Post by Forgotten on Jan 6, 2005 0:43:27 GMT -5
The fist slammed harshly into the boy’s face, sending blood out in a broad arc as the cartilage of his nose shattered, though the boy hardly noticed as he staggered back, falling to the ground. Quickly he dropped the sword he’d been holding and brought his hands up to his face, hoping desperately to staunch the flow of vitae, though he was not given a chance to stop this to any effect, as the wind was stolen from his lungs by a forceful kick centered on his ribs, curling his body, and sending him to the ground once more. He coughed in the absence of words, trying desperately to regain his senses, though the beating continued. “The parry was wrong!” came the voice harshly, alcohol heavy in his blood. A soft whimper slipped past the lips of the boy on the ground, now writhing in his own blood.
In a moment of clarity in the midst of the beating, he turned his attention upwards towards the figure looming over him. It was dark, and the man was a black silhouette against the moonlit backdrop, though he was fuming, kicking a motionless body on the ground before him. But Elladan was no longer there. No, he was outside of the body, drifting slowly away. He hesitated, crouching to pick up the sword, though he thought better of it, turning to move towards the man. “Please stop, Father.” He spoke softly, and was surprised to hear those words come from the body on the ground beside him. But the words were unheeded, and the vicious beast continued a tirade that had deteriorated into a nearly unintelligible string of insults hurled at the boy and his mother. The beating was unfair, and it was not warranted. Elladan hadn’t even hit puberty when he had undergone this beating, and he was showing a tremendous aptitude for the sword. He’d very nearly scored a hit on his father just earlier today, in fact, and yet, here they were, replaying this same scene that happened almost nightly. Elladan was a hell of a swordsman, if he did say so himself, and his body was in incredible shape, especially given his age at the time, but it wasn’t good enough. No, it was never good enough. Tonight was different. He wasn’t sure how.
Unseen, Elladan wandered away from his body and his father, moving towards the house. He looked about him in awe. It had been entirely too long since he’d been here, and he’d never come back here since this evening. No, he wouldn’t allow himself. And yet, here he was once more, drifting noiselessly through this place as his physical form undertook the beating that had defined his life. He moved over to the window he knew his mother watched from, and he looked inside. Yes. There she was, sitting and watching him take a beating, though she wasn’t smiling, as he had often assumed she was. But she was too strong to cry. No, she simply looked on in anguish, though she did nothing to help him. Perhaps she could have made a difference then. It didn’t matter. Consciousness tore him from the window then, though, drawing him back into his body as his father finally abandoned the task of beating him. And why not? The sun was rising. The boy would die soon, anyway.
He was alone, and the sword lie near to him now, covered in the blood he’d lost from the beating. He moved, and a distinct pain coursed through his left arm and right leg. Broken. He drew in a ragged breath, gargling on blood pooled in his mouth, and felt his ribs ache under the strain of his lungs. Probably some broken there, too. Still, he had to move. If he didn’t, he would die. Movement in the corner of his eye. The sun was peeking over the horizon, and rays neared to bite him. Flesh began to sizzle under the sting of the sun, and a thin wisp of smoke trailed from his cheek. There was nowhere to run. No! That wasn’t true. The door to the stables was open. And there was a hand beckoning him. Sizzling in the sun. He crouched, scooping up the broad sword, and began to limp towards the door. The sun rose to smother him, biting and gnawing at his vampiric flesh as it crept higher into the sky. From within, there was almost an audible sound as his mind snapped. He was too wounded, too battered, he couldn’t make it into the stables. He was delirious from the pain, and without being able to concentrate enough to will blood to his leg, he wasn’t moving fast enough. He wasn’t….it was slipping. He crashed to the ground, unconscious. Once more, his mind slid from the husk, as he watched the sun boil his skin.
And then there were hands. Female hands, curling under his arms. His goddess. Pulling him to his feet, and tugging him into the darkness of the stable. Elladan moved around the spectacle, attempting to get a better look at the woman. Grey eyes. No. Not his goddess. His mother! She pulled him into the darkness, then covered him, planting a soft kiss on his forehead and then pulling the covers up to fully conceal him from the sun. And then she left.
* * *
Ellatole sat stark upright in the small bed in the dark hut he’d been using. He had to find her. Quickly he pulled himself from the bed and grabbed the broadsword beside his door, before tugging the wispy robes on over his chiseled frame. He had to get to Castle del GreySeerer. And he wasn’t far from it. His goddess had led him to this place for a reason. One night’s travel, if he pushed it. He set off immediately, and after the door opened, his skin was struck with the nostalgic rays of the fading light of the sun. But he didn’t care. He had a destination.
Hours and miles fell away beneath his steps that night as he traveled, at last arriving at Castle del GreySeerer. His approach was noticed by guards, and the sun was threatening to rise, forcing Ellatole to feel drowsy. He rushed forward quickly, calling to the guards. “Open the door!” He yelled, and they rushed to help him, the doors were opened before him, and only after he slammed into the solid oak of the door he was attempting to open did he realize that the guards had been a hallucination. All the same, it was easy enough to open them. The scent of burning flesh accompanied him as he entered the castle, the flesh from his hands gone, nothing more than bone now. “Cassandra!” he cried, advancing further in the darkness. “Kiss me like you did that one night!” And that was all he had time to say, before drowsiness pulled him into a guest bedroom and forced him onto a bed, before conquering him.
