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Vampinore: V - Emeric

Updated on December 26, 2014
The V's Bite
The V's Bite | Source


My Favorite Parlor Games

Twenty Questions and Wink Murder. One could correlate the routine within the Order has being a combination of the two. Even those far outside our sanctity with exploratory minds and wandering noses couldn't even fathom the control we have upon them. Every question meticulously pre-thought and answered with a greater series of more penetrative questions. The more the fools dig for the truth of it all, the more they dig a deeper hole in the sand. They overexert themselves tearing away at every little grain in their path. Over time some of those grains come rolling back and form another barrier the idiots have to dig through again. Soon, exhausted from attempt, they've dug themselves so deep they cannot escape. Then that sand rolls back in gradually, slowly into their own self-made graves. With the dark doom of death impending, they disappear in their last wink, murdered by their own attempt at infiltrating the secrets of the Order.

A Cold Night for Colder Company

Looking upon the fire which eats away at such sweet smelling bark, I feel as if I stare into a mirror. I see the reflection of my inner beast, waiting to be unleashed and lay waste to the past we keep reliving. The Order’s ways, the Order’s thoughts, are ancient and decrepit as those catacombs. If the evolution we continue to teach is at the heart of our Purpose, then why do we not evolve as such? The time is at this present moment for us to truly rise and be seen in the daylight, all while keeping those, who wish to bring about the Unveiling, from ever being heard from permanently.

Request was quickly made after last night's showing of this interesting figure. Shocked and perturbed I was firstly stricken, but after breaths into recovery, my fascination swelled with thoughts that I could finally meet one of these vampires I've been told. His ancient knowledge combined with my wit and direction, I could rapidly ascend to the top of the Order.

I have many questions for my new friend, more than the twenty of any game. No fear for digging into sand, for I will be climbing a mountain up the safest and most hidden of paths. Why use him as some minor executioner of traitors? He could be a tool, a power, for such greater things.

In my frenzy of fancies, I take a deep, filling sip of . . .

Well Aged Bourbon

". . . for a well aged man," said the recognizable voice behind me.

I turn to my leather leisure chair behind me where a figure, the man, that vampire, sat. In the light of the fire, all I can see is one of my drinking glasses half-filled of my specially imported bourbon being held by the pale hand of the bearer of that voice. I can only say that his vocals are in a tone I've never heard spoken. The dialect is so old, sounding of a mix of tongues from various cultures throughout time - something he must have retained in his travels amidst the centuries. How old is he really? I would have to say at least a thousand, maybe two thousand years old.

"Is this from one of your distilleries?" he asked. He must know quite a bit about me already. I'll have to not act surprised, for someone has old as he must be very knowledgeable and skilled in analytical conversation.

"Indeed it is, Mister . . . ?" I began to inquire

"Congratulations on ascending to your father's throne, but there are some rights you have yet to earn," he said

"Then how will I refer to you?" I asked.

Leaning forward, his face met with the light of the flames. Not even the vibrant yellows, reds, and oranges could color in his white ghoulish face. A standstill of time showed no emotion, but absolute confidence in his eyes. Not once have I ever seen them blink.

"Carrion. Azrael," he said while slowly rising to his feet. "Ankou. Abaddon. Thanatos. Di Yu. Yamaraj. Shimigami. Mors. Anubis. You can choose from any one of those as so many have throughout history. The man that stands before you is the Angel of Death, but unlike folklore, I don't play any games and there's no way you can cheat your way out of your predetermined fate."

I have most certainly given away my taken aback by such a presentation. I take a deep and heavy swallow of the same bourbon. As my throat pushes the burning fuel down my esophagus, squelching any attempts my soul wishes to gasp, the release of the tension around my Adam's Apple creates an amplified sound that disturbs the moment of silence we currently share.

To recover from such a disruption in our conversation, I quickly break a smile out across my face and boast.

"Well, of course, a great man of your stature and embodiment of knowledge does not need a name for he is beyond all earthly titles,” I said. “No demon or deity’s namesake could be put upon you for you have created such thoughts in the fleshy, weak, and broken craniums of your victims by mere presence."

“In the best, the friendliest and simplest relations flattery or praise is necessary, just as grease is necessary to keep wheels turning,” he said.

“Tolstoy,” I replied, recognizing the quote from War and Peace.

“The quotation is true,” he nodded. “But the meaning is a false. I stand as a proof against such ideas.”

