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[Arakad]

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The grand Lord Blackthorn's dead, and then again, so am I. But what's left of Blackthorn is rotting in a pine coffin somewhere, while I have the opportunity to sit here on this, the blackthorn castles balcony, enjoy my drink and look at your beautiful face. Correct me if I'm being presumptuous, but I suspect that I have the better end of the deal.

I can tell by looking at you that you're not comprehending. Of course you're not these are cynical, yet irrational times, and you're not going to believe that I'm a dead man walking just because I say so. Decades ago it would have been different well, it was quite different the last time I had this little talk with someone, of course I was a mere servant at that time - serving under my lord, my father, but now this is the age of facts. And the facts are that corpses don't move amongst the social and enjoy gatherings of light and cheer. I'm terribly sorry, my dear, but I have a surprise for you: This corpse does.

So sit down. Please, I insist that you make yourself comfortable. Pour yourself something to drink, preferably from the bottle on the left the stuff on the right is an acquired taste. It's going to be a long evening, and you're going to need a strong drink or two, I assure you, and I get such grand drinks from the Gardens. And, in the next few hours I'm going to explain to you in excruciating detail why everything you think you know about life and death is wrong. In other words, you don't know a blessed thing about the way this world, sosaria, truely works, and I'm going to open your eyes - at least to my point of view.

And I'm afraid, my dear, that you're not going to like what you see.

Before we go any further, allow me to tell you that you're getting an unprecedented opportunity here. I never talk about myself to your kind - or anyone for that matter, and for the most part, not ever. I've spent the last decade wearing a stage curtain to conceal myself from your societies view, to hide the real show for all, but in the end it comes down to one simple fact: I don't want you knowing I'm out there. It's for the same reason the wolf doesn't want the sheep knowing he's around. It makes my work so much easier. And so, for example, though I do indeed posses the sharpened senses and the limited sanity that my father did show.

You're looking pale, my dear. That will never do if we're going to be seen later - allow me to take care of looking pale for both of us. Still, I must admit I'm disappointed that you seem so disturbed by the notion of my being, well what I am. Take a moment and compose yourself, if you can. Truth be told, I'm afraid that's the least of the shocks waiting for you in this life. Please, don't waste time trying to come up with a rational, scientific or alchemic explanation, because there isn't one. It's just what I am. What a few of us survivors are.

A damned and tortured soul, thinking I'm a rumored vampire? are you truly that much of a fool? Sit back down. I said sit. Now watch. Hush, stop screaming. No one will come to rescue you, and no one will call the guards - not in this sealed castle, not in Felucca. Discreet neighbors are a blessing to one in my forgotten condition. It's positively. Victorian the way they ignore anything not directly in front of them.

Now do you believe me? Yes, it is blood in the other decanter; served cold like that, of course, the stuff loses much of its taste, I hear. It awaits another friend of mine, one you will never... live to see. You can try it if you like, but I don't recommend it, no. You're not set up to enjoy such things, at least not as presently configured.

Don't get ahead of yourself guessing my intention, or condition, my dear. If I were going to act according to your beloved cliches, you would be dead right now. I am a predator, after all, and you and your entire species was once my prey.

So, what am I you ask? Perhaps I should enlighten you before we continue. I suppose we should start with the basics. Years ago when my father, yes that's right my father the late Lord Blackthorn, stood up for the unity of all races. But in his futile efforts to confront the undead he was cursed, no I do not know the entire truth of this curse, but in essence he was soon taken over by the being known as Exodus. What of his family you ask? Once he was risen to greater power we were cast out, banished forthwith from the kingdom of Britannia. My mother, now rests within a forgotten cemetery quite near the shrine of compassion you see.

Exodus, ah of course, Exodus. For once the Royal Guard raided the keep my father had held, Exodus left him in the end. Scattered across the heavens as our gem of immortality was. To find a new host. But of course in this godly beings weakend stage it could only take on those of the hosts blood.

Yes, thats right, I was one of the chosen. These markings upon my hand and arms are from the curse of Exodus. Are there more like me? I have seen one other, he was quite insane I assure you. Perhaps that will be my fate as well? Or perhaps I am already there?

