“Arise Sir Knight, make your vow and name your quest.â€ÂÂ
I remember. Memories of the past echo through my head.
“By my honour, and for my lord and king, I vow to uphold the strictures of chivalry that bind our fate to this land.â€ÂÂ
Memories of pride and glory.
“In the presence of all, I name my quest. I will defeat the scourge that threatens our lands, the vampiric beast known as Gideon of Blood Keep. May I not rest until he is at rest, and not falter while he still draws breath.â€ÂÂ
Memories of foolishness.
“Your quest is named sir knight, and you are bound by its vow. Feast and be merry this night, for tomorrow you ride to your destiny.â€ÂÂ
A mere knight errant. How could I hope to succeed? No-one tried to stop me, to warn me of the peril. My father... eating and drinking at the high table with his knights. My mother... stooping only to bestow a final kiss upon my cheek. My brother... older than I, he cared not what befall his inferior sibling. My sister... too young and innocent to understand, she was the only one I shed a tear for when it happened, when darkness fell upon my family.
The dawn was cold that morning; I remember that the most. Did anyone come out to see me leave? I don’t know. All I now remember is cold... as if I have forgotten what it is to be warm. I rode all day, I think. Did I ever pause for rest? Or was my goal so urgent that it could not wait one more hour, one more day? The peasant villages that dotted my path; I paid no heed to their names, or to the commoners that looked to me for protection. I didn’t fight for them, much as I’d have tried to tell you at the time; I fought for myself, for my own foolish notions of pride and glory. The desire to become stronger, to prove myself superior to all others... could it be that that was my undoing? That the strict Bretonnian discipline installed from an early age became my downfall? Ironic indeed that my own father’s destruction stemmed from his strict lessons in youth. “A knight seeks strength and glory,†he said, yet when I attained these it was not in a way he would approve. What is glory if not a product of strength? I have strength indeed... does that lead to glory, or have I failed in this?
In time I came to the lair of Gideon. It was the height of the day before I ventured into his lair; though naive I knew of the tales of vampires. Such arrogance, to think I could catch such a foe unawares! We fought of course... and I fell to his blade, yet something made him spare me, and then damn me for eternity. Maybe he was impressed by the way I parried even one of his blows, or maybe he saw a dark taint upon my soul even then. Maybe it was just that I amused him. I never asked, and now I cannot.
When I next awoke, I was slumped over the saddle of my horse. He had bund me to it, sent it home, and the cruelty of his action haunts me even now. The hunger of a new-born is all but insatiable, and I fell upon me home like a carrion crow upon a corpse. The great doors; they had always seemed strong in my youth, and yet they shattered under my onslaught. My father was broken at my feet, my mother also. My brother led the guard in a spirited last defence; I still bear the scars from that. I remember his horror as the end came, as I lifted my helm and showed him his killer. Did I feel remorse? Only for my sister. She was the last to die, alone in that charnel house of my creation. But was she alone? No, I was there; her elder brother cradling her in my arms. My blood-lust had abated for a moment, and I saw for the first time what I had done, what I had become. She could have lived, I knew that. I could have taken her from that place and given her to a new family, a new life. But what life would that be? She had seen her family torn apart from within, slaughtered by one of their own... I could not force those memories upon her. I showed mercy, if mercy you could call it, as I held her close and broke the life from her in an instant. An oak now grows from over her grave, and over those of the rest of my family. I visit them once a year, on the anniversary of that fateful day. The seasons change, kings rise and fall in the blink of an eye, and still I go. 500? 600 years? I forget. My father’s home is now ruined, consumed by the forest where he once hunted, where I still hunt once a year in memory of times past.
Do I ever feel lonely? Always. Immortality is a curse as much as a blessing. All I ever valued withered and died before my eyes, and I know I can never again hold onto the fleeting joys of life. I train... always furthering my skill to levels far beyond a mortal man. After 300 years I fulfilled my vow and slew Gideon, my sire, in honourable combat. Nothing drives me now, save the instinct to survive. Still I fight, still I battle the knights and warriors that pursue me. They underestimate me... YOU underestimated me, and yet now I realise what Gideon saw in me all those years ago. A certain gleam in the eye, the rhythm of the heart; you are not scared of my power, you are excited by it! Deep down you desire it yourself! I was like you once... we are not so different. A dark stain exists on our soul, a certain desire for something more. I should kill you now; I am not naive, there is something in the blood that will ultimately make you turn on your maker as surely as I turned on mine. But when that day comes I will welcome it, the chance for a true struggle against an equal! And if I should die... I die. Would death, true death, release me from this torment of life? Or would my soul be consumed by the fires of chaos, its faintest spark attracting the daemons of the north like moths to a flame. They say death is endless while life is fleeting, but my life is already an eternity, 6 times and more that of any mortal man! In many ways I would welcome death... but I cannot just submit to it, for I am too proud. Too proud to lie down in my grave and submit to the icy touch of death. When death claims me, it will be on the edge of a blade, and I will fight it to the end. See, I did not submit to your attack this day, or to any other across the ages. I struggle as you do now, clinging to life even when I have told you the full extent of the curse I could bestow. You will hate me in times to come, but do not say I never warned you. Remember me as I stand over you now, your body broken at my feet and still begging for your life, and then hate yourself for allowing this to happen... for asking for it to happen. Remember me knight of Bretonnia, remember me to the end of your days...
