Here are two pieces of a history for one of my roleplay characters. I intend to eventually work this into either a story, or a full-on novel. I just hope that maybe... just maybe... it doesn't suck. xd
Belthezzar Theodric was not born the way he is today. Born of a wealthy French family one midsummer’s eve, in the year of 1990, he was brought into this world… an oddity. A neko, or partial cat, part man, he was the first of his kind birthed into his family line, at least as was recorded. None could explain his different genetic makeup from either of his parents, or his quirky nature. Nor could any explain the numerous physical differences he had of the rest of his family.
Fair skinned and ebon-haired, Belthezzar was very different from his parents and sibling, Janus, who were all blonde and tanned. He grew up, shunned by most of the boys. Oh yes, he had attention, his story isn’t as depressing as all that. He had the random bully who enjoyed tugging at his ears or pulling him around by the tail, of course, but, his kitten-like qualities attracted many of the ladies.
Born in the Lorraine region of France, the lad had plenty of places to take a young lass after schooling hours, or, as was his custom from time to time, during said hours. He was a mischievous one, often getting into trouble with his prospective mates of the week for his habits of flirting with other girls, or his inability to stick to just one. One evening, he had been out with a special woman, one who’s name he can no longer remember, of course. But something was quite different about her.
She had a power over him, like he was under a spell. He had never seen her before, a transfer student from somewhere south. The Middle East, their teacher had told them. The girl had a strange, seducing quality about her that the lad could never have explained. It was clear that he was being drawn to her, but for what purpose, or how, the boy could never have known.
Later that week, several days after their first encounter, the girl had found him with another, his lips locked with hers, as was the boy’s fashion. This had infuriated the new girl, an anger the likes of which Belthezzar had never seen in any of the girls he had done so. He had promised himself, too, that she would be the last, and that he had sworn off kissing any woman that wasn’t his after this, but, that was always the case. The boy actually shrank in fear as the girl produced a wicked blade, something she had tucked into her boot.
Belthezzar watched, his eyes wide, as the girl he had decided to cheat with was brought into what seemed like an embrace. He was puzzled, his head tilting to one side, his confusion clearly written on his face. The fair-haired girl he had been with that eve just stared blankly at the other, as she looked to Belthezzar, who was cowering in a corner. Suddenly, the girl smiled, a pair of fangs the likes of which the lad had never seen protruding from the pearly face.
As soon as the boy could blink, they were sunk, gum deep, into the other’s neck, blood seeping to the greasy soil. Suddenly jarred from whatever spell the new girl had on him, the boy leaped up, running as quickly and wildly as he could possibly have done, his form stumbling blindly as darkness fell. He slowly realized that it was, in fact, night, when the moon had already been up several hours.
He was tired, and his face was covered in dust from running along the country road. He wiped his sleeve across his pale skin, leaving one ivory streak in the dirty brown of his face. He let his gaze travel up the road a bit, realizing where he was. Absent-mindedly, the boy had run home. He let a relieved smile come to his face, his emerald gaze sparkling as he saw the lights in the windows.
He took up a sprint once again, running towards the place he called home. However, as he approached, he could immediately tell something was… horribly wrong. The drapes his mother had hung over the window were tattered, the usual bright kitchen light was dim, flickering, even. He noticed that something was spattered all over the kitchen wall, specks reaching as far as the window. Stopping at the door, Belthezzar’s heart was pounding as he noticed the door’s locks were ripped from the wood, as if a massive force had thrown it open.
Placing a thin, pale hand on the heavy wood, he gave it a gentle shove, the hinges, having been strained to their limit from the crushing blow, fell from the wall, sending the door crashing to the hardwood floor with a thunderous boom that echoed through the huge house. Looking about frantically, Belthezzar takes a single step into the house, his voice echoing over the sound of the door as he shouted for his mother. Slowly, gingerly stepping over the bits and pieces of shattered glass and splinters of what remained of their foyer’s furniture and mirrors, Belthezzar made his way towards the back of the large front room, bits of glass crunching beneath his heavy boots as he miss-stepped here and there as his path took him back to the kitchen door.
