Having spent the majority of his remaining blood healing himself so as to be capable of movement, Heldric feels a terrible thirst forming at the back of his throat as he speaks. He feels himself succumbing to the Beast even as he turns to feed his thirst. He hears the old wraith answer him, but the words mean nothing. The archmage says something as well, it sounds like a warning - but warnings be damned. He hungers.
Falling to his knees Heldric takes the woman into his arms and lifts her ruined neck to his lips. He pulls them back, baring his fangs, and let's then sink into her cold flesh.
Pure, unbridled ecstasy. Her blood burns with sorcery and its power guns in his veins, a much more pleasant tingle than the last Tremere. He feels dizzy with pleasure even as he contemplates his own sire's blood - yes, her blood isn't as good as his, he decides, but the sheer quantity that he is given leave to imbibe almost overwhelms him.
He's so unused to taste, after all, that this one instance - where the pleasure is born of godly magic and not physical taste - is a pleasure that could so easily lead him to distraction.
He drains her of her blood. Then he takes more.
The heart ruptures and Heldric begins to claw at the essence of her soul. Immediately as he feeds, he feels alarmed. The heart's blood tests on his tongue and he knows he is outmatched - but it is too late to stop now.
He gains blurs, flashes of her life snapping on and out of his mind - she was the daughter of a roman senator. Her embrace was in 1022 - surprisingly young, and weaker than she might be because of it, for all her potent blood.
She was the first to be embraced after the ritual - wait, what?
The Ritual
The details of the event surge into Heldric's mind.
Yes, The Ritual. The rumours are true, you see, we were not made immortal. We were not given the Curse. We took it.
Heldric sees Epistatia, still a mortal mage, a powerful necromantress with a thousand souls bound to her in chains not unlike the ones Heldric saw wrapped around the old wraith. Many of the souls are those of ghosts she has herself killed, one a rival who she had killed for interfering with her experiments. Her master, Goratrix
A thousand lances of pain drive themselves deep into Heldric's mind at the name
saved her from execution, had her banished from House Tremere. In return, she continued to serve him, bound by no House or it's foolish rules.
I captured those two
Heldric sees Epistatia chaining the two vampirss - he knows them instinctively as Tzimisce - blowing them apart with astounding mortal magics, collecting their bodies for her master.
He went off to the Astral realm then, and he sought guidance. Something there told him what to do - he claims otherwise but I was there. I know.
He whispered poison into Tremere's ears. He and the other six, Meerlinda, Etrius, the Council of Seven and the leader of High House Tremere. They turned each other with poisons my master made from their blood, and they became the first eight Tremere. I was the ninth.
Goratrix
A terrible moan escapes Heldric's lips through his grip on her neck
Turned his eldest apprentice as soon as the ritual was complete.
And she was powerless.
They all were. The turning took away all their powers. Residual enchantments and power kept them alive while they researched their new strengths, the dreaded Thaumaturgy of the clan.
It was weak compared to their old powers. A thousand times weaker, a sad imitation - but better than nothing.
Epistatia, with her thousand chained souls - for she still commanded them all - would capture other magi and bring them before the council to be turned. One of House Tremere's most trusted servants.
Then she was there at the sundering - one chantry had escaped them. One of Tremere's own apprentices headed it, and equal to Etrius and the others, and now their betters in their weakness.
Tremere would have had him turned, but he was too powerful. The council joined together and combined their powers to rip the magicks away from his tower. Her thousand souls were ripped to pieces by his magicks, all but one - a single wraith, her first binding, a gift from her master. The first gargoyle, Tremere's own creation, plucked from the sky, his wings torn from him. Goratrix
Heldric releases Epistatia and reaches up to his ears, clutching his head even as the grip of his fangs tightens
Nearly annihilated in a blast of fire. Etrius striking him down. No chances. No gamble. Had he lived he could have lead to the destruction of the weakened clan.
Octavius, the eighth archmage of House Tremere.
The idle thought comes to Heldric with some surprise - so that's his name. The archmage had never mentionned it before.
He also notes something strange - there seem to be large gaps in her memory - Heldric realizes that she is suffering from a worsening amnesia. He gets the feeling it comes as a result of trauma - the source of feels fairly obvious.
The thought feels like the last he'll have. As he learned Epistatia's story he can tell she learned his as well. The confidence in her voice as she grabs hold of his soul is terrifying.
A delightful little dream, Heldric. You're wrong, however. You've learned secrets that this house would kill for. And from me, you've learned secrets the House would die for.
I wonder who I'll kill first in my new body? Your sire?
Or will it be Brutus, your seneschal?
I suppose we'll
Her voice is silenced.
A new voice enters the fray - no, two.
Damn foolish of you Heldric, I warned you didn't I? She may be young but Epistatia lived a long time as a mortal, and her will is as strong as the chains with which she binds Sicilan here. Did you know Goratrix got it for her? A gift he took from a poor Priest of the Chorus who tried to kill him for being a terribly evil bastard. Tore the man to pieces, though his brother came in and saved him before he could die. Remarkable story there really.
Anyway, just lay back and enjoy. We'll handle the rest of this for you. You've really done enough.
Author
Topic: Into the Mountains - Heldric (Read 74104 times)