller than the girl; a dwarf whose muscles seemed to bulge beneath the chain armor that covered him from throat to shin. His hair seemed irridescent, a color between grey and gold. In place of a normal beard, the dwarf had cultured a mustache that was so long that both ends were tied as they drooped down to his chin. His boots treaded the floor with thick, heavy thuds. Both of them seemed to walk in relative silence.
Jon felt as though he were right back in the forest, wrestling that superhuman freak. A chill was sweeping across his back as the diminutive duo passed by him, and he felt obliged to lower the knife and stay as close to the couch corner as he could. His gut told him he didn't need a fight right now; his gut told him to run. As soon as he saw the vampires vanish around the next bend of the hallway, Jon stood and began hauling ass in the other direction, his bounding steps easily audible throughout the hall. He ran to the ornate ivory door that the two must have come in from, and darted through the door after swinging it wide open.
He was at the bottom of a flight of carpeted stairs, and he could see the sky by looking up. Jon threw himself up the stairs, expecting to feel a gust of air off of the balcony he'd reached at any moment... but the air was dead. It felt just like the previous hall. The ceiling and the entire right wall of the corridor Jon had reached had been painted to look like a balcony view of the night sky and the land on which this estate sat. It was surreal, and the man quickly found himself becoming disoriented as he looked at it. Who could paint something like that? Jon felt the part of the wall on which rested a mountain side lit by a full moon, just to be sure.
There were running steps behind him. Jon jumped and dashed down the new hall, which gently curved to the right. Before the hall took a sharp left turn, Jon saw there was an open door on the unpainted wall, dim light pouring through. He jumped through without another thought. Jon would soon regret this, but really, who thinks that he's going to run into a sleeping lion when he runs through an unfamiliar door?
"Wizened." It was the only word that Vorin could think of when he first saw his gracious host. The sagely vampire sat upon cushions of plush black, which lay on a beautifully carved ivory throne. The room itself was contrast, light in darkness. The marble floor alternating between black and white, in some areas creating magnificent mossiacs. The finest statues the vampire had ever seen were images of ravaged women, their clothes torn and faces grimaced in agony. Though the paintings were of the finest calibur, their scenes were empty landscapes of night. Ocean waters that would never see visitor or sun again or fields of wheat left to the crows for feeding seemed most prominent.
His host was something of an oddity for the room. Surronded by beauty, the sage was plain and humbled. His was the first vampiric face Vorin had ever seen to be touched by such age, wrinkled and pale like folded linen sheets. Sharp eyes held knowledge deep within their mirky yellow depths, like a predator in rest hiding its true nature. The host's fangs were long white sharp pearls jutting out from the smile that graced his face. And that smile, cold, unnatural. A face so aged should show more warmth and not the emptiness that was now so obvious.
Finally his host spoke, a voice that needed no emphasis to carry itself through the room. "I've been waiting for you. Please, come, have a seat." His aged hands appeared from beneath his flowing tan robes, gesturing to a coated maple wood seat. Vorin, never one to turn down curtosty, sat down quickly with as much grace as he could muster. He would not be outdone when it came to first impressions.
"I know you've been waiting. I'm not simple minded." Said the nobleman in his most egotistic voice. Vorin had a tendency to impress when he dealt with the unknown. The vampire had always hated being on unequal footing.
The host could only laugh, his robes moving with the soft chuckles under his breath. "It is just that attitude that I've been waiting for." Again he smiled wickedly, causing Vorin to move back a little in his seat. "But you're a man of action. Why don't we...cut to the chase?" Pleased with himself, the host quietly waited for the noble's responce.
Vorin didn't know what to think. He had always hated fake smiles when they weren't needed. This vampire had some dark thoughts in his head, and Vorin could almost see the storm brewing ahead. Still, he refused to be intimidated. "An act worthy of the theater sir. I'd like to know who you are, where this is, and why I am here. It doesn't have to be in that order, if it pleases you." Cynism, the one weapon any noble could fall back on.
More laughter came from the sage. Once he settled down, the smile melted off his lips like ice in spring, but the cold still remained. "I will be clear with you Vorin. I've been watching you for awhile now. You have something to offer me and my coven. Oh, but where do my manners lie? I want to welcome you to Ia'baz Castle. And I am its lord, Iago. For centuries I've created an organization here. We hunt the hunter, slay the slayer. We kill those mortals who dare strike at us for what we are. And that, Vorin, makes us the top fo the food chain."
Gentleman death could not believe that statement. So bold, so clear was its intent that it seemed insanity. Vorin had never heard of of any covens that openly hunted slayers, the bane of their immortality. But the more he thought about it, the more it made sense. Vampires were solitary hunters. But even lone wolves gather to slay a threat to all their lives. "I know much about you, young one." The sage finally spoke, inturpting Vorin's train of thought. This statement however, brought out a rage in the vampire. Vorin's nostrils flared in anger and he let loose his fangs in instict.
"And what do you know of me old man!" The noble hated being bested and would not be talked down to be some robed fool.
The host could only grin as his eyes changed to clear white, the change more than unsettling to Vorin. "I know your name isn't as long as you claim be, Vorin Káno." The room fell silent then. A satisfied look on the host's face, and one of shock on Vorin's. Only the sound of running water could be heard in the marble chambers, water that seemed to come from no where.
Jon tripped over the lion as he ran into the room. Flying into one of the rich marble walls, Walter spun around in time to see the beastie lift itself on its four massive paws, shake its head and approach him slowly. He could barely hear the sound of approaching footsteps over the beat of his heart as the lion loomed closer, its muscles flexing calmly, powerfully. Jon was willing to bet this cat could take down a spiderbear if it wanted to. The lion seemed to hear the steps in the background as well, as it turned its head to one side briefly. And then it was on the attack.
With a single paw, the lion batted Jon's entire body into a corner of the room. His body folded against the strength of the beast, and knew that his knife wouldn't mean a damn thing against it. It was a force of freaking nature. He slammed into the corner with a dull thud, and raised his hands in reflex as the beast approached him again, mouth open and full of ivory teeth - before it turned away and lightly tapped a tiny lever situated against the wall. With the nearly imperceptible sound of gears turning inside of the walls, Jon felt himself being quickly dropped into another dark room; he'd fallen through a trap door.
Jon could hear voices coming from above.
"Daleus, have you seen a... man running through here?" asked a deep, burly voice that Jon pegged as the dwarf.
"How strange," came another man's voice, "I wasn't aware you could still find yourself in the mood every now and then, Gumult." He sounded amused.
The dwarf Gumult grunted. "That wasn't... Hmm. Well have you? I think we may have an intruder."
