Completed To Know and Write of Blood

[Valborast Valchek]

Midnight in the library of the knights of Anathaeum's monastery; candles were burning softly and pages turned with ever increasing tenacity as passages were scanned, paragraphs re-read and chapters critiqued, all enacted with the accompaniment of the rare hum of approval and the frequent murmurs of disapproval from a solitary figure dressed in the deepest reds. A shaking of the head, a snapping of a book closed in both lithe hands that performed such an action with rakish confidence before replacing the volume and plucking another and performing the same story again.

Rain began to fall and a chill wind set the candles to flickering. The man with heavy critiques to bear upon the authors work he perused found the sound novel, for the man had spent two thirds of his lifespan below ground, amongst the very things the authors provided conjecture, conclusion and observation concerning. He placed a book upon a table without a sound and planted both palms upon the dark wood that did not disturb the candelabra upon the desk. His oak eyes scanned for fellow scholars at this hour.

Emerald green cat eyes were the only ones that returned his gaze. Valborast closed his eyes slowly to communicate trust between the two, for the knight sworn knew the language of familiars and their mundane counterparts. A howling gust of wind drove the rain into pelting harder upon the window, as if it sought entrance to sodden the pages Valborast scathed.

When his eyes opened again, the cat was gone, soundless in it's exit. He blinked a few times and frowned gently, as if he were a parent disapproving of a child's actions, and looking around ruefully he voiced his concerns to the sound of rain, the movement of shadows, and the cat, wherever it did conceal itself. The man was all too used to communicating to that which did not reveal it's presence so readily.

“None mention it at all. It's like we...they don't exist,” the knight sworn named Valborast hissed. His anger was like the low burning coal in a firepit, the simmering of steam within the kettle before the boil, yet his frame carried with it no violence, just the scorn that coloured his voice with all the sense of betrayal he felt.

Would they hear of this, they might slake their thirst for discretion, and stoke their need for recognition, and feed their want of plans to humiliate, and strip all dignity from those who carry vainglorious escutcheons.

His thoughts further bled into words upon his lips. His hand went to his own sigil, a white lizard that crawled upon an ocean of blood that was his breastplate.

“No mention of the society, no mention of details of the court, no names aside from legends. Killing methods, yes, incantations and spells, yes, but to think, the mind of kindred escapes them. No study of their peoples, their magics, their methods, their thirst beyond the obvious, their hunger beyond a notion of implied diablery. Perhaps they are all too squeamish to catalogue the truth of it. The nature of Zakron. And all who call it theirs.”

It's been years since I called it my place to roam, to prove, to linger, to learn. Gone are those days. Gone are the-

Valborast's ears tingled and he turned his head to the hint of sound he perceived.

He let the sound of his own heartbeat echo in his chest three times.

“Tobacco,” the knight sworn stated to himself, and gathered his robes and slinked off, his feet concealed by the draperies of his robes and cape, his hand already reaching for his pipe and the plant matter to fire up his thoughts. The window rattled against it's framings as if to remind him of the conditions outside, what it was to stand in the rain. As he passed down the stairs silently he issued a sound, clearing his throat as if he were a bat to hear the echo. He listened how the sound echoed in the high ceiling place of parchment, ink and study, and heard a minute sound of a leap and a bound of the green eyed one. Their footsteps were as silent as one another, for the crimson knight was well accustomed to treading upon ground best left hushed for fear of disturbing a meal. Already the cat known by many names sniffed a rodent that sought shelter from the downpour and pupils widened as wicked motions were coiled up silently. The two left each other to their respective feasts in solidarity of their desired solitude, and a creak of wooden stairs betrayed the movements of another.

The crimson knight made his way to the outer door and propped it ajar with a doorstop that was in the shape of a lion who pawed at the air. To Valborast it was as if it were a dog performing a trained motion, and found the statue offensive to the nature of cats themselves. He upturned his nose at the sight and into smelling deep of the tobacco he had lodged within the oak pipe, something he had whittled himself so many years ago, back when sunlight burned his eyes and nothing made sense.

So many years ago now.

A soft voice issued out a statement from behind him.

“There's no smoking in the library, Sir Valchek.”



Sir Valborast Valchek gripped the pipe within his teeth and passed it from the right side of his lips to the left side, and narrowed his eyes to the slashing rain that was in stark contrast to the relative silence that had ruled the library at such a late hour. The elf stepped with all the silence of the cat that preyed and lingered in the knight sworn's shadow.

“I take it you heard my concerns, Sir Librarian. About your literature concerning the nature of vampires.”

The librarian elf behind the crimson knight placed both hands on top of one another around his navel and spoke.

“I did. You may call me Parshen. Anyone who spends three nights here in study may be more familiar with me. Such is your right by now, knight sworn.”

“Parshen then. What think you of my words. My assessment.”

A faint smile was left unseen as teeth clenched and bit the wood with words born caustic and eyes stared out at the pelting rain that struck close to pooled robe.

“I'll pay them more heed, knight sworn, once you write them down.”

“My distaste for what is already written, or my knowledge of what is unspoken, unwritten, overlooked and ignored?”

“Both.”

The wind abated for a moment. The rain died down. The cat in the heart of the library gave chase.

Parshen raised a fingertip, giving life to a small flame that rose to the pipe's bowl. Valborast breathed in deep, his eyes not turning from the darkness, his ears not dulled yet to the sound of falling water that was almost spent. He inhaled, and after a long moment of both thought and appreciation, pursed his lips together to produce a jet of smoke, a hissed sigh revealed as he did so and a tremor of a smile began to creep upon the knight's features that seemed ghoulish from the candlelight.

“Fine. Fine idea. Who should I speak to?”

Somewhere the mouse failed to escape, claws extended now played with something now categorised as food. Emerald eyes darted back and forth as scurried, panicked movements were performed.

“I'll make the arrangements, Sir Valchek,” the elven librarian said. He moved the doorstop aside, and held the door in place and looked to the knight. Valborast inhaled deeply again and his oak eyes remained focused upon the distance, his thoughts now kindled by the librarian's soft encouragement. A few moments passed between the two of them as mutual respect found it's moorings.

“Sir Valchek, there's no smoking in the library.”

To this, the knight sworn smiled wry and gave a small nod.

“I know,” he said flatly, “thank you,” and he gave the librarian a flash of his eyes and a mysterious smile that seemed all too cruel to be endured for long. The librarian was unphased, and met such a visage with all calmness in his own quiet smile, having read the horror story that was Valborast's expressions many times before.

The crimson knight of Dusk stepped out into the rain, his hand already tucking away his pipe onto his person as the elf left rain to be the knight's company, and sealed the door behind his exit.

