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Post by Swords on Jun 2, 2006 0:10:39 GMT -5
He felt no pain, only confusion. Here he was, pinned to a tree by a lance, and he was still alive (so to speak). He absently grasped the lance at the point he was impaled at and tugged. He could not feel the weapon sliding out, yet in mere seconds the iron weapon fell into the snow. The vampire fell from his small perch and onto his knees on the ground.
Ian knew nothing of whatever was coming over him. Never in any of his days as a vampire had he learned of something that made one such a... monstrosity. By no means was Ian one of righteous heart, but to so senselessly murder so many innocents... it was horrendous. For the first time in his vampiric life, he had felt guilt.
I must get out of here and find some shred of information on what is happening to me, thought Ian. Putting his thoughts to action, he began to run through the forest, as flying would attract attention, no doubt. He had also found that the sun no longer burned him, even though he was completely naked. At least there was some advantage to his condition...
* * *
The glass half-full of red wine shattered against the stone wall. The red liquid slowly trickled down the side, and began to create a small pool on the floor. Vincent angrily drummed his fingers against the arm of his grand chair, fuming over the news he had just received from Saria.
"When was the last time he was seen?" asked the vampire
"About three days ago, according to our scouts." replied the vampiress.
"Damn! The curse... the curse was not supposed to have this effect?"
"Maybe it has a different effect of certain vampires?"
"Impossible! Why would it?" he sighed. "Maybe you are indeed correct, after all, why else would Ian undergo such... transformations?"
A long and uncomfortable silence followed. Saria broke it.
"What should be done?"
"Send as many of our best fighters to hunt him down as you can. He cannot be allowed to put any sort of damper on my plans in his fit of rage."
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Post by longstevo on Jun 4, 2006 19:31:32 GMT -5
Sirion and Jacqueline walked slowly up to the gates of the town. The sun was on it's way down below the mountain peaks, and darkness was beginning to reclaim the land. As they came nearer to the entrance, Sirion could make out his brothers in arms standing, awaiting their comrade's return. Droverson, Elhorn, Petvan, Fruamros and Panaan and their captain, Leokas. But of course, no Marben. He was expected to come back with Sirion, but he wasn't there. Only Sirion would ever know the horrible and painful death suffered by Marben.
At first, their eyes lit up when Sirion stepped into the torchlight. But when they saw that no one except the female paladin captain followed him, their faces became grim. Leokas stepped forward. "Sirion. Where is..." But the pain and sorrow in Sirion's eyes told the story. No words were needed for the rangers to realize that one of their own had fallen.
A North Gate Pass Ranger. Killed. It wasn't possible. The rangers were rumored to be blessed with invincibility by their god. The men were so fortunate in battle that they even began to believe it themselves. Only once before had a ranger fallen while serving.
Droverson first spoke, "No. You're mistaken. He's still on his way back." No one spoke, as each of them, including Droverson, knew that he was not on his way back. "He's still out there. He's coming back!" The big man's voice began to raise in volume, until it became a shout. "Our brother is still out there!! We've got to find him!!" Each of the ranger's hearts ached with pain for seeing their comrade in such agony. Droverson and Marben had always been close.
Fruamros put a hand on his friend's shoulder, but Droverson pulled away. "NO!! He's not dead! He's not dead!!" The ranger slammed his fist into the thick wooden wall that surrounded North Gate. His voice began to crack before quieting. "He's not... He's still..." He put his head in his hand with a single tear making it's way down his face.
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Post by longstevo on Jun 7, 2006 19:12:27 GMT -5
Three days passed since the fight in the forest. Three days since hide or hair of Ian had been seen. Three days since the rangers lost one of their finest. The funeral had been in the morning. Most of the village had turned out to pay their respects. Many of the townsfolk owed their lives to Marben thanks to mountain rescues and the such. The procession had been nice, although quite solumn. Many a citizen sported damp eyes and lots of tears. The warrior was set unto a pyre in a small cemetery, where nature's cleansing flame reclaimed her son. The flame burned unusually bright and long, which some people took as Marben was saying his final farewell. Once the embers cooled, his remains were lowered into a shallow grave, and Marben was set into the earth for his eternal slumber.
