Redeemer
03-24-06, 08:47 PM
((Made 4 days before the Crash, boy we need T-Shirts that say, "I survived the Crash of 06))
*Forsaken here, so all references to me are okay. My newest character, and Forsaken's own flesh and blood. Hopefully, my new first person writing style will get me out of writer’s block.*
Name: Nathaniel
-Formerly: Nathaniel Sierra
-Aliases: ‘Redeemer‘, ‘Cherub of Death’
Age: 70 ((Apparently 16))
Sex: Male
Race: Vampire
Height: 5’4”
Weight: 107 lbs.
Hair: Black
Eye: Black
Occupation: Rebel, Heretic
Likes: …Not much…
Dislikes: Irael’Rar
Appearance: The worn black rimmed mirror showed an image I had no real desire to see. A bleak ghost like figure, wide eyes like two black pit, endless in their depths. The young reflection showed skin so pale and soft it could rival a newborn child’s. Only the youth’s stern and unhappy lips seemed to bare any life, even if they held a pair of small fangs behind them. His hair a mess of black shag, the boy seemed to scream of teenage angst, loss, depression. A heart shaped face that spoke of innocence, but still managed to hide something away drew my attention even closer.
And although it took a moment to register, I finally realized what I was looking at. My own reflection, as heart wrenching as it was to see. It had been so long since my carefree youth, if you could call a youth like mine carefree. Yet, I still carried the appearance of a boy no more than 16.
My eyes moved downward intent on seeing the rest of my frail appearance. At least my garb held more color and energy than my lifeless form. Slowly I lifted my bandaged hands and began to finger the orange woolen scarf that lay wrapped around my neck. I often sought the tassels on each end for a source of amusement. Soon my thoughts moved to the long sleeved red undershirt that clung tightly to my young body and the tan over shirt that covered it. So loose the tan shirt was, a red strip on both short sleeves and one at the bottom, it felt as though I could fit one more inside. My hands slowly slid down my loose fit denim jeans, my finger tips felt the well stitched seams on both sides. Wiggling my hips slightly, I enjoyed the touch of my thin white cotton under shorts on my bare skin. I’ve always been a man whose desired warmth and comfort over fashion. Soon my attention turned to my boots that lay be the side of my rented bed. Worn brown leather with many scuffs and tears. Still, they managed to keep together as I walked about.
Personality: Throughout my life, I’ve always been serious. So rare is it to see a smile on these lips, a twinkle in those eye. Many would call me down right depressed, filled with regrets and bitter from a life of meaningless servitude and false idols. I find myself feeling awkward in social situations, never caring much for the company of others. During my life, my brother always commented on my lack of things to say. Even when asked a question, I’d still prefer to give a simple nod rather then strike up a conversation.
Long ago my pride was stripped from me, replaced by naïve trust in an entity I knew little about. Now, with that gone, I am no longer hindered by ignorance or honor. Often I play the part of the naïve child or the foolish whore, biting my tongue and faking submission or respect. I find this as my only weapon against much stronger foes. ((Even if it does hurt my small ego at times))
*Humility and honesty were taught at an early age, and even through all the bitterness, I am sincere most of the time*
*It is very hard to anger me, but my temper is incredible once I am. I’ve been compared to a spoiled brat on occasion*
Items: Merely my clothes.
Attributes/Weaknesses:
-Weaknesses:
Sunlight: The light from the sun causes great pain on my skin. After an hour’s exposure I being to blister and crack. My eyesight during daylight is very poor, and often I find myself squinting barely able to see. If ever I need to travel by day, I always slink along the shadows.
*Cloud cover does protect me from the sun*
*The sun is not fatal to me, merely painful and awkward*
Strength: As much as it pains me to say it, I am physically weaker than the average 16 year old. I’d always been weak and with the change in me, my strength seemed to diminish even more or so I’ve been told by Irael’Rar.
Can’t Stomach: I cannot consume mortal food. Sometimes the very sight of it causes me nausea.
The Word: One word, all it took to make me bow once I began my rebellion. Whenever it is spoken, I feel myself weaken and grow ill. Soon my muscles spasm and great pain begins to set in. I just cannot help submitting to whoever speaks it, if only to stop them from saying it twice. That most foul word is ‘Keal’Mazhuhad’. Damn the ancient vampiric tongue, I’ve yet to find out what it means.
-Fatalities: Through research and time well spent, I’ve learned the few things that can kill me. Irael’Rar, my ‘master’, recorded in detail the ways his favorite little toy could die.
-Decapitation
-Incineration
*Note: While these are the only things that could ever destroy me, I can easily be disabled by other attacks.*
-Strengths:
Bloodlust: Like all vampires, I must consume blood. However, through the means of Irael’Rar’s tortuous sadism, I’ve grown the ability to resist the hunger for long periods of time. I can go a full 3 weeks without feeding, leaving time for other things in my journey.
Abilities:
-Empathy: An ability I’ve been trained to harness all my life. ‘A priest needs to know what other’s feel’, my teacher would always say. Generally, Once I glace into someone’s eyes, I begin to sense what they are feeling. Almost all the emotions thinking beings feel I can sense. *Although this at times does hinder my feeding. It’s very hard to take the life of a creature whose emotions you feel*
-Transfer: Opening the journals of my former master revealed powers I’d no idea of. While denying me many of the normal dark gifts, he allowed me the trick to gain any ability a fellow vampire gave to me willingly. As plain as day, he’d planned to make me more and more power with each century that passed. An exchange of blood is all that’s needed for me obtain the another’s dark gift, so long as it’s consensual. *Note that I may only obtain one ability from any one vampire.*
History: My first memory is of the temple of Irael‘rar. My father walked me through the streets of our city. Mak’Irael, the name still echoes in my head. The city teamed with life on a sunny afternoon. Sights of vendors selling rare goods, smells of cooks preparing fine feasts in open-aired kitchens and the feel of soft furs and silks that I ran my small hands against. All of it was in my family’s domain. But we were merely servants to our God, Irael’rar, and even if the nearby towns and villages paid homage to us, we all bowed before the temple in our city. I was nearly five and around this time all young children were brought before the temple’s high priest. There, our Lord Irael’rar would speak through his servant and choose the child’s future. No boy or girl was exempt from this ritual, and it seemed only natural to all the citizens. Still, as I approached the great stone building I felt more and more anxious.
