Monday, April 30, 2012

Like a Genii In a Bottle...... a vampirina's prison

I felt completely alone. The master was gone. The dominee was ashes. And do you know what they did with those ashes? They carefully swept them up, baked them into little hard cakes and fed them to the dogs. Certain factions felt it made them better trackers. But what it truly did was imbue them with a very potent touch of life-eater magic. Witness the birth of the real Children of The Night. Our eternal enemy, The Brotherhood of Saint Shamus of Castle Mara uses dogs like that to this day. You hear them howl. You hear them cry. The packs are in the city. They're back. They're here....... 'Baker man, baker man, bake 'em in a pan. Pour in the ashes and shape it with your hand. One for the monk. And one for the hound who runs through the streets and tears through the town'....... Ever hear that? Ever hear the old children's rhyme? Not that they knew where it came from.... But we do.... Life-eaters, I mean. And now, I suppose, you do to.

Someone seated by the quarter scale Rodin casting, The Kiss, I believe it was, wanted to know if it was safe to walk home when this...event... was all over. Marianne said she did not know. Roland, who was back from his own little promenade, just chuckled. Most of the mortals present thought cab rides would be prudent.

And then she told them more. Marianne said - One night I heard footsteps out in the passage way. But it wasn't feeding time. I couldn't hear the pathetic crying. They seemed to be running. And there seemed to be a lot of them. Finally a pounding on the door. Why they did that, I don't know. It's not as if I could open it. Perhaps it was meant to scare me?.... And it did. I curled up into a ball and lay on the greasy, leaden floor. Someone searched for the right key. I could hear it. It was almost like chimes. Then they thrust it into the ancient lock, jiggled it around and cursed, since it would not open, but finally it did, shrieking like a banshee all the way. No one said a word. A few acolytes held small, sputtering candles, throwing weak, orange shadows onto the frightening scene. Two men, I suppose they were religious officiates of some type, held out the leaden coat of mail. I put it  on and followed them down the near endless passageway toward a small door opening onto the large  courtyard. The chalk-white moon, shining through the fine, filaments of a vampire-proof sky-cloth made me blink. 

But there was no stake. There was no wood. And aside from my retinue, the cold, black space was empty. At first, I could not see it, for it matched the dull, lead panels all around us. Does lead attract lightning? I wonder. Then, after perhaps seven score heartbeats, it shimmered into existence and caught my eye... a small chest, wrought of that same, loathsome metal. They removed the coat of mail and made me get inside, forcing me to hug my knees and bow my head, before slamming the lid and locking it tight. I could hear a blacksmith come out and reinforce the exterior with thick, iron bands. After that, he sealed it shut with molten metal. I could smell it. I could feel the heat. I couldn't move. I couldn't escape, breathing in the same air over and over and over..... But that was just a habit. The oxygen, or lack of it, meant nothing to me.

Then they hoisted my tiny prison up onto some sort of horse drawn conveyance, cracked a whip and sped off threw the gate..... Finally, after a time, I began to hear the sound of crashing waves .......

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~< M >~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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