Since the funeral, the rangers were quick to recover, as it does nobody any favors to dwell on the past. Marben would always be remembered, but life goes on. That's what Sirion kept telling himself as he walked into the village's blacksmith shop. 'Life goes on.' Upon opening the door, the strong smell of sulfur and iron assualted his nostrils. The old blacksmith, John, looked up to see who had come into his store. Upon seeing the bereved ranger, the smithy stood up.
With genuine care and feeling in his eyes, John asked, "What can I do for you, my dear boy?" The subject of the dead ranger was not even approached, as John had once been a warrior himself and knew that if the comrade of a fallen man wanted to talk about things, he'd talk. So, showing as much emotion as he deemed necessary, John went straight to business.
With a gruff voice strained by crying and sobbing, Sirion said, "I'm just checking on the status of the katana."
"Ah yes. I just finished with it last night. Now...where..." John went about rummaging through the barrells of pikes, spears, axes and swords looking for the blade he constructed for the ranger. "Ah! Here it is!"
John reached for a cloth-wrapped blade leaning in the corner. Walking back to Sirion, the smithy gently unwrapped the small rope tying the cloth around the blade.
Once the rag fell away, the full beauty of the katana was revealed. The blade was so clear, it was like looking into the water of a calm pond. The hilt was made of dutiful metal with intricate inscriptions dealing with the history of the Pass Rangers. Blood grooves ran from the hilt almost all the way up the three and a half foot blade. In short, the sword was fit for a king. Sirion let loose a low whistle.
"Aye. She's a beauty," said the ranger.
"Yes..." John only muttered and stared dreamily at what could very well be one of his finest masterpieces.
John offered the katana to Sirion, handle first. Hesitating for a moment, Sirion gripped the rugged handle. The sword was light weight, weighing only four pounds or less. When he sliced through the air, the blade felt like an extension of his own hand. The sword was perfect. Inscribed on the blade, near the hilt was a phrase carved in an ancient language. It read, "For the weak, do we fight." The ranger's tagline.
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Post by Swords on Jun 7, 2006 23:33:14 GMT -5
Ian remained in his perpetual state of running; never tiring, never faltering. He had cleared the forest a few days ago, and was now sprinting through a pass in the Dragonstongue Peaks. Fortunately, not a soul had interrupted his journey, so there was no undesired conflict. Still, however, Ian could not relinquish the idea that he was bound to find trouble sooner or later.
He had yet to find any information pertaining to his condition. As far as he knew, there was no cure. He would not give up hope, however. His only hope was a rumor of an old vampire named Rallos living somewhere in the very peaks he was running through. Eventually he would put his wings to use, as he would need them to scan for this vampire's dwelling, whatever it may be.
He had been told of this vampire by his father, Adan. This hermit was virtually a walking tome of information on the history of vampires, always able to cite the smallest tidbits of lore. Apparently, his father had gone to him on numerous occasions to keep himself educated and to learn of any flaws or weaknesses that he might not know of.
Ian decided that it was time to soar over the high peaks of the Dragonstongue chain. With luck, it wouldn't be long before he found the man. Unfolding his large, jet black wings, he took of into the sky. Low-drifting clouds flew just above him, white splotches in the night sky. It was a calm, peaceful feeling, having the gift of flight. It was odd, this peace, as the noble was not used to it.
An arrow whizzed by, snapping him out of his reverie. Ian abruptly stopped in his flight and shifted his gaze to the foes below. It was a group of ten, maybe twelve, men armed with bows. It seemed odd to him, however, that they wore no armor. He took an arrow in his arm that buried to the shaft. Growling, he tore the projectile out of himself and soared down to the group like a giant black eagle attacking its prey.
With a set of his own talons at the ready, he swooped down and grabbed his first victim. The vampire took him high into the sky, raking him with his claws as he did. As soon as he cleared the first cloud, he let the man drop, smiling at the scream that emitted from his foe's mouth.
With a gruesome 'thud', the man fell to the ground in a heap. Arrows came in a constant flurry, however, so Ian made his way back down to the ground. To his astonishment, he saw the man whom he had just dropped stagger back to his feet, as if unharmed. He swooped down once more and tackled another enemy. Wrenching his mighty hands around the man's neck, Ian gazed into his eyes.
The dead eyes of a vampire peered right back at him.
