Revival

[The Venerable Jai]

"You know what you are."

That was what he had to keep telling himself.

"You know exactly who and what you are."

These words served to grant no more realization than the fragmented mind that formed them. He was incapable of fighting his way through the fog on his own. For some reason, something called to him from the other side. Some eldritch force drove him to return.

It was a peaceful death; a false death, but no less peaceful.

Violent resistance. Internal battles. War waged on the substance of self and existence and...

He lost.

Ultimately, something deep within must have desired to continue. To exist once more. The beast, deep within, drove him back. That was the end of it. His eyes fluttered open...and he knew Ayenee, once again.

Within his tomb, in some neglected corner of one of Capital City's graveyards, he rose. A feat of strength greater then you would have thought possible dislodged the heavy stone and he sat up, blue eyes shining in the dimly lit tomb.

Draped in nothing save a burial shroud, the desiccated form strolled to the entrance and pushed open the creaking, oaken double-doors. A purely nostalgic gesture led him to breathe in the night air. He had no reason to breathe, and had not done so for ages.

Memories...

They strike him all at once. He was once a man...barely just. Almost a boy. He had buried his bride-to-be scant weeks before they would marry...and she returned to him to grant a dark blessing. The boon of un-death he had liv...existed with, ever since.

He was a known trickster. In the time since, he had convinced many people of many varied untruths. So much so that he began to believe them, himself, eventually. A Demon Lord, a fallen Angel, an Arch-Devil, a human man...all things he had convinced others of in the time since his arrival.

Each life he touched, he marked. He left vivid memories and, sometimes, the physical scars that stood as proof of his existence. But these were all minor acts...and he had never left a greater footprint on the lands of Ayenee than a few nearly-forgotten enemies and allies.

The name "Ried Shas" accounted for very little in a land full of legends. It would be different, this time. It was not glory he sought, nor power, nor any of the other splendid distractions that had side-lined his original crusade. He had but one purpose in mind, now...

 

[The Venerable Jai]

Visitation

It amazes and astonishes that in a city full of creatures, both strange and fantastic, that someone moving among them in violation of a simple social taboo such as clothing could create such a stir.

If for nothing more than to quiet the constant murmurs (and the cat-calls from a myriad of genders and species), the man (by physiological standards) who would no longer speak his own name found that at least one of his havens was still active and maintained by indentured servants. Many were quick to greet him with smiles and welcoming words, but he offered no more then a respectful nod to each of them. Until he happened upon an androgynous and attractive young lady, and he realized his own hunger. Slaking his thirst upon her, he found his desiccated flesh replenished and replaced by the youthful energies of her soul.

In his room there stood a formerly well-appointed wardrobe. Taking time and care to dress himself comfortably, and with no regard to fashion, he adopted a middle-Victorian appearance. A gray single-breasted frock coat left open over a gray vest (closed, of course). Beneath that, he has a crisp white long sleeve button down, the collar bearing a narrow ribbon tie, with gray trousers to match the coat and vest. The last was not to keep with the mode of dress, but he had become accustomed to certain styles. And so, it was the dark, knee-length leather boots that clashed.

A few arcane words were whispered along with some subtle somatic gestures, and he called upon an illusion of himself which mirrored his appearance. There were ways around not having a reflection for those among the undead who truly cared for their appearance. He took a moment to grease and slick his chin-length hair back in a smart, scalp-clinging mold. Then, he gathered a gray top hat and a fashionable, wide-shaft cane.

The cane hid a sword blade with a simple locking mechanism that could easily be brought to bear against any brigands foolish enough to tarry his intended constitutional. More of a shikomizue than the traditional rapier canes popular in the time of his fashion, it would seem gaudy and out-of-place in a traditional Victorian environment. But in Capital City, as most other things that accord for normalcy, such eccentricities usually went unnoticed, or at least unspoken of.

Stepping out of his home, he hailed a cab. "Where we goin' today, suh?" The cabbie was some variety of Goblin. "The docks, mongeh betcher." The Goblin seemed genuinely surprised at the fact the man had paid such a compliment to him. Either that, or the fact that a pale-skin had actually taken time to learn their language, which was usually disagreeable to their pink human tongues.

About half an hour later, they arrived at the docks. He paid the Goblin in gold coins instead of Ayenee credits, but money spent, no matter what shape or make. The Goblin gave them a cursory bite, determined the authenticity, and promptly left before the idiot pale-skin decided to request something more. He watch the gaudy automobile speed away before approaching a pier that seemed to extend forever out into the bay.

