grim137
11-09-06, 05:49 PM
((Solo))
A failed cause, a failed agent; that was precisely what former Tarry Whealer was. He had been driven to the brink of insanity, ceasing to care about who he killed or why he killed them. No longer did Tarry kill only who he was told to kill, or whom he had to kill in order to survive. No, insanity had driven him to kill whomever he felt like killing whenever he felt like killing. His actions had set back countless days of diplomatic negotiations with the vampires, set countless man-hours of work to stop the senseless slaughter of vampires by their living brethren. His recent actions in Corone had been finally been the straw that broke the camel’s back. Agent Tarry Whealer, apprentice of Lord Lestat Verameshi had been deemed criminally insane and mentally unstable by the vampire nation to the point where he endangered all who were around him and those who were related to him by race. According to thousands upon thousands of years of vampire law there was only one fitting fate for him…execution.
The day in Salvar was cold and dead even the normally howling winds were still. No snow was falling, and not animals could be heard. It seemed as though deep in the mountains of Salvar among the treacherous cliffs and icy narrow paths time had frozen in anticipation for what was about to come and the feeling of death seemed to loom over the area. Whatever god was in charge of death must have surely been happy for he was about to claim a soul that had played with him and deceived him for over a decade.
Tarry was naked aside from the steel shackles on wrists and ankles, attached so tightly that they dug into his skin. The blood that flowed from this cut was quickly frozen by the well below freezing temperatures that Salvar was so well know for, effectively freezing the rusted steel of the shackles to his bare flesh.
The blind and disgraced vampire was flanked on either side by three armored vampire warriors. When all were carrying wooden weapons and were not authorized to kill him. They were merely there to make sure he made the trek up the side of the mountain. This feat was accomplished by cracking him across the back with a kendo stick every time he showed even the slightest amount of hesitation.
Still that wasn’t the worst of it not by a long shot. Tarry was used to pain by now, and his body had long since adapted to Salvar’s unrelenting cold. What was worse than all that was the presence of figure up ahead carrying a large stone cross and three serrated titanium stakes. It was the man who once helped the blind vampire achieve redemption and go from a worthless mutt of a bloodsucker to a noble vampire warrior. The presence of the high elfin vampire lord Lestat Verameshi, Tarry’s former sire (Tarry had been officially disowned upon being selected for execution). The lord’s presence shamed Tarry in a way that almost made the crazed vampire look forward to execution, almost.
The trek up the mountain was surprisingly short. This wasn’t the first execution for Tarry’s captors so they new plenty of ways up the mountain. This didn’t surprise the blind vampire one bit. He was well aware of the fact that the mountains hid countless tunnels, passageways and other such things that the vampires of Salvar were experts at utilizing them.
That was why Tarry wasn’t the slightest bit surprised that in just six hours they had managed to take him from the base of the mountain to the top where he was deemed to die and miserable and painful death miles away from any other civilization.
A failed cause, a failed agent; that was precisely what former Tarry Whealer was. He had been driven to the brink of insanity, ceasing to care about who he killed or why he killed them. No longer did Tarry kill only who he was told to kill, or whom he had to kill in order to survive. No, insanity had driven him to kill whomever he felt like killing whenever he felt like killing. His actions had set back countless days of diplomatic negotiations with the vampires, set countless man-hours of work to stop the senseless slaughter of vampires by their living brethren. His recent actions in Corone had been finally been the straw that broke the camel’s back. Agent Tarry Whealer, apprentice of Lord Lestat Verameshi had been deemed criminally insane and mentally unstable by the vampire nation to the point where he endangered all who were around him and those who were related to him by race. According to thousands upon thousands of years of vampire law there was only one fitting fate for him…execution.
The day in Salvar was cold and dead even the normally howling winds were still. No snow was falling, and not animals could be heard. It seemed as though deep in the mountains of Salvar among the treacherous cliffs and icy narrow paths time had frozen in anticipation for what was about to come and the feeling of death seemed to loom over the area. Whatever god was in charge of death must have surely been happy for he was about to claim a soul that had played with him and deceived him for over a decade.
Tarry was naked aside from the steel shackles on wrists and ankles, attached so tightly that they dug into his skin. The blood that flowed from this cut was quickly frozen by the well below freezing temperatures that Salvar was so well know for, effectively freezing the rusted steel of the shackles to his bare flesh.
The blind and disgraced vampire was flanked on either side by three armored vampire warriors. When all were carrying wooden weapons and were not authorized to kill him. They were merely there to make sure he made the trek up the side of the mountain. This feat was accomplished by cracking him across the back with a kendo stick every time he showed even the slightest amount of hesitation.
Still that wasn’t the worst of it not by a long shot. Tarry was used to pain by now, and his body had long since adapted to Salvar’s unrelenting cold. What was worse than all that was the presence of figure up ahead carrying a large stone cross and three serrated titanium stakes. It was the man who once helped the blind vampire achieve redemption and go from a worthless mutt of a bloodsucker to a noble vampire warrior. The presence of the high elfin vampire lord Lestat Verameshi, Tarry’s former sire (Tarry had been officially disowned upon being selected for execution). The lord’s presence shamed Tarry in a way that almost made the crazed vampire look forward to execution, almost.
The trek up the mountain was surprisingly short. This wasn’t the first execution for Tarry’s captors so they new plenty of ways up the mountain. This didn’t surprise the blind vampire one bit. He was well aware of the fact that the mountains hid countless tunnels, passageways and other such things that the vampires of Salvar were experts at utilizing them.
That was why Tarry wasn’t the slightest bit surprised that in just six hours they had managed to take him from the base of the mountain to the top where he was deemed to die and miserable and painful death miles away from any other civilization.