The Last Fledgling

Sanguis: *sees unkempt feathers*

Sanguis: *GOES INTO PARENT MODE* OHMYGOSHIMUSTCLEANYOU

((That's Zeke nearly everyday. Good luck.))

A summary of Sanguis’ shenanigans in Nosgoth

First they met @technicallytemperance , then @thelastfledgling , and @uralterengel (in chronological order more or less)

Conclusion: Vampire are good.

#sanctusintima #((Gonna reply our RP sooner or later :D))#((Also the feels))#((You got em))

“Are you okay? Your mask is crying.” Zeke then attempts to offer Sanguis a handkerchief with those small arms, reaching up.

((Imagine a magical mask that shows only those emotions.))

Lysander’s Mercy

nosgothpillarofdeath

“Zeke. My name is Lysander. When someone gives you their name that means that they want to trust you, at least a little bit. You want to trust me to get you out of that trap and I want to trust that if I do, you will never tell anyone about me. I help you, you help me. That’s the deal. Understand, Zeke?”

Sniffling hard, he nodded his head vigorously. His tightened wings began to unfurl, relaxing enough for him to see how grisly the wound was. Zeke accepted the trust between them.

“I-I promise I won’t tell, L-Lysander.” He whimpered loud enough for him to hear that promise. Despite fatigue growing in his honey eyes, he kept himself alert - the frigid wind helped even if it was undesired.

Lysander knelt next to Zeke and held the lantern up to the trap. The boy must have had thin skin because this type of trap was not designed to cause bleeding. Maybe it was the ice. He put the lantern aside, hoping the heat would not cause the ice to melt.

“It’s been a while since I saw a trap like this. There should be a release here…”

The last time he removed one of these was about four years ago. Some idiot bandits thought it would be a good idea to rob a hunter and ended up walking straight into a bear trap. They lost two men and the rest limped home with arrows in their asses. Lysander had been running with their group for about a year at that time, but it was then that he decided to quit and use his share to open a legitimate business elsewhere.

After brushing away some of the snow Lysander found what he was looking for. He pushed down on the lever, causing the jaws to go limp.

“This might hurt a lot. Try to keep your mouth shut or someone will hear you.”

Putting his hand under Zeke’s calve, Lysander carefully extracted his leg from the jaws and pushed it aside, to be disarmed later. He held Zeke’s leg in the air in an effort to slow the bleeding. There wasn’t a lot of blood, but he bet the pain alone was enough to make Zeke feel faint.

Though his small talons covered his lips, the spike of pain forced a cry out - sobbing through the tight cracks of claws. Was impossible not to fidget, but Lysanders’ grip was enough to keep his leg still.

The agonizing pressure of the trap’s maw finally left, giving the boy a sense of relief. Only thing that lingered were the stings around his once bounce leg. Bless the stars, he could feel his foot still - his fears assured he’d lose a limb. Not tonight it seemed.

Wings were puffed from stress, slowly calming down back to its sleek form.

The wound healed slower than Lysander expected. Magic might speed up the process, but he worried his usual spells would have the opposite affect on someone like Zeke. They were crafted for use on humans.

Snow crunched. Lysander froze, holding his breath. Did that come from behind him?

God no…

Mortanius came running into up to him, illuminated by an orb of light suspended above him. He did not see Zeke at first. Lysander slowly turned his head, eyes wide with fright.

“What happened? Who is…” Mortanius stopped in shock.

The blue from his face faded to a ghostly white. Mortanius!? A rebel guardian!? Terror writhed and screeched in both heart and soul - those eyes reflected it all.

His leg dropped below his priorities to save - he had to save himself!

Zeke jerked his leg from Lysanders aid and stumbled on the frozen earth. Wings frantically flapped to escape the ground to reach the withering tree branches. They could hear panicked cries, as if a child escaping from a feared parent. He had to run, fly, escape!

How he prayed - prayed whoever was merciful enough that the Death Guardian wouldn’t pursue.

The air chilled with a deathly frost. Lysander jumped up, intercepting Mortanius mid-cast. A dozen ice spikes exploded out of the ground near Zeke, a narrow miss that still knocked the child vampire off balance by sheer force. Mortanius tumbled over with Lysander on top of him.

“What-!?”

“Stop! I’m not letting you kill a kid!”

Mortanius tried to push Lysander off. “Vampires don’t have children. That thing is even older than Malanthe.”

But Lysander was more experienced in hand-to-hand than Mortanius. He pinned Mortanius down, forcing his arm against his throat.

“So what, wouldn’t you be the same if they cursed you at that age!? He didn’t choose this!”

Zekiel shrieked, nearly feeling the cold embrace of death - literally. Obsidian wings ceased their frantic movements to wrap the vampire around, taking the fall when knocked down to the frozen earth. Heart raced in terror, a too familiar sensation he wished to never return.