As Valborast departed the library, so too did the mouse exit the stage, and Parshen returned to his duties to his books, his quills, his order, and to his cat.

 

[Selene]

Somehow, Selene had gotten herself caught up in an endless loop of visiting dignitaries and paperwork. The midnight candle burned in her private quarters as she poured over some missive from a border Baron of little renown. Asking for the knight's aid in claiming the head of the Horror of Isaman, promising this or that in return. Selene pursed her lips at the request. She knew the Horror of Isaman, he was a good sort, or at least not bad enough to deserve a beheading. Tossing the letter aside, she picked up another.

A prickle of energy raised the hairs on the back of her neck, someone's polite knocking at the door before stepping into her mind. She recognized the mental signature of Parshen, and closing her eyes, let the elf's message wash over her. Never one for telepathy, the librarian was one of the few souls allowed to interrupt her like this.

"You and your strays," Selene responded aloud in the empty room, not without a tint of affection to her voice. The letter she had been pouring over was set down as she rose from the table. "Very well. I will see to it."

---

Outside, the rain clattered against window and wall, cobblestone and branch. It pooled in uneven spots along the path and ran off rooftops in a noisy clamor. Not a drop dared to touch the mantle of Selene's robes, however. An arc of clean air curved over her head, water slipping down some intangible barrier in braiding streams around her.

In the shadow of the rain came another figure. One of her own, the red robes that dragged across the soaked path unmistakable. She stopped to greet the sworn Dusk, something like a smile on her lips. "You've the look of a man with too many questions on his mind." Tilting her head curiously, she looked down at the slightly shorter man, dark eyes darker still against the cloud-soaked sky. "Or perhaps those are answers I see rattling around?"

A wave of her hand, and the invisible sphere of protection around her widened in circumference to include Valborast. He would find himself out of the rain, so long as he kept pace with the Captain.

Selene turned down the path. "Walk with me," she said, pausing only a moment before moving deeper into the night.

Valborast Valchek

 

[Valborast Valchek]

Valborast followed attentively as he kept his reply for now. He was accustomed to walking amongst the powerful, the esteemed and the prestigious, yet he was still unaccustomed to there being no threat of violence should he issue an incorrect word. Yet such past conditions had disciplined him well to place his dialogue with poise. Silence was his to possess for now as he considered what was set in motion by his three nights spent in scholarly pursuit.

His fingers went to his beard which stroked away the moisture from the rain as he entered the shelter. He peered out into the heavy dark in which they both advanced, his eyes well honed and comfortable in such a black, and then turned up to the rain that failed to strike true upon them.

He pursed his lips. The water gathered and slid aside above him from the captain's cantrip, and the movement of water reminded him of something else entirely. A scene from his youth, lodged as cornerstone to his bridge of memories. The crimson knight could almost hear the laughter still, hear the nails upon stone, hear the instructions on how to command the vital essence of the mortal.

The water ran in rivulets above them, gathering in strength as it ebbed away to the ground, and it fed into the association. It almost has a heartbeat, he thought. Blood was more familiar in downpour than of water to Valborast, yet he observed they behaved under arcane direction almost the same.

His thoughts caught up to his circumstance.

Parshen sent word too quickly, no damn time to prepare a proposal. A credit to the calling of his station that one, diligent, yet vengeful against me for the tobacco. That's why he acted so quickly...Damnation and bloody damnation.

I have no notes, no report to offer this captain. Just misgivings, grumblings, a scathing review perhaps, all slander.

No, my thoughts are more than that. I have identified a weakness, a vulnerability. An area of ignorance. To have Captain Selene's ear, this must not be squandered. For fear of smothering a remedy in the crib. No time to write up a detailed report. Just my gut instinct and all the memories of home to back it up. I've been in tougher pitched battles of academic parlance with far more fearsome figures. I can thrive in this moment. I must be direct.

Valborast shrugged casually, as if his shoulders could simply wring out the moisture by rotation of his shoulders, and began to speak as his frame became rigid and proud again, his voice assured and coloured by the importance of the subject. He spoke boldly, without apology, yet he barely contained his own scorn for the situation. He was tempered by virtue of being given the space to voice his concerns, to raise awareness of it, and perhaps, to solve what had affected him so. As he spoke he clenched his palm and felt his nails bite into skin that kept him keen to the memory of being lashed out at for speaking without worth to his previous immortal company, years ago.

“I have both question and answer, Captain. Answers to questions that are not being asked by the literature nestled within the library. Concerning the citizen of shadow and predatory plot, of the nestled fang in bloody smiles, I am...I am aware I am one of the few around here who knows them more than just myth, foe, or nightmare. Don't mistake the situation, there are answers concerning the nature of those who draw life beyond life from the power of blood. Of methods to extinguish their kind, yes, those answers lay ready. But observations on the people is lacking, it has gaps which could be the downfall of many. Accounts granted by the library are penned by crusaders, warriors of light who are blinded by their...understandable refusal to submerge themselves into the way those possessed by vampirism think. The way they operate. I question the wisdom of arming our number with such an incomplete repertoire of knowledge. I hope I need not remind you of my experience in a place that is not even mentioned by the tomes I read. Of Zakron. It might soothe the sleep of those who read not to know, but it might lull them to their deaths one day should we ever, as an order, have to deal the sprawling influence of the place, it's rulers and common man. I hope I must not shirk my responsibility to the truth of it. The vampire is cunning and opportunistic. I would be remiss to let them feed on our...oversight. Something must be done.”

@Selene

 

[Selene]

They walked in contemplation for a long time, no word spoken in immediate response by Valborast. When he spoke, it was enough to keep up with the rain. Selene was not bothered by the silence nor the torrent, as each in turn revealed valuable information.

He would not make his request directly, sketching around the purpose of it all like an artist might try to capture the shadow of something. Though it had been a long time since she'd wielded her birthright, Selene had witnessed the same cantor in in her own servants. To propose something outright would be to invite rejection. Lay down the cobbles to get her there on her own however, and her noble's pride would make it harder to dismiss the topic.

Of course, she already knew the result that Valborast hoped for. The librarian had given her a leg up in that regard. It was just too bad that she wasn't a noble anymore.

"You have been thinking long on this," she mused, not giving up the chase quite yet. "In your studies, it must have occurred to you that there might be a reason why accounts of vampires are sparse in our library. Do you truly believe that we would allow our siblings in Dawn to maintain such an oversight, for what, comfort? It is the duty of Dusk to bare the truth even when it becomes a burden. I know you understand this, more than most."