I remember. Memories of the past echo through my head.
“By my honour, and for my lord and king, I vow to uphold the strictures of chivalry that bind our fate to this land.â€ÂÂ
Memories of pride and glory.
“In the presence of all, I name my quest. I will defeat the scourge that threatens our lands, the vampiric beast known as Gideon of Blood Keep. May I not rest until he is at rest, and not falter while he still draws breath.â€ÂÂ
Memories of foolishness.
“Your quest is named sir knight, and you are bound by its vow. Feast and be merry this night, for tomorrow you ride to your destiny.â€ÂÂ
A mere knight errant. How could I hope to succeed? No-one tried to stop me, to warn me of the peril. My father... eating and drinking at the high table with his knights. My mother... stooping only to bestow a final kiss upon my cheek. My brother... older than I, he cared not what befall his inferior sibling. My sister... too young and innocent to understand, she was the only one I shed a tear for when it happened, when darkness fell upon my family.
The dawn was cold that morning; I remember that the most. Did anyone come out to see me leave? I don’t know. All I now remember is cold... as if I have forgotten what it is to be warm. I rode all day, I think. Did I ever pause for rest? Or was my goal so urgent that it could not wait one more hour, one more day? The peasant villages that dotted my path; I paid no heed to their names, or to the commoners that looked to me for protection. I didn’t fight for them, much as I’d have tried to tell you at the time; I fought for myself, for my own foolish notions of pride and glory. The desire to become stronger, to prove myself superior to all others... could it be that that was my undoing? That the strict Bretonnian discipline installed from an early age became my downfall? Ironic indeed that my own father’s destruction stemmed from his strict lessons in youth. “A knight seeks strength and glory,†he said, yet when I attained these it was not in a way he would approve. What is glory if not a product of strength? I have strength indeed... does that lead to glory, or have I failed in this?
In time I came to the lair of Gideon. It was the height of the day before I ventured into his lair; though naive I knew of the tales of vampires. Such arrogance, to think I could catch such a foe unawares! We fought of course... and I fell to his blade, yet something made him spare me, and then damn me for eternity. Maybe he was impressed by the way I parried even one of his blows, or maybe he saw a dark taint upon my soul even then. Maybe it was just that I amused him. I never asked, and now I cannot.
When I next awoke, I was slumped over the saddle of my horse. He had bund me to it, sent it home, and the cruelty of his action haunts me even now. The hunger of a new-born is all but insatiable, and I fell upon me home like a carrion crow upon a corpse. The great doors; they had always seemed strong in my youth, and yet they shattered under my onslaught. My father was broken at my feet, my mother also. My brother led the guard in a spirited last defence; I still bear the scars from that. I remember his horror as the end came, as I lifted my helm and showed him his killer. Did I feel remorse? Only for my sister. She was the last to die, alone in that charnel house of my creation. But was she alone? No, I was there; her elder brother cradling her in my arms. My blood-lust had abated for a moment, and I saw for the first time what I had done, what I had become. She could have lived, I knew that. I could have taken her from that place and given her to a new family, a new life. But what life would that be? She had seen her family torn apart from within, slaughtered by one of their own... I could not force those memories upon her. I showed mercy, if mercy you could call it, as I held her close and broke the life from her in an instant. An oak now grows from over her grave, and over those of the rest of my family. I visit them once a year, on the anniversary of that fateful day. The seasons change, kings rise and fall in the blink of an eye, and still I go. 500? 600 years? I forget. My father’s home is now ruined, consumed by the forest where he once hunted, where I still hunt once a year in memory of times past.
Do I ever feel lonely? Always. Immortality is a curse as much as a blessing. All I ever valued withered and died before my eyes, and I know I can never again hold onto the fleeting joys of life. I train... always furthering my skill to levels far beyond a mortal man. After 300 years I fulfilled my vow and slew Gideon, my sire, in honourable combat. Nothing drives me now, save the instinct to survive. Still I fight, still I battle the knights and warriors that pursue me. They underestimate me... YOU underestimated me, and yet now I realise what Gideon saw in me all those years ago. A certain gleam in the eye, the rhythm of the heart; you are not scared of my power, you are excited by it! Deep down you desire it yourself! I was like you once... we are not so different. A dark stain exists on our soul, a certain desire for something more. I should kill you now; I am not naive, there is something in the blood that will ultimately make you turn on your maker as surely as I turned on mine. But when that day comes I will welcome it, the chance for a true struggle against an equal! And if I should die... I die. Would death, true death, release me from this torment of life? Or would my soul be consumed by the fires of chaos, its faintest spark attracting the daemons of the north like moths to a flame. They say death is endless while life is fleeting, but my life is already an eternity, 6 times and more that of any mortal man! In many ways I would welcome death... but I cannot just submit to it, for I am too proud. Too proud to lie down in my grave and submit to the icy touch of death. When death claims me, it will be on the edge of a blade, and I will fight it to the end. See, I did not submit to your attack this day, or to any other across the ages. I struggle as you do now, clinging to life even when I have told you the full extent of the curse I could bestow. You will hate me in times to come, but do not say I never warned you. Remember me as I stand over you now, your body broken at my feet and still begging for your life, and then hate yourself for allowing this to happen... for asking for it to happen. Remember me knight of Bretonnia, remember me to the end of your days...
I would most certainly read anything new you wrote!