Khemrys (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
homeless_pard) wrote2022-01-09 09:50 pm
homeless_pard) wrote2022-01-09 09:50 pm
Entry tags:
Ah, the civilized South
Who: Ulf, his Master, Requiem
When: some 300 years into his immortality.
What: A viking meets a knight.
He dragged a hand up through his hair and sighed, sliding a glance toward his little Lady. "He has a great deal of stamina my wolf," the little girl smiled. How strange that vamps down here enjoyed feeding on other vamps at times but it was a lovely way to remind her vassal of his place. He'd been growing...reluctant. Which was a strange trait in a viking honestly.
Of course she wasn't being useful, he snorted to himself, hand wrapped around a rotting carcass of a creature's throat, "lille dame?" In his mind this strayed too far from what they knew. Force and blood sure, but this lover of corpses...
"Do not offend my new friends, pappa" Not while they ere negotiating what this Council would be.
He sneered, fingers crushing, but it was no use. That bloodline was a cruel thing, giving rotten meat and bone coherency and thought. It was a creature to make a God weep honestly. And it wished to bed him no matter how harsh he fought or how often he tore it o pieces. It was simply inevitable because the little Mistress wished it so.
How many days passed? evading, fighting, and sleeping through the day? And yet whenever he woke, he was still trapped, waiting until this new 'ally' had their way. It wasn't fear but disgust when the deed was done, an unsatisfying meal he was told. But there were more, ever more as this Council formed. Everyone's vassals were making the rounds of feeding during the negotiations. Those that liked being fought, and fed on it. Those that liked seeing others fight, and fed upon it. Those who demanded the loss of the self....those that demanded capitulation...
...the list went on and on as the weeks dragged, until finally he woke in a chamber deep in the stone. "What...?"
"Move slowly," a warm voice suggested. "You have been passed into recovery." There was grim, tired amusement in the tone but...
...it wasn't one he knew. "Who are you?" he growled, trying to sit up. Trying being the operative term, his arms were...skeletal?
Ah, he remembered now. Masters who...ate.
"You'll recover in time. we always do," the voice assured. "My name is Requiem. I belong to Belle."
Belle...had he...ah, yes. Sex and capitulation. Oddly worse than being eaten. "I stand beside my little lady," he ground.
"The child?" Requiem sighed. "Always...dark, those. The turned too young."
"I tried," he meant to growl. He did, but...he knew, deep down, tat he had never stood a chance against the bloodlust.
"We always do," the other admitted. "I swore to her on a battlefield, and she has used my fealty since."
"Fealty?"
"I was a knight...a healer first, but my brother died in the crusades, so I had to stand for my house..." Reqiuem sighed, offering a mug across the distance between them. "It's a clean source, brought in to sate them more than we can." Human blood...
It had been a long time since he'd been offered a mug in camaraderie. He could help taking it and wrapping hands around the cool wood, "ah, for our strength." In these...trials. Gods how he missed mead, but he'd sated himself on blood for so many years now...
"So we can feed those greater," Requiem agreed wryly. "How's your head?"
"...well enough for raiding." He wouldn't win praise for tales told at the moment but he could fight!
"Keep drinking," Req snorted, leaning back against the wall.
"...were we granted a single cup?" His new companion declined to answer. May they all freeze in Helheim. He sipped deeply then grimly passed it back.
Or tried to. Reqiuem held up a hand, blocking it, "you lost chunks this round, friend. You need it to heal."
"And you were a healer," he snorted. Fine, he'd tried. His arms worked better when he couldn't see bone.
"I was," Requiem agreed tiredly. "I think we will see much of each other. We are the...first...to make it long enough to be allowed recovery as they debate."
"The gods weep," he sighed.
"Likely," Requiem agreed. "Very likely. What may I call you?"
What indeed? He stared at his arm a moment, watching flesh reknit itself, then sighed, "Ulf. You can call me Ulf."
When: some 300 years into his immortality.
What: A viking meets a knight.
He dragged a hand up through his hair and sighed, sliding a glance toward his little Lady. "He has a great deal of stamina my wolf," the little girl smiled. How strange that vamps down here enjoyed feeding on other vamps at times but it was a lovely way to remind her vassal of his place. He'd been growing...reluctant. Which was a strange trait in a viking honestly.
Of course she wasn't being useful, he snorted to himself, hand wrapped around a rotting carcass of a creature's throat, "lille dame?" In his mind this strayed too far from what they knew. Force and blood sure, but this lover of corpses...
"Do not offend my new friends, pappa" Not while they ere negotiating what this Council would be.
He sneered, fingers crushing, but it was no use. That bloodline was a cruel thing, giving rotten meat and bone coherency and thought. It was a creature to make a God weep honestly. And it wished to bed him no matter how harsh he fought or how often he tore it o pieces. It was simply inevitable because the little Mistress wished it so.
How many days passed? evading, fighting, and sleeping through the day? And yet whenever he woke, he was still trapped, waiting until this new 'ally' had their way. It wasn't fear but disgust when the deed was done, an unsatisfying meal he was told. But there were more, ever more as this Council formed. Everyone's vassals were making the rounds of feeding during the negotiations. Those that liked being fought, and fed on it. Those that liked seeing others fight, and fed upon it. Those who demanded the loss of the self....those that demanded capitulation...
...the list went on and on as the weeks dragged, until finally he woke in a chamber deep in the stone. "What...?"
"Move slowly," a warm voice suggested. "You have been passed into recovery." There was grim, tired amusement in the tone but...
...it wasn't one he knew. "Who are you?" he growled, trying to sit up. Trying being the operative term, his arms were...skeletal?
Ah, he remembered now. Masters who...ate.
"You'll recover in time. we always do," the voice assured. "My name is Requiem. I belong to Belle."
Belle...had he...ah, yes. Sex and capitulation. Oddly worse than being eaten. "I stand beside my little lady," he ground.
"The child?" Requiem sighed. "Always...dark, those. The turned too young."
"I tried," he meant to growl. He did, but...he knew, deep down, tat he had never stood a chance against the bloodlust.
"We always do," the other admitted. "I swore to her on a battlefield, and she has used my fealty since."
"Fealty?"
"I was a knight...a healer first, but my brother died in the crusades, so I had to stand for my house..." Reqiuem sighed, offering a mug across the distance between them. "It's a clean source, brought in to sate them more than we can." Human blood...
It had been a long time since he'd been offered a mug in camaraderie. He could help taking it and wrapping hands around the cool wood, "ah, for our strength." In these...trials. Gods how he missed mead, but he'd sated himself on blood for so many years now...
"So we can feed those greater," Requiem agreed wryly. "How's your head?"
"...well enough for raiding." He wouldn't win praise for tales told at the moment but he could fight!
"Keep drinking," Req snorted, leaning back against the wall.
"...were we granted a single cup?" His new companion declined to answer. May they all freeze in Helheim. He sipped deeply then grimly passed it back.
Or tried to. Reqiuem held up a hand, blocking it, "you lost chunks this round, friend. You need it to heal."
"And you were a healer," he snorted. Fine, he'd tried. His arms worked better when he couldn't see bone.
"I was," Requiem agreed tiredly. "I think we will see much of each other. We are the...first...to make it long enough to be allowed recovery as they debate."
"The gods weep," he sighed.
"Likely," Requiem agreed. "Very likely. What may I call you?"
What indeed? He stared at his arm a moment, watching flesh reknit itself, then sighed, "Ulf. You can call me Ulf."