"Blood is the natural intersection between Life and Death and Loch. It does not take long for any Pursuant of my Sanctum to reach that conclusion. But there are some things that should be held sacred, doors that should stay locked. The root of vampiric magic relies on human experimentation. No innovation has ever been made in that arcane sphere without bloodshed and suffering. That is why you will not find any road map of Zakron, no mention of their rulers. The vampire without a name is easy enough to abstract beyond reach, the one that is your neighbor, well..."

Her boots splashed in the rain as she trailed off. Then she stopped entirely, her gait slowing to a halt. That was too much - she was starting to believe it a little herself. Turning away from Valborast, she scanned the patch of overgrown grass they found themselves next to until a side path uncovered itself. Gesturing towards the unpaved path to indicate she was going that way, Selene started up again.

"Convince me to open that door. Then we may speak of what must be done." A test, a small denial that could be crumbled with a touch. Selene wanted to know if his conviction could hold through that much.

Valborast Valchek

 

[Valborast Valchek]

Valborast clenched his palm with greater intent to harm his skin, he applied pressure on his lower lip with his left canine, a tremor flickered about his brow and his eyes flashed out a warning of what emotions brewed internal. All minute signs of the contempt he had for the way the conversation had evolved and the one who had transformed it so. An eddy of thoughts and feelings rushed through him, exasperation, frustration, anger and dismay all smouldered through the rope that bound and tied him to his patience. He permitted himself this wild emotion to exist within him, for it reminded him he was still human, and free to indulge in such emotions towards his betters.

But a human with a position and title, a hierarchy to belong to, and an argument to win. There was a limit to the tolerance to such outbursts that threatened to explode from him, unchecked and uncontrolled.

Petulance and temper will not serve my end!

He followed Selene and drew back what signs of displeasure he could, yet despite his volition, his features still carried with it the zest of contempt, the taught muscles within his face tremored as if he were fighting the imitation of a snarling tiger, fangs barely contained, claws straining to swipe out.

“I'm not proposing to teach blood magic to anyone,” Valborast intoned darkly. You dolt. Like I'd have my own gaggle of blood knights. Besides, the technique is mine to know. I earned that right.

Must I convince you to do your job to protect us?

These words Valborast did not say, but he clung onto them as a source of hate.

“I'm proposing to keep our number alive. Unturned. Unfettered by fear and uncertainty by the prospect of the kindred, their nature, their methods, their mindset. Their visage and all they resemble. You don't want me writing about Zakron. Then how do you expect me to endure the truth of it, that you would experiment on mortals yourselves by seeing if the knowledge provided here, by this library, is good enough to stave off the dark. It might be.”

Valborast became more quiet and somehow more wrathful in his tone for it.

“But would you in good conscience run that risk? Of an incomplete understanding for hope of holding ignorance sacred? I am not trying to innovate blood magic. I am trying to provide a ward to it, an education on what might come for them in the dead of night. Would you provide a squire a shield without the experience of an incoming blow? Would you provide a knight a sword without the knowledge of what it was to clash against another? Would you have ignorance be rewarded? Because if so, well, perhaps my...”

Perhaps my father's words were right about mortals.

Valborast blinked twice and continued.

“Perhaps my talents are overlooked, again, for some precise reason.”

Leave it at that.

He was calmer now for spending some of his rage.

No, I'm not going to leave it at that.

“I have identified a problem. Let me remedy it. I am not looking to make blood mages. I am looking not to serve with the unseasoned, the sheltered, the coddled. Let me write on what I know and you can judge it as you please. Use it as you please. As a sequestered resource for only the most mature of minds perhaps.”

A thought emerged from his own conversation. He opened his fingers from the pressure of his fingernails.

“Let me test those who would fight the vampire with a hint of what is possible to be fielded against them. I am no knight pursuant. But I can teach what it is to face the vampire. You know of some of what I can do.”

He gave a hint of a smirk.

“Let me prepare them with my deeds, and then my words, should they seek further immunity from the kindred's power.”

Selene

 

[Selene]

It should have been an expected result, the stormy thoughts that rolled out of Valborast, barely contained, as he less defended himself and more questioned her leadership. Selene was the one who had prodded him after all. Still, some of what he said smarted. She found it difficult to continue along the path she had turned down. At some point she'd stopped in the middle of the overgrown garden field, the rain beating color and sound out of the landscape around them. With the rage seething off the man, she thought the rain at their feet might start steaming.

You know nothing of the risks I run.

She let the retaliation that ran through her stay unspoken, steeling herself against his half-cloaked accusations.

When he had said his piece, Selene stood tall, her expression unchanged from its placid surface, nothing forgiving there in her untraceable gaze but nothing wrathful either. "I think you may misunderstand the nature of my inquiry, Syr Valchek." Some might find the title flattering but any who had picked up on Selene's habits would know that she only stuck to formalities when she was quietly pissed.

"Do not mistake me for some patron to be pacified. I am not your keeper. I am not even a very attentive Captain, truth be told. What I am is a damn good necromancer, and for that reason alone it would be wise to consult with me in the matters that you speak of. For I do know something of what you can do."

She stilled herself then, some of the indignity coming out of her posture. "You will submit your writings to me, yes. To be peer reviewed."

Whatever strange perspective her pitched eyes gave her seemed to distract Selene, then. She looked past Valborast and further down the path. Near to them sat a ruined outbuilding, nothing left of it any longer save for a overgrown foundation wall and piles of rotted wood. A squat stone shed sat in the rubble, its entrance gated off by wrought iron.

"Ah, there it is." Selene made her way toward the gate, wading through high grass laid low by the heavy rain. From the folds of her robes she acquired a ring of keys, some of whose skeleton forms looked to be about as old as the foundation roots of Astenvale itself. She tried one out on the gate, rattled it around some, and when it didn't fit, fished around for another.

"Sorry, its one of these keys," Selene said with an apologetic glance back at Valborast, seeming to have put aside whatever ill intent had crackled between them before. Eventually she found the right one for the lock, and with a firm shove, the rusty iron gate ground open. Within was a dark maw of a staircase, descending into the earth. Selene took to the steps with a confidence that humans ought not to have in such dark.

"Come along," she called up. "Parshen wanted to recommend you one more book."

At the base of the staircase was a wooden door, and past the door, a cellar room outfitted like a study, table and chairs and shelves lined with books and scrolls and other oddities. They must have wandered close to the edge of the monastery grounds, for a thick window cut into the bedrock along one wall showed the storm outside. Idling steps took Selene deeper in as she walked along a row of uppers shelves, her fingers dragging a line through the dust of a long undisturbed worktable. She muttered titles under her breath as untraceable eyes scanned scrolls and spines, seeming to search for something specific.

Outside, the sound of rain was dampened by wet earth and stone ceiling, barely a rumble reached them in the cool subterrane. "Oh, and I don't terribly care if you see fit to train others in the blood arts. Have you seen what Syr Methusalah does in his spare time? He has set the precedent rather high for unholy acts."