What does he look like? What will he think of me? What will I become? Thoughts began racing faster and faster around my mind. Soon I felt faint and had to hold my father’s leg for support. One look from his stern demanding eyes told me to end my embrace quickly. Finally we arrived at Irael’rar’s temple. Sand colored mason bricks made up the base of the grand building, atop which lay golden colored wooden beams that made the arched roof. Thick black smoke billowed out from the paramount, a great chimney spire. My father grasped my hand, his eyes turned downward at the floor. A quick squeeze told me to do the same as we began our decent down a set of spiral stairs. Soon I found myself counting each step as we crept lower and lower into Irael’rar’s inner sanctum. What’s going to happen…?
And finally we came to it, a great metal bolted chamber door. The iron hinges began to squeak as the great entrance opened before us. At once, nearly dragging me, my father rushed in full of energy. Three, four, five steps in he feel on one knee, his head in complete submission. Yet, free from his clutches, all I could do was stare up in awe. Two great flaming pyres raged as their smoke mixed and twirled about. Slowly, from the ashen gray mist, a form began to come into existence. Like a man, great and muscular, his face chiseled and narrow, his pose ever so dignified. I’d never witnessed anything so wondrous before in my short life. I was staring to the very face of a god, Irael’rar.
“What are you doing!” My father screamed, his eyes in total disbelief. I will never forget his appearance that day. Wearing a great black fur coat, his mouth nearly spewing salvia, he reminded me of a rabid bear. His hand formed a fist as it smashed into the back of my knee. I tumbled to the ground like a rag doll, a loud gasp escaping my mouth. The pain was terrible and I began to weep. “Stop your sniveling! Can you not see where you are!?” Once again he paw was intent of smacking me, yet it stopped quite suddenly when an echoing voice bayed its’ halt.
“Stop! Do not strike him again!” The mist had begun to smoke. Its’ voice was both awesome and terrifying, my protector and tormentor all in one.
My father knew not to argue, his hand moving back to his side. “Forgiveness my lord..”
“Do not try it again.” The smoke swayed as the ashen form approached my now kneeling form. The very being of Irael’rar began to caress me with the evanescent flowing. “What is your name?” It seemed as though his voice was only in my head. So commanding it was I felt I could follow him to the ends of the earth.
“His name is Na..” A great rush of force seemed to hit my father as he flew back nearly five feet. Had someone pushed him? I took me moments to realize it was the power of Irael’rar.
“I did not ask you Marquis, I asked your son his name.”
“My apologies…” Never before had I heard my father so beaten, so womanly.
The preternatural form turned its’ head to me once more. He did not need to speak, for I knew what he wanted. “I am Nathaniel Sierra…” I was at a loss of words for a title. Worriedly I looked towards my father for guidance, but found only fear in his eyes, “…Sir” Stupid..
The specter only seemed to chuckle as his smokey form continued to bob and weave about. Soon the form of Irael’rar disappeared all together, his booming voice back at the flames.
“Very well. I know exactly where young Nathaniel belongs. Marquis, you think your son is weak and lacks discipline. Don’t try and deny it, for I can see into your mind. Well, I know exactly the training Nathaniel requires. His calm and gentle soul needs a far more hospitable environment. He shall become one of my chosen, a priest of this temple.”
With that the two great flames simply vanished. The voice was gone, but the words still flowed in my head. To become a priest was something I’d never even imagined. The images of those somber faces marching through the city streets, so serious, staves in hands. Did I really want to join their ranks?
I did not need to wait for an answer. Within a minute of Irael’rar’s disappearance, to priests dressed in plain tan robes strode in, glares focused on me. I wanted to scream out, I wanted to run, but I knew I had no choice. I feared my father’s wrath, I fear the priests and most of all I feared Irael’rar. Quietly I rose as the clergymen escorted me out of the great chambers. I took one last look at my father, the image still lurks in my mind. Like a great wounded black bear, walking away from me, not even looking back.
*********
I’ve often wondered what I may have missed being raised in temple. My visits home were few and far between, and I’d only ever see my brother while I was there. The priests were harsh disciplinarians, constantly reciting the phrase ‘spare the rod and spoil the child.” In all honesty that never made much sense to me, since the rod was never spared use. Still, I did grow into a fine standard of a young man. Though frail and meek, I was filled with an honor and pride that matched few. After all, no matter the robes I wore, I still was the blood of nobility.
Time seemed to pass more and more quickly. My long and tedious studies into the mental and spiritual arts produced little results. Empathy was the first and only skill I ever learned from the priesthood. My teachers were often disappointed in my slow progress. Still, whenever I’d convene with Irael’rar, his booming words of encouragement would stem any doubts I had. It seemed I had few sleepless nights with thoughts of him as my guardian angel.
Still, my devotion to his church soon began to weaver as new emotions and experiences began in my body. It all started at the age of 14. His name was David, the delivery boy for the temple’s food supply. As I worked in the kitchen with unskilled hands, ours eyes met. Like so tawdry romance novel it was love at first sight. His voice so strong and clear, hair like a burning fire. His muscles gleamed with a thick coat of sweat as he carried crates of vegetables to and fro. All of these signals hit my mind like a brick, my own body growing rigid, sweat pouring from every pour. And when he said those first few words to me, I nearly lost consciousness.
“Hi, where do you want these?” His voice was normal in tone, if not a tad chipper. For moments no words could come out of my mouth. Then, after several awkward minutes, I spoke.
“You can put them anywhere you want.” Did I honestly just say that? My tone gave away all my intentions, nervous as it was. I’d actually tried to sound seductive in my meek and boyish manner.
He smiled kindly, knowing exactly what my shambled words meant. Quickly he put the crate down and strode over to me. My heart a pounded like a beating war drum as each step brought him closer. It was what I’d always imagined beauty was like, as if Irael’rar himself had plucked an angel from the heavens and given him to me. As our body heats drew closer, I could almost feel his lust. Our lips touched for only an instant, but it felt like an eternity. Everything sweet I’ve ever tasted seemed to flow into my mouth as our lips locked. And this single act started it all. I’d learn later the meaning of his actions, but for now all was a beautiful lie.