"Oh dear, that would be terrible. But you may rest easy, knowing that all has been silent as an owl in flight and peaceful as slumbering mice." the second voice, Daleus, assured. Jon couldn't help but shake the feeling that it was the lion talking to the other freaks. He couldn't do anything to help himself out; the trapdoor was a simple pitfall, and the walls were too wide to climb. And so Jon waited until the dwarf and the girl left, and then Daleus's voice rang out again.
"Ah! But what they fail to realize is that when owls are flying and mice are sleeping, death is inevitable." he mused, before addressing Jon directly. "Hold on just a moment and I shall have you up." There was another tiny click, and the gears began to turn in reverse. Jon felt himself being lifted back into the room via platform, and now he had a decent look at the man who had arranged his escape. He was a tall, clean man with blonde hair swept into a ponytail, draped in a fine crimson cloak. In his hand was a mask of a lion's face.
The shiver returned. Jon was getting tired of feeling like a damned yellow belly, and so he stood his ground, staring the man Daleus down.
"Whaddya want?" Jon asked. Daleus tittered in reply, as though he knew of the funniest joke. The man opened his mouth to speak... but no sound came out. Meanwhile Daleus moved his arms in a brilliant pantomime, before clasping his hands to his throat in realization. Jon ran for it, ramming the dramatic man with a clothesline arm swing as he passed. He knew a distraction and an oppurtunity when he saw one. With Daleus knocked to the floor, Jon ran through the doorway... and bumped into a tall thing standing just outside of the room.
It was deathly pale, and dwarfed Jon by at least a foot. It wore a long, grey coat that drooped down to its ankles. It looked like a man, but no man had such pointed ears, fangs that slightly poked out of its mouth, or clawlike digits on each ghostly hand. Jon stood stunned as the demon brought one spindly hand near his head and enveloped it in a bubble of darkness.
Disorientation. Jon felt the floor rise above his ears and the walls bent around him in fractured, curving nightmares. His arms seemed as heavy as lead weights and he seemed to swim into the open arms of the white demon, who effortlessly hoisted Jon onto one shoulder. Thinking was hard, as if every thought were sinking to the bottom of an abyss. But Jon knew one thing instinctually; he wanted out of there. He was already getting tired of running from the freaks that lined the hallways and he wanted out. He flailed uselessly through a world made out of mollasses and his head bobbed numbly with each of the demon's steps.
By some chance miracle, Jon's hand clasped around the knife, situated on his hip. He ripped it from its hiding place, and started flailing harder through the thick miasma, unaware of what he was stabbing or where his hands went after they seemed to bend and curve. His eyes were useless. Jon felt wounds rip open across his face and shoulder as he swung the knife recklessly. The pain was something he could grasp to. He already looked like hell, what were a few more cuts? And then he felt the knife sink into the backside of the demon that was carrying him. As though time itself had slipped to a crawl, Jon heard the pale freak yell in distorted tones before dropping Jon to the ground.
Still running as though through a room full of honey, Jon scurried away from the demon as quickly as he could, the walls bending around him and colors swirling into prisms of green, red and white. And there was black. Plenty of black, Jon saw as he swung himself from one limb to the next, into a pool of darkness. Too much black. Way too much black. The black swirled around Jon, engulfing him as surely as the miasma coated his brain. Jon was falling but he felt like swimming, and then the shadow swallowed him completely.
"How do you know?" Said Vorin, a look of concern replacing his anger. The noble wasn't frieghtened, just in awe. He was dumbfounded by this vampire who seemed to know so much behind those once yellow eyes.
"That 'Le Sereg' is something you had just added on?" Asked Iago, appearing bored to his guest's question. The host sat up and stretched out his hands, his palms facing down to the floor. His eyes grew the color of a pale winter's morning, snowfall lightening the grey sky. The sound of running water was replaced by rushing water, and to Vorin's amazement the liquid poured from the seaps in the marble. It appeared much like rainfall in reverse, drops moving back into the sky from where it fell. Soon it was all swirling like a maelstorm in front of Iago, who seemed unphased by the spectacle. Slowly, subtly, the whirlpool slowed until it was all but gone, replaced by a washbasin on a colum in front of the host. "I am the mystery of life itself. To know me is to know yourself. Come, look into the water. Water can carry many things.
Vorin was reluctant at first after the show he had just seen. Slowly he crept out of his seat and to the stone water basin. His footsteps were cautious at first, but the vampire remembered himself quickly and moved at bolder pace. As his sleak form leaned over he could notice the strangest thing. The water reflected only light. No mirror image of him or the carved ceiling could be found. Intrigued, the noble stared deeper still until the sound of heavy bootsteps caught him off guard. He hadn't noticed the second entrance before, covered by white lace curtains.
"It seems our pet escapes all too quickly, old man." Said the arrogant blonde haired vampire. He was focused on Iago, but quickly took notice of Vorin. "So this is he who you praised so highly. Huh, from all your praisings I imagined something a bit more attractive." Mocked the actor. He had a noble's grace and the wardrobe to match, the crimson cloak that cascaded down his back moved as if it was almost a part of him. Under different circumstances Vorin may have enjoyed the Daleus's company, like many of the annoying elite at the thearter who thought the height of wit was sticking their tongue out. However, the vampire's hubris would never allow such an insult to go passed without even a word.
"Some of us have found that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, or at least my love said that in life." Stated Vorin in the most honest tone he could muster. "Although I'm sure being liked it just too foreign of a concept to you." The vampire finished, emphasizing his mockery. His stance had now changed, arms crossed and a single index finger touching his bottom lip as he rolled his eyes.. For a moment the blonde could only stare at Vorin. It was true that few of the other coven members enjoyed Daleus. He was considered the hack actor whose childish insults were generally ignored. But few had openly insulted him. His blonde brow furrowed in anger for only a moment before he was able to take control of himself again.
Slowly the blonde vampire's arms moved with all the elegance of a dancer, stretching out in Vorin's direction. A grin formed on his pale pink lips, his feet tapping to a nearly silent beat. Daleus was ready for his part.
"Two lovers met at wedding ball, visions of beauty they looked to all, and soon the pair was wed themselves, in silken dress and golden bells, but few did see what was to come, each lover's fate, together or apart, or whence it from. For Vorin and his wife, Serenithia, were two that never did belong. He from shy boy to strong man always did long, for a vision of beauty quiet like she, together joined her and he." Recited the blonde, who paused only to take in the look on Vorin's face before he continued. "But soon hubris took its hold, the nobleman growing bold. Suspicions and rumors caught him off guard and when they said his wife did stray, he ended her life that very day. With a fierce attack and an angry call, he splatered her brains against the wall."
