Vorador sighed and got up yet again, a repeat of the last few days, get up, clean self, dress, go act like a good bureaucrat. THis day was just like the one before that, and the one before that. Again he considered starting a search for Akuti, but then, if she wanted to be found, she would have perhaps stayed right? Or that was at least his reasoning at that point. If she cares enough, she just might come back. He hoped.
He didn’t blame her. Why would she have wanted to stay around him any ways? He couldn’t care any longer. Not like he used to. Not anymore....
Vorador sat in his chair, well one of them any ways, sipping at ‘breakfast’ and skimming through the news. His sire, Janos wasn't too far away, untangling some string ever so carefully for it was barely a thread. Most likely he planned on using it in some sort of craft he had always done to pass the time. Vorador had to smile at that thought. The last of the true crafters, the ones who did things still by hand, not mass made by a series of machines.
With little of notice, he set aside the data reader and watched the other as he carefully manipulated the slender strand of silk and carefully wound it onto a spool as he went. Meticulously done with long, long practiced care. It took him a good deal of time to finish one thing, but the quality was unheard of anymore, and the humble being had amassed enough fortune of his own from them to build himself a castle somewhere. Humble, Vorador reminded himself. Very much so. Janos was the true funder of the underground resistance Kain lead, not him. The ancient was giving what he could really care less about to help his own kind since it seemed the most valuable way and lacked the understanding of such odd things. That made him jealous as well, the complete lack of greed and lusting for such physical things, it made him want to go back to the life he had as a fledgling. He had realized many centuries later that he was by far richer then than he was now.
Those thoughts aside, he drank down the rest of the crimson fluid in the glass and set it on the stand nearby for one of the servants to pick up later. He stood, tapping the other one the shoulder to let him know that he was soon going to go with out really interrupting him. Vorador walked into his bed chamber to put on his overcoat that one of his brides held for him, seeing him head that way.
“Are you sure you can’t stay a few minutes longer?” She asked with a teasing pout.
Vorador smiled in return. “No, but if I can, as usual I will try to return home as soon as I can.”
She smiled and hugged him for along moment, the ancient vampire returning the gesture before slowly turning and meeting Janos, whom had some how quickly finished untangling that very thread he had been working on for the past hour. Wearing his ever present simple robes, Janos followed his chide to the aircar.
En route...the tragedy struck...
It was all over the news that day that one of the councilors and a close relative had been struck by an assassination attempt....
Vorador shook his head, still bowed as the sad memory played though his head. He didn’t recall any of that day in the end. He remembered waking late at night, Kain, Da’avid and a couple of his other fledglings there, patiently waiting to see if their Sire would ever regain continuousness. He recalled their brief joy before loosing himself again to the blackness of uncontiousness. He remembered how his body ached constantly, how much a headache he had wile recovering from it. He had been hurt enough where it did take longer than usual for any vampire to heal.
He also recalled how much the ache in his heart outweighed all of that. His own sire was near death and ahd never really recovered. Someone had raided the wreckage and torn his heart free, forever sealing his fate to be locked in a horrible realm between life and death. Though the Ancient was a living vampire of sorts, he was a immensely powerful one, and more so as one of his own kind. In the end, he was simply too close to immortal to die, and to mortal to truly live. With out that one piece, the key, his heart, he would stay there.
Vorador slowly straightened himself, his head tilting back. If he only still has his own heart,he thought, then he wouldn’t have been alone all of this time. He had nothing now, his last bride gone. He felt the life of one of the last of his fledglings blink out. And Kain was either too far away, most likely dead or trapped outside his body, either way he couldn’t help him. The last few fledglings had perished trying to find their leaders, all that was left was but one, and he feared the one survivor wouldn’t live much longer. That one was too weak from the beginning, more so than Melchiah had ever been, to survive the punishment his stronger brethren could. He couldn’t turn more either. Not that he was incapable, it was the breed of humans that existed now. So far removed from what he was long ago, so...different...they just didn’t turn well at all. They all perished in the process, or like the last fledgling he had, were simply to weak.
How ironic, he thought, his mind trying to struggle from the downward spiral he was falling into. That I, the first vampire of Nosgoth....be the last.....
He would have laughed, but the whole ideal in the end was simply not amusing at all.