Our romance was secret, always under the cover of pale starlight. We’d never meet near the temple, my elders would forbid it. So many times we’d simply talk under the stars, staying out to the late hours until I snuck back into the temple at dawn. It was all so perfect. Until one fateful day…
I had arrived at my family’s estate for a monthly visit. My elder brother, Vincent, was home from the army. He’d been moving up in the ranks, soon to inherit the title Marquis from my father. After a cold and awkward moment chatting mindlessly with my parents, and a quick hug with Vincent, I went up into my old room. Any personal affects I’d had there were long gone. All that was left was a plain bed, unadorned with white sheets. It didn’t matter to me though. As soon as I entered, there was the boy on the windowsill. It’s funny now as I think back on those days. I just can’t recall the boy’s name. But the passion, the feelings, the yearning for him, I still feel it now.
We kissed quickly, a lover’s greeting. Like animals we rushed over to the bed, preparing ourselves for more extreme things we’d been working towards. His strong form lay on top of me, preparing to enter me in one swift moment. And then…my father entered with a bag I’d forgotten down stairs. His eyes widened as he saw his son, his own flesh and blood, submitting to the lust of another. The boy had little time to escape, just barely dodging the blows from my father's cane. I was not so lucky. As soon as my love rushed down the stairs, my father's icy glare turned to me. His cane raised high in the air, I tried my best to curl into a ball. Soon blow after blow met my back, my breathe left me quickly as the force from the impact took the air from my lungs. I still can’t remember how many times he had hit me. All I know that my savior arrived soon, Vincent, my brother.
“Stop!” His voice powerful and commanding, his right hand at the hilt of his sword. He had never feared my father, openly defying him with no worry of the consequences. My father backed down at once, the blows ceased as he left the room with eyes pointed towards the floor. Soon, Vincent had his arms around me as a wept. He tried his best to comfort me, using calming words. Somehow, I found solace. I still can't recall what he said, but I do remember one thing...
...I loved my brother.
*********
But tragedy soon struck our family, all in the same week. Father grew ill quickly, some say from his drinking habits. But whatever the cause, he died suddenly. I, for obvious reasons, didn't attend the services. I used the excuse of too much school work. But Vincent, he knew the really reason. The day of the funeral, he sent me a letter. How much he loved me, the importance of family, honor, pride and ending with a praise to Irael'rar. I loved him all the more for it, but I still didn't attend. During the services, Vincent obtained the title of Marquis. It gave him power over all the city and the surrounding farm villages.
He was off to war the next day, expanding our lands was he promise to the people. The day he left on his horse, I remember well. Off into the sunset, like a bad adventure novel. An icy wind blew across the city that day. He promised to be back within a week with the heads of barbarians as his prize.
He never returned...
I still don't know what happened to him out there. But his betrothed, who had went with him for comfort, was murdered. Even though he was the Marquis, he still had superiors in the army. When they returned, they told the tale of his 'Cowardice'. How he'd refused to fight because of his massive grief. His commander had to execute him for not following orders, and this is where my story truly begins.
There was no crime greater than to not follow orders, save heresy, and dishonor was placed upon my family for Vincent's actions. Our titles stripped from us by order of the priests, my clergyhood revoked, we awaited trial like common criminals. We'd done nothing, but the people wanted blood. The army had lost, and of course the loss was blamed on Vincent. Some even thought him a traitor.
Yet, All I could do was go over the letter Vincent had sent. If I wanted to save his name, as well as the family's, I knew I had to take the brunt of it all myself. I volunteered to speak with Irael'rar myself and face any punishment he saw just. What a mistake that was.
*********
I can't recall what had happened to me, but when I awoke I was in an enormous stone chamber. Beautiful comforts were laid about. Chairs of leather, sheets and curtains of silk. Beautiful torchlight of many shades and colors. And there I lay, on a cold stone floor. What's worse, I lay there unclothed. I felt tired, my head hurting a little as I tried to sit up.
"Groggy, redeemer?" A subtle, mocking tone. I turned my head, and gazed upon what looked like a gentleman. Short, cleanly cut chestnut brown hair upon his head. Eyes of clear blue that looked luminescent. His face was pale and his lips were a very light shade of pink. The satin robes that he wore were of a deep blue and black color. I hadn't even heard him come in.
"Who the hell are you.." I could barely speak. My mouth felt dry and my head ached so much.
"Is that anyway to talk to one who only hours ago you begged?"
Could it be? Was this...man...Irael'rar? I remembered back to that time when I was four. Sure enough, it had been that voice. But as I looked up, as I stared into his eyes, I knew he was more. I could tell, just by those eyes and how they looked at me, that he was also the boy who I was so in love with only a sort time ago.
"Yes young Nathaniel. I was your lover, I was the priest that gave you your highest grades, I was the cook that gave you extra helpings of food at my temple. I was all of these things and more young redeemer." He continued to call me that name. Offering his hand to me, I couldn’t help but move back. This was, after all, a god. And here I lay, before him, with nothing to cover myself and throbbing pain in my head.
"Please don't deny me." He spoke far more authoritatively now. I couldn't refuse and didn't want to find out what would happen if I did. I took his offer and tried to cover up with my one free hand. "You must be wondering why you're stripped, no?"
I knew he wasn't just guessing that. When he stared into my eyes, I could feel him probing my mind. He made sure I knew what he was doing. I heard a little voice in the back of my mind. Clever you are, my little redeemer
And soon he began to explain it all to me. How I'd agreed to become his agent to redeem my family's name, how I was no longer mortal, how he'd stripped me of my garb because 'it reeked of human'. I was to be his angel of death, or as he called me his 'Cherub of death'. Every night he'd bring me a young mortal, naturally I'd feed upon their blood. With each kill he told me I redeemed their souls as well as my own. And with every body, I was allowed to take the clothes I liked the most.
The years began to pass and still I never aged. During the day, *I really couldn't tell when it was day or night. Irael'rar's chamber let in no natural light*, I'd sleep in his bedchambers beside him. We became lovers soon enough, I always submitted to his whims of fancy.
