Post by Daemian Berazalle on Feb 20, 2013 17:24:58 GMT -5
[The following is going to be information that will be available to all characters, IC. It is being written out by Dae, in a journal which will be left in the main gathering room of the Inne.]
The years have come and gone that I have wandered. Over the course of the centuries, I have called four places home. This is the tale of my beginning, as I know it to be.
My earliest memories are full of love and laughter, joy and honor, despite how I came to be. I was still in the womb when my mother was attacked. My father, Alexander Berazalle, was a local Governor of the town of Turanne, in the country of Bellishanze. It was a growing town, prosperous under my father's governing.
My mother, Eliza, was returning from a shop where she was procuring items for my birth. It was sudden, she had described. She had been unaware it was even happening, until she wandered home and was found by our butler. Immediately the clerics were sent for, and they were able to keep at bay the evil which had attempted to turn her, although they were unsure what course it would take hold of with me.
I was born, with a heartbeat and all other signs of life that are expected of a normal, healthy baby. The same clerics that had cured my mother were present for my birth, and they gave me a clean bill of health. They also gave my parents a warning, that I was only half theirs. In some cases, although the Undead cannot reproduce on their own, they can cause half-births to occur.
For the first hundred years of my life, I lived as what is known where I come from as a Dhampir. That is, a half-Vampire. I feel it is important that you all know this before this tale continues. When I first arrived, I kept who and what I am secret from you, only because of the mission we were dealing with in Dunsany. I am a Vampire now, there is nothing left of my humanity save for the memories I have.
The first twelve years of my life were the only peace I knew. Our town grew into a small city over the course of that time. And with new inhabitants came new superstitions and rumors. And with those came threats that could not be expected or prepared for.
It was on my thirteenth birthday that I experienced my first act of violence. As I mentioned, the town was growing, new folk were coming in every month. We all thought it was because of the work my father was doing, but in truth, my father was slowly being excluded and segregated.
We had finished supper, I had opened my presents and was in the middle of enjoying the toys I had been gifted when the door was being hammered upon as if by a multitude of fists. Little did we know, but our house had been surrounded. The townsfolk had arrived, with their superstitions and worse. My other father had arrived, stirring the townsfolk into a frenzy against my father, against my mother, but most of all against me.
We had no escape, no exit plan. We tried the back door, but they were there, waiting. The last I saw of my father was him standing in the doorway, blood running from his lips. He'd been skewered by a spear . . . I only remember screaming as my mother drug me away, upstairs. The rest is a blur of fire and fury . . . I received my first scar that day.
Fearing me for a monster, they came armed with silver. It had no adverse effect on me, but blades still leave marks. One of the men had a razored whip and used it to drive me away from my mother. She had been taken, and I was too young and frightened and inept to do anything to stop it from happening.
By this point, the house was already aflame. Smoke thickened the air, and there were only three of us upstairs. My mother was taken to the same Vampire who had attacked her thirteen years before. Even the Undead are ruled by superstition, this one arriving thinking he could claim me on my thirteenth year along with my mother to be his morbid fantasy of a family.
The two men who had me trapped upstairs had thought to make sport of me, the monster boy from Berazalle Manor. They backed me up to a window, out of reach of the stairs, intending me to burn alive in the house, if not something more nefarious. I heard the snap of the whip, felt the razored blades bite into my arm and I reacted. My hand felt wet and there was a tearing and popping sound and then I jumped out the window.
The next thing I remember is being scooped up into a pair of strong arms, held to a chest with a heartbeat. Two weeks went by before I came to, looking up into a pair of amber eyes. I remember my first reaction was to cry. My arm hurt, but my heart hurt worse. My mother would greet me every morning the same way, standing above my bed with a smile and a hug ready to bring me into the day.
There was an Elven community, only about twenty Elves in total, which had taken up residence near our Manor. They had seen the fire and had come to investigate. It was they who had saved me and nursed me to health, physically and mentally.
Though my tale began at my home, under less than ideal terms, it was there among the Elves that my life began. The Elder, as he was referred to by the other Elves, took me into his care. He treated me like a son, like family, despite the fact that I looked nothing like him or his people.