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Post by longstevo on Jun 8, 2006 17:29:18 GMT -5
Sirion ran his hand up the blade. It felt smoother than glass. In fact, if he didn't know any better, the blade appeared to be made of nothing but glass. As he admired the blade, he muttered to himself more than to John, "...for the weak, do we fight...." The sword seemed to have some enchanment on it, and Sirion could not tear his eyes away, no matter how much he desired to. Staring, looking, searching for...something in the katana. The blade was holding a secret. Sirion's attention was focused on nothing but the smooth metal edge. There was more to this sword than met the eye. Something...somehow...
"Ahem." John broke Sirion from his trance. "Payment?" The smithy smiled sweetly.
Sirion blinked. The image of the sword stayed in the back of his mind, and he was slow coming out of his daze. "Um....ah. Yes. What did we agree on?"
"Thirty five hundred."
"Right." Sirion produced a bag from his pack and set the cloth sack down on the table. Three thousand five hundred pieces of gold jingled inside. John's eyes lit up upon seeing the money. "Oh yes. And here you go." He handed the ranger a sheath equal in complexity to the sword. The smithy stood tall, and for a moment, he was a warrior again. He said to Sirion in a fighter's voice.
"My friend. That blade is special in more ways than one. It is your responsiblity to use it correctly. If you stray, and use that blade for evil, I fear I don't know what the consequences will be. Wear it well. Weild it well. Protect with it well."
Sirion slid the blade into the sheath and slammed it home. Reaching his hand towards John, the two clasped hands and shook. "Now, you know me better than that." The ranger smiled. John laughed. "Yes! But you do know how to get yourself into trouble!" The two shared a laugh before Sirion departed the smith. Stepping into the cold snow, Sirion paused before tromping back to the ranger's headquarters.
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Post by longstevo on Jun 9, 2006 19:48:05 GMT -5
The sun sunk behind the guardian peaks surrounding North Gate. Sighing, Sirion made his way down the path from the city to his cabin. It had been a long, tedious day which involved discussions and debates among the rangers what should be done. Elhorn and Petven presented what had been discovered in Ian's tavern room. Items recovered included an elegant blade, a strange set of leather armor, and various notes and paperwork. Nothing truely out of the ordinary which would give them a clue as to exactly what Ian had become. Sirion's head perked up when he saw a lamp lit in his cabin. 'Could it be...' Only one person was known to come into his house in such a way. Emotions perked in Sirion's heart as old memories came flooding back. He slowly crept to the door and creaked it open siliently, peering inside. Kneeling in front of the fireplace, crouched a cloaked figure. Details were scarce in the low light of the cabin, but Sirion knew who it was. The figure stood and turned, feeling the gaze of a familair face. Sirion muttered a name. "Emma." The woman smiled warmly and said his name in return. "Sirion." She was close to Sirion's age, and roughly the same height. Blonde hair fell past her shoulders, framing her pretty face in a frame of gold. Her smile was to die for, as Sirion's heart was melting as he stood in the doorway. The fire from the hearth cast heat through the chilly cabin, and Emma reached up and untied the strings to her cloak. The soft cloth fell to the floor, revealing a very thin and expensive silk gown that fell over her shoulders. "Emma." Sirion repeated, and he stepped inside and closed the door. "Where have you been?" "I've been traveling," she stepped towards Sirion and tugged gently on his own cloak strings. The rough garment fell to the floor. "Helping my father with his business." She ran a hand over the old cotton shirt covering his barrell chest. "I've missed you." The thin silk did hardly anything to conceal her body. Her luscious, soft curves were evident as she kept the distance between them to less than twelve inches. He could feel her breathing, aching for him, much as he was aching for her. They stared into each other's eyes, and saw their long, romantic history dancing in their respective lover's gaze. Years of love, emotion and lust marked their personal history. But years apart, loneliness and grief impermeated their romance. But their love withstood the test of time, and they remained committed to each other despite the fact no bond of marriage contained them. The tingling in his loins was too much to bear, and Sirion had to let go. "My love!" He nearly crushed her in a bear's embrace and their lips mashed together in insaitable, crazed lust. She moaned in pleasure as he pushed her up against a nearby wall and pinned her body with his. She pulled away reluctantly, breathing heavily. Trying to catch her breath, she said, "I love you." *To be continued??? *
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Post by longstevo on Jun 10, 2006 0:00:32 GMT -5
He kissed her deeply again, and she turned to butter in his arms. Soft moans emitted from both lovers as clothes continued to fall to the floor. He kissed her neck as she fumbled with his heavy leather dress belt. When it finally clattered to the floor, his wool pants followed suit.