But as time moved on, I began to question my new life. Why had I always been kept in the stone chambers? How many years had it been? Every night I turned to the books Irael'rar kept hidden. I knew he didn't want me reading them, but I just had to know more. Soon I discovered the truth. My master was no god, but something called a vampire. I'd never heard the world before, but it came up again and again in each memoir I read. A creature that fed off the life force of living beings. And what's worse...that's what Irael'rar turned me into.
I was disgusted and that very night *or day* I confronted him.
"My little Cherub...Who told you to look into my books?" He was obviously upset, but still he kept a cocky tone and smile.
"Don't call me your cherub. I'm sick of the lies." I hoped my words were venom to his ears. I hoped at that very moment a bolt of lightning from some deity struck him dead. But nothing happened.
"Would you prefer, 'my little heretic?'" He actually chuckled. Rage seemed to seethe through my body. But I knew I could play it cocky too.
"How can I be a heretic when you are no god!" That did it. His eyes seemed to glow with fire as he raised one hand. Moving his mouth in silence, I felt a great force push me back. My frail form smashed hard against the stone wall, and within an instant Irael'rar was again within an arms length from me.
"Come.." The force keeping me to the wall lifted and I fell to my knees. What else could I do but follow him? With uneasy legs I followed my master, like a beaten slave my head was bowed. Walls of brick seemed to dissipate as he walked through, and we were soon in a chamber I'd never before seen. A great font lay in the middle and as we came closer I could see it was filled with blood.
With a single wave of his hand, Irael'rar made moving pictures appear in the pool. I could barely recognize the shattered remnants of Mak’Irael. Decaying corpses and worn weaponry seemed thrown about.
"Without your brother, it seems *MY* city fell. Speaking of which.." His great hand moved again with ease as a new picture showed in the depths of red liquid. A shirtless young man, chained and bloodied. I knew at once who that face belonged to, even through the bruises.
"Vincent...But how..?"
"You, my heretic, are my champion. Your brother on the other hand, he was chosen by an 'old friend' of mine. A demon by the name Alkar'Montrie. Our history, as your mortals say, goes way back. Now would you like to be my Cherub, my redeemer again? Or do you prefer defying me? Because I have far more punishments in that case."
I was stunned and could only watch on in horror as Vincent was beaten again and again by masked creatures. I punched and hit at the reflection, only to have the ripples distort the image until it disappeared. Finally, after tense and agonizing minutes, I gave a subtle nod.
"Excellent, my pet, my love. But you must be punished for such a defiance. Remember, this hurts me more than it does you.." I doubted that greatly. At once his right forefinger began to grow a hideous nail as he inserted it into the back of my neck. And then, that accursed word...
"Keal’Mazhuhad.." The sound echoed in my mind for what seemed like an eternity. I felt so violently ill that I needed the release of vomiting. The pain grew so intense that I blacked out. I saw everything, The curse Irael'rar and Alkar'Montrie shared. How they were both bound to different realms, Irael'rar to this underground chamber and Alkar'Montrie to his hellish dimension. They could, of course, expend their power outward, but the further and further they pushed, the less powerful it was. They needed creatures in the physical world to help release them, and that is where Vincent and I came in. Who knows what it was that drove these creatures to us, but we were theirs now.
Anytime I would defy Irael'rar after that, he'd just use that word and I begged for relief. He became all the more strict, using me whenever he pleased. His sadistic nature began to grow as he starved me of blood for days, even weeks on end. Yet, even though I would no longer openly defy him, my hate and resentment grew. Whenever he was asleep or not around, I read his journals. I read all the passages he wrote about me, about my future. Soon, a plan began to formulate in my head, and I knew that it would be the only way for me to escape.
I waited until my master had awoken, and like always, he tried to get me into bed with him. This time however, I refused.
"What.."
"You heard me Master," I said as mockingly as possible, "I do not want to lay with you right now."
"How can you refuse me, must I punish you again? Are you some sort of masochist, loving the pain I bestow upon you?" He sounded more annoyed that enraged.
"If I am your champion, than why must I submit to you sexually? Shouldn't you be grooming me with power?"
"I will do with you as I please..."
"It just doesn't seem very smart to waste your time and efforts in pleasures of the flesh, when your champion needs to be sent out into the world to do your bidding."
"And who says you're even a good choice?" Finally his rage had built up. He came closer to me, looking as if he'd hit me at any moment. I knew I had to keep him distracted with taunts, so he wouldn't probe my mind. "Maybe I'll just keep you as the cheap slut you are. Using you when I please and for whatever meaningless task I have thought up."
As soon as he said this, and I just knew he'd say the like, I began to weep. I knew he had some twisted caring for my feelings. Forcefully, he calmed himself down and came beside to me.
"Why must you anger me so my redeemer...?"
"I'm sorry master...I don't know why..why I do such things...please forgive me...let me make it up to you.." Oh how I laid it on thick for him, hamming it up with the best acting I could muster. Soon, a cheerful smile streaked across my face as I stared at his crotch. Looking down at me, he began to smile too, and began to disrobe. Expecting fellatio from me was not very wise of him, as my mouth wrapped around his being. Oh how happy he would've been if I actually had done the job. Alas, my plans were very different. Quickly I sank one of my small fangs deep within the flesh. He screamed a powerful scream and pulled away, causing even more tearing. Falling to the floor, he writhed and agony as the stone cavern began to twist and writhe along with him. I could see it, the opening outside, natural light pouring in.
I dashed for the hole, all the while enjoying his screams. Oh how warm and beautiful the sun felt when I first left, even if it irritated my skin and began to burn a bit. I found shade quickly enough but needed to keep on the run. The further I got from the chambers, the less powerful a grasp he had on me. By nightfall, *thankfully I'd been in shade most of the time* with slightly burned skin, I looked out onto the horizon. I knew not where I was or where to go. But the reason I could recall, that twisted vision of my brother that his demon tormentor had planned, it played again and again in my mind. A black winged angel, nails and garb to match.
I had to find my brother, hopefully he'd be as normal as I. My only connection to a past life.
((OOC Notes: Nathaniel cannot sire. The transfer counts for one individual vampire, and not a clan. Also, for realism‘s sake, do not give me the standard 100 starting gold.))
