Endgame

Sep. 7th, 2009 02:57 pm
[identity profile] nadriel.livejournal.com
((Apologies, this isn't that good, but I want to get something written whilst it's still fresh in my mind)).

It's not every day you end the world... )

Family

May. 7th, 2009 09:37 pm
[identity profile] nadriel.livejournal.com
Note: Rather than trying to get everything into one larger story, which seems to be eluding me, I'll break it down a bit.

He had a sister. For the last couple of months, since he had made the fateful- and indeed, as his people saw it, bound by Fate, decision, he had been having flashes of...something. It was tied to that which had always stopped him from reaching the truest understanding of his path. Family. One way or another, it had been the aspect around which his existence had revolved. Whether love or hate, his family had always been a part of his existence.

It was not something he would reveal to any priest, nor tell to any gaje. Because it was the one weakness he had never excised from himself.

Is it really a weakness? He thought to himself. When all else abandons you, or fails, in the end, you have family. Is that not a strength you can draw from?

And now I have a sister. The again was unspoken, even in his mind. The one death he felt any guilt for. The anger that had driven him further into his existence, until he had discovered his sire's betrayal, and found a new anger.

And she was in so many ways like Tsura. She would not be told what to do, how to do it. She reigned him in when he was running ahead of himself. She knew of many mysteries, and would not share them.

He had a sister again. And this one would not die by his hands. This one would not die. Let them come, he would show them a Rom's protection of his Pena.
[identity profile] nadriel.livejournal.com
Raging helplessly as the mental blows hammered in, Jack’s eyes slowly closed….

------------------------------------------------


Once again, there were two armies arrayed against each other, and two generals facing each other in combat.

But the distinctions were less clear than originally. The Roman army had some brightly painted caravans dotted throughout it, and the gypsies in their camp wore armour and moved in a far more orderly fashion than previously.

The duel in the center was continuing, but it seemed as though one figure was starting to win. Dressed in a mix of Roman armour and gypsy attire, he hammered upon his opponent- sometimes whittling away with knives, other times chopping and thrusting with a spatha. His opponent had several times been forced to one knee, and was bleeding from a number of wounds- none serious, but they were having a slowing effect.

The standing figure pressed the attack, and it looked like the duel might be coming to a conclusion. Suddenly, he staggered, as if struck from behind, then again and again. Turning, he sought his attacker, but saw nothing. Realising his error, he started to turn back to his kneeling opponent, but too late. His enemies sword came up, and there was a spray of blood as he fell, having in an instant gone from near victory to defeat.

Mithras cleaned and sheathed his sword, and started to stride from the battlefield, as both armies wavered and disappeared, leaving just the two men on an empty field.

As he walked away, a voice from behind him spoke weakly, and he turned back.

“You…have won….”, Jack said, coughing up some blood onto the landscape.

“We always win”, the reply came, with a voice that strengthened even as Jack’s weakened.

Laughing weakly, Jack responded, “But I…came…so close. Not bad, for…a vagabond.”

Mithras said nothing, but merely waited.

Drawing himself together a little, Jack continued, “I will not contest you my power, built on that I took from you”, he coughed some more blood, then continued, “it was won as fairly as I won mine. And besides…you’ll need it for what we both know...is coming. And there is one more reason…that you should have it all…”

His energy seeming to flag, he sank to his knees, and clutched his wound, as blood trickled between his fingers. He seemed somehow more insubstantial now, fading as the armies had.

Mithras turned to leave once more, and then stopped once again, as he saw something out of the corner of his eye.
Jack had stood up, and there was a slight smile upon his face as he faded.

“That last reason…?”

And he said five words, then disappeared.

------------------------------------------------

Mithras opened his eyes, expressionlessly regarding the scene before him, as Jack’s last words echoed in his mind.


“The wound was not mortal…”
[identity profile] richardiii.livejournal.com
So in Year Two, Nikki went on a bit of an "Working Holiday" shall we say with Jack. During which time, his sire apparently decided to pay him a little visit. So yeah, decided I should wrie a little story about what happened there.