Standing naked before her, Sirion ran a finger loosely under the thin blue gown. She let her head fall to one side as she gazed longingly into his eyes. He flicked his hand away, and her thin garment was whisked away. She stood fully nude now, her heavenly body open for Sirion to take in. He pulled her close, running his hands up and down her smooth skin, feeling all of her sensual folds and mounds.
She reached down, grabbed him, and pulled him close. The anxiety of finally having each other was too much to bear. Their breathing increased with the anticipation. She pulled him closer. He pushed farther. They were about to reach the breaking point...
...Sirion's head snapped up from the wooden table top. It was just a dream. Sleep still lingered in his eyes as he tried to identify where he was. Suddenly, a gruff, familiair voice called to him. "Good evening, my friend! Would you like a room?" The voice laughed, and Sirion knew he was in Grom's tavern. The memories came back to him. He had retired into the bar after the meeting with the rangers. Several empty ale mugs sat around the table, indicating the ranger had been drinking heavily. He thought about the dream. About his lost love, Emma. He missed her so much. His heart still ached with the feelings the dream stirred.
Suddenly, the door to the establishment opened, and Jaqcueline walked in, wearing evening clothes and a cloak. 'Strange,' thought Sirion. He had rarely seen the paladin not fully armored and without weapon. She smiled at Grom as he offered her a drink on her way to Sirion's table. 'Perhaps she's feeling more comfortable here,' hoped Sirion.
"Why are you up this late hour?" asked the ranger.
"Hard to sleep," she responded.
"Aye."
The two sat in silence for a moment.
*That's your cue, Lat!*
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Post by Latronis on Jun 11, 2006 9:41:51 GMT -5
to make it easier: Sirion Jacqueline
"Why are you up this late hour?" asked the ranger.
"Hard to sleep," she responded.
"Aye."
The two sat in silence for a moment.
"You have my condolences for the loss of your partner, no-one deserves an end like that. I just hope his spirit may rest easier now that justice was served." The ranger looked up at her and she realised she was taking the wrong tact, even to her own ears her words sounded horribly rehearsed and formal. Dropping a life-time of airs and graces the Lady Jacqueline looked into the rangers eyes and for the first time since she was a little girl just spoke.
"I know the pain of losing someone you feel responsible for, the crushing burden of guilt. I just wanted you to know i'm sorry for your loss. Especially in such a seemingly random battle. It sometimes feels like the gods got drunk and decided to screw with us one day"
Sirion smiled without mirth. "Actually i would like to talk to you about that final battl...." Seeing what was coming but being unable to avoid it she interrupted the ranger "Yes i would like to apoligise about that, and regret any harm i may of caused but i can only offer in my defense that i could think of no other way to save you at the time."
But the Sirion seeing straight through the scam merely shook his head and Lady Jacqueline knight of the shield was left to explain the the ranger her story.
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Post by Swords on Jun 11, 2006 23:57:07 GMT -5
The vampire glanced back at Ian with terror in his eyes; this was a monstrosity his eyes had never seen before. Ian clenched his hands around the man tighter and tighter, until a loud snap could be heard. There was no time for contemplation, as five more vampires were closing in on him. Turning around, he got up and hurled the body of the man at his other enemies.
They steered clear of it, though were more reluctant to approach this beast. Ian, however, did not share this feeling. He rushed forward with the ferocity of a tiger, and grabbed the first two men he could lay his hands on. He raised them to the sky, and brought them down, just in time to use the to block two sword blows coming from his sides.
The men did not scream in pain, but snarled in anger. One of the men drew a dagger from his boot and rammed it into Ian's arm. The noble screamed in pain and dropped the two. The protrusion from his arm only further served to enrage him. He lunged at the man who stabbed him, using one arm to grab the man's throat, and liberated it.
Two more swords lunged for his belly, but he squirmed between them. With the speed of a god, he clutched the two blades (though they hurt him so) and pulled them out of the wielder's grasps. He flipped them over and plunged them into the owner's chests.