*Forsaken here, so all references to me are okay. My newest character, and Forsaken's own flesh and blood. Hopefully, my new first person writing style will get me out of writer’s block.*
Name: Nathaniel
-Formerly: Nathaniel Sierra
-Aliases: ‘Redeemer‘, ‘Cherub of Death’
Age: 70 ((Apparently 16))
Sex: Male
Race: Vampire
Height: 5’4”
Weight: 107 lbs.
Hair: Black
Eye: Black
Occupation: Rebel, Heretic
Likes: …Not much…
Dislikes: Irael’Rar
Appearance: The worn black rimmed mirror showed an image I had no real desire to see. A bleak ghost like figure, wide eyes like two black pit, endless in their depths. The young reflection showed skin so pale and soft it could rival a newborn child’s. Only the youth’s stern and unhappy lips seemed to bare any life, even if they held a pair of small fangs behind them. His hair a mess of black shag, the boy seemed to scream of teenage angst, loss, depression. A heart shaped face that spoke of innocence, but still managed to hide something away drew my attention even closer.
And although it took a moment to register, I finally realized what I was looking at. My own reflection, as heart wrenching as it was to see. It had been so long since my carefree youth, if you could call a youth like mine carefree. Yet, I still carried the appearance of a boy no more than 16.
My eyes moved downward intent on seeing the rest of my frail appearance. At least my garb held more color and energy than my lifeless form. Slowly I lifted my bandaged hands and began to finger the orange woolen scarf that lay wrapped around my neck. I often sought the tassels on each end for a source of amusement. Soon my thoughts moved to the long sleeved red undershirt that clung tightly to my young body and the tan over shirt that covered it. So loose the tan shirt was, a red strip on both short sleeves and one at the bottom, it felt as though I could fit one more inside. My hands slowly slid down my loose fit denim jeans, my finger tips felt the well stitched seams on both sides. Wiggling my hips slightly, I enjoyed the touch of my thin white cotton under shorts on my bare skin. I’ve always been a man whose desired warmth and comfort over fashion. Soon my attention turned to my boots that lay be the side of my rented bed. Worn brown leather with many scuffs and tears. Still, they managed to keep together as I walked about.
Personality: Throughout my life, I’ve always been serious. So rare is it to see a smile on these lips, a twinkle in those eye. Many would call me down right depressed, filled with regrets and bitter from a life of meaningless servitude and false idols. I find myself feeling awkward in social situations, never caring much for the company of others. During my life, my brother always commented on my lack of things to say. Even when asked a question, I’d still prefer to give a simple nod rather then strike up a conversation.
Long ago my pride was stripped from me, replaced by naïve trust in an entity I knew little about. Now, with that gone, I am no longer hindered by ignorance or honor. Often I play the part of the naïve child or the foolish whore, biting my tongue and faking submission or respect. I find this as my only weapon against much stronger foes. ((Even if it does hurt my small ego at times))
*Humility and honesty were taught at an early age, and even through all the bitterness, I am sincere most of the time*
*It is very hard to anger me, but my temper is incredible once I am. I’ve been compared to a spoiled brat on occasion*
Items: Merely my clothes.
Attributes/Weaknesses:
-Weaknesses:
Sunlight: The light from the sun causes great pain on my skin. After an hour’s exposure I being to blister and crack. My eyesight during daylight is very poor, and often I find myself squinting barely able to see. If ever I need to travel by day, I always slink along the shadows.
*Cloud cover does protect me from the sun*
*The sun is not fatal to me, merely painful and awkward*
Strength: As much as it pains me to say it, I am physically weaker than the average 16 year old. I’d always been weak and with the change in me, my strength seemed to diminish even more or so I’ve been told by Irael’Rar.
Can’t Stomach: I cannot consume mortal food. Sometimes the very sight of it causes me nausea.
The Word: One word, all it took to make me bow once I began my rebellion. Whenever it is spoken, I feel myself weaken and grow ill. Soon my muscles spasm and great pain begins to set in. I just cannot help submitting to whoever speaks it, if only to stop them from saying it twice. That most foul word is ‘Keal’Mazhuhad’. Damn the ancient vampiric tongue, I’ve yet to find out what it means.
-Fatalities: Through research and time well spent, I’ve learned the few things that can kill me. Irael’Rar, my ‘master’, recorded in detail the ways his favorite little toy could die.
-Decapitation
-Incineration
*Note: While these are the only things that could ever destroy me, I can easily be disabled by other attacks.*
-Strengths:
Bloodlust: Like all vampires, I must consume blood. However, through the means of Irael’Rar’s tortuous sadism, I’ve grown the ability to resist the hunger for long periods of time. I can go a full 3 weeks without feeding, leaving time for other things in my journey.
Abilities:
-Empathy: An ability I’ve been trained to harness all my life. ‘A priest needs to know what other’s feel’, my teacher would always say. Generally, Once I glace into someone’s eyes, I begin to sense what they are feeling. Almost all the emotions thinking beings feel I can sense. *Although this at times does hinder my feeding. It’s very hard to take the life of a creature whose emotions you feel*
-Transfer: Opening the journals of my former master revealed powers I’d no idea of. While denying me many of the normal dark gifts, he allowed me the trick to gain any ability a fellow vampire gave to me willingly. As plain as day, he’d planned to make me more and more power with each century that passed. An exchange of blood is all that’s needed for me obtain the another’s dark gift, so long as it’s consensual. *Note that I may only obtain one ability from any one vampire.*
History: My first memory is of the temple of Irael‘rar. My father walked me through the streets of our city. Mak’Irael, the name still echoes in my head. The city teamed with life on a sunny afternoon. Sights of vendors selling rare goods, smells of cooks preparing fine feasts in open-aired kitchens and the feel of soft furs and silks that I ran my small hands against. All of it was in my family’s domain. But we were merely servants to our God, Irael’rar, and even if the nearby towns and villages paid homage to us, we all bowed before the temple in our city. I was nearly five and around this time all young children were brought before the temple’s high priest. There, our Lord Irael’rar would speak through his servant and choose the child’s future. No boy or girl was exempt from this ritual, and it seemed only natural to all the citizens. Still, as I approached the great stone building I felt more and more anxious.