His head turned from the sound of fighting, Lysander pinning down the guardian. The urge to help his hero rose dramatically, fearing for his safety as well. But deep down he'd want the child to flee.

Unable to decide, Zeke scrambled to hide behind tree after tree, eventually tripping behind risen stone. He could now safely watch over Lysander.

He prayed far too much today. Truly there was no mercy from above, but from a human's heart.

Sounds of foliage shuffling rang around Sanguis. Something found them, and watching. - thelastfledgling

Sanguis listened closely to the noise. There was no telling what creatures lived in this dark, forsaken forest. The angel took several paces forward, parting the brush, searching. It may have been something small, but they didn’t want to do anything rash like throwing something in to see. They stopped then and stood, waiting. Their wings arced up, over their head as they waited for the sound of movement.

thelastfledgling

The child puffed up even more - almost like he mimicked a defense mechanism from local avians. He studied further as Sanguis spoke, growing incredibly nervous as he saw their bodily features.

They…They’re not ancients! The sight of their chest and rest brought cold chills throughout his nerves - knowing well know no one or nothing should bare these features!

Zeke nearly lost himself, inching further away til a tree’s base stopped his path. This being…was polite, showing concern for his well being.

“N-no! I-I wasn’t scared! O-or disturbed, or a-anything.” A blatant lie, yet the child desired to put on a brave face before them.

Sanguis caught sight of the boy’s peering at them and, ashamed, pulled their top closed, which proved in vain as the garment did not have clasps to hold it shut. With their own hands, they held the fabric together.

“I-I am sorry, I’m seeking to go north, or, I believe it to be north—” To find the last of the Ancients, they thought, but they did not finish that thought aloud. They looked again at the child whose appearance, they realized, was reminiscent of the vampires they had read of. “—I don’t understand, I thought only one Ancient remained…but you must be an Ancient, there are no angels here!” Their tone brightened.

“Can you help me, little one?”

"W-well..." Zeke's voice cracked, slowly bringing himself up with the tree supporting his flank. Should he trust them? They felt more lost and benevolent than any dangerous being he met. Perhaps he could.

"Last known Ancient. N-no one knows about me. I kept myself quiet." He explained while dusting the dirt and leaves from his clothes. Though Sanguis never finished stating their plight, it was enough to know who they were seeking.

The risen fluff never died down, but the child sounded calmer. "Yes, I-I can help. You're seeking Janos Audron. He lives up in the mountains in the north. You can pass the forest here."

#sanctusintima

Lysander’s Mercy

nosgothpillarofdeath

“Zeke. My name is Lysander. When someone gives you their name that means that they want to trust you, at least a little bit. You want to trust me to get you out of that trap and I want to trust that if I do, you will never tell anyone about me. I help you, you help me. That’s the deal. Understand, Zeke?”

Sniffling hard, he nodded his head vigorously. His tightened wings began to unfurl, relaxing enough for him to see how grisly the wound was. Zeke accepted the trust between them.

“I-I promise I won’t tell, L-Lysander.” He whimpered loud enough for him to hear that promise. Despite fatigue growing in his honey eyes, he kept himself alert - the frigid wind helped even if it was undesired.

Lysander knelt next to Zeke and held the lantern up to the trap. The boy must have had thin skin because this type of trap was not designed to cause bleeding. Maybe it was the ice. He put the lantern aside, hoping the heat would not cause the ice to melt.

“It’s been a while since I saw a trap like this. There should be a release here…”

The last time he removed one of these was about four years ago. Some idiot bandits thought it would be a good idea to rob a hunter and ended up walking straight into a bear trap. They lost two men and the rest limped home with arrows in their asses. Lysander had been running with their group for about a year at that time, but it was then that he decided to quit and use his share to open a legitimate business elsewhere.

After brushing away some of the snow Lysander found what he was looking for. He pushed down on the lever, causing the jaws to go limp.

“This might hurt a lot. Try to keep your mouth shut or someone will hear you.”

Putting his hand under Zeke’s calve, Lysander carefully extracted his leg from the jaws and pushed it aside, to be disarmed later. He held Zeke’s leg in the air in an effort to slow the bleeding. There wasn’t a lot of blood, but he bet the pain alone was enough to make Zeke feel faint.

Though his small talons covered his lips, the spike of pain forced a cry out - sobbing through the tight cracks of claws. Was impossible not to fidget, but Lysanders’ grip was enough to keep his leg still.

The agonizing pressure of the trap’s maw finally left, giving the boy a sense of relief. Only thing that lingered were the stings around his once bounce leg. Bless the stars, he could feel his foot still - his fears assured he’d lose a limb. Not tonight it seemed.

