The Living Ankh

Chapter 2 The Fool part 2

Zenogreth sat before his Father in his study, watching as he perused the various books and writings that were scattered about on his desk. Every so often, a glance up from the older vampire to the younger, an unreadable expression crossing his ruby eyes, a hand sliding through the mid length jet black hair that fell just to the sides of his face before running down the length of his goatee. And then back down to the writings, comparing between parchment written and those in the tomes. This time of the month was always nerve wracking for Zenogreth, and today was no different. Every month there was a new lesson. Well, a lesson in two parts. Practical, and written. He and his Father would spend the first 3 weeks of the month taking forays into the surrounding country, where he was taught how to hunt, how to kill, but most importantly how to respect. Specifically to respect the balance of nature, and power. This month had Zoltarion taking his son to his first visit towards the nesting and rebirthing grounds of the local phoenix tribe. There was a long standing agreement with the head of the tribe, Suzok Pyrhart, that any feathers to be collected would be from willing givers, and in return he and his bloodline would be granted protection from even the hottest of flames that would threaten them.

It was a rare event too, presumably timed perfectly, despite his Father arguing otherwise, as Suzok’s first heir was to be birthed during this visit. It was a magical sight, watching a phoenix hatch, an egg that would appear to be naught more than a charred stone, sat atop the highest peak in the tribal lands, then, just as the sun of the final day of the month set, cracks would weave through the outer shell, a blazing orange glow peeking from below. Then, as the night went on, steam would begin to escape from the cracks, before slowly giving way to tendrils of flame, wrapping around the shell from the outside, as if squeezing it to help shatter the hard outer barrier. This caused more cracks to form, the shell’s integrity began getting weaker and weaker with each passing hour. And then, just as the sun rose on the first day of the new month, it would shatter, a pillar of flame rising to greet the morning sky before expanding as a bird would its wings, stretching across miles on both sides before a resounding call could be heard from the tribal members witnessing the birth.

The flames would then furl inward before spiraling down back into the egg before it shatters, sending shards of charred shell to join the rest, while a chick about the size of man stood, stretching its wings before tottling over to its parents. This one was to be named Zaruzka Pyrhart, and would grow to lead the Pyrhart tribe in keeping with the traditions and bonds brokered between Suzak and Zoltarion. The written portion of the lesson was for Zenogreth to show that not only did he understand the lesson that was shown in the excursion, but how it could be applied in other situations. For this writing, Zenogreth explained that the lesson was not just about the respect for the balance of nature and power, but that by respecting such balance, one could be welcome to an experience that few ever outside of a culture could ever witness. That not only was it important to uphold established alliances, but to further nurture them so that those who would come into power after those who forged them were long gone, could continue in the same vein.

He also wrote about the potential applications of forging an alliance as such with the sirens of the sea, to help the village they fed from stay safer during their trade routes across the sea, both from the sirens themselves, and from other vessels that would do them harm. In return they could ask the villagers to end the quarterly siren hunts for safety and scale. He guessed this is what his Father was so busy pouring over. He was honestly probably working out the logistics of it himself. The anxiety was starting to make him nervous, but he tried his best to keep his composure. One of the earlier lessons he had been taught was that sometimes the one across from you will do anything they can to make you nervous, to lower your guard, to make you squirm. That you mustn't let them get in your head. That while they take their sweet time to reply to you, to engage you, you must act cool headed, confident. The face of calm against one who tries to play mind games will usually undoubtedly turn back against the other, creating an opening for you to strike.

And then, the book was shut, the parchment neatened and straightened. His Father stood and lifted the book, a quick glance at the binding revealed it to be a record of trade routes, as he slid it back into its place among the bookshelf. Zoltarion would sit back down in his seat, resting his head upon bridged hands as his gaze met Zenogreth’s, one of quiet study, the younger of a quiet challenge. The staredown lasted for what felt like an eternity before a raucous laughter erupted from the elder, a sigh of relief escaping Zenogreth’s lips. “Well done my child. You have learned this lesson well! And to think to apply it to the ongoing hardships with the Sirens? Wonderful. You get a passing grade for this month.”

“Thank you Father.” Zenogreth said, standing and bowing before him. Zoltarion stood and wrapped his arms around his boy, glad to see that the lessons were starting to show promise. His son would make quite the negotiator in the future, of that he was sure. Although he couldn’t take the full credit, after all, it was his wife, Morzianne, that also helped the boy learn to think several steps in advance. He shook his head at the thought, with a smile. While he himself was a storm on the battlefield, Morzianne had him dead to rights the moment their fight began, accurately predicting each move like it was a game of chess. It's why he never faulted their daily chess games. But now was the time to meet with his wife and second child, his daughter, to deliver the wonderful news. That he left to his son, after all, the achievement was his to claim. He turned the boy and started walking him out of the study.