This is why its always good to have a methusla like Jack around when you decide to put a 5 point enemy on your character sheet...

Read more... )
[identity profile] nadriel.livejournal.com
Here we go. The long-awaited origin of what has become my most complex character.

I'm not happy with all of this, particularly the ending, which I think needs more work. But I'd at least like to get this rough draft out there, particularly as it's relevant to some of my first year plans.

Watch out, this is the longest piece of fiction I've ever written )
[identity profile] nadriel.livejournal.com
Matthew hurried back to where his master waited. He had considered everything and come to a decision. His lord would be proud of his decision, he was sure.

When he arrived at the desolate house that his master currently inhabited, he saw him looking at an image of something- it looked like one of those brainstorming session charts that some people used to do plans. As Matthew approached, Jack waved a hand and the image disappeared. Matthew suppressed a surge of envy- soon, such power would be within his grasp.

"So, you have made your decision, then". It was not a question.

"Yes, master. I will become your childe, and show the world my power."

"I see. A pity", said Jack, without any emotion.

Matthew tried to speak, to ask what his master meant. But suddenly, he found he could not draw breath. Focussing his will, he called upon the powers that he had already learnt at his master's feet, and for a few seconds, air moved through his lungs again.

"But why?", he gasped out, as his lungs once again seemed to stop working.

"I would tell you to ask my sire...except I devoured him over 200 years ago", Jack replied.

As the blackness at the edge of his vision slowly expanded to fill his sight, and the buzzing in his ears grew louder, he reflected bitterly that, in the end, nothing had really changed...
[identity profile] nadriel.livejournal.com
Matthew hurried through the streets of south London to where he knew his master waited. Inside, he felt the fear that he no longer showed to anyone but him. To do otherwise would be weakness, and his master punished weakness harshly in those who served him.

He stopped suddenly, as he arrived at the house. He recognised this place. It was where he had taken his first true act on the path he now followed. It was where he had killed them all. It appeared deserted. But he knew that was, like so much involving his master, another illusion. Steeling himself, he pushed open the door, and went in.

Normally, he knew exactly what his master wanted, but tonight he felt bereft of direction. That could only be deliberate. Which meant it was time for another test. He both dreaded and looked forward to these. The fear of failure warred with the fact that he knew that such tests always preceeded the teaching of some knew skill, or more insight into the philosophy that had raised him from his base origins.

And there he was, sitting on the same sofa that Tristian had been "holding court" from when he died. But the difference between Tristian and the monster before him was like the difference between night and day. The presence of his master filled the room, and for a moment, the battered, decrepit living room seemed to be transformed into the court of a mighty lord of times gone by.

Then the moment passed, and it was simply Matthew and his master, the one who had taken the name Jack, and made it his own. He entered the room, and dropped to one knee. It felt right, somehow.

"I am here, my Lord".

His master contemplated him for a while, as if waiting for him to speak. But he did not. He had learned that lesson very early on.

Eventually, Jack spoke, his body like a statue, with none of the incidental body language he displayed for public consumption.

"It is time for you to be tested once more. And this may well be the last test I give you. We will see if you have learnt both the truth of power, and the truth of illusion. And we will see if you have learnt the truth of the me that I have shown you."

"Once, some time ago, I offered you a choice- to take power, or be crushed by it. You chose power, and have continued to do so since. You have performed your assigned tasks with more than adequate ability."

"So now, I offer you a choice once again. You have learned the ways of power and control. You are no longer the worm you were when I found you. And you have pierced the veil of morality that most cloak themselves in, and seen that it, like so many other things, is just another illusion."

"I have crafted my finest illusions, out of both truth and lies, and bound both my enemies and allies in them. My enemies blunder around, plotting and fighting against illusions of me, congratulating themselves on seeing through my lies, not realising there are more beneath. As to my allies...well, they will find, should they ever be ready, that the Sword of Caine is far sharper than they realised. And so enough with London for now. I will not be constrained. I will not be contained. And it is time to begin the next stage. Which is where you come in."

Matthew still waited, knowing that more was to come.