Wings were puffed from stress, slowly calming down back to its sleek form.

The wound healed slower than Lysander expected. Magic might speed up the process, but he worried his usual spells would have the opposite affect on someone like Zeke. They were crafted for use on humans.

Snow crunched. Lysander froze, holding his breath. Did that come from behind him?

God no…

Mortanius came running into up to him, illuminated by an orb of light suspended above him. He did not see Zeke at first. Lysander slowly turned his head, eyes wide with fright.

“What happened? Who is…” Mortanius stopped in shock.

The blue from his face faded to a ghostly white. Mortanius!? A rebel guardian!? Terror writhed and screeched in both heart and soul - those eyes reflected it all.

His leg dropped below his priorities to save - he had to save himself!

Zeke jerked his leg from Lysanders aid and stumbled on the frozen earth. Wings frantically flapped to escape the ground to reach the withering tree branches. They could hear panicked cries, as if a child escaping from a feared parent. He had to run, fly, escape!

How he prayed - prayed whoever was merciful enough that the Death Guardian wouldn't pursue.

Sounds of foliage shuffling rang around Sanguis. Something found them, and watching. - thelastfledgling

Sanguis listened closely to the noise. There was no telling what creatures lived in this dark, forsaken forest. The angel took several paces forward, parting the brush, searching. It may have been something small, but they didn’t want to do anything rash like throwing something in to see. They stopped then and stood, waiting. Their wings arced up, over their head as they waited for the sound of movement.

thelastfledgling

A young blue ‘angel’ froze in fear as Sanguis stepped forward. His curiosity has crossed the line - again.

Zekiel was hopping through Termogent’s branches in search to quell his boredom, until he found this being. Wasn’t sure who - or what - they were, yet it brought his heart to be unnerved. However…they looked almost like his kind. The thought brought the eternal boy to investigate, tailing behind. Obviously his stealth was far than useful.

Sanguis found a pair of honey eyes looking up. He nearly mimicked their wings, rising up and began to puff out. Zeke could only watch back to what he assumed was their face.

The large wings drooped from their defensive posture, sitting comfortably at ease behind Sanguis. An ache welled in their chest—they had no chance yet to question what the creature was, but the boy reminded them of their own kind. He had such lively, uminous eyes. Their guard always dropped around children, there was an instant love for their innocence every time. No matter how foul or misbehaved they turned out to be, Sanguis believed them to have an innate kindness.

Sanguis had not spoken aloud, verbally, in many years, but they would sooner attempt it than frighten him with unpmrompted telepathic communication. The boy had probably been unsettled by the blank, stoic mask, it would do no good to unsettle him any more than they may have already.

“H…Hello.” It took them time to form the word, speaking aloud had become strange and foreign. “Did I disturb you, child?”

The child puffed up even more - almost like he mimicked a defense mechanism from local avians. He studied further as Sanguis spoke, growing incredibly nervous as he saw their bodily features.

They...They're not ancients! The sight of their chest and rest brought cold chills throughout his nerves - knowing well know no one or nothing should bare these features!

Zeke nearly lost himself, inching further away til a tree's base stopped his path. This being...was polite, showing concern for his well being.

"N-no! I-I wasn't scared! O-or disturbed, or a-anything." A blatant lie, yet the child desired to put on a brave face before them.

#sanctusintima

Sounds of foliage shuffling rang around Sanguis. Something found them, and watching. - thelastfledgling

Sanguis listened closely to the noise. There was no telling what creatures lived in this dark, forsaken forest. The angel took several paces forward, parting the brush, searching. It may have been something small, but they didn’t want to do anything rash like throwing something in to see. They stopped then and stood, waiting. Their wings arced up, over their head as they waited for the sound of movement.

A young blue 'angel' froze in fear as Sanguis stepped forward. His curiosity has crossed the line - again.

Zekiel was hopping through Termogent's branches in search to quell his boredom, until he found this being. Wasn't sure who - or what - they were, yet it brought his heart to be unnerved. However...they looked almost like his kind. The thought brought the eternal boy to investigate, tailing behind. Obviously his stealth was far than useful.

Sanguis found a pair of honey eyes looking up. He nearly mimicked their wings, rising up and began to puff out. Zeke could only watch back to what he assumed was their face.

#sanctusintima

Lysander’s Mercy

nosgothpillarofdeath

“Zeke. My name is Lysander. When someone gives you their name that means that they want to trust you, at least a little bit. You want to trust me to get you out of that trap and I want to trust that if I do, you will never tell anyone about me. I help you, you help me. That’s the deal. Understand, Zeke?”

Sniffling hard, he nodded his head vigorously. His tightened wings began to unfurl, relaxing enough for him to see how grisly the wound was. Zeke accepted the trust between them.