It was then that Zenogreth noted something against the wall of the room that wasn’t a part of this memory. A painting, dripping blood, the art upon the canvas? The very same of the Tower card from that night. Zenogreth stopped and stared, his eyes wide. Then, a voice that echoed all around him… “The hands of time march ever forward, never stopping, never retreating, the threads of fate pull ever onward, never severing, never receding. What choices will you make? The answer is clear, but for you, you must find it yourself I fear.” And then it was gone, all of it, just a black void surrounding him. And then the sounds, crashing, like platemail on blade? No, like stone on bone? No, and then again, like bone on wood.

Zenogreth’s eyes shot open, a quickened knocking at his chambers doors. He sat up, gripping the side of his head. “Just a dream…” he thought, nothing more. And still the knocking did not stop. “You may enter.” He spoke, sliding his lower body so it was resting on the edge of the bed, bare feet sinking into the inch of rug that inhabited his floor. With an almost inhuman like swiftness, the door opened and shut, there standing now before it inside the room was an attendant, garbed in an all white robe, intricate twisting lilac designs covering the front and back. The face covered by what appeared to be a porcelain mask, tendrils rising up around it, also in lilac, stretching around the eyes but covering over the mouth, as if a warning not to speak of what went on in the castle. A flat conical hat placed on top completed the ensemble, once again adorned in the same colors.

“I hope you are well rested,” spoke the attendant, “For the Benefactor has now summoned you to the dining hall. Please step forward so that you may be bound and blindfolded as I lead you there.” Zenogreth nodded without thinking and stood without argument or questions. He paused a moment, “I have many questions to ask” raced the thought through his head, but for some reason he couldn’t speak it, it was all he could do to open his mouth without a struggle. He stepped forward as the attendant bound his wrists and ankles, the methods of confinement very much the same from the night before. And then, the blindfold, wrapped around his eyes so as to disrupt his gaze. And thus, was Zenogreth thrust into the shadows of darkness once again.

The attendant checked the bindings and the hold of the blindfold, ensuring that every order bequeathed to them by their lord was met explicitly. “Take hold of my arm, and I will lead you where you need to go.” Zenogreth gave a nod before taking hold of the attendant's arm, letting them lead him out of the room, and once again through the winding maze that was this manor. Zenogreth began to wonder just how big this building really was, but then, a sense of calm came over him, telling him not to worry about it, to just accept it, despite the nagging voice at the back of his head almost screaming to yes, worry about it.

This time he was led into a larger chamber than the one they originated in, the sounds were a bit off, but that was probably more due to the covering than anything else, but the smells. The scents of freshly baked bread, various cheeses, and freshly cooked beef permeated the room, the strength of smell enough to bring any man to hunger. Zenogreth started to walk forward, but he was held firm in place, he went to question why, but the moment his mouth had opened, a gloved hand shot up to cover it, muffling the slightest of sounds that managed to escape. When the hand was lowered, a sigh escaped his lips. It was going to take time for Zenogreth to get used to the strange rules. Little did he know it wouldn’t take much time at all.

Though, it wasn’t long before his stomach started to vocalize the pangs of hunger, he was starting to get antsy waiting around, and then, the attendant started to walk him forward, he heard the click of a door unlocking then swinging open. And then, a gentle yet forceful push inside before the door was locked behind him. Zenogreth sat there a bit confused, but then the wooden clap of a slide being moved. A familiar voice speaking through the slim opening. “You may remove your covering to eat, but not the bindings. Eat and drink everything that is presented.” the voice said, curt in giving the directions, untrustworthy, although that was natural given that he had just arrived last night.

And then, the slide shut, leaving Zenogreth in the dim flickering light of the candelabra that sat upon the right edge of the table. Zenogreth gently lifted the covering from his head, seeing in front of him a full plate, and another glass of that same liquid from the night before. Zenogreth began with the meat and bread, sometimes dipping his bread in the fatty juices that dripped from the beef onto his plate. And the cheese was particularly exquisite, a rich smoked flavor that complimented that of the beef, really a whole ensemble. All that was left was the drink that was meant to act as a preventative measure against the curse of death and decay that surrounded the building. He gingerly lifted his hand, bringing the glass to his lips before quickly downing the whole of the drink with ease. This time though, instead of a deep dream filled slumber, the mixture was already hard at work, pacifying his mind, molding him for what was to come next. Once he was finished, he dutifully slept the covering back over his face, the mixture already working on making his mind that much easier to be bent after 2 doses.

