“ i may be smaller than most people, but i will fight. ”
**pinterest quotes pt. two || @elara-the-bootblack
Blood scented the air, as fresh as dew on an early morn. A waft of it had fluttered his way, kissing the tip of his nose before burning itself there, evoking the deep ceaseless desire to cleanse his palate on its source. A hunger never ending, he knew, yet would grant this invitation with his presence -- a curiosity of what bade him. Crimson mists coiled around its unseen path under a moon shining white -- illuminating snow covered ground to a near sheen of secondary sunlight despite the world having been bathed it night. The aroma drew him within an open window to where fog pooled on rough hewn wooden floors, swaying with the cold wind that followed -- reforming, stacking, until becoming a solid shape of him. He was spectre to what scene laid before him, a woman, no, child lain in sheets stained with the ichor that called to him even now with such vigor.
Cream, sickly, skin stilled under the fabric bound around a feminine form near death. the subtle rise and fall of breath, the tepid fluttering of a heart were the indication of the life that still lingered there amidst his empathetic gaze. Soft, yet urgent, weak, yet defiant words breathed out to him as a warning -- but the delicate features that rallied them spoke of a fear that was half hidden in dulled eyes of aqua.
"You yet live...?” he spoke, each word more of a admission of sympathy, unthreatening -- gentle even to what a monster could bear.
“This suffering... I could end it. If you wish.”
🎈- A memory about a time they were safe and relaxed
EXT. PALACE GARDENS - NIGHT
ANNA HENRIETTA Ah, who is? What are you doing here? How dare you?!
DANDELION My apologies, Your Grand Ducal Highness. I was told, repeatedly and with much flourish, that the gardens of the royal palace, this spot in particular, is a spring of inspiration. The moon herself comes down from the sky to rest her gaze upon the dreaming landscape beyond the Sansretour and admire the gentle roses. Now I see why the flowers are so famed. I have travelled far and wide yet saw no tender bloom, equal in grace.
ANNA HENRIETTA You can not see the river from here. Tell me the true reason of your brazen break-in. Have no doubt, I shall call the guards the moment another lie escapes your lips. Speak carefully.
DANDELION Would you chase a nightingale away, banish the poor bird from the sight of the enticing, unreachable moon? It cannot prevent its tender crime, after all. Surely, you have too kind a heart for this!
ANNA HENRIETTA (narrows her eyes)
DANDELION Oh. If I absolutely must. I...I can't compose anymore. The ballad your father the Duke has commissioned should be performed tomorrow. Yet all I have is a must, not a yearning. The words escape me. One does not create like this. But the moon as you know is the mistress of all poets. It plants the seeds of inspiration inside our hearts. And you surely agree that this is the best place in all capital to gaze at the moon.
ANNA HENRIETTA I might agree. If you play for me. Now. And not some loud epic appraisal of might and bravery, that Papa desires. Something that suits the night. As if there is no place in the world for cruelty or loss. Even if the possibility of it is no more real than the happiness of a nightingale and a moon. As if...one does still believe...believe in...
Anna Henrietta catches herself, but too late. Dandelion looks at her without the usual merry buoyant graces, his hand frozen upon the lute. For a moment his eyes reflect her pain.
ANNA HENRIETTA (sternly) Why, what are you waiting for? Play!
Dandelion plays, but it is nothing like the vivacious tunes he has entertained the court with. The melody is melancholy and is threaded with sadness, telling of dreams too fragile to withstand the storms of many losses and long roads towards the golden nowhere. Yet, despite it all, it speaks of hope. Even if it, as the quite echo of the melody itself, may evaporate with the rising sun. At the end there are tears in the eyes of both.
ANNA HENRIETTA I...I am assured now that you fret in vain over the loss of your talent. Toussaint would remember your art for many years to come. With much...gratitude. You'd perform wondrously, most delightfully tomorrow, I mean. Goodnight.
DANDELION Won't you call the guards, Your Grand Ducal Highness?
ANNA HENRIETTA We do not hunt nightingales in Toussaint, master Dandelion.
It was always interesting to see how quickly moments in the human world could change. Ezekiel was just standing at the cooker, Elara's eyes noticeably fixed on his disfigured back, and a delicious breakfast on the table and bang - a human birth for in between.