"I offer you the choice of where you go from here. In one month's time, I will enact the final piece of my plan here in London. At that time, you can be one of three things:

The first choice; I can offer you the Embrace, as my childe- power and potential undreamed of by mortals.

Or, I can offer you the Embrace, but as one of my great-grandchilder.

Finally, you can continue as you are, gradually gaining power, but limited by your state, and ultimately reliant upon me.

The choice is yours, but be warned: One choice will result in your destruction, and one will forever bar you from a significant place in what I am building.

You have one month to think about your answer, as you go about your normal business for me. Now go."

Without a word, Matthew turned and left.

One month to go- what answer should he give...?
[identity profile] nadriel.livejournal.com
Inside his room in the haven, a figure looked at the image he had conjured. Once this would have been a great effort, but now it was simplicity itself, and the visual aid helped him plan.
Dotted across the north side of the board he had created were figurines, reminiscent of chess pieces. Some of them were marked with symbols, and some also had a little ring of chains around them.

He contemplated the image as he thought. Had he done enough to proceed to the second stage, or must he risk another foray into the court proper? He spent some time, calculating risks and rewards with a precision that wouold have surprised most of those who thought they knew him.

Pausing, he picked up one of the pawns, a fine crystal piece draped liberally in chains. He turned it over in his hand, as if considering making a move, then returned it to the board. He must be patient. Too much, too quickly and he risked them acting before he was fully prepared.

Dismissing the image, he leaned back in his chair. Yes, he had enough to proceed to the next stage. Enough pieces were in place- less than he might have hoped, but more than enough for his needs.

He could see the pattern unfolding in front of him, and the possible break points as it extended. One had been neutralised already, though he didn't realise it. Another would move too slowly, and was already prepared for. There were many unknowns, and he had learnt the lessons of his own stolen power- even the weakest can be a threat in the right circumstances.

He would get one unopposed chance to enact his immediate plans, and he would have to make the most of it. After that, they would realise the threat he truly was, and act accordingly.

He stood up, thinking of the old nursery rhyme his people had made about him. Mentally, he editted it a little as he walked out of the room and headed to the library for his night's study.

"The hour is late now, the sky is black. And nothing you can do will save you from Jack"
[identity profile] nadriel.livejournal.com
Fairly crap piece of fiction, but it was sitting in my head, more or less, so I decided to get it out onto "paper".

Read more... )
[identity profile] nadriel.livejournal.com
...but if it had, it would have gone something like this.



An outside observer would have seen a group of brightly painted wagons circled in the middle of a great plain. The vegetation is sparse and twisted. This is not a nice place. At a distance surrounding the caravans is an army, with the banner of the 9th. Dressed in Roman armour, they wait in readiness.

Finally, from the soldiers comes a figure. Regal, imperial, this is one who is born to rule, one who is worshipped. His poise is perfect, his carriage without flaw. He strides with absolute confidence towards the caravans.

From the center of those caravans, a second figure emerges. Dressed in gaudy, flamboyant clothing, his insouciant approach reeks of mockery- of the army, of his enemy, of even himself and all that gave birth to him. But beneath that, he too walks witha sense of confidence that radiates from him.

They end up, paces between them, facing each other.

The first speaks:

Who are you who bars Us from Our Throne?

"Me? I'm Jack. Nothing more, but never anything less..."

You are nothing. We will crush you as We have crushed all who opposed us. We are Ancient, nothing will stand in Our way.

The second figure laughs, "Ancient? You arrogant gaje bastard. I am of the Blood. I may hate that which spawned me with almost as much passion as I hate you and what you stand for, but I will never deny the power of my birthright. I have been called a thieving gypsy many times in my existence, and none of them realised either what they were insulting. So come at me, God-King of a long gone day. I am Rom, I will still your voice as it crosses your lips, steal your power as it flows through my veins, and spit on your grave as I steal your very soul."
[identity profile] nadriel.livejournal.com
Well, my muse popped back from holidays to say hello, so here we have some of my mediocre work again. I may try and tidy it up at some point.

Cut because it's quite long )

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