With that final word spoken the blode vampire felt himself against the floor. Vorin hadn't even waited for the finish to launch hi attack. Grasping at that crimson cape, the vampire punched in quick sucession, the actor could do nothing to free himself as his face was subject to blows. The noble was in a fit of rage that made his attack int he forest look like a tantrum. The bratty vampire knew something Vorin had kept hidden for most of his life, and the anger wouldn't be satisfied until that smug face was smashed in. Only when blood first showed itself were the two seperated by invisable arms. A cry from Iago caused clear liquid to pull Vorin away. The noble was soon back in his chair, glaring at the bloodied blonde who held his broken nose.
"Leave us Daleus!" Iago commanded in a voice so unnatural for his elderly frame. The actor quickly rose, hate staining his face more than the blood. He was gone quickly, glad to be rid of such unsavory company.
"I've had enough of these games Iago!" Roared Vorin, whose eyes saw only red. "You know of my wife and how I beat her, killed her for false rumors. If you can see that far back, warlock, I can only guess you know of my savagery, my cult, and my present nobility. I prefer keeping the past burried beneath facades and false names, you enjoy digging them up. But I think it's time you make even with me. Who the hell are you really? Let us hear history that hasn;t been seen in crystal balls or puddles of water."
Iago's face was more serious now, annoyed by Daleus' intrusion. "Very well." Said the reluctant host. "My story, and the story of this coven itself, is a long one. Can you handle it?"
"What use is immortality without handling time?" Retorted Vorin, who once again began to smile, pushing away the bad memories that had resurfaced.
The darkness was tight, constricting. Jon no longer swam in and out of consciousness, but seemed to be floating just below the surface. He couldn't open his eyes, but could feel cold, dry, wispy tendrils flow across his limbs, entangling him. Jon thrashed through his semi-conscious daze blindly, and the tendrils wrapped across his hands-legs-chest constricted. A sharp chill shot through him, as though he'd been wrapped in icicles. Jon's eyes flew open as he coughed in shock, awakening completely.
Jon was in a room. He was the corner of a very dark, very cold room. The only light was provided by a tiny white-blue fire suspended against the far wall, throwing everything into a cold hue. It took him a moment to realize that the room itself was without a door. Shadows were everywhere, and the corner Jon was entangled in was nothing but shadow. The darkness, the shadows laced in and out of his clothing, over and under his limbs. Jon wriggled and the shadows around him tightened again, forcing the air from his lungs. Whatever trap he was in, Jon Walter couldn't get out on his own.
"Don't move around so much." A woman's voice chided. "You've got to relax." Jon scanned the room in the dim light, but saw nothing. Before he could say something he'd probably regret, a figure emerged from the shadows covering one of the walls. It was a lady; Jon watched as she came fully into view and the shadows immediately flowed over her form as though she drew them to her through her presence. The woman was dressed head-to-foot in dark cloth, her blue-ish white flesh contrasting completely with her surrounding.
Another freak... Jon grimaced, his muscles tense but unmoving. The woman spent a moment observing Jon, tracing his body with her eyes.
"Not very appetizing..." she muttered. "...but I'm not that picky."
The vulgar man spat at her from where he was situated against the corner. The woman wrinkled her nose, and then seemed to fly across the shadows of the room toward Jon, drawing two small knives as she went. When she was less than an arm's length away from the shadow-tangled beggar, she pricked him with one of those knives. The blade went cleanly through his messy tunic, drawing a minute quantity of blood. The lady held the knife close to her mouth for a moment, almost letting some drop to the floor, before she slowly lapped at the knife, licking its tip clean.
"Irgk!" Jon grimaced, becoming enraged. "You goddamned bitch!" He tried to wrestle against his shadow bonds but was once again squeezed until he couldn't breathe. The woman looked at him coldly before plucking his stomach with her second blade, sucking on the tip of the bloodied knife this time. She had drawn blood, but the wounds were barely more than cuts, and would quickly heal. Jon bit his tongue, eyes aglow with rage as he endured the feeling of those tiny pinprick wounds under his shirt.
The woman stood over Jon, grinning proudly. "Get used to it. I like to savor my meals." she explained, stooping down slightly so that their eyes met. "You aren't getting out of my webs and nobody knows you're here." And then she held up the first knife and cut Jon cleanly across the cheek. He tried biting the knife, gnashing his teeth at the woman in defiance. A small stream of blood, aching little more than a shaving cut, spilled onto the blade which she then retracted and sampled.
"Fuck you!" the man roared, defying his own impotence. This was met with a solid backhanded smack from the woman in black. Jon's face snapped to one side, a glaring red mark across his cheek.
"Let's work on those manners while we're at it." She suggested, raising one of the knives. "Talk to me like that again and I'll make it last another day."
Before she could set to work again, however, her pointed ears seemed to perk as though she had heard something in the distance. She turned to Jon, pointing her knife at him and warned, "I will return." And then she darted back into the shadows from which she had first emerged. Jon was left bleeding and inert in the doorless shadowy chamber.
"So where should I begin?" Asked the host in a certain irritating smugness. "I doubt you want me to bore you with the details of my life before death."
"Please, don't." Snapped Vorin, who was still agitated by the events that had transpired with Daleus. The vampire didn't like all the memories that the monologue brought up. For him, ignorance was truly bliss. He knew it would take days of trying to finally get those thoughts back down into the abyss of his mind. Iago could sense the frustration of his guest, but he knew Vorin well enough through his visions. Nothing could comfort the noble.
"Very well. Unlike many, when I was reborn I lost my eyesight. Darkness eclipsed my world. I do not have to tell you the kind of problems I had, not to mention telling when day would come. Soon however, I found myself a little portal into the visual world. Water. I sensed, I smelled it. And whenever I leaned over, I could see. For you see Vorin, all the dark kin have different powers. Visions through water were the beginings of mine." Sounded the host, who now leant a watchful eye to his guest. Vorin shifted in his seat restlessly. He wanted more of the story told, more of the answers to be revealed.
"It wasn't long before I found my first real challenge." Iago continued. "Vampire hunters. Any young lad with a dagger and crossbow or deranged priest called himself one. Through sheer luck and grit I survived each attack on my person. But I grew frustrated, annoyed. Vorin, it's no big secret we're selfish creatures. So it should not surprise you my one true reason for starting this coven was self-peservation."
"I'd do the same thing." Laughed Vorin, who was once again becoming his arrogant himself. The story bored him, but it gave time for him to understand his host."