What does he look like? What will he think of me? What will I become? Thoughts began racing faster and faster around my mind. Soon I felt faint and had to hold my father’s leg for support. One look from his stern demanding eyes told me to end my embrace quickly. Finally we arrived at Irael’rar’s temple. Sand colored mason bricks made up the base of the grand building, atop which lay golden colored wooden beams that made the arched roof. Thick black smoke billowed out from the paramount, a great chimney spire. My father grasped my hand, his eyes turned downward at the floor. A quick squeeze told me to do the same as we began our decent down a set of spiral stairs. Soon I found myself counting each step as we crept lower and lower into Irael’rar’s inner sanctum. What’s going to happen…?
And finally we came to it, a great metal bolted chamber door. The iron hinges began to squeak as the great entrance opened before us. At once, nearly dragging me, my father rushed in full of energy. Three, four, five steps in he feel on one knee, his head in complete submission. Yet, free from his clutches, all I could do was stare up in awe. Two great flaming pyres raged as their smoke mixed and twirled about. Slowly, from the ashen gray mist, a form began to come into existence. Like a man, great and muscular, his face chiseled and narrow, his pose ever so dignified. I’d never witnessed anything so wondrous before in my short life. I was staring to the very face of a god, Irael’rar.
“What are you doing!” My father screamed, his eyes in total disbelief. I will never forget his appearance that day. Wearing a great black fur coat, his mouth nearly spewing salvia, he reminded me of a rabid bear. His hand formed a fist as it smashed into the back of my knee. I tumbled to the ground like a rag doll, a loud gasp escaping my mouth. The pain was terrible and I began to weep. “Stop your sniveling! Can you not see where you are!?” Once again he paw was intent of smacking me, yet it stopped quite suddenly when an echoing voice bayed its’ halt.
“Stop! Do not strike him again!” The mist had begun to smoke. Its’ voice was both awesome and terrifying, my protector and tormentor all in one.
My father knew not to argue, his hand moving back to his side. “Forgiveness my lord..”
“Do not try it again.” The smoke swayed as the ashen form approached my now kneeling form. The very being of Irael’rar began to caress me with the evanescent flowing. “What is your name?” It seemed as though his voice was only in my head. So commanding it was I felt I could follow him to the ends of the earth.
“His name is Na..” A great rush of force seemed to hit my father as he flew back nearly five feet. Had someone pushed him? I took me moments to realize it was the power of Irael’rar.
“I did not ask you Marquis, I asked your son his name.”
“My apologies…” Never before had I heard my father so beaten, so womanly.
The preternatural form turned its’ head to me once more. He did not need to speak, for I knew what he wanted. “I am Nathaniel Sierra…” I was at a loss of words for a title. Worriedly I looked towards my father for guidance, but found only fear in his eyes, “…Sir” Stupid..
The specter only seemed to chuckle as his smokey form continued to bob and weave about. Soon the form of Irael’rar disappeared all together, his booming voice back at the flames.
“Very well. I know exactly where young Nathaniel belongs. Marquis, you think your son is weak and lacks discipline. Don’t try and deny it, for I can see into your mind. Well, I know exactly the training Nathaniel requires. His calm and gentle soul needs a far more hospitable environment. He shall become one of my chosen, a priest of this temple.”
With that the two great flames simply vanished. The voice was gone, but the words still flowed in my head. To become a priest was something I’d never even imagined. The images of those somber faces marching through the city streets, so serious, staves in hands. Did I really want to join their ranks?
I did not need to wait for an answer. Within a minute of Irael’rar’s disappearance, to priests dressed in plain tan robes strode in, glares focused on me. I wanted to scream out, I wanted to run, but I knew I had no choice. I feared my father’s wrath, I fear the priests and most of all I feared Irael’rar. Quietly I rose as the clergymen escorted me out of the great chambers. I took one last look at my father, the image still lurks in my mind. Like a great wounded black bear, walking away from me, not even looking back.
*********
I’ve often wondered what I may have missed being raised in temple. My visits home were few and far between, and I’d only ever see my brother while I was there. The priests were harsh disciplinarians, constantly reciting the phrase ‘spare the rod and spoil the child.” In all honesty that never made much sense to me, since the rod was never spared use. Still, I did grow into a fine standard of a young man. Though frail and meek, I was filled with an honor and pride that matched few. After all, no matter the robes I wore, I still was the blood of nobility.
Time seemed to pass more and more quickly. My long and tedious studies into the mental and spiritual arts produced little results. Empathy was the first and only skill I ever learned from the priesthood. My teachers were often disappointed in my slow progress. Still, whenever I’d convene with Irael’rar, his booming words of encouragement would stem any doubts I had. It seemed I had few sleepless nights with thoughts of him as my guardian angel.
Still, my devotion to his church soon began to weaver as new emotions and experiences began in my body. It all started at the age of 14. His name was David, the delivery boy for the temple’s food supply. As I worked in the kitchen with unskilled hands, ours eyes met. Like so tawdry romance novel it was love at first sight. His voice so strong and clear, hair like a burning fire. His muscles gleamed with a thick coat of sweat as he carried crates of vegetables to and fro. All of these signals hit my mind like a brick, my own body growing rigid, sweat pouring from every pour. And when he said those first few words to me, I nearly lost consciousness.
“Hi, where do you want these?” His voice was normal in tone, if not a tad chipper. For moments no words could come out of my mouth. Then, after several awkward minutes, I spoke.
“You can put them anywhere you want.” Did I honestly just say that? My tone gave away all my intentions, nervous as it was. I’d actually tried to sound seductive in my meek and boyish manner.
He smiled kindly, knowing exactly what my shambled words meant. Quickly he put the crate down and strode over to me. My heart a pounded like a beating war drum as each step brought him closer. It was what I’d always imagined beauty was like, as if Irael’rar himself had plucked an angel from the heavens and given him to me. As our body heats drew closer, I could almost feel his lust. Our lips touched for only an instant, but it felt like an eternity. Everything sweet I’ve ever tasted seemed to flow into my mouth as our lips locked. And this single act started it all. I’d learn later the meaning of his actions, but for now all was a beautiful lie.
