Gather round kiddies, let me tell you the story of magic, adventure and love. Tis the story of the young Pierre LeGrande. Long time ago his father had the only thought of even a modicum of intellect, he fell to his son's persuasions of being sent off far away to be educated in the halls of the highest learning. Thus the young of merely a decade of winters beneath his belt set off into the far lands of Prague. The young man had an impeccably bright mind and he took to his learnings with a fervor that quickly earned him respect from peers and... well... other people. For you see, his time he spent with two pursuits. He saw the pursuit of knowledge as the ladder to power. This ladder he climbed two rungs at a time. The second of the pursuits was that of endless orgies and drinking till the sun comes up. For years this continued, he won accolade after accolade and eventually he warranted a meeting with a most curious man. During a particular impassioned orgy he met a man from St Petersburg who opened his eyes to a whole other world.
Several years later there was a tinge of sinister to his grin as returned home. He came dressed in foreign finery, each ring a gift, a reward of achievement. Over his chest hung an equal sided cross that shone with power to the eyes of the seeing. Behind that sly smile of his was the promise of immortality, if only he could find the piece. There was, quite naturally, a dilemma. What he needed was power but to get that power he needed his lovely little daddy dead. But how, oh how was he to do it without causing suspicion? Oh well, maybe it would just be better to marry someone with a big dowry nearby and do it the slow way.
But what is this? Just as our hero settles down to the long and tedious approach strangers appear at the gates. MWAHAHAHAHA. On the way here they are beset by bandits, perfect. At every step all our hero has to do is emphasize the complete and utter incompetence of his lovable pappy. As dinner is served the lady of the lands next to his joined them, she brought with her the intended bride for him. She was so eager to sell her little daughter it was almost pathetic. It mattered little to him, Fleur was ten years of age, a perfectly marriageable age and she did have a mountainous dowry. Her mind would be broken easily enough, that he was sure of. He’d have himself an obedient little servant whilst he enjoyed his passions with more… open-minded women. Then, this pretty little number caught his attention. She had a whip as sharp as a knife and a mind that hasn’t been cleaned for many a year, tasty. She would do quite nicely as entertainment and escape from the dreadfully innocent Fleur. Now, for the task at hand. The little sheep with their swords and crosses already looked to him as the competent one, after all. He was the best swords man in the land and quite willing to go into combat at their side. When time was right a little coin left his bursting purse and some shadowy figures struck, aiming their stabby little daggers at daddy’s throat. Our hero fought hard, he screamed and wept for his father. The fucker survived, a temporary setback. He mourned and cared for daddy, eventually the little sheep with their swords and their crosses begged him to take power. With a gusto he did. Harsh yet in mourning over his daddy, and caring so deeply for his land that he got not a speck of sleep that night. Instead, he walked the lands and saw what trouble his people were in. At least that is what he told the others. In actuality, some of the witches in the region were really quite pretty and no one is as kinky as those devil-worshipping little nymphs, all one has to do is overlook the warts.
The next day his purse got lighter yet. Nothing like some Viking muscle to put some fear much needed fear into the land. Everything was set, all he needed to do was wait for the Fleur de Lis to surface and then immortality would be his. But an arrow, sent from the darkest shades of evil struck him from behind, piercing deep into his heart. The tasty little thing called Alys proved more than just a distraction. She was a thief, a rogue, a master of puppets. She took his heart and made him quake at the knees in fear that she would reject him. He thought that she was power hungry and would marry him if he proved to her that with him she would get the most benefit. What did he care if she only wanted him for his money and power? A mind as sharp as hers combined with that of his would make an invincible force. He arranged a ‘surprise’ ceremony, he cared little for whether his parents would approve. To his great annoyance the damned confessions held back the ceremony time and time again. How much could those nuns have done between two confessions? Now kiddies, lets take a moment to sit back and let our imaginations run free… Ok? Whew, back to the story now. As time passed daddy caught on. He picked up on the marriage, that damned loudmouth cook it must have been, and became all red and ruffled. HAH! Daddy? Thinking his opinion mattered? Our hero ran circles around him, he could have cast a simple spell without blinking but hardly had the need. His lady had intellect, she had willpower, she by far outweighed any weight in gold. All he had to do was tell the truth, garnished with lots of lies of which he was a master. Within moments daddy was quiet ecstatic at the prospect of having a daughter of Alys.