He had tried to be as discreet as possible and not force Elara to do anything because of her background story. But he had really not expected the reaction she offered him. He opened his eyes wide as she hurriedly put on her boots and assured him that she had already gained experience in this matter.
He stood there with his mouth open, his fangs peaking through, while the young woman moved past him as if there was free cake in the village. He shook himself briefly and scratched his head. Of course, she has experienced this before! - not every human village had a doctor, a midwife or a healer.
He could hardly keep up with the young woman, even though he regularly went running and exercising before the lessons he gave. As if Elara had a sixth sense for sensing pregnant women, she rushed ahead and pulled the old vampire behind her. They ran to the far side of the forest, where the young woman was soon to be seen curled up on a side road. She held her baby-belly and sat in a small puddle that was probably made of amniotic fluid.
Ezekiel was about to take a big step towards her when Elara held out her hand to him and she gave him an instruction to book a room for the birth. A hint of protest spread through his chest, because after all he was the doctor. Surely it would not have been comfortable for the young woman to give birth here, but at least she had an expert with her. Had she been alone, she probably would not have survived. The humanist opened his mouth in protest, but there was seriousness and will in Elara's eyes. He appreciated that, nodded and headed for the boarding house.
He stormed in rather unmannerly and ordered the host to vacate a room immediately. Instead of following Ezekiel's instructions, he took out a crossbow from behind the counter. “Get yer arse away from here, fella.” The host held the crossbow higher, aiming at Ezekiel's neck. The old vampire smiled and came closer to the host, who slowly began to tremble. Ezekiel took another step forward.
"Fuck off, I warned ye." He was shaking, which caused him to shoot not in Ezekiel's neck, but in his lower abdomen. The wounds of vampires heal within seconds, but they felt pain just like humans. Nevertheless, the old vampire overplayed the pain and grabbed the small man, who was now sweating like a pig in summer at the neck and pulled him up a little: "You listen to me now, I won't tell you twice. You prepare a room right now, several bowls of hot water and lots of fresh towels before I tear you to pieces".
It had never been Ezekiel's way, but sometimes the animalistic side of him did come out. The host nodded wildly and disappeared within moments. Ezekiel exhaled and walked quickly towards Elara, the young woman in her arms and with tiny steps they approached the boarding house. The humanist took over the woman: "Will you tell me your name?" He bent down to her and could only hear a faint "Larissa". "Everything will be all right, we'll make it." He lifted her into his arms and quickly carried her into the room.
Everything was indeed prepared and the delivery could take place immediately. He pulled up Larissa's skirt and realised that it was now high time to help the little one into the world.
He palpated her stomach again - at least the child was in the right position. His centuries-long experience usually helped him, but this time he gave priority to Elara, who managed to make it on her own, except for one or two times of panic. He patted her on the shoulder as she held the child in her hands after just half an hour. "You did well. You posess a very special talent." He smiled gently at her, but then took care of the afterbirth and medical care for the mother, who was hanging on the bed completely sweaty and exhausted.
Elara cared for the tiny newborn girl and then handed her over to her mother. Sniffing and hectic, the little brother came into the room and ran directly to his sister to inspect the newborn.
Ezekiel leaned over to Elara, who was just drying her hands: "He is about ten. I can't imagine what it is like to be an uncle so early in life". They both looked at the boy, who was acting as a guard over his sister and niece.
“He should not have to bear the responsibility - I will probably have to talk to the parents." The vampire gave the siblings a little more time and then asked the boys where their parents could be found. Then he went back to Elara: "I will do my best, but I cannot guarantee anything.” He stroked her arm and went to the parents' house, which was a good three kilometres from the boarding house.
As was his habit, the vampire straightened his clothes and this time knocked on the front door in a civilized manner. A few moments later a woman opened the door - she was not even thirty years old at most. Since Ezechiel estimated Larissa to be thirteen, it turned out that the mother was not much older when she delivered.
"I must speak to you urgently, madame. And with your husband. May I come in?" She nodded and let him in. The hut, like almost every in the area, was cramped, a fire was burning in a chimney and the husband sat in front of it smoking a pipe. As Ezekiel approached him he quickly stood up: "What do you want, we have nothing and you do not look as if you are poor. Ezekiel smiled obliquely: "I'm not, on the contrary. But I am not here to talk about my financial situation,but about your daughter, she-.” Even before he could finish the sentence, he had a small hunting knife on his neck:
"If you did anything to her, I'll kill you.” Ezekiel rolled his eyes: "Not again..." He knocked his hand away. "Your daughter has just given birth to a healthy baby girl. No, it's not mine. And no, I don't know who the father is either." The man took a step back and the woman sat down in shock. "We... we didn't know she was carrying a child... I... we... " She stammered and then buried her face in her hands.