 

[Valborast Valchek]

Upon hearing that he might have misunderstood what was going on, Valborast expected a wrathful torrent of words, perhaps a lashing of magic to put him in his place. But instead, the truth was meted out, and Valborast absorbed it with mixed emotions, the root of his frustrations not entirely dissolved, yet it was in the process of being dispersed by the captain's words. Selene stated that she was a damn good necromancer, and upon this matter Valborast had no reason to doubt.

After all, power begets power, and the field of death attracts those of strong stomachs and strong minds in mortals who pursue it. Even those who might turn to vampirism to extend their idiot lives when the powers of becoming a lich escapes them.

She says she is not my patron, yet she holds the keys to the locked door of my career. I know someone does not approve of me, otherwise I'd be made a pursuant. Still, something to bear in mind as I progress in this organisation, that I don't need to kowtow as I might have done to vampire lords who would treat ambition as a threat. Unless this is just a way to induce audacity in me so that they might have further reason to crush my efforts-

No...no, watch yourself Val. Do not be lured in by that paranoia that set all manner of vampires into endless spirals of doubt and calamity. I shall trust the captain, as much as I can allow. Otherwise I might be gnawing at my own leg to escape my own self created and baited bear trap.

She says that I knows of something of what I can do...and wants my writing to be submitted. Success then, and it only required a little temper to be flared, yes, good, good! Peer reviewed, I can live with this allowance. I can abide that. I shall write with this in mind, I shall write with-

Valborast followed as Selene lead the way to the ruined outbuilding, his mind racing with the possibilities of what his quill might produce for the betterment of his fellow knights, although altruism did not motivate him as much as his own ego craving satisfaction and appeasement. His exterior remained firm to his previous irritations, for irritation left Valborast as slowly as sap might bleed from the wounded tree.

Upon hearing that Parshen recommended another book, Valborast's thoughts quietened, and he blinked a few times as his frown returned. This time it was of curiosity instead of his scornful approach towards the library's inadequacies.

So there was some wiles to this Parshen, hiding tombs away from my eye. Good. This shows that there will be some care about the work I pen. This is good.

There was no room in Valborast's heart for doubting his work would be esteemed and worthy of sequestering in some secret place if it revealed much use and worth to those who might face the creatures of the night. It would only be later when doubt would creep into his mind as to if he could write something of merit, but such was the hazard all who might transcribe their thoughts upon the page faced.

Valborast waited patiently as his captain hunted for the appropriate tome. He was about to ask what this place was when he was caught off guard by the mention of Syr Methusalah and the blood arts.

“Good to know,” Valborast said dubiously, his words pouring out like thick honey, “but I'd...”

He wet his lips which suddenly were dry at the memory that surfaced as he considered how he was taught blood magic. How he had learned from his vampire retainers and guardians, how the tomes he had learned from were penned by creatures long lived and capricious and were given to him so that he might amuse the vampires with his own imitations, and perhaps be useful to them. How the blood had been spilled and his heart had hardened to the horrors of the world.

Valborast shot a baleful glance at the window as if it perhaps was open to allow such a memory to fly in and affect him so. His expression soured at the thought, and he breathed deep, returning to the conversation.

“I would rather not pass on the how of blood magic, until this work is done at least.”

If at all.

“I know others find me... unwholesome enough in my style of dueling and combat. I wouldn't want to compound that further.”

Like it matters.

Valborast changed his tact.

“What manner of knowledge is stored here that it can't be in common hands? You've got me curious.”

Selene

 

[Selene]

Selene merely shrugged when Valborast denied the desire to teach others of his blood arts. "Suit yourself," she said, not pressing the matter. The desire to fit in and not make too many waves in the Order could be respected - getting along with the more reserved members of Dawn was not a bad strategy for success, and she knew Valborast was the type to measure such successes. Besides, she also knew enough about the workings of blood magic not to be terribly curious herself.

Eventually her fingers stopped on a thin book, just wide enough to have the chrysanthemum seal of the Order emblazoned on its spine.

"I think it's this one here." Getting on her toes to reach the high shelf, Selene pulled down the book. In the dim light from the window, the book looked to be clad in blue leather, and someone, long ago, had pricked the outline of various constellations upon its cover in a fading, inky hand. There was a hesitation before she offered her knight Sworn the book, a thumb running over the ribbed stitching of the spine. Hesitation enough to allow a question from the other dusker.

"...What manner of knowledge?" she repeated, coming back to the conversation. She seemed fascinated by the question, simple as it was. What needed to be kept away from common hands. Valborast had such an unpleasant way of phrasing things. All hands were common, this was the first rule of being human. "This was my private study, before I became Captain. No greater mystery to uncover, I'm afraid. There are some things here from Master Hawthorne's collection as well. Matters of Death and undeath, and other things that typically occupy reanimators." Tomes she'd never gotten the chance to return. Selene's brows furrowed as her gaze fell, drawing up memories from the well of the past. Not entirely painless ones.

Then, pulling herself away from the memory of her old mentor, she handed the book over. She stepped away from the book and the man and sat herself down in a dusty velvet chair. Her hand waved above a lantern sitting on a side table and it lit up with blue light - a heatless flame - filling the room with just enough vibrancy to read by. Underneath the book's dyed leather cover, the title page would read:

An Emergent History of Curses and Their Bearers

Penned by
Selene of Prathil
in the year of the Red Ox​

"Many things in this study are not for the inexperienced or the careless, but as to why Parshen requested your allowance here... Well truthfully, I have no recollection of writing that particular volume. So your guess is as good as mine." It was a non-answer but it was the truth. She'd been a hungry scholar in her Pursuant years and had marked down a lot of dross in that time, some of it useful but most of it not. This one she'd obviously seen fit to bind nicely, but that meant little now to her after a decade or so of disuse.

Folding her hands over her stomach, Selene leaned back into a more casual seat, and closed her eyes. "Now, you're out of free council, Valborast Valchek. I need a drink or a smoke, or I'm going to expire from all these postulations."

Valborast Valchek

 

[Valborast Valchek]

Reanimators, Valborast thought with disgust, those who relied on the slave labour of the truly mindless dead, atrophying their will in the world away from their own engines, deferring action to their minions. What a self defeating lot. A terrible day when I rely on the output of negative energy to accomplish my goals, like a hunter who relies on his dogs to chew apart their prey instead of delivering the piercing shot through the heart with their own locomotion, their own killing wits.

Valborast sealed his thoughts away to such a subject in favour of the present moment, and he failed to connect that his captain might be one to summon such things at her behest for now. Such a thought would come later, alongside scathing commentary to the fact.