By now, only one remained. Ian stared him down, and the vampire knew what he wanted.
"V-vincent s-sent us." he stammered.
Ian twitched.
The vampire backed away, and Ian snarled. That was his cue to leave.
* * *
The Valleri paced around, mulling over the situation. Vincent? He was not amazed at the betrayal, as his brother's trust for him had always been shaky. But what had he done? Had Vincent gotten the news of his actions? Whatever the case, Ian decided that he would confront his brother about it.
"Hmm... what is this?" said an old voice.
Ian turned around, claws at the ready. The owner of the voice held his hands up.
"I mean no harm, it's just... I've never seen a vampire of... this nature."
"You know I'm a vampire... be you Rallos?" asked Ian.
"Aye, that is me." the old vampire peered at the noble."How's the family been, Ian?"
"Not so well, my brother wants me dead."
"Why is that?"
"That's what I'm trying to figure out. I was also hoping you could tell me... about my condition."
"Aye, that I can. Come with me, and I will serve you as I did your father..."
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Post by longstevo on Jun 12, 2006 0:30:52 GMT -5
Sirion nodded thoughtfully and stared into his drink. The heat from the heart felt good on his body after the chilling dream he experienced. It brought back so many old memories. For a moment, he let his mind wander...
Groaning, he shoveled another load of hay onto the mule cart. The dry twigs blew up a cloud of dust and allergens into the air. Bending down, he shoved the pitchfork into the stack of dried wheat and hurled another load up.
"Come on, boy! We ain't got all day!" his boss and supervisor shouted at him from the other side of the cart. He was right. Storm clouds were rolling in, and the rain could be seen falling several miles away. This was the last pile of hay that needed to be brought into the barn before it became sopping wet. Mister Alls hired the seventeen year old Sirion to work on his farm during the summer. The pay wasn't good, but it was money. And the work was hard. The work was very hard, and the hours long.
Throwing the last load of hay onto the cart, he called to Mr. Alls, and the mule was kicked into action. The donkey slowly made his way towards the barn, and the first drop from the sky hit Sirion on the forehead. Just in time. By the time Mr Alls reached the barn with the load of hay, a torrential downpour had turned the dirt outside into a sopping muck. Running into the barn, Sirion stopped dead in his tracks when he saw her.
Mr. Alls daughter, Emma, stood in the doorway to the barn. Her father climbed down off of his cart, ignoring the sixteen year old girl. Going to the tool rack in the back of the shed, he barked out an order to Sirion to follow him. Sirion looked at Emma, and she smiled. That gorgeous smile lit up the young boy's world. The two stared at each other for a minute, smiling, before her father yelled at Sirion to come. He winked at Emma, and turned to help his boss....
He looked up from his ale and into Jacqueline's eyes, waiting for her to tell her story...
*Your on, Lat.*
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Post by longstevo on Jun 14, 2006 18:49:04 GMT -5
Jacqueline took a deep breath. It seemed she had something important to say, but was somewhat reluctant in saying it. Sirion did not press her. He ran his hand down the brand new katana strapped to his belt, and let his mind wander once more. This time, he thought about the meeting the rangers early that afternoon...
A dark cloud hung over the gathering of rangers as Petvan held up a very elegant looking blade and presented it to the rest of the rangers sitting around their large wooden table in the center of their headquarters building. Elhorn set down a set of dark leather armor that the rangers had never seen Ian out of during the daylight hours. They also presented letter heads addressed to the city of Samora. The arcane wise Elhorn explained that the armor allowed the sun-sensitive vampire to walk about during the day, so as not to arose suspiscion. And the blade was rather plain, save the intricate carvings.
Discussions lasted long into the early evening, but there were still more questions than answers. Who was Ian, really? Why was he here? Why did he conceal himself for so long, only to shatter his guise and leave? Did he accomplish his mission? What was his mission? Was his master in Samora? The rangers just didn't know.
The day was filled with heated arguments and useless fights. Just as the sun began to set, Leokas managed to calm his men down. "Seeing as our quarry is long gone for now, let us convene for two days, so we may have time to mourn in our own ways and let our emotions cool. It does nobody any good to go storming off without proper thought and planning. With that, I bid you your leave. Be well, rangers."