“I-I promise I won’t tell, L-Lysander.” He whimpered loud enough for him to hear that promise. Despite fatigue growing in his honey eyes, he kept himself alert - the frigid wind helped even if it was undesired.

Lysander knelt next to Zeke and held the lantern up to the trap. The boy must have had thin skin because this type of trap was not designed to cause bleeding. Maybe it was the ice. He put the lantern aside, hoping the heat would not cause the ice to melt.

“It’s been a while since I saw a trap like this. There should be a release here…”

The last time he removed one of these was about four years ago. Some idiot bandits thought it would be a good idea to rob a hunter and ended up walking straight into a bear trap. They lost two men and the rest limped home with arrows in their asses. Lysander had been running with their group for about a year at that time, but it was then that he decided to quit and use his share to open a legitimate business elsewhere.

After brushing away some of the snow Lysander found what he was looking for. He pushed down on the lever, causing the jaws to go limp.

“This might hurt a lot. Try to keep your mouth shut or someone will hear you.”

Putting his hand under Zeke’s calve, Lysander carefully extracted his leg from the jaws and pushed it aside, to be disarmed later. He held Zeke’s leg in the air in an effort to slow the bleeding. There wasn’t a lot of blood, but he bet the pain alone was enough to make Zeke feel faint.

Though his small talons covered his lips, the spike of pain forced a cry out - sobbing through the tight cracks of claws. Was impossible not to fidget, but Lysanders' grip was enough to keep his leg still.

The agonizing pressure of the trap's maw finally left, giving the boy a sense of relief. Only thing that lingered were the stings around his once bounce leg. Bless the stars, he could feel his foot still - his fears assured he'd lose a limb. Not tonight it seemed.

Wings were puffed from stress, slowly calming down back to its sleek form.

Lysander’s Mercy

nosgothpillarofdeath

“Zeke. My name is Lysander. When someone gives you their name that means that they want to trust you, at least a little bit. You want to trust me to get you out of that trap and I want to trust that if I do, you will never tell anyone about me. I help you, you help me. That’s the deal. Understand, Zeke?”

Sniffling hard, he nodded his head vigorously. His tightened wings began to unfurl, relaxing enough for him to see how grisly the wound was. Zeke accepted the trust between them.

“I-I promise I won’t tell, L-Lysander.” He whimpered loud enough for him to hear that promise. Despite fatigue growing in his honey eyes, he kept himself alert - the frigid wind helped even if it was undesired.

Lysander’s Mercy

Lysander woke in the middle of the night, less-than-sober and full of piss. A cold wind whistled outside. He pawed the ground in search of the lantern and knocked over an empty wine bottle. When he finally managed to light the candle, Mortanius stirred.

“Mmm, what is it now?”

“Relax, I’m just going to take a leak. I’ll be back before you know it.”

He stood and put on a heavy coat and boots. Even though it would have saved him a lot of trouble, he felt too embarrassed to use the empty bottle in front of Mortanius, who happened to be watching. Besides, it wouldn’t have felt right. It wouldn’t be long before Lysander regretted his decision. The cold was practically unbearable. Heading a little ways outside of camp, Lysander found a tree to shield him from the wind and started to relieve himself.

Tonight had been almost perfect, almost because Lysander hesitated to tempt fate even in the privacy of his mind. He had been irritable ever since Declan came down on him for drinking up too much of the army’s rations, which were running low. Then, right around sundown, Mortanius appeared like an angel and surprised him with a bottle of wine from Helmsburg. Apparently he bribed that mercenary woman to smuggle it to him in secret. He dared say even Moebius didn’t know. Lysander was utterly smitten.

They passed the evening in loquacious drinking, insulated in Mortanius’ tent. Mortanius expressed gratitude for Lysander’s compassion and strength and other words for which Lysander felt woefully inadequate, yet when he lay against Mortanius’ chest he almost believed it himself. Standing out in the sobering cold, Lysander wondered if he could ever truly live up to Mortanius’ vision.

Having finished his business, Lysander picked up the lantern and turned toward camp. Just then a strange whispering emanated from the woods. Lysander tried to ignore it, telling himself it was only the wind, but as he started to walk away he recognized the sound of quiet sobbing.

The sobber’s breathing sounded labored, as if the sobber had been there all along, concealed by the wind. If he hurried back to camp he could send someone to help. But what if the wind kicked up again?

Lysander jogged deeper into the forest. Beyond the lantern’s halo the forest was as black as pitch. As the crying became louder he called, “Hello!? I’m here to help! If you can hear me, yell!”

He never seen Nosgoth beyond the citadel until the blood curse fell upon his kin. The experience was exciting at first, yet dread began to grow when enemies became a reality - humans that hunt his kind under Moebius’ command and even the ancients themselves. If it weren’t for Vorador, the young one would’ve perished.