He inhaled sharply through his nose at the thought of smoking some tobacco himself, that such an action might cleanse his senses of all this dust and to ignite his own thoughts that might yield the smoke of thoughts on his own works to come.

“Thank you for the book, I'll study it at once, and leave you to such...past times. Once I have something prepared, I'll ensure it reaches you,” Valborast said flatly, trying to bear in mind Selene's previous words that she was not his patron and should not be sought to pacify, but to co-operate. Simple thanks was enough in this regard. He considered adding an after thought, but thought not to irritate his superior when she had been gracious enough with her knowledge and time.

She doesn't even know the damn content to which she has written. The title reveals much though. Still, better that than a lecture on the contents before being instructed to purchase a copy by some sophist. The contents are mine to discover, research and reference. The captain wouldn't have given it to me unless she thought it might be useful. I sought more knowledge to be available on the subject, so I must be content with it, even if the author is now in the dark as to what she penned. A curious day. When the author forgets their own work instead of bearing pride about their accomplishments within their field...

The thought was utterly foreign to Valborast, who clung to every successful deed and mark on the world of the living as an escutcheon to his soul. He abandoned his thoughts and returned to to the room sharply, his thoughts occupying him for a few heartbeats as Selene closed her eyes.

He gave a small bow, his robes pooling further upon the floor as if it were liquid, as was his custom, and turned upon the spot promptly. As he exited, his hands were already running themselves across the book as if he might glean the knowledge simply by passing his fingers across the title again and again.

Perhaps there are some seneschal who might have such a power that I could learn such a thing from, he thought to himself as he left the private study of his superior, his mind filled with the familiar and all too present longing for further proficiency that might aid his own efforts and bolster his position amongst the knights of Dusk, and beyond.

******************************

In the dead of night many a page had been turned, a handful of lengthy notes written and an introduction had been scribed. The crimson knight was accustomed to thinking and thriving in the dark and bore much solace from isolation in his working, but now, now had come a point where he knew himself that he needed other people to influence his work for it to succeed.

Or at the very least, space away from the work of physically writing, time away from thinking alone, company at least, instead of his pursuit of written truth so ascribed from his life experience and knowledge.

It had been four days since Selene had given him her authored book and Valborast had gleaned something from his exposure to such a material, although his own writings did not reference it directly yet. For most part the pages of notes that Valborast had written was concerning the assortment of topics he wished to discuss, and the topics he would not allow himself to divulge in. He had been content with enough to pass the introduction along to Selene, even if it did not provide much in the way of education, it might inform her as to the style he was pursuing.

He ran his fingers across the spine of the academia he had been given, as if trying to coax knowledge from the spine of the material. It had become something of an odd habit that he was not sure he should expunge from his behaviours. He indulged it for some now. He had given some cursory research on seeing if there was a way to learn knowledge from simply touching books, but Parshen had told him exactly two days ago:

“If such a technique existed, the acolytes would have seized upon it long ago, don't you think? And again, there's no smoking within the library Sir Valchek,” Parshen had said, before Valborast had pushed himself from the archway of the doorway to walk around the building to expunge his own irritation and exhume the smoke he needed to expel, so that he might arrange his thoughts and extinguish his own addictions.

But now, the morning had come into full bloom, Valborast had run out of tobacco, and the birdsong replaced by the medley of knightly goings on. Training, conversations, magical weavings, cavorting and idle prattle. It signaled an end to the work for the day for the Crimson Knight.

Valborast placed his quill down and rubbed his eyes. He quickly looked at his fingertips to see if he had just given himself inky black eyes by the process of it, blinked a few times as he felt his relief mingle with his own irritation at the sunlight that seemed to attack him personally from the angle it struck the window.

No time for rest. There's an entire pool of people who might assist me at this hour with the work I'm performing. Who best to approach about the subjects of vampires, or rather, who might benefit from the work I'm enacting? Or perhaps, someone to train against.

He looked at his tobacco pouch and knew it to be empty. Still, he looked again for crumbs.

A few specks, perhaps one lungful of smoke to be had.

Or at least I could find someone to borrow some tobacco from, if someone were to be so generous. I've done the same for others in the past. It's time they repaid the favour.

He tidied his station and placed his studious belongings with Parshen. Initially, he had been remiss to leave his notes with the librarian, but soon discovered and was reasoned with that it was far safer to keep his intellectual property and scholarly pursuits in the sealed safety of the library's hidden holdings. Valborast had been contented by the librarian's actions and respect towards his work, and even endeavored in this moment to smoke very clearly away from the doorway this time, what little he had to burn.

He set fire to what remained in his pipe and breathed it out in one breath, and kept the empty pipe in his mouth as a suggestion to others of his plight as he slowly shifted through the knightly grounds. Valborast looked around at anyone who might benefit from his work, or might offer him conversation on the subject he was working on. No thought to simple idle thought was wanted or needed by the fellow, his conviction and near obsession with his work had been made known to some by virtue of their asking in the library, and why he had not been attending regular duties, but now, he thought he might mingle in service to himself, or at least, his addiction at least.

He wandered with mercenary intent at those who might pass him. He might even offer a small smile to those who would take his interest in hopes of getting what he wanted.

This work shall be the best it can be, even if my colleagues might be ignorant of it's worth right now, they may rely upon it. Perhaps someone of the lore of death to ask a few questions of. That field was always denied to me in my years underground, and I find it so...how best to think upon it...

He exhaled deeply as he turned his back to the sun and looked for fellow knights who might assist.

Counterproductive.

But perhaps not now. I might learn a thing or two while I pen this work. Or at least not have to pay for tobacco for a little while, if someone were to be to so generous.

((OOC: Current writings of the book will be found here: https://chroniclesrp.net/threads/bo...-how-to-survive-it-by-valborast-valchek.4351/

Thread is now open to those who might want to join it, just send me a message on the discord or via chronicles if you're interested))

 

[Simeon]

Access to Astenvale's library had been a welcome benefit of working in the Wyvern's Nest. Simeon had worried that moving to such a remote area might hinder his studies, but the Knights of Anathaeum proved the slightest bit more intelligent than the usual brutes Simeon had dealt with over his long life. Enough that they knew the value of having good books at least.

Still, he didn't peruse randomly, he did so with purpose. That said purpose was the study of every manner of curse. Such things plagued the lands beyond the Vale in abundance. Supposedly kept at bay in Astenvale by virtue of the Grandmaster's magic. He wanted to know more, and indeed he did know more than many. Though the exact nature of such things was difficult to pin down.

Simeon's browsing eventually carried him to a corner of the building. He approached a nearby shelf and ran his hand along the spines of the book until it stopped on one titled The Curse of Undeath and its Variations. A biased account perhaps but one could ascertain truth from such things. He removed it from the shelf and examined it in closer detail.