There are few other tell-tale physiological sings of my condition. My heart does not beat; My internal organs, by all accounts, have long since atrophied into vestigial husk, but that won't keep me from enjoying a stiff drink with a beautiful woman such as yourself, no it won't.

In layman's terms, I suppose, then I am no longer human. For all intents and purposes, I am simply a heartless drunken cadaver walking around the gardens flirting with the young women such as yourself.

And here you are, poor little mortal, learning how fragile your whole existence is. While the real monsters such as I roam out there.

Are you starting to be afraid yet? You should be.


Do not get me wrong, I am a nice guy. Most of the time. But do not ever forget the beastial presence that the Exodus turned a great man as my father into. The animalistic side is what I have called the creature, in what is, I suspect, an attempt to demonize it by dissociation. Alas, merely giving the monstrous urge a different name is not enough to tame it. In the end the creature always wins, I'm told by those hosts older than me. If one survives long enough, one is forced by one's own nature to do some obscene things. And eventually, one gets acclimated to committing those atrocities and moves on to new ones, and whatever was human in that being dies. When the last bit of humanity in him dies - and once you watch enough friends and, loved ones pass into the dust of ages, it does die, rest assured - then the creature takes over once and for all. The host becomes another being. If you ever reach that stage, the odds are you won't even notice when you get put down like a mad dog by the raiders and shock troops of the Royal Guard.

If your will is strong, and you've got a decent sense of self, you can hold out for decades. I have spoken to a host who is over two decades old. But you are never, never free of the fear that the creature will one night triumph, and that fear is what the creature will use to bring you to bay.

You know I'm starting to feel a bit hungry. Would you care to escort me out? The other option is that I leave you here as prisoner, and I'd prefer not to do that. No doubt you'd try to get inventive and escape, and I'd lose some antiques as you smashed things in the process. You, my dear, a replaceable. My possessions are not. It's that simple.


I am quite glad you decided to come along after all. Lucky, wasn't it, that I had something appropriate for you in the guest bedroom's closet. No, not from a previous lover, if that's what you're worried about; it's just that when the same situations pop up over and over across a dozen lifetimes, you learn to prepare for them. Surely you don't think you're the first woman I've strolled with, however? You are lovely, but don't allow it to go to your head, my dear. It is cold tonight, isn't it? I see you're staring at my breath - yes, it is steaming like yours. That's another use for the host, the ability to blend in with the surroundings. And it's quite useful for disguising myself in the presence of certain "hunters" and other unpleasant souls. You'd be amazed at how many of my kind have met their ends over the recent years because they forgot a tiny detail. The devil is in fact in the details, and he's just as happy to turn on his putative servants as he is on those who think themselves divinely inspired.

In the meantime, this wolf likes to blend in with the flock, yes.

[Lord Estevan Welles]

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*hearing of this rumored heir of Blackthorn Estevan puts pen to paper and jots the following note*

Dearest Arakad,

I know you not, but no doubt you have heard of me. It is unwise for you to claim to be the heir of so great a man as our Lord Blackthorn. I myself am a student of Chaos and of the teachings of Lord Blackthorn, and I know for a fact that you are not who you claim to be.

Did you recieve a mace to the back of your head as a youth? Or did your unwed mother claim Lord Blackthorn as your father to hide your shame as a bastard?

I know not, or care not.

Just know that what you claim is a lie, and I, Estevan, Lord Welles of Britain will hunt you down like the dog that you were born from, and put an end to your deciet and lies.

Reguards,

Estevan, Lord Welles of Britain.
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Estevan, Lord Welles of Britain

[Haydn ab'Arawn]

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in addition to Sir Poet's question.. I was wondering a couple things:

A) Mr. Arakad, is this a story of your origin, because to me it could go either way between that and a story for the tavern..

B) Why, Mr. Elles would you hunt him down if he wasn't Blackthorn's heir? You have no proof of anything, and you even admit it, by disbelieving he is the heir in the first place.


I like the original way in which the story was told, I think, great work! Seems a bit more alternative to what we usually see. I liked it.