Following the pier's track, his cane tapped out a soft rhythm along the wooden planks that seemed to flow with the swish-swish of the water beneath. When he neared the end of the pier, he took from within his cloak a flute fashioned from obsidian. With his back to the end of the pier and his eyes turned to the docks, he played a haunting melody with a proficiency born of and intimate familiarity.

It had been less than five minutes when he heard the wood of the docks creaking and a break in the water as something climbed out and on to them. "You dare to summon me here?" said a beautiful feminine voice that seemed much like the haunting melody he had just played, "I should drag you to Acardia. I'm almost certain Maab hasn’t lost her taste for your kind, yet, Life-Eater."

"I want you to take me to Avalon. After the Lady proclaimed it sealed to almost all save the Fair and your guests, the Ferry no longer comes to Ayenee." His words were calm and patient, tinged with the tiniest bit of fear. He'd slept so long, and his power had waned to depths unknown since his fledgling days. With that in mind, he knew the faery to whom he spoke was more than capable of fulfilling her threats.

"So...a bargain, is it?" He could hear the greedy grin in the words she spoke. Faery loved to barter and trade...possibly because they always came out ahead in the deals they made. He nodded at the suggestion, slowly removing a small bag from within his coat. The sound of several coins clinked within. The faery giggled from behind him, her laughter sounding like the tinkling of many tiny bells. "What use for I of mortal currency?"

"These are no mere coins of man-held ores, m'lady fair..." he licked his lips, unnecessarily, "...these are soul-forged." He heard a gasp escape, "You lie! Even sprites and pixies know that soul-forged metal can only be found in the Celestial Lands...and soul-less Life-Eaters such as you are forever denied the grace of such places." He smiled, "I will allow you to examine them, if you give me your word you will not tarry me in my crusade."

All was quiet, momentarily, except the swish-swish of the water. Somewhere in the bay, a ship was gliding out into the night. The night-birds cried and the dock-workers did as they were order, with moderate grumbling.

Open-ended agreements such as that were dangerous to make with faery. They were master wordsmiths, who could twist a ill-prepared, poorly-worded bargain to their advantage. But amongst them, he had a particular reputation for possessing the same skills. Finally, the faery spoke: "Your terms are agreeable."

He held out the small, velvet bag without looking back. The bag was daintily hefted from his outstretched hand and he could hear the soft parting of the fabrics as it was opened and the contents examined. There was absolute silence afterwards. Unnatural, in fact, which told him the foolish faery had attempted to steal the soul-forged coins. He turned around to see a creature of such perfect symmetry and unearthly beauty, that had he still had the same emotions and sensitivities of his humanity, he would be awe-struck and moved to tears.

As a true smile crested his wine-colored lips, he sighed a purely theatrical sigh. "Simple, greedy, stupid creature. You're all so predictable! I allow you to speak." The faery screeched in an inhuman and completely unnerving way, "Release me! Release me, foolish Life-Eater, and maybe I'll allow you to suffer a swift death! "

He never even broke his stride.

"New bargain: Upon your release from my bond, you will return my baubles to me. In addition to providing me safe passage to Avalon, you will no longer interact with me, save my summons. If this is unacceptable, I'm certain I know other creatures that would provide me the same service, and more. if they received in payment, hmm...let's see...a bound faery?" She spat a faery curse in the Sylvan tongue. He shook his head, "Very well then. I think I remember a particular Tanar'ri that I'm on civil terms with who can arrange my passage."

"Damn you to a boggle's pit! I accept your accord! My freedom from your binding for what is yours and passage to Avalon." He sighed again, "Safely to my destination, and to be granted me immediately upon your release." The faery was furious. "Yes! Yes! A thousand times, yes! Damn you and your soul-less wandering kind to the Hell you deserve, yes." He nodded, "We have reached an accord, then. You are free."

The faery returned his coins to him and gave him the furious pout of a scolded child. She began to sing in a soft, melodious voices, vaguely reminiscent of Muslim prayer songs, sung from atop Mosques at every hour of prayer. The water rose in a great column at the end of the pier and overtook him. Within it's unrelenting grip, he was thrashed around for what seemed to be uncountable hours before finally being thrown, as if by a colossal hand, on the eastern shores of Avalon.

The pain was great, but already his undead nature was sealing and healing the wounds inflicted by the wrath of the faery. She had kept her word and seen him safely and swiftly to his intended destination, only he had forgotten to mention anything about comfortably. No matter...the gambit had worked. Within the velvet bag were, indeed, four soul-forged coins. The fifth, however, was a binding device, created especially to entrap any pickpocket who attempted to take it more then seven feet away from it's owner.