[More to come, and soon.]
I was given a week to rest, under the watchful eye of Imloeth's sister, the youngest of three children to their family. Her name was Elloine, a twin to Illoenne. She was trained in the arts of healing, and in her care I knew I was safe. Not once did I spend a night free of nightmares, but each morning I knew I could wake and be free of them for the day at least.
It was difficult, beyond imagining, trying to move on and "deal" with the life I'd been given. It seemed unfair that I survived, but each day became the next and soon the days and weeks and months would move on with no care for whether or not I was ready for them to do so. That first week was definitely the hardest of my life up to that point, little did I know the harder challenges were still to come.
For that first week, all I knew were my dreams and the comfort and care Elloine provided to me. Any time I asked a question, I was shushed and comforted and told to rest. And rest I did. I soon began to calm, and the end of that first week I slept and couldn't recall whether or not I had a dream.
"It is time." I woke to those words on my eighth day with them. I sat up, wiping the sleep from my eyes, and before I could ask what it was time for I was given the whip that had given me my first scar. I remember holding it awkwardly, unsure of what I was to do with it.
"We are an order of Assassins," the voice began and I looked to see who the speaker was. It was Imloeth, this clan's leader. "Your father hired us, hoping we'd arrive in time to deal with the threat that was over-running your town. We arrived too late, and all we could save was yourself."
He gave me a few moments to digest what he'd revealed, watching me, judging my reactions. "We cannot stay here any longer than we have already. There are three Vampires in town . . . your Mother is now one. They are searching for you, and we do not plan to let them have you. The whip is your weapon . . . you have killed with it already. Tonight, when we stop to rest your training begins."
What else could I do? I was an intelligent child, always took my studies seriously, and my reasoning was quite adept. I did not want to be a Vampire . . . I wanted to kill the one responsible for killing my father, for taking my mother. I still held the whip awkwardly, but I made a decision right there to accept my fate and gave a single nod, looking Imloeth in the eye. "I'm ready."
We left, then and there. I was taught how to coil the whip safely and given a hook to attach to my belt. There the whip hung and I carried what was set aside for me to be responsible for. In truth, part of it was a great adventure for me. It was the way my mind adapted to the situation.
The years have come and gone that I have wandered. Over the course of the centuries, I have called four places home. This is the tale of my beginning, as I know it to be.
My earliest memories are full of love and laughter, joy and honor, despite how I came to be. I was still in the womb when my mother was attacked. My father, Alexander Berazalle, was a local Governor of the town of Turanne, in the country of Bellishanze. It was a growing town, prosperous under my father's governing.
My mother, Eliza, was returning from a shop where she was procuring items for my birth. It was sudden, she had described. She had been unaware it was even happening, until she wandered home and was found by our butler. Immediately the clerics were sent for, and they were able to keep at bay the evil which had attempted to turn her, although they were unsure what course it would take hold of with me.
I was born, with a heartbeat and all other signs of life that are expected of a normal, healthy baby. The same clerics that had cured my mother were present for my birth, and they gave me a clean bill of health. They also gave my parents a warning, that I was only half theirs. In some cases, although the Undead cannot reproduce on their own, they can cause half-births to occur.
For the first hundred years of my life, I lived as what is known where I come from as a Dhampir. That is, a half-Vampire. I feel it is important that you all know this before this tale continues. When I first arrived, I kept who and what I am secret from you, only because of the mission we were dealing with in Dunsany. I am a Vampire now, there is nothing left of my humanity save for the memories I have.
The first twelve years of my life were the only peace I knew. Our town grew into a small city over the course of that time. And with new inhabitants came new superstitions and rumors. And with those came threats that could not be expected or prepared for.
It was on my thirteenth birthday that I experienced my first act of violence. As I mentioned, the town was growing, new folk were coming in every month. We all thought it was because of the work my father was doing, but in truth, my father was slowly being excluded and segregated.
We had finished supper, I had opened my presents and was in the middle of enjoying the toys I had been gifted when the door was being hammered upon as if by a multitude of fists. Little did we know, but our house had been surrounded. The townsfolk had arrived, with their superstitions and worse. My other father had arrived, stirring the townsfolk into a frenzy against my father, against my mother, but most of all against me.