He rose out of a daze, feeling something hit his shoulder hard. Vorador turned and seen Durjaya standing rather close to him. “Are you feeling well at all?”
Vorador blinked, shaking his head a little, and back to reality. “I-I believe so, yes.”
“They haven’t gotten you too now have they?”
“Hmm? um, no...”
“You’re not acting like yourself for weeks. What’s the matter?”
“....a lot really....”
“I’d rather not talk here. Care for something to eat?” Durjaya thought about what he said then added, “Other than me.”
Vorador chuckled in response. “If somehow you know someplace that caters to the undead, perhaps.” This was odd from the other as well, the change in heart, but then Vorador knew that Durjaya was not a stupid man. He knew where to put his loyalty and his job well. Serve himself constantly, and he would end up standing alone and fall against whatever was sweeping though the city of late. Stand with someone, well, numbers was power. And he was not so foolish or stubborn to realize different.
“Not really, but I think I know a place where we can talk.”
“Not to be rude, but what makes you think something is wrong?” Vorador asked.
“You’ve been sitting there in a daze for the past few weeks. I know that accident killed your personality, but now I wonder if they’ve replaced you with a machine.”
“What are you-”
“Don’t play that with me. Come. Let’s go to a place with less ears.”
“I didn’t think they still made blood wine anymore,” Vorador said, gazing at the glass before him that was half full.
“Or a steak that rare,” Durjaya added, indicating the plate that sat before the ancient vampire as well, smiling and sawing away at his own meal. “I apologize for the surroundings, but here, I know we have little to worry about.”
Vorador nodded and absently prodded at the, well, slab of meat before him on the plate. Raw, it seeped blood as he did so. “Now,” Durjaya said, “tell me, what is bothering you. I won’t let you leave until you do.”
“It’s nothing...” Vorador replied.
“Okay then. I brought you here to get it out of you because I’m not blind. There is something on and you’re the best one for digging thought all of that, not me. You’’re far more competent and a better leader than I would ever be. I’ll admit to all of that. I can see that something is holding you back, it’s affecting your performance. I can’t exactly vote you out, but people can if you don’t do something. The last thing we need is someone like you to fall from your position. It will ruin everything.” Vorador looked up, an eye ridge raised. “Don’t give me that. I admit to my faults. I’ve given you a hard time plenty of times before, but I’ve changed that-”
“I will tell you nothing,” Vorador replied sternly, his mode changing rapidly. “What are you up to? Before I excuse your unusual behavior because of the circumstances. nos. know something is wrong.”
Durjaya cocked an eyebrow. “What makes you say that? You’ll excuse me while I ignore your rude comment.”
Vorador’s eyes narrowed. “You will excuse me while I don’t believe you at all. I demand to know what you are doing.”
Durjaya calmly set down his fork. “I don’t have to tell you anything and I won’t.”
“I demand it,” Vorador said sternly, standing from the table. “I demand to know what is going on!”
Durjaya looked up at him calmly, an eerie smile upon his face. “I said I don’t have to tell you anything. They will.”
Vorador looked form the left to the right of him, his body stiffening as he realized he was surrounded. “You can’t do this!”
The other smiled. “Let’s just say, you’ve been voted off of the council. “
“You can’t do this!” Vorador felt panic rising, trapped so much like animal. Weapons were leveled at him and by the numbers there was no escape. None. Trapped, he turned to Durjaya and growled feraly. “You. Cannot. Do. This.”
“Oh but we have and we did. Right behind your back while you were out those days,” Durjaya smiled. “You’re pathetic really. You have absolutely no idea what is going on anymore. You didn’t know before your little accident, and you know even less now. Take him away.”
The mercenaries surrounded him closer, someone behind him grasping one of his arms, trying to wrench it behind him. Vorador struggled in vain against being pulled into such a position. He couldn’t wrench his head around to see what brutish thing had a hold of him. the being who did, was a full cyborg and a heavy one at that, built rather like a tank, and was easily able to overpower him. Struggling harder against what felt like someone had imbedded his hands in a wall of steel and soon bound in shock binders. He looked around one more time, looking for a way and found none. The most elusive vampire in history, for the firsts time, had been captured.