Iago chuckled a little, his aged hands slidding back into his robe. "Well, I first got the idea from my visions. The idea of beign a patriarch always suited me, even in life. I won't flesh out how I found this castle, atleast not until I can trust you more."
"With all your visions, you can't tell if I will betray you?" Snorted Vorin, who could only smile at the lack of omnipotence. His chin was craddled softly in his right hand, the fatigue from the forest rearing itself again.
"Water shows me past, and it shows me some present. What water can't do is show the complete future. There are many paths. Still, it allowed me to see you young Vorin. Each member here has their own gifts, from acting to shadow, witchery and strength, silence and vision. But what we need is a politician. Someone who can talk and manipulate with the best of them. Shadow is great for assassinations, but it lacks the cleaness of other things."
"So you asked your puddles to show you a great speaker and it showed me. Should I be flattered?"
"Not really. I showed me others. But your flair attracted me eye, which have in time grown to actually see. Your past was clouded, but determination showed it's ugly truth. And, if I'm not mistaken, you're always up for a new challenge." Finished the host, who now sat up with a bit more attention. The room was quiet for a second. The sound of running water had stopped when Iago had gathered it. For a moment, Vorin's face was blank. Iago was unsure of any answer the noble might give. But boredom had always been Vorin's catalyst.
"What needs to be done?" He grinned.
The only things Jon could hear were his own breathing and the beat of his heart. The rest of the shadow room was as silent as death, though the vagrant could testify that dying was never very silent at all. Even the flickering torch of blue fire didn't make a sound. Jon leaned against the wall, wrapped in his shadow bonds while his chest slowly heaved in and out.
He had to get out of there. He'd been pissed as hell after the bitch woman had left him with his minor wounds, but every struggle he made was returned to him twice-over by the constricting shadows. After a little time and a lot of worn effort, his heartbeat had steadied and he found himself beginning to calm down. It was a rare experience. Rarer still, he began to analyze his situation in-depth. All signs pointed to 'screwed,' though, since there'd be no place for him to go even if he got himself out of the shadows.
Jon took another slow, deep breath. And then something occurred to him; he could breathe just fine and the shadow web wasn't restricting him. He wriggled inside of his trap for a moment, tugging at the bonds again until they snapped against him like a giant snake. A cold chill ran through his body again, but now Jon had an idea.
Jon moved a single arm. Slowly, he weaved his fingers out of the shadow, and then his arm. A drop of sweat poured down his red face, as he continued to move at a torturously slow pace. His heartbeat sped up, and the tension squeezed his innards. Every moment or two, he turned to look at the shadows again, wondering when the vampire would return. Soon, Jon had one arm free.
First one arm, then the next, while his heart pounded and his breath quickened. Jon slowly stretched the shadows, slipping his body through an inch at a time. Soon after that Jon managed to slip his entire torso free of the shadows, bending forward as he set to work on his legs. The silence was maddening, and Jon's patience was thin, but he was finally getting somewhere. And then he was free.
Jon pumped his arms triumphantly as he leapt out of the corner. He set to work feeling the walls, but secretly wished he could stay, right until the crazy woman returned so he could give her a sharp, pointed salute. But common sense caught up with Jon, and he began looking for a way out.
A voice called to him from behind one of the walls. "Over here, quickly!"
As the vagrant ran to the source of the voice, a hole appeared in the wall before him. Like a fire, the hole spread outward until it was big enough for Jon to step through. Behind it was a woman dressed in long robes that swept the floor, and a hallway lit by bright orange torches. The change in light caused Jon to shield his eyes for a minute while the woman spoke again.
"Come with me, you are expected elsewhere." she explained, extending a hand through the hole toward Jon. Her eyes were exceptionally bright, and the vagrant found himself distracted by them. He reached for her hand slowly, grazing her flesh which was cold as ice. The cold was a shock that returned Jon's senses to him, as he shook his head and yanked his arm back.
"Fuck you!" he foolishly swore. "Ayain't trustin' you." Every freak in this building wanted a piece of him. There was no way he was going to let someone screw him over by acting peaceful and trustworthy. The woman sighed, and then turned toward the door on the opposite end of the hall.
"Very well. Find the way there yourself." And then she was gone. Sweeping the room one last time, Jon hopped through the hole that had been left in the wall before creeping down the well-lit hall, finally free. The far door glowed with an eerie greenish glaze, and with hesitation Jon reached out to open it. Stepping through, he found himself in a large chamber. The light that filled it was intense, and he shielded his eyes once more as he stepped through.
There were two other people in the room with him. Sitting atop a white throne, a man in tan robes. Standing apart from him, the goddamned fucker who'd tried to take Jon down back in the forest. They seemed to be in the middle of something when the tan-robed man extended a hand in Jon's direction without turning to face him.
"Ah! Our second guest has arrived."
The room had grown silent. The sound of water running no longer seemed to matter, it had mingled in Vorin's ears until it had become unnoticable. The light in the room, the reflections off the stone had become nearly unbearble. The snob could not help squinting in front of Iago. Vorin hated it, hated the room and hated his host even more. He wanted to be done with it all quickly and get on with all these new secrets and powers and weapons. Unless he planned the whole time to bore me to death I hope he's finished.
"There is one act I must ask of you first." Stated Iago. The snob let out a curse from his breath, damning the whole ordeal. His host's eyes quickly met Vorin's, as if asking, 'Did you just say that?'. A passive glance back assured Iago his ears had betrayed him, or at least that's how he played it off.
"And what would this be?" The noble asked coyly. He grew tired of the half truths. Impacient as always, he wanted to see what the castle walls held. There was so much knowledge to gain from the coven. It was a deal he couldn't pass up. Iago had hinted at treasures and feasts for the mind that a scholar would kill for. The noble felt like a hungry dog, drooling in anticipation of being fed by his host.
The wizened vampire knew this is what he had been waiting for. Vorin, so inticed by new expirences, would be like putty in his hands, molded to whatever shaped was needed. Iago would have a full team with this fool of a noble. "You have the gift of the golden tongue young Vorin. However, your times in savagery has limited your abilites. You were a noble in life and have only recently become one in death." Iago knew of his guests past well. Vorin had become an animal when he was first born to darkness, hunting the country side like a feral beast. Villagers told stories of him and had men on watch during the night. "You could be so much more, it only takes the right key."
"And I suppose you have this key? You must excuse me if I'm not thrilled with the idea of being compared to some mongrel pup, not house trained until he finds the right master." Spat the noble, whose words were dipped in venom. His temper still flared, something his host had not counted on. Iago knew his guest as an unpredictable one, but the trantrums and harsh words were wanning even his unending patcience.