In a moment of clarity in the midst of the beating, he turned his attention upwards towards the figure looming over him. It was dark, and the man was a black silhouette against the moonlit backdrop, though he was fuming, kicking a motionless body on the ground before him. But Elladan was no longer there. No, he was outside of the body, drifting slowly away. He hesitated, crouching to pick up the sword, though he thought better of it, turning to move towards the man. “Please stop, Father.” He spoke softly, and was surprised to hear those words come from the body on the ground beside him. But the words were unheeded, and the vicious beast continued a tirade that had deteriorated into a nearly unintelligible string of insults hurled at the boy and his mother. The beating was unfair, and it was not warranted. Elladan hadn’t even hit puberty when he had undergone this beating, and he was showing a tremendous aptitude for the sword. He’d very nearly scored a hit on his father just earlier today, in fact, and yet, here they were, replaying this same scene that happened almost nightly. Elladan was a hell of a swordsman, if he did say so himself, and his body was in incredible shape, especially given his age at the time, but it wasn’t good enough. No, it was never good enough. Tonight was different. He wasn’t sure how.
Unseen, Elladan wandered away from his body and his father, moving towards the house. He looked about him in awe. It had been entirely too long since he’d been here, and he’d never come back here since this evening. No, he wouldn’t allow himself. And yet, here he was once more, drifting noiselessly through this place as his physical form undertook the beating that had defined his life. He moved over to the window he knew his mother watched from, and he looked inside. Yes. There she was, sitting and watching him take a beating, though she wasn’t smiling, as he had often assumed she was. But she was too strong to cry. No, she simply looked on in anguish, though she did nothing to help him. Perhaps she could have made a difference then. It didn’t matter. Consciousness tore him from the window then, though, drawing him back into his body as his father finally abandoned the task of beating him. And why not? The sun was rising. The boy would die soon, anyway.
He was alone, and the sword lie near to him now, covered in the blood he’d lost from the beating. He moved, and a distinct pain coursed through his left arm and right leg. Broken. He drew in a ragged breath, gargling on blood pooled in his mouth, and felt his ribs ache under the strain of his lungs. Probably some broken there, too. Still, he had to move. If he didn’t, he would die. Movement in the corner of his eye. The sun was peeking over the horizon, and rays neared to bite him. Flesh began to sizzle under the sting of the sun, and a thin wisp of smoke trailed from his cheek. There was nowhere to run. No! That wasn’t true. The door to the stables was open. And there was a hand beckoning him. Sizzling in the sun. He crouched, scooping up the broad sword, and began to limp towards the door. The sun rose to smother him, biting and gnawing at his vampiric flesh as it crept higher into the sky. From within, there was almost an audible sound as his mind snapped. He was too wounded, too battered, he couldn’t make it into the stables. He was delirious from the pain, and without being able to concentrate enough to will blood to his leg, he wasn’t moving fast enough. He wasn’t….it was slipping. He crashed to the ground, unconscious. Once more, his mind slid from the husk, as he watched the sun boil his skin.
And then there were hands. Female hands, curling under his arms. His goddess. Pulling him to his feet, and tugging him into the darkness of the stable. Elladan moved around the spectacle, attempting to get a better look at the woman. Grey eyes. No. Not his goddess. His mother! She pulled him into the darkness, then covered him, planting a soft kiss on his forehead and then pulling the covers up to fully conceal him from the sun. And then she left.
* * *
Ellatole sat stark upright in the small bed in the dark hut he’d been using. He had to find her. Quickly he pulled himself from the bed and grabbed the broadsword beside his door, before tugging the wispy robes on over his chiseled frame. He had to get to Castle del GreySeerer. And he wasn’t far from it. His goddess had led him to this place for a reason. One night’s travel, if he pushed it. He set off immediately, and after the door opened, his skin was struck with the nostalgic rays of the fading light of the sun. But he didn’t care. He had a destination.
Hours and miles fell away beneath his steps that night as he traveled, at last arriving at Castle del GreySeerer. His approach was noticed by guards, and the sun was threatening to rise, forcing Ellatole to feel drowsy. He rushed forward quickly, calling to the guards. “Open the door!” He yelled, and they rushed to help him, the doors were opened before him, and only after he slammed into the solid oak of the door he was attempting to open did he realize that the guards had been a hallucination. All the same, it was easy enough to open them. The scent of burning flesh accompanied him as he entered the castle, the flesh from his hands gone, nothing more than bone now. “Cassandra!” he cried, advancing further in the darkness. “Kiss me like you did that one night!” And that was all he had time to say, before drowsiness pulled him into a guest bedroom and forced him onto a bed, before conquering him.