"Undeath is indeed an unholy curse. Yet the details are often lost in hyperbole." He grunted. Whatever the case, it was worth a look.

After confirming it with Parshen, he stepped outside with the book and a short way into the yard. He held the book out in front of him and turned to the first page.

Valborast Valchek

 

[Valborast Valchek]

Valborast performed a circuit of the library grounds without seeing a single face that owed him tobacco and was all the more grave for the lack of succour. As he walked he cradled his empty pipe within his left hand, making motions with it as if to bid it to sleep by the steady rhythm, and gave an accusatory glance at the sun as if it were to blame for his malady. He resisted giving voice to his standard irritation, for he knew it was fruitless to curse the very thing that half of his compatriots dedicated themselves to in title.

Besides, without daylight I'd be down a weapon.

Still, makes for poor viewing after a late night scribing session.

The Crimson Knight rubbed his eyes again, granting brief darkness.

As he returned to all the brightness of the waking world, he spied a volume he had taken out himself recently within the hands of Simeon, a man Valborast had never spoken to before, yet the fellow was almost instantly granted some level of respect for wanting to read such a thing, to be interested in such a field.

Perhaps someone who might read my own work in the future.

He frowned and redirected his malcontent from the sun towards himself.

What, am I to act differently because I don't want to piss off the people who might be a future audience to my work?

He sighed.

The time of day is making me a fool. He's a fellow scholar. Might be exactly what I'm looking for.

And then the mercenary thought emerged.

Might have some tobacco.

He slowed his pace and drew near to Simeon and gestured.

“Good day,” Valborast began, and waited a few moments, as if he were looking at the book for the first time instead of spying it from so far away, having so recently poured over it himself. “I'm afraid that book might not be of help,” Valborast said with a gesture, and continued with his assessment after his dry eyes looked around, as if they were surveying a battlefield of academia together, “If you're looking for names of variations, it can be of use,” Valborast said, as if to soften the blow he was about to joylessly deliver, “but it gets lost in itself, it's editorial style. Hyperbolic and self indulgent.”

And then came the grand deceit. Valborast patted his jacket and produced a tobacco pouch that was very plainly empty. He held it in his hands for a moment and looked away, as if looking away from his own suggestion.

“Good to see someone else looking into the subject other than myself. The cursed. You wouldn't happen to,” Valborast began, and was about to ask for tobacco, but another thought struck him and guided him true, despite his empty pipe in his left hand, “you wouldn't have happened to have read any of the works penned by the cursed themselves?”

Simeon

 

[Simeon]

Simeon's eyes ran across the book's fancy script. Grumbling at every minor inaccuracy he noticed as he did. While not useless, it reminded him more of an Elbion textbook than a scholarly work. But such was the nature of this field of study.

“Good day,” someone greeted him. That stranger being a man clad in crimson robes, not unlike himself in that regard. But that was about where the apparent similarities between them ended. “I'm afraid that book might not be of help. If you're looking for names of variations, it can be of use. But it gets lost in itself, it's editorial style. Hyperbolic and self indulgent.”

Simeon grunted and snapped shut the book. "I have rarely in my life uncovered a scholarly text that isn't self-indulgent. The real challenge of research is not to read old books, but to separate the truth from them." He slowly turned his gaze fully toward the stranger. His eyebrows furrowed slightly. "Who are you?"

“Good to see someone else looking into the subject other than myself. The cursed. You wouldn't happen to,” he began, but stopped. Simeon anticipated nothing than a foolish question. The youth were filled with them. “You wouldn't have happened to have read any of the works penned by the cursed themselves?”

Simeon scoffed. "The cursed are often more self-indulgent than the blessed." He lowered his arms to his side and exhaled sharply. "But yes, I have read their accounts. I've met several over the years. If one separates their fragile vanity from what they say, valuable information can be gleaned."

Valborast Valchek

 

[Valborast Valchek]

Valborast nodded, and replied to the question as to who he was.

“My name is Valborast,” he said, and tried to appeal to the man's criticism of vanity by not mentioning his title. This one seemed to have knowledge, Valborast thought, and Valborast balanced his own need for recognition with the disposition of the scholar on the subject of vanity in this moment. He thought it best not to invite the same criticism.

“I certainly know that one,” Valborast said with a genuine amused smile at the mention of the vampire's disposition, and in agreeance to the discerning of truth in research, thinking of the tomes of the vampiric he had consumed in his time. He grew more content and his mind put aside his cravings for tobacco.

“You speak true,” Valborast said and gave a heartbeat of time before continuing on. “You've met vampires? Did it end in violence? And what did you learn from their works? I'm a fellow scholar of the subject you see,” Valborast asked with curiosity, and as a form of a test. He did not speak with shock of it, but instead entertained the notion that he might be able to speak candidly with this scholar. Valborast had no love of the vampires, but he did not have the scathing hatred to eradicate them all. He had a lot of respect for them, but how far that respect went was changing day by day, and was becoming more cemented as his official position by his recent writings.

Simeon

 

[Simeon]

Valborast? Never heard of him, but the Knights of Anathaeum gathered many youths from various walks of life. Hopefully he would prove less foolish than the rest of them. Simeon raised an eyebrow at his claim to know the disposition of the cursed. Perhaps his questing brought him across one. Or perhaps he had more firsthand knowledge. Curious.

“You've met vampires? Did it end in violence? And what did you learn from their works? I'm a fellow scholar of the subject you see,” Valborast asked. Simeon hadn't mentioned meeting vampires specifically, the boy jumped to them on his own. Very curious.

Regardless, the boy wanted to answer, that he would give him. He frowned. "Yes, I've encountered several such creatures during my travels, I negotiated with them, fought them, helped to hunt one down. What I learned is this; the majority to receive their curse are consumed by their hunger, go mad, and die. Half those who survive the initial stage are later killed by slayers. Those who learn to elude them are the ones who live for eons. They make societies that help vampires survive, without them, vampirism would die out. And their works, while self-indulgent, are where valuable information can be found."

"What I've learned is their curse is both their weakness and their strength. It chains them to nearly insatiable hunger that drives them to do foolish things to draw the ire of others, yet it also gives strength and longevity to those intelligent enough to make use of such things." He stopped and cocked his head. "But what of you? What do you think of them?"

Valborast Valchek

 

[Valborast Valchek]

Valborast absorbed the assessment and gave no indication or reassurance of his opinion on what was said to begin with. He found himself distracted at first by the cocking of the scholar's head, finding it slightly disconcerting, and Valborast couldn't help but consider the contortion of the skeleton within the fellow with such a posture. Valborast all too consciously checked his posture in kind and corrected it to the straight and true, a dignified man of crimson robes and breastplate that held himself in dignity and self respect. Self worth. Self importance perhaps.