"She didn't tell you, because she was afraid. It is natural, she is still young and not married. Humans are always concerned about the family's honour and she seemed to have hurt it. Larissa almost gave birth to the child on a road if her brother hadn't come to my hut.” The mother had started to cry and the father leaned with one arm against the wall, looked into the fireplace and said:
"How did she come up with that? She is our princess, she was always spoiled and she was always allowed to do what she wanted. We may not be rich, but whether we have a mouth to feed or not - it doesn't matter!" The man shook his head and all you could hear was "What have we done that she thinks of us that way" from the mother.
Ezekiel couldn't stop being amazed that day: first Elara, then the host and now the parents. He had the urgent desire for a drink. It took a little while before he had his voice back: "She is accommodated not far from here, come with me, it would make the evening easier for me and my student".
They did as Ezekiel had asked and soon there was a wonderful family reunion.The vampire held his hand behind Elara's back and pulled her towards him a little. He noticed that she squeezed a small tear, but he kept it gentleman-like to himself. "Let's go back to my place tonight, it's raining and as far as I know, some parts of our stories are still missing.”
She gave him a smile as a yes and after a warm farewell and a good hour the two of them returned to Ezekiel’s place. The excitement had slowly subsided and so had the adrenaline that kept the pain level in Ezekiel's body low. For there was something very important he had forgotten: the crossbow bolt was still in his lower abdomen.
He sat down, breathed deeply and did not want to worry Elara. There was nothing bad in itself - yet it hurt and after the day he lacked the strength to pull the bolt out himself.
"Elara? Dear..." He gasped slightly and let himself sink onto a chair. "Could you do me one more quick favour?"
He waited until the young woman came to him, then exposed his tunic with the bloodstain under the coat he was still wearing. "Could you please?"
“ I believe that I am suitably prepared for persimmon-picking! ” A familiar face grinned at her from over the garden fence, leaning on the rickety old posts with a straw hat perched jauntily on his head. “ I have my basket, my sunhat, and my satchel, and now all I am without is my partner. You would not, by any chance, know where to find her, would you? ”
As little children, seen equally too fragile and too impish for full court duties, they often take their breakfast at the nursery. This morning catches them at the usual. Syanna, straight and solemn as a statue, empties her plate with cold detachment. Isabelle de Roquefort does not want to admit it, but seeing such traits in a child so young sends shivers down her spine. Little Anarietta behaves more like her age. The pout on her pretty round face makes the governess smile despite herself. The younger princess doesn't share her mirth and sighs into the precious, nazairi-glazed plate as if her tiny heart lies in the middle of it and she is forced to eat it. Instead of a share of some steaming porridge, crowned with butter and a sprinkle of caramel. With another sigh and a pained wrinkle across her nose she continues to spoon the breakfast languidly.
"You should take your sister as an example, Anna Henrietta, chastises lady de Roquefort gently, if you want to grow as strong and beautiful as lady Syanna".
"Will this porridge change the colour of my hair then?" the red curly head jitters upward from the torturous sight, full of hope.
"It might," the governess gives Syanna a cheerful side glance, as lady Anarietta engages in her battle with the porridge, allied with her not so secret heart's desire. Syanna raises a brow, but then nods and returns the smile. Some string inside lady Isabelle's heart snaps at it, and she blames herself yet again for indulging in the stupid supposition.
"Why, children! Who left this poor horse on the floor? One can easily trip over a toy like this!" turning away she misses how Anarietta's face lights up with mischief. Syanna, equally distracted by the fate of her favourite wooden steed, yet notices the plump thieving hand that exchanges their plates. But it is too late for a quite resolution.