Zekiel despised Helmsburg’s frigid cold - keeping him flightless and bundled in linen. Where else would he go? He understood little of Nosgoth’s massive conflict, but he knew well enough it would drive the ancients and their vampire kind into oblivion.

Curiosity and boredom got the best of Zeke - wondering away from Vorador and his group. He made sure he wouldn’t stray far, until he became lost within the dark void of woods. Best he could do is back track his steps - if only the wind didn’t blew it away. Next thing he knew, a metal maw erupted from the concealed earth and bound his leg. Blood gushed, muscles and bone screaming in pain; not the kind for a young boy to experience - ever.

Hands muffled his screech, falling over to observe the damage. The pain grew too much, bringing the little ancient to sob uncontrollably. He needed help. The bear trap needed to be removed! He attempted to unlock the trap, but only in vain - not strong enough to pry it open.

How could he get Vorador?

A shout pierced the howling void, seeing an approaching light from a distance. Was it among the vampire’s group? It had to be help.

“H-Help!! Please…” Zekiel cried out, voice cracking from his young physical age.

A child? Lysander broke into a sprint. “Stay where you are, I’m coming!”

He could almost see the dark silhouette against the snow. When the light reached the child Lysander’s heart nearly stopped. Flight or fight kicked in, causing him to slip on the icy ground. Somehow he managed to hold onto the lantern. Pain rang from his tailbone to the back of his skull. Worst of all was his elbow, which had struck the ground like the tip of a wooden pick. Dazed, hissing in agony, he cradled his arm to his chest. “Ow…”

Surely he didn’t see what he thought he saw? He slowly opened his eyes.

Before him lay a child with blue skin, cloven hands, jet black wings, and eyes that glinted in the dark. A steel trap clamped around the child’s ankle.

Zeke whinced as Lysander fell, nearly feeling a fraction of what he felt just by watching. The man didn’t seem danger, unlike the growing band that marched Nosgoth, eliminating his kind.

Nose sniffled hard, slowly leaning toward without moving his trapped leg. Even an inch of movement surged pain through out his coil. Honey eyes were puffy, yet able to make out Lysanders’ situation.

“A-are you okay..?” Zeke whimpered, bringing his small wings to cover himself from harsh winds.

Lysander trembled, the lantern rattling, his mind assaulted by images of men in full suits of armor crushed and ripped apart like paper by the living roots of the vile Nature Guardian, the vampire Malanthe. He saw the brave men who volunteered for Moebius’ rebel army lying pale and broken in the snow, human corpses burning in a pile. How many of his comrades had these monsters slain?

“You… you’re one of them…” He shut his eyes. Swallowing hard, he slowly set his lantern on the ground and covered his face, taking slow, deep breaths. “No, you’re just a damn kid. Shit… you can’t be.”

He peered at the child vampire through his fingers as he wracked his brain for answers. None of the guardians said anything about vampires having kids. This had to be some kind of trick.

No, it couldn’t be. The enemy didn’t think that way. If they wanted to attack the army now they would come down on them like an avalanche, like in the pass.

“What the hell are you doing out here?” Lysander snapped.

Eyes furrowed to the sight, suspecting his appearance triggered tremendous stress upon the poor man. It made Zekiel incredibly frightened, believing Lysander possessed enough hatred to end his life. His small frame huddled together tighter - trapped leg extended still.

The boy shuddered from the question’s tone, voice whimpering even more. He prayed to whatever existed above the stars that he wasn’t among Moebius’ group - The Wheel would do the opposite if prayed to.

“I-I…” Zeke struggled to speak, sobbing in between. “I wondered too far a-and now I’m lost…I want to go h-home.”

Lysander cringed as tears rolled down his face, freezing to his skin. He had only just started to believe in God again, this time in the form of Moebius’ all-knowing Wheel, and this was how the Lord chose to test him? Or was it merely punishment for his years of atheism?

He could make it quick. One flash of holy lightning, deadly to vampires, and then he could crawl back into Mortanius’ arms and try to forget.

Just one more regret.

Lysander stopped shaking. Suddenly everything felt very still, as if the world waited on him. He rubbed his eyes with his sleeve and let the air steam out of his lungs.

“God damn it, not like this,” he muttered to himself, starting to get up. He brought the lantern with him. “Tell me your name, kid. You have a name, right?”

The vampire boy didn't know what rushed through the man's mind, but it was clear his race must've done something horrible to him. What a sorrowful thought that Zeke could relate - nearly 'purged' by his own neighbors. Was not intentional to stress Lysander so, but the child held guilt.