Had the knight been asked of this some days ago for his opinions on vampires before the work had begun, he might have gauged his company more closely before revealing his position on the subject. But Simeon was a scholar, and that was one of the audiences he would be appealing to. Valborast pursed his lips in thought on how to express his overall position but found his expression softening as he engaged with the very point that the scholar had presented to him earlier.

Producing and separating truth from the self indulgence.

So, to the truth of it then.

Valborast sorely found himself wanting to smoke something, anything, to germinate his thoughts, but did his best with a dry mouth and irritated eyes. He spoke slowly, as if regarding someone else's work politely instead of his own. But as his words poured from him, he became more involved with his words, as if peering at a piece of art that revealed more and more meaning.

“I think all societies enable it's peoples to survive, and without them, we would not survive as we do,” Valborast said and held his right palm upwards and open. “The most advanced vampire society, the civilisation of Zakron, has many accomplishments of research, thought, education, culture, infrastructure, warfare, magic, art,” Valborast said, and turned his hand over and sealed it and continued. “Cruelty, depravity, aristocratic infighting, terrible misery, intense power and ambition which can cause all manner of ruin and acceleration to the things I have listed. All other societies are less broad and extreme in comparison, both in appetites, rulers, schemes, and yet the passions that feed the diverse mortal are reduced to a few core matters. The pursuit of blood, power, the sustaining of that contract between death and themselves to go on. No matter what else. They must go on, always at the expense of another. The mortal can entertain the thought of altruism, of a selfless life. The vampire's survival instinct reminds them always that they must always take and take and take again.”

Valborast breathed deep and looked away as he spoke now.

“If a vampire is educated, it is thoroughly so, aeons worth of study and self preserving wisdom. When a vampire is cruel, it is thoroughly so, to excite the dulled mind that is only rejuvenated by blood, by the acquisition of power, by the alliance they have with the predatory spirit that motivates all they do. All vampires are dangerous, but never have I experienced such capacity for patience, and the capacity of volatile and capricious whims. They have accrued knowledge and apply it to those who enter their society judiciously. To the deathless, each lesson learned is learned eternal. They pass on knowledge, and their perspective of the reality of the world as they experience it, as the mortal does, but far deeper than that. We have libraries, folklore, religion. They have these too, but more can they rely upon, the power of the blood to pass on knowledge, memories, power. And that is the true power of the kindred. Not the eternity that is granted to them through the curse. But the feeding on mortal, and...of diablerie. The feeding of one vampire on another, freely given, a boon from one to another, or to the dissolution of another, a terrible crime, yet, one that yields much power to those who commit it. Vampires resemble monsters to the mortal. But there are fates worse than death beyond the first embrace, horrors to become and enact. That is the question all vampires must face. How deeply they drink of the darkness, and how far they are willing to go to slake the thirst, and what they are willing to do to stave off becoming the monster they know they will forever be known as, or to embrace it, and rush into it, and submit to an existence few encounter and survive. That...that is what I know.”

Valborast turned to look at the scholar, and Valborast's eyes were firmed to the harshness of the sunlight, his brow serious, yet he seemed satisfied with his answer, a pride in his execution to the man's question.

Simeon

 

[Simeon]

Simeon listened to Valborast's response with an unchanging expression. Firsthand knowledge, that the boy had clearly been waiting to share. His words in some areas were quite true, in others his youth betrayed him. Still, at least he showed some signs of critically thinking through his stances. "In my experience. One doesn't speak so vividly about Zakron, unless they've been there themselves. Is that true of you?"

He finally turned to face him. "Hmph, while it's true, and I have said myself, that time can bring intelligence. I would be cautious of equating the age of one's life or the time of their study alone with true insight. There are many long-lived species in Arethil, but not all their accounts are worth consideration. Sometimes, it's not age itself, but the act of facing one's mortality that brings true maturity. Ah, but surely you already know that, if you've really lived among them."

He paused and examined the boy further. "You clearly have an interest in this. One that goes beyond mere curiosity. What is the purpose behind your studies?"

Valborast Valchek

 

[Valborast Valchek]

So, this one knows of Zakron. Good. This makes this exchange all the better.

“The purpose of my studies,” Valborast began, “is to prepare those of my order in interaction with the vampire.” Valborast was careful not to use the word deal. “How they think. How they operate. How they contend with themselves and contend with others, hunter or otherwise. I found the books in the library to be woefully inadequate to the task which might be ahead. No mention of Zakron. Plenty on how to smite and end the kindred though, but they are simplistic and lacking the nuance to really prepare someone for an actual vampire's mindset. They don't go into how to outwit and survive their machinations except to offer wards and protections, not strategy or insight. Or hell, even how to negotiate with one from a position of power and self protection. So I am working on a book to address this short coming."

He paused while he considered the first question. He shrugged at his own thought as to not shock the scholar.

To hell with it.

“And yes, I have experience of Zakron. It's where I was raised and educated,” Zakron said, omitting that he had been raised by vampires themselves. “I am intending on running some kind of class in preparing my comrades against the techniques employed by the vampire in their evasion and hunting. I'm new to teaching, but I have some ideas, key concepts and abilities to guard them against. My book comes first, and the teaching comes second. Although, running both in harmony might inform the other. I don't want to be found wanting though.”

Simeon ​

 

[Simeon]

Simeon hummed as the boy spoke of his reasoning. A book detailing the nature of vampires, without focusing solely on killing them. The idea had potential. Though plenty of tomes explained how to properly dispose of them, it would be impractical and impossible to dispose of every vampire one met. Which would put the average man at a disadvantage when put in such a situation. "Interesting," he mumbles.

He examined Valborast closer for a moment. A denizen of Zakron? Of what manner, he wondered. In the end, he supposed it didn't matter. "I see the value of such work, and with your firsthand knowledge at your disposal. It would be a useful resource for many."

He waited a few seconds longer before speaking. "And am I right in assuming your desire to write this book is related to why you approached me?"

Valborast Valchek

 

[Valborast Valchek]

"I approached you because I thought you might have tobacco," Valborast said seriously, and then his face broke out in a smile. "The rest? Happy circumstance."

Simeon

 

[Simeon]

Simeon's face remained passive for a moment before he sighed. "The youth," he grumbled under his breath. Why one would ever willingly poison themselves with a plant was beyond him. "Let me rephrase my question to something you'll better understand then. What do you wish of me? You wouldn't tell me of this book, simply to boast, would you?"

