Post by Kaffl on Sept 2, 2008 20:12:21 GMT -5
Hey, I decided I'd write up a wee bit o' fiction for my beautiful Vampires. I really tried hard to make this good, and criticism is more than welcome! I've actually kicked around the idea of writing a novel from time to time, but I'm afraid I'm just not good enough, so let me know what you think I can improve on. More to come, by the way!
Etherius stood high upon his tower. His gaze first met the Heavens, and descended slowly upon host arrayed well below his bony feet. On his great Obsidian tower he could feel the Winds of Magic blow around him, whipping about his face and, in this place of all, gathering so strongly as to flap his long, jet-black death robe where it caught. A wry smile formed in his thin lips, and his whole face creased at the effort. At silent attention before him stood an armada of the Undead, reanimated by his forceful and everlasting will and all bent to do his bidding. Many long years have passed since first W'Soran himself had bestowed the Blood Kiss upon Etherius, and he could scarcely remember just how long it was. How many centuries could it have been? Etherius, even as he stood now, ages later, could remember the precise events of the day he was given his gift. He had indentured himself to the Priest roughly a decade beforehand, and when he learned the awful truth of the nature of his master... He realized he owed his allegience not to the gods, but to W'Soran himself. Ever since that day he had devoted himself to his master's secret study of magic - Dark magic, in its most corrupted form, Necromancy. Etherius had never been allowed to look upon his master's volumes of the Nine Books of Nagash, but passages were recited to him by W'Soran and Etherius made certain to commit them to memory.
And now here he stood, one of the great masters of undeath, a Vampire. Worshipped as a living god by some of the local sub-human tribes, and with an army of undeath serving his will, Etherius had come to be known as the Nightbringer by some of the locals he 'experimented' on. The Necrarch now tapped into his Spirit Sight, his ability to focus on the world of the dead, and found a suitable cluster of long-dead for his next incantation. With a few words and a wave of his hand, a dozen more Skeletons clawed their way from beneath the soil to join ranks with their fellows. Etherius had decided to begin raising his army a good distance from his own tower - he wanted to have minions buried nearby if he were discovered. He had gathered the dead from all the charnel houses, barrows, battlefields and graveyards within 20 miles of his tower, and deemed it time to unleash his hatred of life upon all the local villages in the desolate corner of Kislev he had settled in. As there was no blood flowing through the ancient Necrarch to warm his body, he did not particularly mind the cold climate - in fact, it did wonders to keep would-be Witch Hunters away, and the few who braved the cold to find him often arrived weakened, frost-bitten and emaciated due to a lack of food present in any of the nearby towns, hardly the condition to kill a Vampire in.
Etherius inhabited his tower with only 2 others - one was his blood-kin, another Vampire by the name of Arkayas. The other was a mortal, a Necromancer who had had the rare opportunity to study with a Vampire, who was known as Haldemir. Etherius had no interest in the mortal, and was not convinced that he would make any decent sort of apprentice. Moreover, he was not keen to weaken himself by offering the Blood Kiss to a weak mortal. Even as a second generation Vampire, he could not escape that curse which afflicted all the masters of undeath. You see, as a Vampire offers his kinship to a mortal, he imbues a small portion of his own blood to that being. He also, however, imbues a portion of his power, and Etherius had already suffered the effects once when he had created Arkayas.
Arkayas was short, thin and bony. His pale complexion and the bluish tint of his skin matched perfectly with his master's, and the robes that adorned him were no more fanciful than the trappings of the dead that he had helped his master to raise. His fangs were long, though, and although he prefered not to drink the blood of Mortals, instead feeding on the Dark Magic that coalesced around the tower, he still felt the thirst inside him from time to time. Etherius had told him, after his madening first week as a Vampire, that the thirst would never fade no matter how long he persevered in undeath. The Necrachs, above all, have no need for the fresh blood of the Living, able to feed upon Dark Magic thanks, no doubt, to their Trueborn's alliegience to the Great Necromancer, Nagash. Long had Arkayas served Etherius the Nightbringer, at least 400 years by his own reckoning, though in fact it was closer now to 500. He had been Etherius' acolyte for another few decades before that, and as Arkayas sickened and his life threatened to escape his body, he was granted the Blood Kiss, the greatest parting gift his master could offer was not to let Arkayas part at all. More recently Arkayas had turned to finding an apprentice of his own, and not long after he had set his mind about it he found Haldemir, a stooped, wretched, foul beast of a man. He was caught attempting to steal bodies out of one of the local Cemeteries, and Arkayas deemed him worthy enough to be trained properly in the arts of Necromancy. Without a second thought, Arkayas stole him up and brought him before his master's feet, that his master might witness the mortal's oath of servitude to the Vampire. Haldemir, for his part, studied almost constantly to become a better Necromancer. Arkayas was not pleased to admit, even to himself, that his acolyte had possibly surpassed even him in the art of Necromancy.
Now as Etherius descended from his great tower and set his feet on the snow-covered frost strewn across the landscape he willed his eternal host forward, into the nearest inhabited village to spread death and plague, and to grow his undead guard to proportions large enough to fulfill the Great Necromancer's desire. Life would be extinguished under Etherius' cold, lifeless hand. The Night had come.
Where will Etherius strike? Is the undead horde powerful enough to overcome the inhabitants of Kislev? Will part two ever be released? Find out next time!
Ahem... I wrote all this quite a while ago. I've tried working on a part two from time to time, but the words never come. I can't write without inspiration, and even if I tried it would look the suck. Nobody would want to read it.