"Parish the thought. Tell me, Vorin. Why do you take such tones with me even after my well intent is shown?" Iago shot back in thinly-veiled anger.
"I find some grim pleasure in taunting the unknown." Retorted the guest in honesty. He still needed that security. Whatever Iago had instore next would come from only the deepest reaches of Vorin's own imagination, a place he could not reach at the moment.
Iago relaxed for a second, like the teach of some great art in the midst of meditation. His eyes closed slowly, breath halted and arms at rest. Then without warning, Vorin held a cup. His eyes went wide in sheer frieght, for he had seen something with his eyes that his mind could not grasp. Iago, like some spectre, had flown towards the noble and handed him the goblet all in the blink of an eye. The snob felt dizzy from it all, an unnatural feeling for an unnatural sight. His heart beated inside his chest like a racing horse, hooves meeting the ground in quick sucession. "Please, drink up." Said the wizened creature, who brushed the whole expirence off as if it were nothing.
Slowly, with all the caution of a drinking deer on the look out for predators, Vorin drank from the refined cup. His eyes looked over the glass' rim. Strange writting wrapped around it like gilded vines, intertwined in some queer langauge the noble had no knowledge of. Cold liquid met his tongue. It was cooler than any blood he had tasted, but different than water or wine. The drink was like nothing the vampire had tasted in mortal or immortal life. As he finished, he placed it softly on a side table, careful not to slam it down. The noble's eyes were thoughtful as he tried to feel any change within him. But after several moments, he felt only fuller and no more or less than he was when he first entered the chambers.
"Was this some trick? Some motivational wording to get me going faster? I feel no different." The snob's words were not harsh but blunt. He had expected more and felt cheated.
"Who says you should feel different to be different?" The host was smiling once more. "But let us pick that up a bit later, shall we? Ah! Our Second guest has arrived." Iago ushered Vorin's gaze to another hall.
"That man!"
A chill swept the room. "What the fuck's 'e doin' 'ere?!" Jon demanded angrily, pointing at the less wizened of the two vampires standing in the hall across from him. After a brief moment of contemplation: "What the fuck'm I doin' 'ere?"
Vorin snarled, stepping forward with a hand raised, balling it into a fist. Before he could approach the human in the nearby corridor of the bright chamber, Iago raised a hand.
"Please, Vorin. He is also a part of this." the elder vampire explained. For a moment, Vorin hesitated, hand still raised in the air. But slowly he unwrapped his fist and stepped back, the snarl softening only slightly. Whether this was by choice or by force, Jon couldn't tell nor care. Iago beckoned him deeper into the room. "Come, Jon Walter."
Cautiously, Jon stepped into the main chamber. He never once took his eyes off of the vampires as he walked. He opened his mouth to speak, when Iago took a deep breath and cut the human off.
"You wish to know how I know your name, and what sort of part you play in this grand scheme." Iago stated, his voice deepening. "And no, you shouldn't try to escape." He sounded almost like the father who knows best. Jon grimaced, gritting what few teeth were still left in his head, but couldn't bring himself to move; Iago had him read like a dusty tome. Satisfied that he had the immortal's attention, the vampire continued with his tirade.
"Without your knowledge, without your consent, you became a servant of these halls." Iago explained calmly, a grin spreading across his face as he went on. "I promise you that it will be in your best interest to simply accept your fate." And then his cold gaze turned to Vorin, who still observed from nearby.
"And it will be in your best interest to forgive this fool for putting up a fight in the forest, dear Vorin. For you see, he is to become your loyal manservant. And the two of you will both be entrusted with the task I have mentioned."
Jon's temper flared again, as veins popped up across his red face. He was about to wail some obscenity of disbelief at the vampire, when Iago again spoke more quickly, immediately silencing whatever profanity Jon could have lobbed at him.
"Jon Walter, let me make this clear. I know what you are. If you do not cooperate in every way possible, I will simply relegate you to the role of food source. Forever chained to a wall, never free to roam again. Do you understand, servant?" And with that Iago opened his mouth widely, extending his feeding fangs to compliment the beastly grin he showered down on the hapless immortal.
There were several doors in the hall. And Jon was nobody's slave. The idea to run was so strong, and yet stronger still was the knowledge of what would become of him if he did so. It was a goddamned fuckarow was what it was. Before Jon could consider his escape any further, the sound of rushing water filled the chamber once more. Water trickled down the pillars, swirling through the air and into the goblet that Vorin had just drank from, filling it to its brim once more. And before Jon knew it (although Vorin observed in silence), that same cup was suddenly thrust into his hands, though Iago had not seemed to move an inch.
"Drink, human. Accept your role at young Vorin's side." Iago motioned to Jon.
For a moment, the immortal scoundrel sneered at the glass. As though he would rather dash it across the floor and run for what his existence was worth. But for once, Jon's confidence was destroyed. He had no idea how else he would be able to save his own neck. And Iago emanated a silent pressure that constantly seemed to make his hands push the cup up closer.
In a swift chug, the drink was quaffed. The grin on Iago's face became all the more satisfied as Jon Walter swore true fealty to something for the first time in his life.
Gentleman Death's veins boiled with rage held only by a bitten tongue. The taste of blood was faintly bouncing in his mouth, the product of cleeched teeth. "The nerve! Iago silences me like a dog and than actually expects me to take a vagabond fiend as my manservant. The smell of shit hovers over him like humidity, pudgent and thick with all the graces of a stumbling drunkard. And to my knowledge, no mother could love that face without being on heavy sedatives. No, no. This cannot stand. Power and knowledge be damned. I no more want this Joanathan than I do a lame dog, and I expct the dog would hold far more use." Vorin grinded his foot on the floor tiles, the sound of his boot making a faint squeak. His muscles tensed so harshly there seemed little hope that they would relax any time soon. However, after Walter had taken a reluctant chug, the host's gaze once again fell on the snob. He seemed aware of Vorin's feelings (which were rather obvious to even the least acute senses,) but struck a face as if he understood more. Iago tried quickly to pacify Vorin before his emotions got out of control again.
"Do you see that mirror on the right wall." Chimed the host like a bell. The noble's eyes met a finely made full legnth mirror, complete with gilded sides etched with scenes of mythology he was unfamilar with. Tired of the caution he moved with all the speed of an unpacient lion. Vainity got the best of Vorin as he saw his reflection, detailed in all the finest of noble tastes. But soon the question reached his mind and then his mouth.
"What's so special about this mirror. And please leave the tricks for mortals, I grow weary of your magician's flare." Bellowed the vampire, who rubbed his temple softly to relieve built up stress. Iago moved towards Vorin without taking a single step, as if he floated on the very air in the room. A snarl came from Vorin as the host smiled, intentionally trying something he knew would test the snob's nerves.