The six rangers stood, as well as Lady Jacqueline and filed out the door. They all went their seperate ways, with Sirion making his way to the tavern...
Sirion looked back at Jacqueline, who seemed like she was about to say what she had been trying to say for so long...
*Lat*
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Post by longstevo on Jun 15, 2006 17:20:10 GMT -5
**I totally missed a HUGE plotpoint: Where they realize that Ian is gone!! WTF!?!?! lol So here it is**
The rangers stepped out of the cabin early on the morning after the fight in the forest. Leokas gathered the rangers to police up the bodies and bring home Marben, or what was left of them. A small contingent of seven knights volunteered to tend to their own bretheren. "With reverance and respect, pray for the fallen," said Leokas as the small group headed for the clearing.
Upon reaching the clearing, the reminders of what occured here were blatantly obvious. Nearly thirty knights lay strewn about the snow, most of them in several pieces. One young knight stopped in his tracks at the grisly scene. Suddenly, he wretched and doubled over. Once he finished, Sirion patted his shoulder as he walked by. It was a difficult sight indeed. Weapons, armor, human limbs, they all littered the day old snow. A knight's lifeless eyes looked up at him, begging mercy.
And Marben. He lay exactly where he fell. His decorative armor was desecrated with his blood. Sirion looked over to the edge of the trees, and located the ranger's severed head. Slowly and gently, he picked it up and brought it over to a pile of burlap bags the knights had brought with them. He set it down to be reunited with the body.
Standing up, he cast his sight to where he slew Ian. But the dark form wasn't there. Squinting, he looked into the underbrush. There was no demon. "No," he muttered to himself as he ran to the spot. The spear lay a short distance away, and the tracks indicated that Ian simply got to his feet and walked off. "NO!!" The rest of the party looked to Sirion, shocked.
"He was right here!" the ranger pointed to the ground. "I killed him right here! With this!!" He picked up the lance. The black blood had dried and caked on the weapon. "He should be dead!!" Siroin fell to his knees, holding the spear. Droverson came up beside him and knelt next to his comrade. He said quietly, "I think he is, Sirion. I think he is..."
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Post by Swords on Jun 16, 2006 0:10:43 GMT -5
Rallos led Ian to his cave, reminiscing about his memories with the noble's father along the way. Ian nodded and laughed when appropriate, though wasn't really paying attention. No, what really attracted his eyes was the giant column of flame that rose from the highest peak of the Dragonstongue chain. This flame raged on, eternally licking the atmosphere; hence the 'Dragonstongue' chain.
The hermit's cave was virtually invisible to the naked eye, as it was secluded in a forest of jutting boulders and half-dead trees. The old and frail vampire, oddly enough, seemed to have little difficulty snaking through the dense brush of stone. Ian, on the other hand, found it challenging, as he was at least twice Rallos' size.
When the two reached the hermit's home, Ian realized that his father was not exaggerating about this man's vast knowledge. For in the small breadth of the cave lay more tomes and parchments than in the castle of his home. Rallos scrounged up a pair of chairs stuffed in a corner of the abode, and set them in a small island in the vast sea of books.
"So... you seek information about your condition, do you?" the old man asked.
"Yes, I need to know what is happening to me. I do not wish to live life as such a monstrosity."
"Ah, but aren't all of us vampires monstrosities of nature?" questioned the hermit with a dry cackle.
"True enough. 'Normal' vampire, however, can hide their identity and strive in society. I cannot, obviously."
Rallos nodded, conceding the point, "Well, let me tell you this: you are lucky, for once a vampire has been changed into some other abomination, he does not have enough mind to think of changing back. You, at least, have your sanity."
"That would only be for now, I'm afraid. I have been susceptible to bouts of rage that I cannot control, though I remember every bloody detail."
The hermit picked up a moldy old book off of the floor and began to skim through the pages. He flipped through wrinkled page after wrinkled page until finding the desired one.
"Ah, here it is! the curse of Demonic Rage, applicable to all beings, dead and undead."
Rallos handed the tome to Ian, whose eyes went wide open with shock.
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Post by longstevo on Jun 18, 2006 18:45:22 GMT -5
Sirion walked out of the tavern into the very early morning. The frost chilled air attacked his lungs as he tried to breath in. Coughing, he wrapped his cloak tighter around himself and started his way towards his cabin, thinking about the state of things.