A dark chamber sat, lit all over the sides, white light from black and viridian colored candles reflecting up upon similar colored walls, thought they looked as if they were blood stained from countless sacrifices. Murders if you will, depending on one’s viewpoint. Pools of blood ran along a walkway up to a raised throne set upon a shallow dais. In those pools bones were clearly seen, bones of various creatures strewn and left there. Aside the throne and along the walls, in heavy cloth the color of fresh blood, sat a blackened symbol. One the people who were gathering knew well. The symbol of the prophasised messiah. Of hope to their bloody gathering.
In front of the dais stood a single being, resmiscent of whom the messiah was supposed to appear as, his messenger and servant. Her wings were slickened back, looking like formed slicks of oil, the long trains of her dress pooled at her feet like deep violet pools, twisting gracefully upon the floor and draping from her. The clawed fingers of her quatro-digited hands were pressed together, looking a semblance of meditation as the people gathered.
In time, a soft tone rang, almost the sound of a softly stuck gong, but not quite....
Her eyes opened, showing a holy white light....
“Fellow pilgrims...I welcome you...” Her arms spread, her wings spreading like a hawk’s feathers splayed. “Welcome....”
She paused as a murmur ran though the crowd, her wings lowering and settling. “Don’t be alarmed my friends for the hour of our redemption is at hand. Soon, in but a few hours, our Messiah will finally come and lead us to glory. He will rid us of this filth that covers nosgoth.”
The murmur grew louder.
Her hands moved, moving from out form her sides to hover near the core of her body, claws spread as if she were holding a ball no one could see. With a flash, in her hands an object appeared and the sound from it clung eerily in the air...
And all was silent...
Ba-doom...
“He is coming...”
Ba-doom...
“He will save us...”
Ba-doom...
In the darkened room a single man ‘slept,’ kept there by drugs to help hold his mind at peace. He would be in a waking hell otherwise. Not alive. Not dead. Only madness and pain. Mercy in its own right.
A light appeared over him. It wasn’t from one of the sentries droids. It was a plain, white light, coming dully and dimming away, almost like the flash of a firefly only far larger. Then darkness returned to the room. It returned to normal except for but one thing...
A single different sound...
Ba-doom...
The man on the bed didn’t stir. He couldn’t really, he didn’t quite comprehends the sound even. his eyes were open however, as they were from time to time when it was nearing time for another dose to keep him out. The strong, nobel mind peeking though dense fog, wondering when he could walk the world once again.
Ba-doom...
The object hovered there for a long while, dribbling black fluid from it. It spattered onto the white sheets, staining them permanently. This was the blood of an ancient. Deeper colored than even the most ancient of vampire’s blood. So much darker...
Ba-doom...
He felt a pang of something. Pain? He couldn’t recognize it for he hadn’t felt much of anything in a long time. Wounds he somewhat recognized once or twice he guessed were long gone, no longer bound by a second skin and frame needed to keep his fragile bones for healing at odd angles.
Ba-doom...
Flesh recognized what the mind did not. This was familiar blood. Very familiar. Nerves tingled in anticipation as flesh split like water, peeling away from bone. Bone itself ground and shook with what ability it possessed before finally cracking free, slitting in different directions. Opening...
Ba-doom...
The object continued to throb with the life it still possessed even though it was long since separated from its owner. The flesh wanted it back. It wanted to heal. It wanted unity. The flesh has listened to the other corporeal beings. It listened where the mind did not. Both the flesh and the other corporeal beings wanted the best for the mind. The flesh knew, for without the mind, it had little hope of continuing, and so it had accepted the treatment, accepted the serums used to keep the flesh still and the mind perpetually resting. The flesh craved to fly, to move as much as the mind wanted it as well.
Above both, hung hope.
Ba-doom...
The object slowly lowered itself lovingly into the cavity the flesh had created for it. The cradle, so preciously protected by bone and sinew. The key to the mind’s release and the flesh's unity.
Ba-doom...
The flesh slowly closed. Carefully wrapping it with he love and care a mother would her child’s gift. The tubes that linked it with the flesh grew together and sealed, dark fluid flowing under its own pwoer once again. Bone sealed, the fisures healing over and lie again as they were a few mintues before. Flesh closed, like tidal waves, wrapping over it, skin sealing last. Seamlessly, as if it were never disturbed. Without a trace...
Ba-doom...ba-doom...ba-doom...
And inside, the object beat anew...
Eyes opened. Serums and drugs instantly wearing away as if they never were....
And he sat up...
And he was whole....