Re-imagined: What Once Was Old Has Been Made New

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The Venerable Jai

Rumored to be alive...
The Damned

Once upon a time, I was the wealthy heir to a sizable duchy. My parents doted upon me with many varied splendors, I was engaged to the fairest maiden the local aristocracy had to offer, and I was content with the destiny that I had been given.

Fate truly is a fickle mistress.


The sun had long set on this empty castle. I sat upon my father's plush chair in a study that would be freezing, were I subject to feel such things. Less than a month since I had lost both my mother and father, and then my intended. Less than a week had passed since I learned that these were no mere coincidence. The one who had orchestrated the sudden contretemps of my formerly charmed life sat across from me, a wicked smile upon her face. "One day, childe, you shall think me a savior." Her lips were the color of pale wine, her hair an almost tragic shade of auburn, and her figure would be that of a fledgling boy were it not for the definitively feminine curves. She looked to be of the low-born castes, but there was something almost fey about her mien. "You should view what I have given you as a gift, Ried."

It was then that my fortitude wavered, and a tide of hatred swept over me. Before I could think about it, my hand slammed down upon the table-top. In a thrusting leap, I cleared the table and collided with her, the chair falling back upon the floor. I mounted her, baring my fangs and doing all I could to maul her slender, porcelain-white neck. And then, I was in flight. My time in flight didn't last long as I met the heavy stone wall opposite the empty hearth. The force of impact left me stunned and disoriented, and she was on me just as quick. She grasped my neck and slammed my head to the floor, jarring away what little lucidity I had been able to cobble back together. A vicious smile turned those same lips into something bestial.

"Such a brat! Do you think yourself sport for me? I was as I am before your mother and father were even born, whelp. You are my childe until I decide otherwise and I will not brook this kind of impertinence." I was feeling very weak as she lifted me up against the wall so that I could see her blue eyes, snaked through with their bright green veins . "I could kill you now." As she spoke the words, I knew them to be true. I had been a vampire for less than a week and she had been one...well, for a very long time. I swallowed my pride, feeling the wounds I had received mending themselves as I looked into her eyes. "M'lady Jennivere," I softly spoke, "...I am as you have made me, and I am...grateful...for this gift." I appeared sincere.

She laughed, and cast me aside. I landed soundly on my rump, no worse for wear. "Get up, childe. The sun has set and I am hungry." She left my father's study and I followed, down the hall and past the corpses. The night I had died, Jennivere and I had slaked our thirst on the servants. I hadn't gotten around to disposing of them. It's difficult to get rid of sixteen corpses. I stopped a moment and pondered this. The transformation had me made so callous. I knew every one of the dead that litter my home. Some of them had been in the employ of my father before my birth. Though I never gave them much thought in my breathing days, I had never intentionally blighted them. Now they were dead; their only reward for years of faithful service.

The beast I had become almost giggled at their misfortune. I fought down the desire and attempted to feel grief, but all I could muster were what felt like echoes of hollow words spoken over the grave of a particularly troublesome pet. When I looked up, Jennivere had almost made it to the next hall. I quickly made my way to catch up, making a note to tidy up the hall later.
 
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The inclusion of elven blood within a noble house made my family something of a curiosity among the local gentry. The lands from which we originally came had bordered a Way to the mythical Isle of Avalon. Family lore (and the local legends) insisted that the Shas family were one of the first to engage in such acts of miscegenation with the elven diplomats sent to our fief, petitioning for recognized travel privileges and use of our peasant militia for protection from wandering bandits. My mother and father were both half-elven. Father was the lone scion of the final generation of House Shas. He was a skilled diplomat, a well-respected swordsman, and reputedly an incorrigible lady's man until my mother came along. My mother had some talent for enchantments and it was alleged she could naturally make use of fey glamours. They say she ensorcelled my father and claimed his heart; I prefer to think she got by on her womanly wiles.

My parents were known among the local gentry as "free-spirited," which I interpreted to mean they occasionally engaged in dalliances with lovers other than themselves. As a child, I often heard that their soirees were "truly Bacchanalian affairs," but I was much older before I understood the meaning behind it. They were so full of life that it came as an awful shock when I arrived at Lord's gathering, with Jennivere masterfully posing as our family chirurgeon. "A pox took them both, my intended, and even our servants." I lied, "Were it not for this brilliant miracle-worker, I would be a corpse to be found instead of standing before you, today." Jennivere was hoping to be doted upon and adored, but she was not noble-born, and even the lowliest of the Aristocracy can discern peasant stock. The praise and acceptance she sought was not to be found here, and I blamed a frail constitution on our early departure.

In the coming months, there was talk among the aristocracy. Rumors began to circulate that something decidedly unsavory had happened at my family home, and that it was no plague that struck the house, but a madness. But this was only talk; the Aristocracy loves a scandal. And they made no mention of it at large, for fear that opportunistic children may be inspired to gain their own inheritance much earlier than their parents would like. It was these series of rumors that led me to decide discretion was truly the better part of valor. My sire, Jennivere, would hear nothing of it. "You're as mad as those cretins think you are! Why would we willingly leave this behind? This estate, your birth-right, this...life? This is what our kind aspires to!" She was unsettled, a hateful glare in her eyes. She dropped the corpse of the young peasant girl that she had previously exsanguinated and stalked toward me.