"Just look into it and imagine yourself as something you're not." Said Iago in a poet's voice, sweet and soft with an air that carried it.
"What kind of cryptic message is that? I didn't realize I needed to solve riddles." The noble spoke to Iago but his eyes were firmly fixed on Walter in a preternatural stare.
The wizened vampired nodded his head slighty, beckoning Vorin to do as he was told. With little expectation, Vorin proceded. His eyes lightly closed, he imaged a great beast that men tell to their children in fairy tales, snarling and rabid things. He even tried to recall what he had been like when he had first joined that dark embrace. A being whose only feeling was of hunger and lust, gluttoning himself on blood. "Now, open your eyes slowly, still focusing on that image." The noble complied, lifting his lids still heavy with sleep. But the image in the mirror was no longer his own. He saw something else, something different with eyes like burning embers and the sharp features of a predator. Yet the figure still resembled Vorin. Perplexed and perhaps a bit frieghtened, the vampire looked deeper still, becoming more and more enthralled with the image.
With a sudden scream he smacked the mirror hard with his fist, knocking it on its side and shattering it around the floor. Gleaming splinters of transparent glass flew everywhere, but Iago didn't look the least concerned. "It moved...It moved to attack me." Thougth Vorin."What was that!?" He damanded in a tone that lacked any true command.
"Why, the waters weren't only for dramatic effect, my young friend. It unlocked something in you, your more political nature. Pretense is a powerful thing. With it you can appear different than you truly are. It is still weak now, only able to affect a few people at a time. But with age comes knowledge and that knowledge will one day lead to you being in postions of power mortal men can only dream of." Iago spoke with an understanding even Vorin couldn't comprehend. But soon the wizened one's eyes lit up. If it was almsot as if he glowed, as if a light had suddenly come above his head. "Oh. But the catalyst for you is drawing near."
"What are you alking about. Explain this ability mo-" He was cut off, t eh floor beneath him gave way as if it had just vanished. As he fell, he could see something pass from Iago's hands to Walter's. And then, the blackness.
It was a small glass vial, filled to the stopper with light blue water. Iago had passed it to him casually, and Jon found himself bewildered by the swirling concoction.
"You are to hunt down a particular slayer in the region you will be sent to. I have no doubt that Vorin will recognize the man when he sees him." Iago explained. "Now go."
Iago gestured to the ceiling, and Jon found himself suspended in the air. He was about to reach a realization when Iago called to him:
"Use that water to return here with word of Vorin's success! Serve him well, Jon Walter." And then Jon was drifting through the ceiling of the chamber as though it too was made of water. The innards of the ceiling were icy when the immortal passed through it, and in contrast the outside night air was warm as animal fur. As opposed to flying up into the stars like he had last time, Jon found his floating form hovering in air as though deciding where to move to next. After a pause, it seemed to find its direction and propelled itself on into the distance.
Flying isn't nearly as glamorous or exciting when one has no control over it. Jon quickly found himself becoming bored as the landscape passed him by. The wind seemed to be buffered by the magic keeping him in the air, and so Walter had no idea how swiftly he was flying.
Jon's trajectory soon met up with another flying figure, and soon he and Vorin were travelling side by side. Not that Vorin could see where they were going; his flying body was slumbering peacefully as clouds and birds passed them by. Bastard... Jon coughed up a lungful of goo and spat it at the vampire, only for the gob to be taken away instantly by the unfelt wind pressure, missing Vorin by inches.
The scoundrel would've tried again, but the ground caught his eye; their course was swiftly descending toward some ratty old building in the countryside. And they weren't slowing down. Worn by a restless day of running, fighting, cowardice and vampiric assholes, Jon didn't have the energy to panic or react irrationally.
He watched as his flying body magically maneuvered itself between Vorin and the building - it was to be his first official act as manservant. At least the angle was right. Jon hocked another wind-swept loogie at Vorin, whose body magically darted to the left to avoid the projectile before resuming its course. Jon blinked in frustrated disbelief.
"I HATE you-" was all that Jon could muster before collapsing through the termite-ridden wood roof. And then through the termite-ridden second story. A shower of splinters and broken mattresses greeted Jon as he met the floor of what had once been a classy hotel in the back woods of Corone.
Vorin's sleeping form swiftly flew through the holes created by the immortal's entry before crashing into the softest, squishiest parts of Jon's anatomy. By the time he was used as a human cushion, however, Jon Walter had already died from the impact. He'd be up again before sunrise.
((Minor bunnying approved))
The warm night's air was the finest bed Vorin had ever slept on, his descent a restful bliss beneath closed eye lids. The vampire was ignorant of all that transpired in a way that only sleep can do. It was a dreamless slumber that knew only that black abyss, an abyss that left no room for fright or hate, joy or love. It was an abyss like death, keeping its user in isolation from the outside world. Jon Walter was a different case entirely. It was a contrast, a subtle difference that meant everything in the end.
A canopy of overgrown trees lay down below, the two making up the distance more and more rapidly. Soon the site of a run-down building came into view. It was the outskirts of Radasanth, no more then 5 miles from the city. Vorin's fall lessened, allowing Walter time to break through the cracked building and creating a hole for his new master to fall through. When both forms finally came to rest the sky above was still dark. Crickets grew silent from the heavy crash that came from the old hotel, rats fleeing their nests in fear of these new intruders. And then only silence.
***
Sunrise was a funny thing for Vorin. With it came a waning in his strength, the loss of vampiric abilities, and a near ageless mortality. Usually the noble slept during the day, but it seemed he had slept enough for weeks already. Laying face up on the ground, his eyes were greeted by the holes in the second flood and ceiling. He sat up, startled at the thought of those holes. Slowly the memories of the night before entered his mind, an eerie sense of deja vu overcoming him. It felt like he had first awoken in that bath again, except now he lay in a forgotten bed chamber of crumbling hotel. A scan of the room gave little help to him. Splintered wooden boards lay thrown about, beds stripped of their sheets leaving only piles of straw on a frame. Dust was thick in the air and very visable in the rays of light that crept into the room. Lace curtains fluttered near an open window, their once white color muted with age.
The snob gave a quick one over for himself, wondering how he had survived such a fall. His body was not sore enough, no real pain aflicted him. The vampire's forefinger rubbed his cheek slowly, as if trying to warm it up. His eyes were empty puddles that lead to a deep pool of thought. If it had not been for that odor, he may have taken hours just contemplating. "Rancid..." His nostrils flared and his face grimaced in disgust. From behind the noble the sound a door creaked harshly in the quiet, pale morning.