"Z-Zeke. Zekiel, sir." He shrank, watching the man closely as he approached. Enough blood escaped that Zeke began to feel lightheaded, focus dulling like a practice blade. His wabbles were a clear sign.

Lysander’s Mercy

Lysander woke in the middle of the night, less-than-sober and full of piss. A cold wind whistled outside. He pawed the ground in search of the lantern and knocked over an empty wine bottle. When he finally managed to light the candle, Mortanius stirred.

“Mmm, what is it now?”

“Relax, I’m just going to take a leak. I’ll be back before you know it.”

He stood and put on a heavy coat and boots. Even though it would have saved him a lot of trouble, he felt too embarrassed to use the empty bottle in front of Mortanius, who happened to be watching. Besides, it wouldn’t have felt right. It wouldn’t be long before Lysander regretted his decision. The cold was practically unbearable. Heading a little ways outside of camp, Lysander found a tree to shield him from the wind and started to relieve himself.

Tonight had been almost perfect, almost because Lysander hesitated to tempt fate even in the privacy of his mind. He had been irritable ever since Declan came down on him for drinking up too much of the army’s rations, which were running low. Then, right around sundown, Mortanius appeared like an angel and surprised him with a bottle of wine from Helmsburg. Apparently he bribed that mercenary woman to smuggle it to him in secret. He dared say even Moebius didn’t know. Lysander was utterly smitten.

They passed the evening in loquacious drinking, insulated in Mortanius’ tent. Mortanius expressed gratitude for Lysander’s compassion and strength and other words for which Lysander felt woefully inadequate, yet when he lay against Mortanius’ chest he almost believed it himself. Standing out in the sobering cold, Lysander wondered if he could ever truly live up to Mortanius’ vision.

Having finished his business, Lysander picked up the lantern and turned toward camp. Just then a strange whispering emanated from the woods. Lysander tried to ignore it, telling himself it was only the wind, but as he started to walk away he recognized the sound of quiet sobbing.

The sobber’s breathing sounded labored, as if the sobber had been there all along, concealed by the wind. If he hurried back to camp he could send someone to help. But what if the wind kicked up again?

Lysander jogged deeper into the forest. Beyond the lantern’s halo the forest was as black as pitch. As the crying became louder he called, “Hello!? I’m here to help! If you can hear me, yell!”

He never seen Nosgoth beyond the citadel until the blood curse fell upon his kin. The experience was exciting at first, yet dread began to grow when enemies became a reality - humans that hunt his kind under Moebius’ command and even the ancients themselves. If it weren’t for Vorador, the young one would’ve perished.

Zekiel despised Helmsburg’s frigid cold - keeping him flightless and bundled in linen. Where else would he go? He understood little of Nosgoth’s massive conflict, but he knew well enough it would drive the ancients and their vampire kind into oblivion.

Curiosity and boredom got the best of Zeke - wondering away from Vorador and his group. He made sure he wouldn’t stray far, until he became lost within the dark void of woods. Best he could do is back track his steps - if only the wind didn’t blew it away. Next thing he knew, a metal maw erupted from the concealed earth and bound his leg. Blood gushed, muscles and bone screaming in pain; not the kind for a young boy to experience - ever.

Hands muffled his screech, falling over to observe the damage. The pain grew too much, bringing the little ancient to sob uncontrollably. He needed help. The bear trap needed to be removed! He attempted to unlock the trap, but only in vain - not strong enough to pry it open.

How could he get Vorador?

A shout pierced the howling void, seeing an approaching light from a distance. Was it among the vampire’s group? It had to be help.

“H-Help!! Please…” Zekiel cried out, voice cracking from his young physical age.

A child? Lysander broke into a sprint. “Stay where you are, I’m coming!”

He could almost see the dark silhouette against the snow. When the light reached the child Lysander’s heart nearly stopped. Flight or fight kicked in, causing him to slip on the icy ground. Somehow he managed to hold onto the lantern. Pain rang from his tailbone to the back of his skull. Worst of all was his elbow, which had struck the ground like the tip of a wooden pick. Dazed, hissing in agony, he cradled his arm to his chest. “Ow…”

Surely he didn’t see what he thought he saw? He slowly opened his eyes.

Before him lay a child with blue skin, cloven hands, jet black wings, and eyes that glinted in the dark. A steel trap clamped around the child’s ankle.

Zeke whinced as Lysander fell, nearly feeling a fraction of what he felt just by watching. The man didn’t seem danger, unlike the growing band that marched Nosgoth, eliminating his kind.

Nose sniffled hard, slowly leaning toward without moving his trapped leg. Even an inch of movement surged pain through out his coil. Honey eyes were puffy, yet able to make out Lysanders’ situation.

“A-are you okay..?” Zeke whimpered, bringing his small wings to cover himself from harsh winds.