I have my doubts about anybody reading my fluff here. In general I don't care to read the fluff of others (not due to a superiority complex or anything, I just find it uninteresting in most cases, particularly since many people simply can't write. Myself included, I feel, it's just that I figured some people do like army fluff, and I am told that I am a decent writer. If I don't get any response here I'll move this to the Vampire Counts board. Cool? Bye!
Etherius stood high upon his tower. His gaze first met the Heavens, and descended slowly upon host arrayed well below his bony feet. On his great Obsidian tower he could feel the Winds of Magic blow around him, whipping about his face and, in this place of all, gathering so strongly as to flap his long, jet-black death robe where it caught. A wry smile formed in his thin lips, and his whole face creased at the effort. At silent attention before him stood an armada of the Undead, reanimated by his forceful and everlasting will and all bent to do his bidding. Many long years have passed since first W'Soran himself had bestowed the Blood Kiss upon Etherius, and he could scarcely remember just how long it was. How many centuries could it have been? Etherius, even as he stood now, ages later, could remember the precise events of the day he was given his gift. He had indentured himself to the Priest roughly a decade beforehand, and when he learned the awful truth of the nature of his master... He realized he owed his allegience not to the gods, but to W'Soran himself. Ever since that day he had devoted himself to his master's secret study of magic - Dark magic, in its most corrupted form, Necromancy. Etherius had never been allowed to look upon his master's volumes of the Nine Books of Nagash, but passages were recited to him by W'Soran and Etherius made certain to commit them to memory.
And now here he stood, one of the great masters of undeath, a Vampire. Worshipped as a living god by some of the local sub-human tribes, and with an army of undeath serving his will, Etherius had come to be known as the Nightbringer by some of the locals he 'experimented' on. The Necrarch now tapped into his Spirit Sight, his ability to focus on the world of the dead, and found a suitable cluster of long-dead for his next incantation. With a few words and a wave of his hand, a dozen more Skeletons clawed their way from beneath the soil to join ranks with their fellows. Etherius had decided to begin raising his army a good distance from his own tower - he wanted to have minions buried nearby if he were discovered. He had gathered the dead from all the charnel houses, barrows, battlefields and graveyards within 20 miles of his tower, and deemed it time to unleash his hatred of life upon all the local villages in the desolate corner of Kislev he had settled in. As there was no blood flowing through the ancient Necrarch to warm his body, he did not particularly mind the cold climate - in fact, it did wonders to keep would-be Witch Hunters away, and the few who braved the cold to find him often arrived weakened, frost-bitten and emaciated due to a lack of food present in any of the nearby towns, hardly the condition to kill a Vampire in.
Etherius inhabited his tower with only 2 others - one was his blood-kin, another Vampire by the name of Arkayas. The other was a mortal, a Necromancer who had had the rare opportunity to study with a Vampire, who was known as Haldemir. Etherius had no interest in the mortal, and was not convinced that he would make any decent sort of apprentice. Moreover, he was not keen to weaken himself by offering the Blood Kiss to a weak mortal. Even as a second generation Vampire, he could not escape that curse which afflicted all the masters of undeath. You see, as a Vampire offers his kinship to a mortal, he imbues a small portion of his own blood to that being. He also, however, imbues a portion of his power, and Etherius had already suffered the effects once when he had created Arkayas.
Arkayas was short, thin and bony. His pale complexion and the bluish tint of his skin matched perfectly with his master's, and the robes that adorned him were no more fanciful than the trappings of the dead that he had helped his master to raise. His fangs were long, though, and although he prefered not to drink the blood of Mortals, instead feeding on the Dark Magic that coalesced around the tower, he still felt the thirst inside him from time to time. Etherius had told him, after his madening first week as a Vampire, that the thirst would never fade no matter how long he persevered in undeath. The Necrachs, above all, have no need for the fresh blood of the Living, able to feed upon Dark Magic thanks, no doubt, to their Trueborn's alliegience to the Great Necromancer, Nagash. Long had Arkayas served Etherius the Nightbringer, at least 400 years by his own reckoning, though in fact it was closer now to 500. He had been Etherius' acolyte for another few decades before that, and as Arkayas sickened and his life threatened to escape his body, he was granted the Blood Kiss, the greatest parting gift his master could offer was not to let Arkayas part at all. More recently Arkayas had turned to finding an apprentice of his own, and not long after he had set his mind about it he found Haldemir, a stooped, wretched, foul beast of a man. He was caught attempting to steal bodies out of one of the local Cemeteries, and Arkayas deemed him worthy enough to be trained properly in the arts of Necromancy. Without a second thought, Arkayas stole him up and brought him before his master's feet, that his master might witness the mortal's oath of servitude to the Vampire. Haldemir, for his part, studied almost constantly to become a better Necromancer. Arkayas was not pleased to admit, even to himself, that his acolyte had possibly surpassed even him in the art of Necromancy.
Now as Etherius descended from his great tower and set his feet on the snow-covered frost strewn across the landscape he willed his eternal host forward, into the nearest inhabited village to spread death and plague, and to grow his undead guard to proportions large enough to fulfill the Great Necromancer's desire. Life would be extinguished under Etherius' cold, lifeless hand. The Night had come.
Where will Etherius strike? Is the undead horde powerful enough to overcome the inhabitants of Kislev? Will part two ever be released? Find out next time!
Ahem... I wrote all this quite a while ago. I've tried working on a part two from time to time, but the words never come. I can't write without inspiration, and even if I tried it would look the suck. Nobody would want to read it.
I have my doubts about anybody reading my fluff here. In general I don't care to read the fluff of others (not due to a superiority complex or anything, I just find it uninteresting in most cases, particularly since many people simply can't write. Myself included, I feel, it's just that I figured some people do like army fluff, and I am told that I am a decent writer. If I don't get any response here I'll move this to the Vampire Counts board. Cool? Bye!