Another clap from the wooden slide, before the gentle click of a door unlocking could be heard, and Zenogreth was led out of the small chamber before being led down a different direction than the one they had entered the room from. Once again he was led through the maze of corridors and stairs, this time they were primarily moving downward through the manor, reaching places where, could they be observed, statues sat, eyes following the pair as they made their way through their direct route to Zenogreth’s next step. The warm scents of home that had confused him this whole time gave way to a more musty scent, as if water was leaking through the eroded cracks in the stone walls. As they moved deeper and deeper, so too did the darkness around them grow, before soon their path was only lit by sparse lanterns that lined the walls of the passageway.

And then, he was stopped, the musty scent mingling with that of a rich mahogany. The attendant once again brought out their key ring, shuffling through the various rods of metal before settling on the one that was necessary to unlock the door in front of them. A soft click could be heard before the creaking of the door swinging inward. Zenogreth almost flinched at the wave of pressure crashing over him while the door slowly crept open. He could almost see the being that resided in the room that had just been opened to him, despite the thick blinding he had covering his eyes. For once in his many years upon this earth, he was frozen in fear. He had no idea what was coming next. And then, a gentle push from the attendant and he took his first step into the room. It took everything he could not to throw up from the intense energies that radiated inside.

He could feel the still hands of the one who had led him down this way, almost as if a lamb to slaughter, before the cuffs minding his wrists and ankles were unlocked and removed, and then, came the blinding. Zenogreth slowly blinked as the room came into his view proper. A large room, with another door matching the mahogany one they had just walked through resided across from him, along the walls were a various assortment of swords. Raiders, greatswords, broadswords, zweihanders. They littered the walls to the room, each in pristine condition. Whoever placed them here obviously took great care of the weapons. Of that there was zero doubt, that did however reside in the man who was sitting cross-legged against the other wall, fiery orange locks pulled back into a short ponytail, almost as if he was waiting on him.

The attendant looked up at him, and even their expression could be felt through their mask. A huge sense of terror and dread emanating from behind the carefully crafted and chosen garments. “Take care, this is Master Azterial. He will be teaching you during the duration of your stay.” His tone was still, collected, but the terror and apprehension weighing within the other’s soul could still be felt, “When you are finished, I will be right outside the door waiting.” To which he wasn’t lying, he had exited the room almost before he had finished speaking before locking it behind him. Zenogreth gaze hovered at the door before turning to the other, approaching him softly before bowing respectfully towards him.

“Good tidings sir Azterial, my name is Zenogreth and I look forward to being under your care for the foreseeable future.” He spoke, his words calm and collected, yet underneath a tempestual storm raged through his heart.

“Ay, I know who ye be.” The other male started, his eyes never leaving the floor. “An’ I know exactly why ye be here.” His gaze lifted to meet Zenogreth’s, the fury could be felt clear across the room in the other’s eyes, before he slowly stood up. He wasn’t as tall as Zenogreth was, but he was stout, muscled, and ready for action. “If ye kannae keep up wit me, ye won’t survive what our Lord has in store fer ye. Now pick yer weapon o’choice, and we shal begin.” Speaking this as he himself reaches behind him and lifts a greatsword with relative ease. Zenogreth swallowed, “Am I meant to fight him?” He thought as he searched around the room, his eyes taking in the various different kinds of swords that this man had collected, his gaze settling on that of a rapier.

Zenogreth lifted it from the wall, almost surprised at the heft that came with it. He began to slowly lift it, utilizing every muscle he possibly could. “Oh, that be my doin. Let me fix that or it ain’t gonna be a fair fight.” As soon as those last few words slipped past Azterial, the rapier in Zenogreth’s hand swung backward at an incredible lightness. After staggering a bit from the sudden weight change, he regained his footing and brought it up in front of him, in the same pre striking pose his Father had taught him, or was it even his Father at all? He did not know, the mind altering substances already starting to weave their way through Zenogreth’s consciousness, adjusting minute memories, altering his perception, molding him.

“Ahh, a rapier eh, we’ll see how you stand against mine greatsword here,” Azterial spoke, his voice hiding a hint of laughter. “Now come, strike me.” The words dripping with over-confidence, a challenge if Zenogreth ever heard one. And then with a smirk, Zenogreth’s body tensed up in preparation of his strike, coiling the muscles in your legs as if they were springs ready to launch him, and then he was gone, propelling himself towards his new sparring partner in the blink of an eye, well if Azterial even did blink, and upon contact, the room echoed with a clanging of steel on steel, the sound reverberating strong enough to wake everyone that would still be slumbering at least 2 floors above them.