Lysander trembled, the lantern rattling, his mind assaulted by images of men in full suits of armor crushed and ripped apart like paper by the living roots of the vile Nature Guardian, the vampire Malanthe. He saw the brave men who volunteered for Moebius’ rebel army lying pale and broken in the snow, human corpses burning in a pile. How many of his comrades had these monsters slain?

“You… you’re one of them…” He shut his eyes. Swallowing hard, he slowly set his lantern on the ground and covered his face, taking slow, deep breaths. “No, you’re just a damn kid. Shit… you can’t be.”

He peered at the child vampire through his fingers as he wracked his brain for answers. None of the guardians said anything about vampires having kids. This had to be some kind of trick.

No, it couldn’t be. The enemy didn’t think that way. If they wanted to attack the army now they would come down on them like an avalanche, like in the pass.

“What the hell are you doing out here?” Lysander snapped.

Eyes furrowed to the sight, suspecting his appearance triggered tremendous stress upon the poor man. It made Zekiel incredibly frightened, believing Lysander possessed enough hatred to end his life. His small frame huddled together tighter - trapped leg extended still.

The boy shuddered from the question's tone, voice whimpering even more. He prayed to whatever existed above the stars that he wasn't among Moebius' group - The Wheel would do the opposite if prayed to.

"I-I..." Zeke struggled to speak, sobbing in between. "I wondered too far a-and now I'm lost...I want to go h-home."

Lysander’s Mercy

Lysander woke in the middle of the night, less-than-sober and full of piss. A cold wind whistled outside. He pawed the ground in search of the lantern and knocked over an empty wine bottle. When he finally managed to light the candle, Mortanius stirred.

“Mmm, what is it now?”

“Relax, I’m just going to take a leak. I’ll be back before you know it.”

He stood and put on a heavy coat and boots. Even though it would have saved him a lot of trouble, he felt too embarrassed to use the empty bottle in front of Mortanius, who happened to be watching. Besides, it wouldn’t have felt right. It wouldn’t be long before Lysander regretted his decision. The cold was practically unbearable. Heading a little ways outside of camp, Lysander found a tree to shield him from the wind and started to relieve himself.

Tonight had been almost perfect, almost because Lysander hesitated to tempt fate even in the privacy of his mind. He had been irritable ever since Declan came down on him for drinking up too much of the army’s rations, which were running low. Then, right around sundown, Mortanius appeared like an angel and surprised him with a bottle of wine from Helmsburg. Apparently he bribed that mercenary woman to smuggle it to him in secret. He dared say even Moebius didn’t know. Lysander was utterly smitten.

They passed the evening in loquacious drinking, insulated in Mortanius’ tent. Mortanius expressed gratitude for Lysander’s compassion and strength and other words for which Lysander felt woefully inadequate, yet when he lay against Mortanius’ chest he almost believed it himself. Standing out in the sobering cold, Lysander wondered if he could ever truly live up to Mortanius’ vision.

Having finished his business, Lysander picked up the lantern and turned toward camp. Just then a strange whispering emanated from the woods. Lysander tried to ignore it, telling himself it was only the wind, but as he started to walk away he recognized the sound of quiet sobbing.

The sobber’s breathing sounded labored, as if the sobber had been there all along, concealed by the wind. If he hurried back to camp he could send someone to help. But what if the wind kicked up again?

Lysander jogged deeper into the forest. Beyond the lantern’s halo the forest was as black as pitch. As the crying became louder he called, “Hello!? I’m here to help! If you can hear me, yell!”

He never seen Nosgoth beyond the citadel until the blood curse fell upon his kin. The experience was exciting at first, yet dread began to grow when enemies became a reality - humans that hunt his kind under Moebius’ command and even the ancients themselves. If it weren’t for Vorador, the young one would’ve perished.

Zekiel despised Helmsburg’s frigid cold - keeping him flightless and bundled in linen. Where else would he go? He understood little of Nosgoth’s massive conflict, but he knew well enough it would drive the ancients and their vampire kind into oblivion.

Curiosity and boredom got the best of Zeke - wondering away from Vorador and his group. He made sure he wouldn’t stray far, until he became lost within the dark void of woods. Best he could do is back track his steps - if only the wind didn’t blew it away. Next thing he knew, a metal maw erupted from the concealed earth and bound his leg. Blood gushed, muscles and bone screaming in pain; not the kind for a young boy to experience - ever.

Hands muffled his screech, falling over to observe the damage. The pain grew too much, bringing the little ancient to sob uncontrollably. He needed help. The bear trap needed to be removed! He attempted to unlock the trap, but only in vain - not strong enough to pry it open.

How could he get Vorador?