He begins to walk about the room, examining various objects I had, all the while, still continuing his thoughts.

“The wheels are not turned by disgusting flattery or by empowering speeches. Wheels turn, as they have since the beginning, and will continue to do so, because all wheels have a purpose. Without the Purpose, this wheel of decimation and calculation would not be here still turning. This wheel will continue to turn until the Purpose has been fulfilled, all without the need of flattery,” he said.

The Purpose

The reason why the Order came to be and what we choose to do now revolves around the Purpose. No one can speak in any tongue of the Purpose, and my attitude is such that keeping quiet of such a thing has made the Order forget about the heart of it. I wonder if my friend here feels the same.

“A wheel like no other, that has not broken down by any kind of debris on the road it travels,” I said smiling and raising my glass in their air to him.

“What do you know of any road that I have traveled?” he stated more than asked, knowing I did not know much of him.

“Simply the reason I have summoned for you,” I said.

“Much like the egotistical, naïve, and incompetent Council member a generation before you, and the one before him, and so forth since as far back as when the first empires of humanity flourished,” he said. “Careful of your curiosity, dear Emeric, for you might not like where the rabbit hole really goes.”

His voice grows deeper and grittier, as if his wit chooses to outmatch mine. He has corralled me into the same group of failures of the past who chose to do nothing with his power except dine in their own decadence.

“But how many of them really came to understand your dedication, your determination, your devotion to the Purpose?” I asked.

“Fleshling! Do you know how long I’ve treaded this planet?” he shouted, barring his fangs that reflected the flicking fire behind me. From there, my eyes focused more on his mouth as he spoken, than on his eyes.

“My dedication? My determination? My devotion?” he continued shouting. “I was there when the Purpose unfolded all those millennia ago! I was the one who did what no other would do! I made the Purpose my own existence! I made myself into this! Without me, you would have all been doomed again!”

Rage burning from his eyes and canines extending further like long surgical blades, he throws his partially-filled glass of bourbon against the wall, smashing it to near dust. Faster than any wind or light could move, I was already pinned down against the floor. The heat of the fire singes the top of my forehead; I was so close to the flames. His icy hand wraps around my neck, holding me down, but not choking me.

More of my senses return and I reach up with both hands, grasping his wrist to try to free myself. My vision restores to his horrible scowl close to my own face. Those terrifying incisors reflect much brighter now, each one almost begging to break through the thin layer of skin near the major veins in my neck. Those eyes, illuminated by the discontent and impatience for my questions, look through my soul for the killing point. Without any further hesitation, I sternly spoke back to him.

“Then why are we still hiding in the shadows, just like the rest of the traitors?” I asked.

All the muscles pulling each part of his dead face into a snarl release their strains; and a perplexing look of hesitation sets within his eyes. This was not a question he was ever asked. Not to lose dominance, he retaliates with his own question.

“Why do you care when you have all the wealth and power in the world?” he asked in that gritty, angry voice.

“The wealth and power is just as much of a lie as the history we have laid down before the people we rule,” I said with what I imagine is a fierce look in my own eyes.

Preconceptions Were Pre-Conceived

He pulls me up to my feet and throws me into my chair as long as it took for me to draw a single breath. I feel very drawn of such breath and my body rushes to gather it all back. Such a moment can take more life out of you more than what you actually live.

Restoring my vision once again, I see the vampire walking over to my liquor cabinet, taking out another glass, and pouring more bourbon into it. He returns and, to my surprise, hands me the glass.

“I have known of many men throughout time,” he said. “And I know quite a bit about you. I know about your legacy. I know about your fortune. I know about your women, or should I say what you do to your women.”

I couldn’t help but unsheathe that sharp smile across my face. I have such a vice that I can’t help but flaunt. Even the Marquis de Sade would have loved to enjoy a cup of tea or two with me for an afternoon of storytelling. In fact, maybe after we adjourn, I can implement some of my vices to top off the evening. I can tell he can read my thoughts right now, and even he knows that as well.

“What I didn’t know was where your true ambitions lie,” he continued. “Are they with the Council? Or are they with the Purpose?”

He moves his way toward the door and starts to leave.

“We will talk again, I can assure you,” he said before closing the door behind him.

Well . . . at least he was courteous enough to fill another glass after spilling my drink. I feel our next conversation will be more illuminating and less Illuminati-ing.



After their first meeting, what do you think will come between Emeric and the Vampire

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