Our romance was secret, always under the cover of pale starlight. We’d never meet near the temple, my elders would forbid it. So many times we’d simply talk under the stars, staying out to the late hours until I snuck back into the temple at dawn. It was all so perfect. Until one fateful day…
I had arrived at my family’s estate for a monthly visit. My elder brother, Vincent, was home from the army. He’d been moving up in the ranks, soon to inherit the title Marquis from my father. After a cold and awkward moment chatting mindlessly with my parents, and a quick hug with Vincent, I went up into my old room. Any personal affects I’d had there were long gone. All that was left was a plain bed, unadorned with white sheets. It didn’t matter to me though. As soon as I entered, there was the boy on the windowsill. It’s funny now as I think back on those days. I just can’t recall the boy’s name. But the passion, the feelings, the yearning for him, I still feel it now.
We kissed quickly, a lover’s greeting. Like animals we rushed over to the bed, preparing ourselves for more extreme things we’d been working towards. His strong form lay on top of me, preparing to enter me in one swift moment. And then…my father entered with a bag I’d forgotten down stairs. His eyes widened as he saw his son, his own flesh and blood, submitting to the lust of another. The boy had little time to escape, just barely dodging the blows from my father's cane. I was not so lucky. As soon as my love rushed down the stairs, my father's icy glare turned to me. His cane raised high in the air, I tried my best to curl into a ball. Soon blow after blow met my back, my breathe left me quickly as the force from the impact took the air from my lungs. I still can’t remember how many times he had hit me. All I know that my savior arrived soon, Vincent, my brother.
“Stop!” His voice powerful and commanding, his right hand at the hilt of his sword. He had never feared my father, openly defying him with no worry of the consequences. My father backed down at once, the blows ceased as he left the room with eyes pointed towards the floor. Soon, Vincent had his arms around me as a wept. He tried his best to comfort me, using calming words. Somehow, I found solace. I still can't recall what he said, but I do remember one thing...
...I loved my brother.
*********
But tragedy soon struck our family, all in the same week. Father grew ill quickly, some say from his drinking habits. But whatever the cause, he died suddenly. I, for obvious reasons, didn't attend the services. I used the excuse of too much school work. But Vincent, he knew the really reason. The day of the funeral, he sent me a letter. How much he loved me, the importance of family, honor, pride and ending with a praise to Irael'rar. I loved him all the more for it, but I still didn't attend. During the services, Vincent obtained the title of Marquis. It gave him power over all the city and the surrounding farm villages.
He was off to war the next day, expanding our lands was he promise to the people. The day he left on his horse, I remember well. Off into the sunset, like a bad adventure novel. An icy wind blew across the city that day. He promised to be back within a week with the heads of barbarians as his prize.
He never returned...
I still don't know what happened to him out there. But his betrothed, who had went with him for comfort, was murdered. Even though he was the Marquis, he still had superiors in the army. When they returned, they told the tale of his 'Cowardice'. How he'd refused to fight because of his massive grief. His commander had to execute him for not following orders, and this is where my story truly begins.
There was no crime greater than to not follow orders, save heresy, and dishonor was placed upon my family for Vincent's actions. Our titles stripped from us by order of the priests, my clergyhood revoked, we awaited trial like common criminals. We'd done nothing, but the people wanted blood. The army had lost, and of course the loss was blamed on Vincent. Some even thought him a traitor.
Yet, All I could do was go over the letter Vincent had sent. If I wanted to save his name, as well as the family's, I knew I had to take the brunt of it all myself. I volunteered to speak with Irael'rar myself and face any punishment he saw just. What a mistake that was.
*********
I can't recall what had happened to me, but when I awoke I was in an enormous stone chamber. Beautiful comforts were laid about. Chairs of leather, sheets and curtains of silk. Beautiful torchlight of many shades and colors. And there I lay, on a cold stone floor. What's worse, I lay there unclothed. I felt tired, my head hurting a little as I tried to sit up.
"Groggy, redeemer?" A subtle, mocking tone. I turned my head, and gazed upon what looked like a gentleman. Short, cleanly cut chestnut brown hair upon his head. Eyes of clear blue that looked luminescent. His face was pale and his lips were a very light shade of pink. The satin robes that he wore were of a deep blue and black color. I hadn't even heard him come in.
"Who the hell are you.." I could barely speak. My mouth felt dry and my head ached so much.
"Is that anyway to talk to one who only hours ago you begged?"
Could it be? Was this...man...Irael'rar? I remembered back to that time when I was four. Sure enough, it had been that voice. But as I looked up, as I stared into his eyes, I knew he was more. I could tell, just by those eyes and how they looked at me, that he was also the boy who I was so in love with only a sort time ago.
"Yes young Nathaniel. I was your lover, I was the priest that gave you your highest grades, I was the cook that gave you extra helpings of food at my temple. I was all of these things and more young redeemer." He continued to call me that name. Offering his hand to me, I couldn’t help but move back. This was, after all, a god. And here I lay, before him, with nothing to cover myself and throbbing pain in my head.
"Please don't deny me." He spoke far more authoritatively now. I couldn't refuse and didn't want to find out what would happen if I did. I took his offer and tried to cover up with my one free hand. "You must be wondering why you're stripped, no?"
I knew he wasn't just guessing that. When he stared into my eyes, I could feel him probing my mind. He made sure I knew what he was doing. I heard a little voice in the back of my mind. Clever you are, my little redeemer
And soon he began to explain it all to me. How I'd agreed to become his agent to redeem my family's name, how I was no longer mortal, how he'd stripped me of my garb because 'it reeked of human'. I was to be his angel of death, or as he called me his 'Cherub of death'. Every night he'd bring me a young mortal, naturally I'd feed upon their blood. With each kill he told me I redeemed their souls as well as my own. And with every body, I was allowed to take the clothes I liked the most.
The years began to pass and still I never aged. During the day, *I really couldn't tell when it was day or night. Irael'rar's chamber let in no natural light*, I'd sleep in his bedchambers beside him. We became lovers soon enough, I always submitted to his whims of fancy.