A shout pierced the howling void, seeing an approaching light from a distance. Was it among the vampire’s group? It had to be help.

“H-Help!! Please…” Zekiel cried out, voice cracking from his young physical age.

A child? Lysander broke into a sprint. “Stay where you are, I’m coming!”

He could almost see the dark silhouette against the snow. When the light reached the child Lysander’s heart nearly stopped. Flight or fight kicked in, causing him to slip on the icy ground. Somehow he managed to hold onto the lantern. Pain rang from his tailbone to the back of his skull. Worst of all was his elbow, which had struck the ground like the tip of a wooden pick. Dazed, hissing in agony, he cradled his arm to his chest. “Ow…”

Surely he didn’t see what he thought he saw? He slowly opened his eyes.

Before him lay a child with blue skin, cloven hands, jet black wings, and eyes that glinted in the dark. A steel trap clamped around the child’s ankle.

Zeke whinced as Lysander fell, nearly feeling a fraction of what he felt just by watching. The man didn't seem danger, unlike the growing band that marched Nosgoth, eliminating his kind.

Nose sniffled hard, slowly leaning toward without moving his trapped leg. Even an inch of movement surged pain through out his coil. Honey eyes were puffy, yet able to make out Lysanders' situation.

"A-are you okay..?" Zeke whimpered, bringing his small wings to cover himself from harsh winds.

Lysander’s Mercy

Lysander woke in the middle of the night, less-than-sober and full of piss. A cold wind whistled outside. He pawed the ground in search of the lantern and knocked over an empty wine bottle. When he finally managed to light the candle, Mortanius stirred.

“Mmm, what is it now?”

“Relax, I’m just going to take a leak. I’ll be back before you know it.”

He stood and put on a heavy coat and boots. Even though it would have saved him a lot of trouble, he felt too embarrassed to use the empty bottle in front of Mortanius, who happened to be watching. Besides, it wouldn’t have felt right. It wouldn’t be long before Lysander regretted his decision. The cold was practically unbearable. Heading a little ways outside of camp, Lysander found a tree to shield him from the wind and started to relieve himself.

Tonight had been almost perfect, almost because Lysander hesitated to tempt fate even in the privacy of his mind. He had been irritable ever since Declan came down on him for drinking up too much of the army’s rations, which were running low. Then, right around sundown, Mortanius appeared like an angel and surprised him with a bottle of wine from Helmsburg. Apparently he bribed that mercenary woman to smuggle it to him in secret. He dared say even Moebius didn’t know. Lysander was utterly smitten.

They passed the evening in loquacious drinking, insulated in Mortanius’ tent. Mortanius expressed gratitude for Lysander’s compassion and strength and other words for which Lysander felt woefully inadequate, yet when he lay against Mortanius’ chest he almost believed it himself. Standing out in the sobering cold, Lysander wondered if he could ever truly live up to Mortanius’ vision.

Having finished his business, Lysander picked up the lantern and turned toward camp. Just then a strange whispering emanated from the woods. Lysander tried to ignore it, telling himself it was only the wind, but as he started to walk away he recognized the sound of quiet sobbing.

The sobber’s breathing sounded labored, as if the sobber had been there all along, concealed by the wind. If he hurried back to camp he could send someone to help. But what if the wind kicked up again?

Lysander jogged deeper into the forest. Beyond the lantern’s halo the forest was as black as pitch. As the crying became louder he called, “Hello!? I’m here to help! If you can hear me, yell!”

He never seen Nosgoth beyond the citadel until the blood curse fell upon his kin. The experience was exciting at first, yet dread began to grow when enemies became a reality - humans that hunt his kind under Moebius’ command and even the ancients themselves. If it weren’t for Vorador, the young one would’ve perished.

Zekiel despised Helmsburg’s frigid cold - keeping him flightless and bundled in linen. Where else would he go? He understood little of Nosgoth’s massive conflict, but he knew well enough it would drive the ancients and their vampire kind into oblivion.

Curiosity and boredom got the best of Zeke - wondering away from Vorador and his group. He made sure he wouldn’t stray far, until he became lost within the dark void of woods. Best he could do is back track his steps - if only the wind didn’t blew it away. Next thing he knew, a metal maw erupted from the concealed earth and bound his leg. Blood gushed, muscles and bone screaming in pain; not the kind for a young boy to experience - ever.

Hands muffled his screech, falling over to observe the damage. The pain grew too much, bringing the little ancient to sob uncontrollably. He needed help. The bear trap needed to be removed! He attempted to unlock the trap, but only in vain - not strong enough to pry it open.

How could he get Vorador?

A shout pierced the howling void, seeing an approaching light from a distance. Was it among the vampire’s group? It had to be help.

“H-Help!! Please...” Zekiel cried out, voice cracking from his young physical age.