"And there he is." Thought Vorin as his comtept filled sight caught the man from the night before, the man who Iago ordered to be the noble's manservant. Ragged and filthy, Vorin knew where the smell of shit originated from. At first there was only sleepy anger, the kind hindered by the early hour. But the snob realized something quickly. He owned this man, he dominated him. For as angry as Vorin had been at him before, the thought of power rushed into his mind quickly. Hatred was wiped off his face and was replaced by a wicked smirk. Of course! Why didn't I think of it before!"
He took his time rising, doing his best to appear in control of the situation. Standing tall with a chest puffed out, the vampire tried to stare down the man that he once planned to eat. Hubris was in control now, his prideful nature would be what controlled his manservant in the end, or at least he thought so. Jon stared back at him in a stunned gaze, soon morphing into malice.
"Well? What are you staring at Jon. Fetch me a bucket of water for washing." He was not charming and felt no need to be. "Strength of will alone is the only thing this brute understands, like an animal." "Should you try and run, I will see to it myself that Iago's darkest wishes for you come to fulfillment."
The only reason Jon might have seemed stunned at first was because Vorin had just happened to wake up as Jon was moving to ditch the bloodsucker. Iago was nowhere to be seen here, and so the immortal figured that he could just get up and leave. But then that goddamned door hinge, suffering from years of negligence, squealed on Jon. The vampire awoke. The glint in Vorin's eyes told Jon that he wasn't through with vampires just yet.
Jon had several knives lined in the hem of his messy pants. With each word that Vorin spat out, Jon had to suppress more and more the urge to draw one of his weapons on the bastard. Like a spoiled child, Vorin was wringing every last drop of superiority from his words, down to the thinly-veiled tattling threat. There was a long list of people (living and deceased) that Jon Walter hated, but being made to serve Vorin would earn him the #1 spot.
A wave of anger, frustration, malice and thought came over Jon within the single sentence that Vorin had uttered. But rationality seemed to win out - he wanted to disappear from Iago's sight permanently. Surely he could wait for another oppurtunity. With a simple grunt, Jon walked through the door in search of a bucket of water.
The building they had landed in had once been a hotel along the side of a well-used trade route. Faded paint chips outlined vague traces of letters on the boards across the front of the building. The grass was tall beyond the hole-filled porch, and Jon trekked through a dew-drenched jungle to the old horse stables that were falling apart nearby.
Dodging a dangling plank of wood from the ceiling, Jon prodded through the rotted hay. One stable after the next was examined until he found it; an old, rusty bucket filled with dingy water sitting in the far-corner stable. Mission complete. Brushing a few cobwebs off of the bucket, Jon tugged it off the ground and left a dirty imprint where the bucket once sat. In the process, the over-full bucket sloshed over the sides. After a moment of contemplation, Jon tipped it over a little more, letting the water soak the ground near his shoes.
Gonna hafta replace that water somehow, Jon thought devilishly. Pulling his trousers down he took a quick wizz in the bucket, filling it as far as he could. Jon would settle for minor revenge before his real oppurtunity came. He hauled the bucket of piss-water back to the hotel room where Vorin awaited him.
((Minor Bunny approved))
"Gods Damnit! Thought Vorin as he looked around the aged room for some where comfortable to sit. All the mattresses were slung on the floor in an uncermonious fashion, straw bursting from their sides. Red leather chairs once of the finest make now lay on the floor with broken legs and splintered wood. "Is nothing here comfortable?" The noble grew agitated at the hellhole he now inhabited. Jon's smell still had not left the room, the odor became almost like a taste in the vampire's mouth causing him to gag in dry heeves. He could not help pacing back and forth, the floorboards underneath creaking like nails on a chalkboard.
"Where is that blasted vagabond?!" Screamed the vampire finally. His enraged cry awoke several large pigeons who fluttered out a broken window. The sudden noise caused Vorin to jump back before regaining his composure. "Damn you Iago! Damn you foul manservant! Damn everything that walks on this world!" He spoke to the very shadows themselves in his rage. "Iago with your promises of knowledge and power. But what do I get? Some shit stained scrounger streettramp traversing tired tenements to track down a simple bucket of water!" Each of his words seemed picked out, like he was on stage preforming it for an audiance. For a moment the noble stood still with fingers firmly pressed into his face's skin, eyes closed as if deep in thought. His subtle breaths became slower as he tried to calm down from his grievences. It did not work.
Within an instant his vampiric speed and strength boiled to the surface as he punched the nearest wall with all his might, and let out the largest cry he could muster. The wall gave way to a large hole splintered around the rim where the snob had hit it. With a great sigh he felt much of the tension leave his body. Tiny bits of plaster that clung to the ceiling began to rain down on Vorin's face. For a moment he could only look up in curiousity as he heard a rumble above him. In a flash he saw it and dove out of the way right in the nick of time, above him a portion of the ceiling gave way as a plush worn couch callapsed down to Vorin's floor. The snob panted heavily as he collected himself. Had he been mortal, his bodily fuctions would have quickly been relieved. "That works..." Grinned the vampire as he strolled over to his new seat. "It's more comfortable than the floor, I'll give it that."
The door hinge squeked, violently in need of oil. In stepped Jon Walter who seemed confused at all the commotion that had just happened. His hands held a grim bucket filled to the brim with water. The noble ushered his new servant closer as the fiend handed his master the bucket with a smile. The smell of rust was thick but still did not cover the rank tang of Walter. Vorin looked back and forth between the container and his slave before throwing the contents of it on Jon. The immortals eyes were wide in shock as the vampire did so.
"You needed to wash up. I didn't realize taking pigs as lovers clung to you like that." Insulted Vorin with a pointed finger, scolding the immortal like a child. "How am I expected to travel with scum that smells even worse then it looks?"
Jon threw himself at Vorin, quickly forgetting all about Iago's threats. The vagrant had tried civility and patience, but was quickly remembering why those weren't the normal options; he wasn't made to be civil or patient.
Screw this, screw this, SCREW THIS!
His mop of wet hair splashed the inn as Vorin reflexively rolled to one side, and Jon ended up falling on the couch cushion. The vampire would have been all too willing to forego his seat anyway if he'd known what was next. Jon could hear Vorin hurling some other snide remark at him, but was too busy trying to figure out what that bizarre rumbling sound was.
The second story of the former inn was a mess of holes and uplifted planks of wood; the corners were in the worst condition. Vorin's punch was the death knoll of the hotel as it slowly started to collapse, one bit of furniture at a time. A moth-eaten mattress with raggedy sheets and a shoddy frame slid down the incline of the second-floor to the massive hole situated in the corner of the room.