We had no escape, no exit plan. We tried the back door, but they were there, waiting. The last I saw of my father was him standing in the doorway, blood running from his lips. He'd been skewered by a spear . . . I only remember screaming as my mother drug me away, upstairs. The rest is a blur of fire and fury . . . I received my first scar that day.
Fearing me for a monster, they came armed with silver. It had no adverse effect on me, but blades still leave marks. One of the men had a razored whip and used it to drive me away from my mother. She had been taken, and I was too young and frightened and inept to do anything to stop it from happening.
By this point, the house was already aflame. Smoke thickened the air, and there were only three of us upstairs. My mother was taken to the same Vampire who had attacked her thirteen years before. Even the Undead are ruled by superstition, this one arriving thinking he could claim me on my thirteenth year along with my mother to be his morbid fantasy of a family.
The two men who had me trapped upstairs had thought to make sport of me, the monster boy from Berazalle Manor. They backed me up to a window, out of reach of the stairs, intending me to burn alive in the house, if not something more nefarious. I heard the snap of the whip, felt the razored blades bite into my arm and I reacted. My hand felt wet and there was a tearing and popping sound and then I jumped out the window.
The next thing I remember is being scooped up into a pair of strong arms, held to a chest with a heartbeat. Two weeks went by before I came to, looking up into a pair of amber eyes. I remember my first reaction was to cry. My arm hurt, but my heart hurt worse. My mother would greet me every morning the same way, standing above my bed with a smile and a hug ready to bring me into the day.
There was an Elven community, only about twenty Elves in total, which had taken up residence near our Manor. They had seen the fire and had come to investigate. It was they who had saved me and nursed me to health, physically and mentally.
Though my tale began at my home, under less than ideal terms, it was there among the Elves that my life began. The Elder, as he was referred to by the other Elves, took me into his care. He treated me like a son, like family, despite the fact that I looked nothing like him or his people.
[More to come, and soon.]
I was given a week to rest, under the watchful eye of Imloeth's sister, the youngest of three children to their family. Her name was Elloine, a twin to Illoenne. She was trained in the arts of healing, and in her care I knew I was safe. Not once did I spend a night free of nightmares, but each morning I knew I could wake and be free of them for the day at least.
It was difficult, beyond imagining, trying to move on and "deal" with the life I'd been given. It seemed unfair that I survived, but each day became the next and soon the days and weeks and months would move on with no care for whether or not I was ready for them to do so. That first week was definitely the hardest of my life up to that point, little did I know the harder challenges were still to come.
For that first week, all I knew were my dreams and the comfort and care Elloine provided to me. Any time I asked a question, I was shushed and comforted and told to rest. And rest I did. I soon began to calm, and the end of that first week I slept and couldn't recall whether or not I had a dream.
"It is time." I woke to those words on my eighth day with them. I sat up, wiping the sleep from my eyes, and before I could ask what it was time for I was given the whip that had given me my first scar. I remember holding it awkwardly, unsure of what I was to do with it.
"We are an order of Assassins," the voice began and I looked to see who the speaker was. It was Imloeth, this clan's leader. "Your father hired us, hoping we'd arrive in time to deal with the threat that was over-running your town. We arrived too late, and all we could save was yourself."
He gave me a few moments to digest what he'd revealed, watching me, judging my reactions. "We cannot stay here any longer than we have already. There are three Vampires in town . . . your Mother is now one. They are searching for you, and we do not plan to let them have you. The whip is your weapon . . . you have killed with it already. Tonight, when we stop to rest your training begins."
What else could I do? I was an intelligent child, always took my studies seriously, and my reasoning was quite adept. I did not want to be a Vampire . . . I wanted to kill the one responsible for killing my father, for taking my mother. I still held the whip awkwardly, but I made a decision right there to accept my fate and gave a single nod, looking Imloeth in the eye. "I'm ready."
We left, then and there. I was taught how to coil the whip safely and given a hook to attach to my belt. There the whip hung and I carried what was set aside for me to be responsible for. In truth, part of it was a great adventure for me. It was the way my mind adapted to the situation.