TIMESTAMP: 7th of Sun’s Zenith year 118
NOTES: For Vitalis request; part 1 of 4.
NOTES: For Vitalis request; part 1 of 4.
► Show Spoiler
- - -
- - -
- - -
Having grown up within the Cult of Mending, the apothecary's son knew little else. His parents, while not the most zealous of members, were nonetheless devoted to the cult's core tenants. As a young boy, he always held great admiration for those who bore the rune of Vitalis. Many of them held high ranks within the cult, but it wasn't the social power that drew him. No, it was entirely the magic itself. The ability to manipulate life's crimson essence, to alter, destroy or heal with it greatly fascinated him from a perplexingly young age. Vitalitasi could do captivatingly beautiful and terrifying things. As he grew, this fascination turned into an obsession. While he was dutiful in his studies of Summoning, herbalism and the various applications of plants, nothing caught his attention quite like Vitalis did.
It was common for him to seek out those who possessed the rune in order to see them at work with their magic. Hector would often ask to shadow them if it were possible; otherwise, he'd simply ask for myriad demonstrations. Although he lacked the mark himself, by his early teenage years he had a pretty strong understanding of the magic's skills and many applications from observation, experimentation and the plethora of questions he pelted the practitioners with. He desperately wanted the mark for himself, but he didn't exactly know what the process was to get it. As far as the young elf could tell, the Cult gave it out as they saw fit– their reasoning often being lost on him.
Hector thought, then, that perhaps his devotion to learning about the craft would help. He would even offer up his own body to these sanguine mages to experiment or practice their skills on, regardless of how painful this sometimes was. His parents allowed the vampyres to essentially torture their son because they, too, found the magic to be magnificent and beautiful– why would they deny their boy hands on experience if he couldn't cast himself? Plus, maybe one of the mages would end up liking the boy enough to vouch for him in regards to getting the mark.
There was that, but it also allowed Hector to discover his unusual endurance and tenacity. While the mages were careful to not outright kill the young elf, they were not particularly gentle with their handling of him. Body sundered, flesh torn, bones broken, tissues altered and bled deep…all of this the ever curious herbalist took with bright, curious enthusiasm reflected back from lavender eyes. Some of these mages noticed the composure he maintained and pushed him, testing his limits. Sometimes, he'd end up teetering on life's brink. Despite this, the boy would always come back when healed, ever eager to learn more. For better or worse, he remained deeply oblivious to the ways this continued trauma was affecting him mentally over the course of his childhood.
A few months after Hector turned sixteen, one of the mages who had taken a stronger mentorship role over the boy, one of the younger vampyres, came to him. While the sun brightly crowned the sky above Zaichaer, the young botanist was out in his family's garden. With deft hands and quick movements, he stood lost in thought while he picked the weeds from a bed of medicinal herbs. Oblivious, he didn't hear the sound of his house's back door open and click shut nor did he notice the footfalls that approached him.
When the vampyre placed a hand on the elf's shoulder, his body jolted and muscles tensed, freezing up alongside a startled gasp. As he turned his head to look, the other man spoke.
"Apologies for scaring you…always lost in your own head, you are," he delivered his words with soft laughter and a gentle smile, ignoring the confused expression now donning Hector's features.
With a slight cant to his head, the boy replied, “Vergil…? Why are you here?”
"The Cult of Mending wishes to extend to you a gift, Hector…something we all know you'll covet dearly," as the older man talked, the confusion on the boy's face shifted quickly to excitement, lavender eyes glinting brightly in Searing's radiant sun. "I come to offer you the rune that's always captivated you: Vitalis. Should you acce–" before he could finish his sentence, the teenager embraced him.
Looking up at his mentor with pure joy drawn over his features, "Really!? You don't even have to ask– my acceptance is implied!" After this exclamation, he let the older man go and stepped back, although he looked no less enthused. Hector's nearly palpable elation warmed the heart of the older vampyre, obvious in the affection within both his voice and expression.
"Of course…I figured you'd say that. Lest you wonder, I'll initiate and watch over your transformation to make it as…comfortable…as possible." The smooth silk of the man's voice wrinkled around the word 'comfortable' but was otherwise warm and reassuring.
Hector's smile widened at the other man's words.
"Oh-? Well…when can we start, then? I imagine now would be wishful thinking, but…" his words flowed quickly, excitedly, trailing with the smallest pinch of hope at the end. Alas, he would have to wait.
"No, not today." The words came along with a soft, sympathetic shake of his head. "Now that I have your 'yes' I need to take care of some logistics, but before you worry, it'll happen soon…plus, your parents must be consulted with as well."