Two stories down, Jon tilted his head up slowly, saw something falling and had no time to react as a mattress fell on top of the couch. It crushed the cushion and dashed Jon's brains out beneath one of its broken frame pegs, within ten feet of the observing vampiric witness.
Something stirred beneath the lump of sheet atop the mattress. Grumbling, some vagabond smelling remotely worse than Jon Walter sat up in his stolen bed and looked around. Blinking a few times, the droopy-eyed vermin took the sheets with him as he trumped out of the building.
Witchblade
12-05-06, 10:33 PM
Story
Continuity: - 6 I thought this was supposed to be a bad read, Cory. The story was good; I enjoyed reading it and was disappointed at the fact that the two of you never finished. It was a little strange, I mean, Vorin getting lost in the woods while tracking Walter and then the two of them being transported to this castle in the middle of nowhere. It was odd, like you thought it through, but the mechanism for getting your characters there needed some help. Comical yes, but if you were going for comical then it wasn’t comical enough.
Though this was not finished I can pick at the strings of story that this was taking both of your characters in, strings that could have turned out rather interesting. Forcing Walter to be Vorin’s manservant was cruel and unusual punishment and even though Walter’s character himself is annoying to the reader you begin to sympathize with his situation, almost wishing he could somehow get out of it. Yet at the same time, you just want Vorin to lay into the guy and beat him to a bloody pulp over and over again, since he’s going to revive anyway. This score is suffering because the thread was not completed though.
Setting: - 8 The setting was nicely described, a forest. The castle had a few nice twists and turns in it, one of which being the paintings that depicted the outside world in ways the vampires would not view it since there really were no windows. You describe these as being so richly done that it looks real and Walter even runs into one thinking he can escape, but as the reader I had a hard time picturing these things. Perhaps if there was more of a description as to what was actually on the paintings besides the fact that they looked like the outside, the sky and moon. I just can’t picture a wall painted so well it looks real.
Other than that the setting was nicely rendered and interacted with. Both Vorin and Walter having tripped over things in the forest numerous times and the castle had a nice adage of setting with the inclusion of water running through the very walls. It gave it a calm yet creepy feel all at the same time.
Pacing: - 8 The story ran well enough, throwing the reader into what was happening right in the first post. No introductions of the characters to each other really, to the reader yes, by throwing the reader right in there. It set up the tension that was to follow well, tension that was broken by moments of explanation from Iago about what was going on. Mostly it was Walter’s anxious character blindly trying to free himself while the break in the tension, yet added agitation came from Vorin. There was of course still tension from Vorin as well and I found myself going from post to post wondering what was happening with not just one of the characters but both of them because the storyline was planned out so well you had small climactic moments between them both happening simultaneously. It was very well done.
Character
Dialogue: - 9 The contrast in dialogue from your two characters is great. You’ve got a snobby vampire who will think of the most articulate things to say and a bum who will spout the first swear words out of his mouth that pop into his head. It’s refreshing, because by themselves the reader would get tired of Vorin and his stuck up nature and they would also grow in disdain towards Walter and his brutish language. Your characters balanced each other out well throughout the quest.
Iago also played the part of the patient and almost fatherly figure for Vorin, his words softly spoken as if to keep the man calm and under his control. He was manipulating him with his words without Vorin even noticing, or that’s what I picked up anyway.
Action: - 7 Character actions were well portrayed. Vorin played the stuck up role of noble and Walter, the confused Immortal human trying to save his own ass and doing it stupidly like usual. After all, when you’re just going to come back to life after you die, why worry about dying in the first place, I mean it’s not as if it hurts or anything. Post eleven, where Walter bumps into something in the hallway and is disorientated and flailing about and such, something about that whole action sequence just didn’t sit well with me. Where did the tall person come from anyway? And though you never gave that person a sex, I can only guess it’s the female holding him captive afterwards. That whole sequence of events was just weird to me and didn’t seem to hold any purpose because nothing came from it except Walter’s eventual escape, which the reader knew was going to happen. That, or he was going to die and come back to life again.
You should never include something in a story unless it has some overall point to the character or the storyline itself.
Persona: - 7 Those good old emotions that characters feel. I’m pretty sure in this quest it was just a lot of hatred and anger between Vorin and Walter. There was some humiliation, agitation, confusion, the whole nine yards excluding sheer joy, though there was some sadistic excitement when Vorin finally realized he had Walter in the palm of his hand.
I’m sure if the quest had continued there would have been more flushed out emotions between the two characters, I doubt they would have come to some kind of understanding, but perhaps Walter’s eventual submission, at least until he can find a way to escape. There were also some nice aspects of hidden feelings from Vorin dealing with his past that helped give the character more reality to the reader. After all, as Vorin sits normally he just an pompous asshole, but add in his past and the emotions that brings up in him and you’ve got a more three dimensional character.
Writing Style
Mechanics: - 7 There were a few times when I was reading over your posts that I noticed words were missing from it. As were letters from certain words, like saying you instead of your. Small grammatical mistakes here and there as well. Just read over your posts and you’ll catch the majority of them! And try reading it from bottom to top, that takes the familiarity out of the writing and helps you spot those errors easier.
Technique: - 7 There was a little foreshadowing thrown into the thread here and there about what was happening to the characters. I easily spotted some purposefully placed alliteration that struck at the reader with its sudden appearance. It wasn’t laid into the quest gently, it was spoken and done intentionally by the character but the flow was off. The little poem that Daleus did of Vorin’s past was very nicely written though, despite the content of the poem itself it seemed rather up beat, mocking Vorin’s plight and spitting it into his own face.
Clarity: - 7 Yes, the language was clear and precise and the meaning that the writer was trying to give to the reader was easily portrayed. At times, Vorin, you used more articulate writing for your character to almost elevate his grasp of the language above that of Walter, which was still done simply enough that I didn’t need to pull out a dictionary and look up any words. Always write in the clearest and easiest to understand language, if you can say it in fewer words, do it and if you can say it without using that extremely obscene and obsolete word do it that way too.
Wild Card: - 7 This was an over all good read, even though Vorin stated it was supposed to be some of his ‘crappier’ work. I could see at times that you weren’t writing your best but had this been finished it would have been an overall good quest. Shame you won’t be writing with Vorin anymore.
Total: 73
Reward:
Vorin receives 675 experience and 150 GP!
Walter receives 1,200 experience and 150 GP!
Cyrus the virus
12-05-06, 10:45 PM
EXP added.
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