As she came closer than comfort allowed, I spoke softly, "I fear this estate and those other luxuries are what you aspire to, milady. There are things of nobility you've yet to learn." She backed away from me, allowing me what would be breathing room were it still necessary that I breathe. "But childe, this is why I have you. You could teach me to be as they. In time, they would come to accept--" I couldn't help myself, I began to laugh. She took a more threatening stance. Silhouetted by moonlight, the stalking shape of my sire was a terrifying thing to behold. The beast within me stirred, and yearned to flee from the beast before me. Her eyes had a faint crimson glow, comparable to the eye-shine of a more mundane nocturnal predator. "Would you be so kind as to share what you find so amusing? And mark your words carefully, childe..."

I had lost myself in sardonic mirth, momentarily. Now, I was back and this was something to be dealt with. The likelihood of anything good coming of this was short of naught, but I could no longer stand this stupidity. "Milady, you are a masterful thespian. Given the time, I can say with all certainty that you could learn, and easily imitate the parlance, dress, and intrigues of the gentry." She watched me with soulless eyes, but a pleased expression. "That being said, you will never think as they do. You were not born a noble, nor has death given you an innate nobility. Neither I nor any other could ever teach you nobility. It would be as a fish teaching a bird to swim beneath the surface, or a bird teaching a fish to fly among the clouds. You simply do not possess the ability to be a member of the aristocracy. You will always be regarded as simply a peasant that climbed beyond the mud."

I've taken quite a few beatings in my existence. To that point, I had never received as soundly a thrashing as Jennivere delivered to me. She beat me to the point of oblivion, and when finally I awoke, I was within my coffin. I could still feel my injuries mending themselves as I reached to lift the lid. It was then that I discovered that while I was senseless and nearing the end of my short, unnatural existence, Jennivere had nailed it shut.
 
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The darkness held no mystery for me. This curse--gift, I reminded myself. She would want me to refer to it as such. See, this gift...another perk: I could see near perfect in darkness. My inherited elven blood had always granted me keener senses that humans, but I could never imagine acuity of this variety. It only served to madden me more, locked away as I was in this accursed box of ebony wood. I was still privy to the world outside. Every sound. Every smell. Every subtle fucking vibration. Try as I might, she had somehow secured my coffin in a manner in which I could not escape. I accepted this hopelessness, and that was when sanity gave way to the gnawing madness. Every moment was like an eternity; I dreamt...or, at least, I believed I dreamt. And each "dream" seemed to take another piece of my soul. And gone was the eloquent, arrogant youth of before; a deeper darkness awakened where had once existed a regal ennui. My damnation was complete.

I am unsure how long she intended to leave me there, my broken body mending itself and growing mad with starvation. I do know she roused me a fortnight hence. "Wake, childe. Quickly now." She repeated this as she rent the complex series of impediments put in place to keep me entrapped. When finally I was exposed to the world, time had not been kind. Though I had no reflection, I could sense the unsightliness that my isolation had ravaged upon me. Then, the hunger stripped away all else. Jennivere had brought a peasant family; a strong father, a supple mother, and a daughter not quite old enough to marry off. I mercilessly tore into them. First, I took the father. I leapt upon him like a ravening beast, my fang-filled maw separating the flesh of his neck as easily as a hot knife cleaved butter. His blood flooded into me, reviving me in a way that nothing before ever had.

The mother watched me with suppressed terror as I mutilated her husband and turned my savagery upon her. Before I silenced her forever, her final words were "Spare my daughter..." I sunk my fangs into her chest, tearing my way to her heart's blood, most of my repast wasted to an unquenchable spite. She died in agony unknown to any of my previous victims. Food, I reminded myself, They're just food. I dropped the lifeless husk to the ground. It was then that I realized the daughter had watched, dispassionately, as I slaughtered her family. I was sure she knew her time had come, and it appeared as though she had made peace with what was to happen. I crept more than stalked toward her, unsure of the echoes of regret I was feeling. I resolved I would not take her as I had taken her mother and father. As I came within reach, she closed her eyes. "This will not end here."