At the mention of his parents, the young man merely rolled his eyes. As impatient as he was, though, Hector wasn't about to argue– he was finally going to get his coveted rune, after all.
Vergil was true to his word– it only took a few days for him to talk it out with the boy’s parents and those involved with granting permission for the rune in the first place. Once a location was decided– the basement of Hector’s family home– a date was set. On the 7th of Sun’s Zenith year 118, Hector would get the rune of Vitalis.
In the dim electric light of the cellar, the vampyre and his young protege sat across from one another. Hector politely requested his parents not watch this process, much as they wanted to sit in to ensure their son’s safety. However, in light of the fact that there was really nothing they could do to help, they relented to the boy’s wish. Frankly, he'd rather Vergil not see him literally rot and purge his own body, either, but that was asking too much; his mentor wasn't about to add the extra risk of leaving him alone. The fledgling cultist was well aware of the risks of what he was about to undergo, after all, he’d heard the stories of it his entire life and then he’d been essentially beat over the head with the information once more over the past several days to make sure he understood the severity of this initiation. He and everyone around him considered the young elf to be ready– but was he?
“Are you sure you want to let me decide on the rune’s appearance and the location thereof?” Vergil has asked this question more than once each day the two have seen one another since he’d extended the offer to Hector, but the young elf’s answer always remained the same.
“Yes, I’d…like to carry some part of you with me since you’re the one giving me this gift. I’ve told you this a hundred times; I’m not about to change my mind now! Surprise me.” He spoke with both bubbly excitement and open admiration for his mentor.
With that settled, all that was left to do was for the two to begin.
As the vampyre carved the rune into the bare skin of the botanist’s torso, his breath caught. Not because of any pain, no– the realization of the finality of his decision was setting in. As the symbol being inscribed atop his solar plexus neared its completion, all he could hear was the pounding beat of his heart, the rush of his own blood through his body. And when he exhaled, the end of his short life as he knew it began.
The first thing he noticed was an immediate uptick of his heart rate and body temperature. Then, an aching pain began to swell and radiate outward from the rune drawn on his chest. He grit his teeth, clenching his fists as the pain became splintered, becoming sharper and brighter as its outward expansion marched onwards.
Vergil cupped the young man’s face in his hands and said, “You’ll succeed, I have full faith in you, Hector.” A tone warmed with a caring reassurance, it emboldened the boy’s spirit.
Before his mentor let go of his head, Hector felt aether pulse against his skin– a spell? Unknown to him, Vergil had used Pheromancy to temper his perception of pain and stem the creeping ruby tide of thereof that was beginning to roll through the entirety of his upper body.
Continue Reading: The Color of Rebirth II
It was common for him to seek out those who possessed the rune in order to see them at work with their magic. Hector would often ask to shadow them if it were possible; otherwise, he'd simply ask for myriad demonstrations. Although he lacked the mark himself, by his early teenage years he had a pretty strong understanding of the magic's skills and many applications from observation, experimentation and the plethora of questions he pelted the practitioners with. He desperately wanted the mark for himself, but he didn't exactly know what the process was to get it. As far as the young elf could tell, the Cult gave it out as they saw fit– their reasoning often being lost on him.
Hector thought, then, that perhaps his devotion to learning about the craft would help. He would even offer up his own body to these sanguine mages to experiment or practice their skills on, regardless of how painful this sometimes was. His parents allowed the vampyres to essentially torture their son because they, too, found the magic to be magnificent and beautiful– why would they deny their boy hands on experience if he couldn't cast himself? Plus, maybe one of the mages would end up liking the boy enough to vouch for him in regards to getting the mark.
There was that, but it also allowed Hector to discover his unusual endurance and tenacity. While the mages were careful to not outright kill the young elf, they were not particularly gentle with their handling of him. Body sundered, flesh torn, bones broken, tissues altered and bled deep…all of this the ever curious herbalist took with bright, curious enthusiasm reflected back from lavender eyes. Some of these mages noticed the composure he maintained and pushed him, testing his limits. Sometimes, he'd end up teetering on life's brink. Despite this, the boy would always come back when healed, ever eager to learn more. For better or worse, he remained deeply oblivious to the ways this continued trauma was affecting him mentally over the course of his childhood.
A few months after Hector turned sixteen, one of the mages who had taken a stronger mentorship role over the boy, one of the younger vampyres, came to him. While the sun brightly crowned the sky above Zaichaer, the young botanist was out in his family's garden. With deft hands and quick movements, he stood lost in thought while he picked the weeds from a bed of medicinal herbs. Oblivious, he didn't hear the sound of his house's back door open and click shut nor did he notice the footfalls that approached him.