It was a difficult time in North Gate. The Pass Rangers appeared to be in disarry, as no one could decide on how to deal with the monstrosity that was formerly Ian. A couple of the younger, more brash rangers tried usurping Leokas' authority several times, and even the two or three veteran members showed little support and trust in their once trusted leader. The death of Marben had been a staggering blow to them all. Emotions were running high, and because of that, the thinking process was being clouded.
And because of Ian, the entire town's population was on edge. The truth had not been released by the knights or rangers, but tid bits of information had leaked, leaving the villagers to form their own opinions. All they knew, was three people had been killed stealthily in a vampire-like way. And soon afterwards, some massacre in the forest led to the grusome deaths of thirty knights and one of their beloved rangers. And neither the rangers or the knights had someone to blame. The people knew they were being kept from the truth, and they were not happy about it.
Upon leaving the gate to the town, Sirion felt a presence to his left. Whirling about, he saw a dark shape barely illuminated by the morning's first rays. It was actually two shapes, his fellow rangers Petvan and Elhorn. They approached him with grim faces. "Good morning, my friends," greeted Sirion. His companions hardly smiled in return. Petvan spoke first, in a hushed voice. "May we speak with you, in private?"
Somewhat confused, Sirion said, "Why sure. We can...uh...come with me to my cabin. We may talk there." Petvan nodded his head, and he and Elhorn followed Sirion down the path leading to the small building that Sirion called home.
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Post by Swords on Jun 20, 2006 3:15:59 GMT -5
On the old brown page was a gruesome illustration. A massive demon baring a striking resemblance to Ian's form tore multiple people limb from limb, as the sky was set ablaze. One thing was different, however, in this picture, the demon was as big as the two-story building he was standing next to. Ian shut the book almost as soon as he took in the whole picture.
"Frightened, yes?" cackled the hermit.
"To... to become such a monster. What could turn anyone into a monster such as that?" replied Ian, shaken.
"As I said before, 'tis the curse of Demonic Rage. It can only be cast by an unholy priest of great wisdom and power."
"Then that leaves the question as to who did this to me..."
"Use your head, fool!" said Rallos, smacking Ian on the chest. "Your brother want you dead, you said, yes?"
"Aye."
"He sent those vampires to kill you after cursing you, which he used as an excuse to do away with you."
"Wait, but that would not make sense! He would know full well that I would become something that mere soldiers could not stop. On top of that, Vincent is not a priest!"
"True enough, but I have a feeling that your brother had a hand in this..." the hermit ran a hand through his long grey hair.
"What? Did you know my brother?"
"Aye, I knew your father, so why would I not know your brother?"
"I have never met you before this..."
"Well, maybe your father liked him better!" exclaimed the hermit with another dry laugh.
"If you believe that, then you must have met another Vincent Valleri. My father despised my brother."
"Aye? Why is that? When I met the two, they seemed to have a healthy relationship."
Ian lowered his head, "Well, things changed between the two..."
* * *
Vincent, at first, loved our father with a passion. He looked up to him in every way, hoping to be the next king of Samora, following in his footsteps. Unfortunately, he became caught up with the wrong people, and they poisoned his mind. Days would go by, and we wouldn't see one inch of him. On the days that he did return, he was absorbed in his books on vampire philosophy and lore.
One day, my father confronted him about his habits, stating that he had duties to preform that were not getting done due to his absence. Apparently, Vincent saw him in a completely different light, most likely due to his "friends". He believed everyone should be infected, which was strictly against my father's beliefs. Their arguments became so heated that, one evening, my brother was locked away in a room in the lowest floor of the castle.
I went to see my brother one day, as I had been doing for awhile then, and he spoke to me of his philosophy. 'Twas not his ideals which swayed me, but the promise of power. For two years, I would complete small tasks for him, all leading up to his "master plan". I did not tell my father of my doings. As far as he knows, I am off visiting some friend in another city. * * *
Rallos seemed to be staring off into the distance, as if he was not paying attention. Ian cleared his throat to catch his attention. The old vampire snapped out of his trance.
He said, "I was thinking, and I believe I might have an answer to your question..."
"What! What is it?!"
Without another word, Rallos nearly dove into a mound of books and began to dig search for the right one...
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