But as time moved on, I began to question my new life. Why had I always been kept in the stone chambers? How many years had it been? Every night I turned to the books Irael'rar kept hidden. I knew he didn't want me reading them, but I just had to know more. Soon I discovered the truth. My master was no god, but something called a vampire. I'd never heard the world before, but it came up again and again in each memoir I read. A creature that fed off the life force of living beings. And what's worse...that's what Irael'rar turned me into.
I was disgusted and that very night *or day* I confronted him.
"My little Cherub...Who told you to look into my books?" He was obviously upset, but still he kept a cocky tone and smile.
"Don't call me your cherub. I'm sick of the lies." I hoped my words were venom to his ears. I hoped at that very moment a bolt of lightning from some deity struck him dead. But nothing happened.
"Would you prefer, 'my little heretic?'" He actually chuckled. Rage seemed to seethe through my body. But I knew I could play it cocky too.
"How can I be a heretic when you are no god!" That did it. His eyes seemed to glow with fire as he raised one hand. Moving his mouth in silence, I felt a great force push me back. My frail form smashed hard against the stone wall, and within an instant Irael'rar was again within an arms length from me.
"Come.." The force keeping me to the wall lifted and I fell to my knees. What else could I do but follow him? With uneasy legs I followed my master, like a beaten slave my head was bowed. Walls of brick seemed to dissipate as he walked through, and we were soon in a chamber I'd never before seen. A great font lay in the middle and as we came closer I could see it was filled with blood.
With a single wave of his hand, Irael'rar made moving pictures appear in the pool. I could barely recognize the shattered remnants of Mak’Irael. Decaying corpses and worn weaponry seemed thrown about.
"Without your brother, it seems *MY* city fell. Speaking of which.." His great hand moved again with ease as a new picture showed in the depths of red liquid. A shirtless young man, chained and bloodied. I knew at once who that face belonged to, even through the bruises.
"Vincent...But how..?"
"You, my heretic, are my champion. Your brother on the other hand, he was chosen by an 'old friend' of mine. A demon by the name Alkar'Montrie. Our history, as your mortals say, goes way back. Now would you like to be my Cherub, my redeemer again? Or do you prefer defying me? Because I have far more punishments in that case."
I was stunned and could only watch on in horror as Vincent was beaten again and again by masked creatures. I punched and hit at the reflection, only to have the ripples distort the image until it disappeared. Finally, after tense and agonizing minutes, I gave a subtle nod.
"Excellent, my pet, my love. But you must be punished for such a defiance. Remember, this hurts me more than it does you.." I doubted that greatly. At once his right forefinger began to grow a hideous nail as he inserted it into the back of my neck. And then, that accursed word...
"Keal’Mazhuhad.." The sound echoed in my mind for what seemed like an eternity. I felt so violently ill that I needed the release of vomiting. The pain grew so intense that I blacked out. I saw everything, The curse Irael'rar and Alkar'Montrie shared. How they were both bound to different realms, Irael'rar to this underground chamber and Alkar'Montrie to his hellish dimension. They could, of course, expend their power outward, but the further and further they pushed, the less powerful it was. They needed creatures in the physical world to help release them, and that is where Vincent and I came in. Who knows what it was that drove these creatures to us, but we were theirs now.
Anytime I would defy Irael'rar after that, he'd just use that word and I begged for relief. He became all the more strict, using me whenever he pleased. His sadistic nature began to grow as he starved me of blood for days, even weeks on end. Yet, even though I would no longer openly defy him, my hate and resentment grew. Whenever he was asleep or not around, I read his journals. I read all the passages he wrote about me, about my future. Soon, a plan began to formulate in my head, and I knew that it would be the only way for me to escape.
I waited until my master had awoken, and like always, he tried to get me into bed with him. This time however, I refused.
"What.."
"You heard me Master," I said as mockingly as possible, "I do not want to lay with you right now."
"How can you refuse me, must I punish you again? Are you some sort of masochist, loving the pain I bestow upon you?" He sounded more annoyed that enraged.
"If I am your champion, than why must I submit to you sexually? Shouldn't you be grooming me with power?"
"I will do with you as I please..."
"It just doesn't seem very smart to waste your time and efforts in pleasures of the flesh, when your champion needs to be sent out into the world to do your bidding."
"And who says you're even a good choice?" Finally his rage had built up. He came closer to me, looking as if he'd hit me at any moment. I knew I had to keep him distracted with taunts, so he wouldn't probe my mind. "Maybe I'll just keep you as the cheap slut you are. Using you when I please and for whatever meaningless task I have thought up."
As soon as he said this, and I just knew he'd say the like, I began to weep. I knew he had some twisted caring for my feelings. Forcefully, he calmed himself down and came beside to me.
"Why must you anger me so my redeemer...?"
"I'm sorry master...I don't know why..why I do such things...please forgive me...let me make it up to you.." Oh how I laid it on thick for him, hamming it up with the best acting I could muster. Soon, a cheerful smile streaked across my face as I stared at his crotch. Looking down at me, he began to smile too, and began to disrobe. Expecting fellatio from me was not very wise of him, as my mouth wrapped around his being. Oh how happy he would've been if I actually had done the job. Alas, my plans were very different. Quickly I sank one of my small fangs deep within the flesh. He screamed a powerful scream and pulled away, causing even more tearing. Falling to the floor, he writhed and agony as the stone cavern began to twist and writhe along with him. I could see it, the opening outside, natural light pouring in.
I dashed for the hole, all the while enjoying his screams. Oh how warm and beautiful the sun felt when I first left, even if it irritated my skin and began to burn a bit. I found shade quickly enough but needed to keep on the run. The further I got from the chambers, the less powerful a grasp he had on me. By nightfall, *thankfully I'd been in shade most of the time* with slightly burned skin, I looked out onto the horizon. I knew not where I was or where to go. But the reason I could recall, that twisted vision of my brother that his demon tormentor had planned, it played again and again in my mind. A black winged angel, nails and garb to match.
I had to find my brother, hopefully he'd be as normal as I. My only connection to a past life.
((OOC Notes: Nathaniel cannot sire. The transfer counts for one individual vampire, and not a clan. Also, for realism‘s sake, do not give me the standard 100 starting gold.))