When the vampyre placed a hand on the elf's shoulder, his body jolted and muscles tensed, freezing up alongside a startled gasp. As he turned his head to look, the other man spoke.
"Apologies for scaring you…always lost in your own head, you are," he delivered his words with soft laughter and a gentle smile, ignoring the confused expression now donning Hector's features.
With a slight cant to his head, the boy replied, “Vergil…? Why are you here?”
"The Cult of Mending wishes to extend to you a gift, Hector…something we all know you'll covet dearly," as the older man talked, the confusion on the boy's face shifted quickly to excitement, lavender eyes glinting brightly in Searing's radiant sun. "I come to offer you the rune that's always captivated you: Vitalis. Should you acce–" before he could finish his sentence, the teenager embraced him.
Looking up at his mentor with pure joy drawn over his features, "Really!? You don't even have to ask– my acceptance is implied!" After this exclamation, he let the older man go and stepped back, although he looked no less enthused. Hector's nearly palpable elation warmed the heart of the older vampyre, obvious in the affection within both his voice and expression.
"Of course…I figured you'd say that. Lest you wonder, I'll initiate and watch over your transformation to make it as…comfortable…as possible." The smooth silk of the man's voice wrinkled around the word 'comfortable' but was otherwise warm and reassuring.
Hector's smile widened at the other man's words.
"Oh-? Well…when can we start, then? I imagine now would be wishful thinking, but…" his words flowed quickly, excitedly, trailing with the smallest pinch of hope at the end. Alas, he would have to wait.
"No, not today." The words came along with a soft, sympathetic shake of his head. "Now that I have your 'yes' I need to take care of some logistics, but before you worry, it'll happen soon…plus, your parents must be consulted with as well."
At the mention of his parents, the young man merely rolled his eyes. As impatient as he was, though, Hector wasn't about to argue– he was finally going to get his coveted rune, after all.
Vergil was true to his word– it only took a few days for him to talk it out with the boy’s parents and those involved with granting permission for the rune in the first place. Once a location was decided– the basement of Hector’s family home– a date was set. On the 7th of Sun’s Zenith year 118, Hector would get the rune of Vitalis.
In the dim electric light of the cellar, the vampyre and his young protege sat across from one another. Hector politely requested his parents not watch this process, much as they wanted to sit in to ensure their son’s safety. However, in light of the fact that there was really nothing they could do to help, they relented to the boy’s wish. Frankly, he'd rather Vergil not see him literally rot and purge his own body, either, but that was asking too much; his mentor wasn't about to add the extra risk of leaving him alone. The fledgling cultist was well aware of the risks of what he was about to undergo, after all, he’d heard the stories of it his entire life and then he’d been essentially beat over the head with the information once more over the past several days to make sure he understood the severity of this initiation. He and everyone around him considered the young elf to be ready– but was he?
“Are you sure you want to let me decide on the rune’s appearance and the location thereof?” Vergil has asked this question more than once each day the two have seen one another since he’d extended the offer to Hector, but the young elf’s answer always remained the same.
“Yes, I’d…like to carry some part of you with me since you’re the one giving me this gift. I’ve told you this a hundred times; I’m not about to change my mind now! Surprise me.” He spoke with both bubbly excitement and open admiration for his mentor.
With that settled, all that was left to do was for the two to begin.
As the vampyre carved the rune into the bare skin of the botanist’s torso, his breath caught. Not because of any pain, no– the realization of the finality of his decision was setting in. As the symbol being inscribed atop his solar plexus neared its completion, all he could hear was the pounding beat of his heart, the rush of his own blood through his body. And when he exhaled, the end of his short life as he knew it began.
The first thing he noticed was an immediate uptick of his heart rate and body temperature. Then, an aching pain began to swell and radiate outward from the rune drawn on his chest. He grit his teeth, clenching his fists as the pain became splintered, becoming sharper and brighter as its outward expansion marched onwards.
Vergil cupped the young man’s face in his hands and said, “You’ll succeed, I have full faith in you, Hector.” A tone warmed with a caring reassurance, it emboldened the boy’s spirit.
Before his mentor let go of his head, Hector felt aether pulse against his skin– a spell? Unknown to him, Vergil had used Pheromancy to temper his perception of pain and stem the creeping ruby tide of thereof that was beginning to roll through the entirety of his upper body.
Continue Reading: The Color of Rebirth II
____
'Thoughts'
"Common Tongue/Speech"
"Mythrasi Tongue/Speech"
'Thoughts'
"Common Tongue/Speech"
"Mythrasi Tongue/Speech"