"I am done, lady de Roquefort. May I go?" pipes the young liar sweetly, when her hand is gripped by another. Tightly and cruelly. Ah, she can't stomach two lies, one riding so quickly after another! The broken horse was well hidden, she thought it was! And now Syanna particularly burns the truth out of her heart, glaring at her with ugly, angry tears and rage in her eyes. Anarietta gasps in pain, in disbelief, and strikes. The blow is much harder than she expects, poisoned by her surprise and the acute tinge of nails, digging into the tender skin. Their quarrel gets savage and ruthless, before the guilty sister clears the misunderstanding with tender tears and truthful pleas. Once it is done and both sisters are horrified at the blood running down little weasel's chin, their lady mother is already at the doorstep, framed by the shrieking ladies-in-waiting.
The customary walk in the gardens is exchanged for a severe punishment for Sylvia Anna. No matter how little Anna Henrietta weeps and tries to confess her own crimes, she is not believed. Instead she is coaxed with all the comfort and bribes one can give to a favourite child. The two tiny golden earrings, left in exchange for violent loss of two milk teeth, she brings to her dear sister as a reconciliation attempt. Syanna says nothing and accepts no stretched, trembling hand of the guilty. But the next morrow finds them in one bed. Despite her orders Isabelle de Roquefort can't bring herself to chase Anarietta away and cage Syanna into the solitude, as the penalty instructed.
Through the tapestry of dreams little Anarietta mutters how she hates porridge, and would Syanna please, please set a decree that no child was forced to eat one never! ever again! once she is the Duchess. Syanna, woken up by the sound of closing doors and clicking of disappearing footsteps, brushes the red curls and whispers the most solemn oath that she would.
Ah, I know that my talent in these are by no means anywhere near yours, but I tried my very best for one of my favourite rp-partners beautiful muse @elara-the-bootblack <3
(Obviously I had to include apple-picking, because this is how Elara and Ezekiel met in the first place)
“Besides Naya, my wife, I have never met anyone like him again. He was with her the only person that I loved the most in my long life. He was a madman, a savage. He had a problem, what I realized too late, what I didn’t want to acknowledge. A problem that at the end locked him up and forced me to release him from it forever.”
Ezekiel’s nails dig into his arm, deep, but not deep enough, for blood to leak. “I loved him, Elara. So much that it hurts. He was my family, my brother, my liberator and faithful soul. He was not disgusted by me, saw me as a living being and not as a deformed one. He showed me everything he knew, we explored the human world together, learned its language together, he finally gave me proper clothes, gave me food and cared for me. Our time together was way too short.”
Now red liquid is leaking at the places around Ezekiel’s nails, these slightly extended, the pain calms him down a little:
"Shortly after the arrival in this world there was a battle between two of our tribes. Khagmar fought on the side of his Ammurun tribe against many of the Gharasham. He was extremely wounded, so heavy that he had to be regenerated. Meanwhile I had happily walked through the new world, smelled flowers and enjoyed every ray of sunshine. During my walk I reached the battlefield, where there was not much left of trees, meadows and other things. Well, except him. There was only half of him left, his torso and part of his head. I didn’t know exactly what to do, so I slit my arm and gave him a drink. Within a few hours he sat back together completely, remarkable.”
The old vampire giggles: "When he regained consciousness of me, he grabbed right around my neck and lifted me up. He thought it was anything but funny that I had revived him. But his initial rage quickly dried up when he saw the heavy chain around my neck. Then we wandered the world together, all the way to Zerrikania. There I became a savage myself…I had a very passionate and unrestrained time there. Then I went to Oxenfurt to reflect, where I was significantly involved in the foundation of the academy. When Larthia came to me and told me about Khagmar’s difficulties, I hurried immediately to Toussaint…”.
Ezekiel breathes deeply, clutching his shoulder with his right hand: “I could no longer help him. Larthia could no longer help him. It was too late. It was all my fault. He would still be alive if I had acted in time. And because I was too late, I had to do what none of my fellows did. They wanted to let him continue to suffer, I could not hear that. One night I crept into Tesham Mutna Fortress, where he was held captive, killed all the guards, lowered the cage and freed my brother as he did it once. For him the freedom was final, I found myself in another kind of slavery afterwards. Caught in my grief and anger. To have to kill him has torn such a deep wound into my soul that will never grow again. My kind chased me through the human world for years, I could not rest, I could not stop. Meanwhile much time has passed, but I will never be a normal member of the vampire society again. The only thing that gives me hope is that one day we will be reunited…”
Addendum of the Creator: This is MY take on the story of Khagmar. Your version can of course be different, I just plotted him into my lore with Ezekiel. I already wrote down most of their story for private use.