He had intentionally poorly worded the agreement, knowing that the faery would attempt to examine the coins far away from him for an undisclosed amount of time. After all, what was time to an ageless creature? And though he had the same immortality, with the many enemies he had, surely he would succumb to death before the relatively safe faery. And, if so, could she not claim the coins as owner-less?

But that mattered not. He was alive, he had all of his belongings, and he had arrived on the Isle in the Mists. Now, if only he could find that castle...

 

[The Venerable Jai]

No more heroes. I'm all you've got...

Upon the Island in the Mists, his power waned further still.

The Mists acted as a deterrent to those who would bring misery to her shores, and he found himself even further separated from the great power he had amassed over the centuries. That mattered less then one would think. Although a creature such as he grows accustomed to the significant advantages granted by said powers, he had spent as much time over the centuries of existence strengthening his innate potential.

In short order, he found the familiar castle he sought. It was not essential to his journey, but he counted centuries as mortals count the hours, and sometimes the happy memories were all he had. He strolled leisurely into the place, which was obviously uninhabited by the condition of the outside perimeter This served to astonished as he found the interior courtyard had been remarkably conserved by some kind souls. He stood in appreciation of the magnificent botanical gardens, lovingly crafted and maintained.

Then, he saw her.

The statue stood as proudly as ever, assumedly kept up and polished by the same kind souls who took care of the rose garden. Standing among the plot of rare blue roses was the monument to the Lady of the Lake as he had known her. He approached the statue hesitantly, eyes never leaving the countenance of beauty, though ever-vigilant of his milieu. She had been but a maiden when first they met in that tavern in Tenaria, he wondered what she was like now? He took to a knee and carefully plucked a blue rose.

As he walked out of the castle, the blue rose laid at the feet of the Lady; a testament that true love is never forgotten...no matter how tainted it may have become.

His journey took him next north. There, at the base of the Crescent Moon Mountains, stood the great stone Monastery. About the grounds, even in the dead of night, monks toiled in their labors. Maintenance and upkeep of such an imposing structure required meticulous and dedicated effort. He quietly passed by, offering a respectful nod to each monk that turned to do the same.

As he came upon the great entrance, a familiar face greeted him. ”Most Revered Elder." Shas gave a polite and formal bow, hands clasped before him. "You return here for shelter once again, Master Shas?" The old man's eyes smiled though his face remained as unreadable as ever. He stood just above five feet tall, but he carried himself in a manner so much larger then his person.

"No, Elder, I'm afraid not. I come seeking counsel." The eyes of Shas were weary, despite that the evening was still very much young. The Elder nodded, "We will speak further...come inside, Master Shas." He followed the Elder into the monastery and through the labyrinthine passage ways to the former chambers of Shas. Upon entering, he looked around. "Still looks the same..." said Shas, softly.

"We do not molest your quarters...you may return to us, some day, in need of them." The Elder smiled sadly, "May I get you anything? Perhaps some tea?" Shas gave a soft chuckle, "I see you haven't lost your sense of humor. No, thank you. I refreshed myself before I began this journey." The Elder nodded, "We are forever in your debt for bringing us to this Island. The Avalonians are so polite and helpful."

It was Shas' turn to nod, non-committal, "They are a good people." The Elder looked as if he was about to continue, but thought better of it. "So, what troubles you, Master Shas?" He sat on the floor in a lotus position and invited Shas to join him. Shas assumed the same posture and stated "I have done a grievous misdeed. I allowed a power-hungry lich to unleash a great darkness upon Ayenee."

"A darkness greater than yourself?" questioned the Elder before he gasped an inquired, "The Hidden Lord?" Shas met eyes with the Elder and nodded. "I was so foolish! So caught up in my own games that I underestimated the lich. I never thought he would succeed." The calmness and focus was very obviously gone from Shas, and the Elder nodded again, quietly.

"I do not know how to stop him, Elder. I do not know how to make this right." Shas closed his eyes and quietly listened to the soft, even breathing of the Elder. There was much quiet before the Elder finally sighed. "You never could accept your place, Master Shas." He placed a hand on Shas' shoulder. The Elder was one of the few that could touch him, unbidden.