The wedding finally arrived. It was beautiful. The chapel, transformed. The wait for worth it, that was without a question. He could hardly hold himself still as the preacher preached his preachy preachings. A kiss sealed their love, forever. The two lovers only barely held themselves back from rushing to their quarters. The world heard the passion of their love and smiled serenely, they agreed with the world about the beauty of their love, they agreed quite profusely. The newlyweds where madly in love. They did not care about the outside world, all they wanted was to hold each other. But duty weighed against them. For the seat at the head of the manor was still in need of taking and Pierre had only so much patience.
As time was ticking over so where the plans in his head. He could not bear proceed before he made sure that his beloved was safe. The only way he could do that was to reveal himself to her, but there were dangers inherent in that action. What if she rejected his black heart? He could not imagine what he would do if she turned her back on him. So he decided to set a test. He cast a mighty spell. It drew his beloved to bed, then into the lands of nod which to him were clay to play with. He let her own mind show to her how false and empty the holy lord was. He showed to her the promises of Lucifer. He gave her the choice. Turn left and walk into the chapel and be with your lord or turn right and cross the bridge forever, where he awaited hid from all sight. She took out the dagger she concealed within her sleeve and plunged it deep into his heart. He screamed and wailed. “WHY?” How could she do this to him? How could he live without his beloved? His black heart twisted and tore at itself. She tricked him. She played him. She would learn what it meant to torture a man like him. He hid his pain and absence by a fabrication of an encounter with the witches. The sat there, holding each other. Each gesture of affection drove a fresh, serrated blade into his heart. All he needed was the time to gather his power! His assassin was already briefed and waiting. Cultists became the perfect distraction. The fighters were gone whilst his ghouls attacked. Whilst his ghouls attacked his assassin struck. When his assassin disappeared into the night the ghouls ate the evidence. The bastard was beyond any healing prowess. He raised in voice to rally the survivors but they were all too preoccupied with their own leaders and fears. His patience was at an end. He stormed away. When the young lord came back, fire filled his eyes and his dead puppets trailed his steps. Power flowed through his blood. With a single kick he broke down their pathetic barricades and send a storm of death against the weaklings. His assassin achieved the real mission. At the back of the combat the witches chanted, in the middle the traitorous lady. He joined her. The fool standing in his way suffered greatly. His screeching voice echoed above the sounds of slaughter. He cursed her! He cursed her body to feel the pain that stabbed into his heart. By the power of the witches they disappeared. He was back in his lair. He let the witches deal with the black hearted wretch. But no kiddies, it would not be that easy for our hero. For the witches failed. The enemy mounted an attack and rescued his beloved. Another night he would have no sleep for he threw himself against the walls of their magic. He needed her. He needed to know WHY! He wailed and he despaired but the sun arose and his master called him back.
He failed. He failed to gain the fleur de lis. He lost his wife. He lost his child. Now the Order of St Wolfgangs was coming for his master. His master was angry at him. It was a very bad thing to have an ancient vampire angry at him. Many of the order died before his master left with his wife, leaving him to destroy the order and attain the fleur de lis. But they had his wife. Those monsters held a blade to her throat. She betrayed him but he loved her. She looked at him, with those sad, beautiful eyes and reached out to him. He broke down. He ordered the rest of the vampires to stand down. Eventually, he surrendered. They had him overpowered. He was going to be dead either way, at least this way he would hold his wife in his arms one last time. They released her into his arms and his world was broken once again. He was so, so very tired. She told him his mistake. For the chapel she chose out of her love for him, that was the symbol of their love. A mistake and an undying, burning love was doomed. The Order won. The released the spirits that his master held trapped. Their love was sent free. Whilst his love was chained. The father, the same bastard who married them held their lives in his hand. With one hand he crushed Pierre LeGrande. Our doomed hero would never see his wife again. He turned away. So very fucking tired. Nothing mattered anymore. He would die soon, very soon. His master would destroy him. Yet, he could not make that last action of spite against the Order for it would mean pain for his wife and that he could not fathom doing. He cast his final spell. With his own hand he snapped his frail little neck, sending himself into eternal damnation. He loved her. He held her. He conceived their child. Without her there was no life. Thus, little kiddies, let you be warned. Love consumes. But misunderstandings are the path to destruction.
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drunk
contemplative
exhausted
accomplished
amused
artistic
bouncy