Her words struck me as surely as if she had raised a hand in anger. Something changed. Her eyes opened and she met mine with a glare of absolute hatred, any trace of terror unknown to this girl. I feigned a sigh before I used my power to crush her will. "No, dear. This does end here. Bend knee." At my command, she took to her knees before me. "Turn your head and present yourself to me." Her head inclined slightly, and turned as she gazed to her right. I took her gently. The more romantically inclined may even say it was sensual, possibly even loving. I used my command over her to force her to enjoy it as I drained the life from her. I could feel the eyes of my maker, my sire, upon me. Her smile shone down upon me with fell delight. As I dropped the corpse of the daughter to the floor, she was at my side. "I was going to tell you we don't have time for this, but after seeing such a splendid performance, I--"

I walked away from her. "Where are you going?! We have to leave, childe!" Her voice followed me as I made my way through the labyrinthine tunnels of the catacombs and up to the portico that dominated the bailey. The night air felt refreshing to my dead flesh and I took in a great breath. Though I can only imagine, it must have felt as though I were clearing my lungs for the first time. Fitting, as this was a kind of rebirth. Twice-dead, twice-damned. Jennivere rushed upon me, a sense of panic detectable amongst her veneer of casual indifference. "We must gather some things and make preparations to leave." I stopped, turning my eyes upon my sire with a malignant listlessness, "When last I suggested this, you dismissed me outright. What has changed since then?" I could see her weighing the option of chastising me for my insubordinate demeanor or simply telling me the truth.

"Hunters, Ried. There are hunters about." I looked at her and laughed, dismissively. "You told me hunters were bumbling idiots; superstitious humans more apt to strike at their own shadow than lay low even the weakest darkling." I could hear her teeth grit and a low growl in her throat, "These hunters are different. They are true believers. The various churches make use of them as they answer some supposed call from whichever god they bow to." I continued on about my business, waving off this explanation. "If they come, I shall simply send them away. Leave me to my custom, milady: my durance vile has left me unseemly." She threw herself in my path, "Attend to your vanity later, childe! We must go!" Ever had my pride been contingent upon my appearance; coupled with having been locked in the coffin for such a time, I can only speculate this allowed me to ignore her attempts to compel me.

I brushed by her and made my way into the main hall, to what was my room when I slept in a bed instead of a coffin. She followed behind in a fit. “Confound your ignorance! I shall take you from this place by the ear!” She rushed me. She was inhumanly fast, and any other night, she would have been faster than I. But something odd had occurred as I was locked in that dank cellar, inside that oaken box. Something had changed in me...I reach for a hairbrush on my vanity, my fingers daftly snapping the brush end like a dry twig. I was moving at a speed previously unknown, even among my initial test of the dark gift. I easily slammed the splintered end of my yew-hewn brush just beneath the left breast and into the black heart of Jennivere. My would-be master came to an abrupt halt, all of the momentum of her rush spent. I caught her slowly slacking form and laid her on the floor.

“Oh dear.” I said down to her. “Now I've ruined my favorite brush. A pity.” She watched me, unblinking, from the floor as I continued. Though I had no reflection, years of practice had given me intimate knowledge of applying myself by memory alone. I didn't waste any time, but I did carefully attend to my hair and my face, rubbing the oils and creams bought for the dark-skinned traders to the east. My comeliness thus attended, it was time to make haste. I hefted Jennivere's prone form and carried her to my father's study. “I just want you to know that I appreciate all you have done for me, milady.” I laid her down upon the massive table in the study. “You've helped me learn much during these months of transition I will treasure the memory of this, always.” I walked over to my father's liquor cabinet and claimed the strongest of the spirits from within. I doused the room, the rug, the table, and trailed a line into the hall.

Standing outside, looking at the frozen form of Jennivere sprawled out upon the table. I experienced an echo of guilt. I remembered a time when I had broken my mother's favorite chalice and she had raged upon me, but wept in secret after she thought I had left. I watched a single crimson tear run down Jennivere's cheek. “Sleep now, milady. I release thee.” I gathered a match from within a drawer pedestal outside. I flicked the match and tossed it. When the hunters had arrived to speak to the head of the house, they found my family's home engulfed in a great conflagration. I had taken my coffin, stuffed it with valuables, and commissioned a local caravan driver to take me to another province. I used my gift to compel his obedience that I might slumber unmolested through the day, with my “horde” beneath me like the dragons of legend. For the first time in my unlife, I began to dream.

We crossed into a land on gray-skied morning that called to me in my dreams. The land promised me things; greatness, truth, and love. I had never felt such a calling before, in my breathing days nor in the state which I currently existed. When the sun had set, we were still upon that land and I exited my coffin. “Driver, what land is this?” I asked. He looked at me, boredom evident. “Tenaria, sir.” I smiled and broke my fast upon his life's blood. “Tenaria, hmm?” I said, using a handkerchief to wipe away the remaining blood from the lower half of my face. I grabbed my coffin full of baubles and any other useful thing I could scavenge from the wagon. I drank the blood of the horses that had bore us here and went about the business of finding a new residence. It didn't take me long to find an Old Manse that had been purposefully desecrated. It was almost as if the land willed it to be found. I thought back to my dream.

In the first week, I happened upon a tavern that seemed to be operating way beyond the hours that are normally permissible. The tavern was simply called “Our Tavern,” but what got me was the picture painted next to the words. It was a profile of a humanoid with porcelain skin, amber eyes, and what appeared to be fangs. Could this actually be a gathering place for others like myself? I went to knock on the door, but found it to be open. So I walked in, uninvited.
 
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