"Once, you were a man, but that was a long time ago. That was taken from you and you accepted damnation in it's place. You spent countless centuries feeding on the life of others, until it was no longer enough. Then, again eschewing all that is light and life, you embraced your damnation and became something worse. You became the creature you are now, no longer content to feed upon the life of others as necessary, or to feed upon souls when you must. You are no longer simply corrupted, you are a force of corruption. Because of that, because you are the very evil that threatens all you know, you can not fight against it. I'm uncertain if you can do more than join those whom you despise. However, I know this: As long as you hold on to that power you so cherish, as long as you remain more than the vampire you were, nothing you do will truly harm that force that threatens Capital City."

Shas opened his eyes and met the peaceful stare of the Elder. "I didn't ask to become more than I was. I don't know that what you propose is even possible." The Elder looked to the floor. "It is possible...you need only will it to be so." The Elder rose to his feet. "I must return to my meditations, Master Shas. You are welcomed to remain here as long as you desire."

As the Elder left him behind, Shas sneered at himself. "Simply give up the power I earned? Why should I? What does that old fool know? I'm certain I could defeat the Hidden Lord and Scorn's forces with my power. I may even supplant them both! With their powers added to mine, I could rule the Multiverse!"

The words of the Elder rang in his mind just as he thought that.

He looked to his hands. Tears of blood welled up in his eyes and trailed down his cheek. He took to his knees from the lotus position and rose slowly. "Get thee behind me..." He said it internally, with all of the will he could muster...and something changed. Something within flowed out, like the pus of a lanced boil. It brought with it a sense of relief, but left an oddly gnawing ache.

It was in this moment, when he felt his weakest, that he almost gave in. e almost called out to that force not to leave him. He felt...empty. Maybe incomplete, like he had just lost something so precious to him. He was hungry...for blood. Not for souls or for the power within them...simple blood. That's when he knew that he, once again, was simply a vampire.

He had not lost his knowledge of the arcana, nor any of the other things he had learned before or since...but much of his power was gone. He was...limited. But he felt a sense of peace. Well, at least, more-so then when he craved power and souls constantly. The dull ache of the blood hunger was still there, and the emptiness of ever-present damnation had returned, but he felt...good.

He left the monastery quietly in the hours before dawn. When he was on the other side of the Mists, he had no entrance. Now that he was here, he could leave anytime he was ready He took the pocket spell book out and flipped through the pages. It would be a bother acclimating to using this thing for some of his works, but that was the price of fighting the darkness: sacrificing the power it offered.

At his behest, the dimensional door rippled into existence, yawning like some invisible giant's mouth. He stepped through and found himself back at his residence in Capital City. Walking over the closet, he reached in and withdrew a belted holster with the well-maintained Peacemaker it held, and checked the cylinder.

Fully loaded. Snapping it back into place, he holstered the weapon and retrieved a Bag of Holding from within the same closet. He threw several boxes of ammunition in, along with his flute crafted of obsidian. He stepped out into the streets, where panicked people still darted along. There were looters breaking into the buildings that looked like they were owned and maintained by humans. He calmly proceeded in the direction everyone else was running from.

As he passed an alleyway, he heard a woman scream from within and followed the noise, drawing his sword-cane from it's shaft. He expected to see some demon ravaging her, but it was simply some foolish man trying to force himself on her. He was rambling about how he was going to "get lucky as much as he could before the end of the world..." Shas sheathed the blade quietly and walked up on the man in silent grace. He grasped him from behind, single-handedly, and held him aloft.

Flashing a fang-filled maw at the would-be violator, he spoke harshly "Looks like it's my turn to get lucky..." With that, Shas tore into the man's throat. His screams sounded like the woman, until he had lost the resolve to continue as Shas drank him dry. The man was flung him into a wall with a sickening thud just before Shas approached the blubbering, quivering lass. She looked to be in her early 20s. Her make-up was ruined and she was half-naked, her clothes torn in haste. She was clearly terrified.

Upon his approached, she started flailing and screaming. Shas began shushing her, calmingly, and placing his ice-cold hands on her in a gentle way. Then she met his eyes and he crushed her will. No mucking about...simple as that. She was in his thrall. She stood and came the rest of the way to him, seemingly unbidden, and brushed the hair from over her shoulder. She tilted her head side-ways and offered her neck. The fang-filled maw reverted to the more traditional elongated incisors, and Shas took her. He drained her softly, carefully, almost lovingly. She probably never noticed her death coming and crossed over, peacefully.

Exiting the alleyway, he proceeded along in the direction of the Kellindil Monument. At this distance it seemed to be nothing more then a plume of dark smoke and airborne vrocks, along with a kaleidoscope of vile energies.

[Edit: To be continued in the new, active Calling post, "Astaroth's March".]