Valborast Valchek

 

[Valborast Valchek]

Valborast maintained his smile but felt the same uncomfortable sensation of being rushed that he did when speaking to Selene. Although, this time it was more manageable, a calmer sensation that he met with all the fervor of a scholar who was a few hours before a deadline.

Valborast allowed a moment to collect his thoughts and replied, “I was wondering if you knew anything about the sphere of death magic, how it might create augmentations for vampires. Tampering with their existence, body and soul. I suspect the nobility of Zakron have some manner of altering their progression into apex predators, that it is not mere happen stance that they can transform themselves over their long lifetimes. Death magic is my primary suspect for such a thing.”

Valborast maintained his smile, fuelled by his success in improvising a reason to speak to the scholar beyond his own vanity. The research was constant it seemed, even when he was merely looking for tobacco.

Simeon

 

[Simeon]

Simeon's displeasure at being indirectly asked for plants to smoke vanished when Valborast spoke next. Death magic? Now that was a topic worthy of greater discussion. The most simplistic application of such magic was simply to kill, but all magic could be applied to that effect. That couldn't be the only use for it.

"I have theories of such things, and some firsthand knowledge. But alas there isn't a way to truly know without learning more of Zakron's nobility themselves. Death magic, as it's so-called, is magic generally associated with the killing of the living. But what effect might it have on those who are already dead? The potential could would be great. Perhaps it could even be used to give the dead the appearance of being living, or hasten their growth into a monster or predator as you put it."

He set a hand on his beard. "It's a topic that requires more in-depth study."

Valborast Valchek

 

[Valborast Valchek]

Valborast ran fingers through his thinning hair that had a few streaks of grey within it already, as if to massage his own brain through the process, as if to distract himself from the research proposal Simeon reached. He thought about how one day he'd be as bald as Simeon at the rate he himself was losing it, but knew there were some remedies for such a process. He tried to return to the topic at hand, but found himself rather uncomfortable about where the research would have to go. Dealing with a vampire...perhaps very much to their benefit. Perhaps much to their amusement as they would find the human curiosity about something that all vampires understood. How death magic would intermingle with their own trapped dead souls that had been touched by death itself and survived to remain within the realm of the living.

"I know some vampires use illusions to achieve such an affect upon their visage. But others I am sure are not so subtle. Illusionary magic would be more wide spread a topic for survival otherwise. Whereas death magic, it was prevalent. A subject I am...a little versed in," Valborast said, hiding his understanding of the theory of death magic for his own reasons. He had domain over the magic of blood, which required some understanding of death magic, but Valborast saw it as a completely different field, and a sphere of magic that he could not simply transpose from to death magic. As Captain Selene had said, 'Life and Death and Loch,' was where command of blood remained.

Have I become too specialized in that field I am blind to the other applications of death magic? That I cannot even construct a thought my own upon the issue? Perhaps I should study it better. Perhaps I should seek some education from a fellow knight of death magic, this one that walks near damnation, this Syr Methusalah.

"Many humans specialized in death magic to appeal to their hosts. Creating things of death and perhaps providing a wellspring of energies to feed a vampire beyond the simple need of blood too. Had I known this might have been relevant, I might have risked more questions," Valborast said. "But it cannot be helped. The vampires of Zakron did not think of relevant to their interests that I should know how they became more powerful. It was a miracle I was able to find tomes on life and light magic at all," Valborast said, not realizing how much he exposed of his own past with his words. He shook his head and looked grimly, his smile firmly disappeared at the thought of the past. "I'll not be the one to conduct such research. It was just a thought. Knowledge is amoral. But the application and research of it, carries moral burdens." He exhaled deeply. "Death magic and vampires. I'd read that book for certain. Who knows, perhaps a kindred has already penned such a thing already. Most likely so," Valborast said.

Simeon

 

[Simeon]

Simeon didn't fail to miss the way the boy ran a hand through his own thinning hairline. But he generously overlooked it, though his eyes narrowed just the slightest bit. "Most certainly illusions can't have been used for the majority of them. If that were the case it wouldn't take long at all for people to begin to see through such things. But yes, I'm sure other methods are employed to maintain their image, especially among their subjects."

He listened carefully to the boy's description of his past in Zakron. He was no mere citizen there, that was for sure. Clearly he once served a vampiric patron in a more direct manner. Perhaps as a bodyguard, it would be one likely reason for them to train someone in combative magic. He doubted Valborast said those things consciously, the youth rarely did speak of their pasts except by accident.

"An often forgotten piece of a vampire's mindset is their fear, I'm sure many of them taught nothing but the essentials to their servants." His gaze shifted to the library. "You're right to assume a book's already been penned. I saw one in Elbion College some time ago. Whether the Knights of Anathaeum would have a copy of it, I don't know."

Valborast Valchek

 

[Valborast Valchek]

"What mean you, their fear?" Valborast asked. He had some suspicions as to what the scholar meant, but, aside from the terror that fire induced and light caused, he found the concept of vampires being afraid to be strange. To Valborast, vampires commanded fear, they resembled it, and used it to create their victories, minor and major. He found his pride wounded at the thought that he was a mere servant, yet, the truth of the matter was far more demeaning, yet at the same time, worthy than to be a mere servant. Valborast concealed the complicated truth of it and shirked from the facts as he had been presented by his vampire hosts in brutal fashion in his final days in Zakron. For he had been called a curiosity, a joke, someone raised to pass the hours as an amusement. He had been told all his life that he was family, he was important, worthy of respect. Yet they turned in hideous mocking laughter at his proclamation of the status quo as he had been told privately.

That was when he decided that he deserved better than the sham of an existence. How he had fought his way through vampire and human alike to escape Zakron, sunlight arcing across his blade, blood of vampire and mortal alike marking his passage, each combat bringing Valborast closer to death.

Or worse.

In his years growing up he had been taught the vampiric magics so that he might resemble the vampires and follow like some kind of circus attraction, he had intermingled with high society and served them, through combat and council, made to believe that he had value, a place. Such a sense of belonging, however fractured by experience, however cracked under the strain of truth, Valborast clung to it for the sake of his own ego. To face the truth would require much gazing into that broken mirror. Something that Valborast refused to witness. Something that was too painful to truly embrace, except in the earliest of hours, privately, rarely, and even then, it existed as a flicker of shadows cast by candlelight, to be snuffed into total blackness as his pride demanded a better story to lay his past pride towards.

I was more important than a mere servant, I fought for the house, I healed the wounded vampire, I provided council, I was a champion, I was-

The thoughts ran on, concealing the lurking actual truth of the matter with the supplication of truth for his own raw ego. The truth and his own narrative intermingled as it always did, chipping away at his memories of what had actually happened, and how they truly saw him. But no matter how many times Valborast repeated his story to himself, deep down, he knew.

He knew.

Simeon