The light from within the room had shone through a crack in the doorway, which had illuminated the boy’s steps from front door to kitchen. The light danced and flickered, much like a candle as the boy pushed open the lightweight door to his mother’s favorite room in the house. His eyes grew wide in horror as they first caught sight of the far wall. That was the one that led into the dining room, a massive, high-ceilinged room with a long table. The wall, which was a purest white when he had left that morning, was splattered and smeared with a crimson color, handprints mashed and twisted into the pure paint of the wall, made with that same color.
He moved to the island in the center of the kitchen, his small form curling into a tight ball as he hid beneath the countertop, his tail wrapped tightly around his own waist, his body trembling so bad he caused the dishes that had been shattered over the large island to rattle. He buried his face in his hands, tears rolling down his cheeks.
He didn’t have to look into the other room to know what he would find. His mother and father, caught as they were cooking his dinner, massacred. His mother always cooked for him before he came home, and his father always, always sat in the next room, next to the gigantic window that spanned the whole length of the massive room, and rose all the way to the ceiling, smoking one of his priceless collected cigars from the time of his youth, when he travelled the world in the military.
He didn’t have to be there to know what happened. The girl had forced her way through the front door, thus the shape it was in when he had found it. She had moved through the foyer at a lightening pace, throwing the furniture and mirrors to the floor, causing the mess he had wove his way through to get to where he was now, and found his mother there, by the door to the dining room, most likely looking in on his father, about to tell him how much she loved the man, a bowl in her hands. His mother had been first, the girl flash stepping towards her, so fast his mother didn’t even know what killed her. A fanged bite to her jugular sent blood spraying through the kitchen, his mother, startled, had thrown the bowl across the room, smashing both it and the dishes that had been set on the island.
The girl had ripped through her neck, blood filling the floor quickly. Belthezzar could feel it now, his hand reaching down, his fingers trailing through the thick, now sticky blood that used to course through his mother’s veins. Another sob left the lad as his mind continued to play the scene, no matter how much he tried to drive it away. The blood on his fingertips caused him to gasp, his mind racing now, the images becoming ever more vivid, as if he were standing there, watching as the girl threw his mother’s body down the hall, towards the pantry, where he could find her now, should he go to see.
Her body was broken, twisted around the doorway to the walk-in pantry, her head severed from her shoulders, had rolled into the room and rested against a cabinet. The girl moved into the dining room to where his father had been setting. Unknown to her, however, his father had been a Hunter. Belthezzar didn’t know of his father’s secret occupation. Not even Belthezzar’s mother had known.
Every day, as his father sat there, smoking his priceless cigars, he had held a pistol in his lap. That pistol had been unloaded, cleaned, checked, broken down, rebuilt, reloaded, and armed every single day before his father sat in that same chair, waiting. Finally, the day had come.
Hearing the commotion, his father had time to grip the pistol and turn, only to see his wife’s body flung into the other room by a strange girl. A girl? No. A beast. A beast that he had to rid this world of. To avenge his wife. To protect himself. Most importantly, to protect his son. He fired, seven times, straight into the girl’s heart, even as she sank her teeth into him.
The man screamed in pain, his finger pulling madly at the trigger, shots firing, point blank, into her chest, which heaved with the violence of the bullets ripping through her flesh. The girl shoved her fist through the man’s chest, his heart clenched in her grasp. The man let a shout leave him before a groan heaved from him and his body fell limp on her arm.
He fell back, her arm slipping through him again as he fell to the floor in a bloodied heap. The window was smeared with his blood, the girl staggering towards it. Her hand rested against it as she leaned forward. A single cough forced blood from her mouth. The man had struck true, and she was dying… if such a thing could die. Suddenly, she leaned down, grasping the man’s corpse and sinking her fangs into his neck, draining what blood from him she could.
She howled in rage, as now the two closest beings had been slain, and she was in need of blood. In anger, she punched the window, shattering a very large portion of the glass. She looks out at the fading light, a sinister smirk on her lips as she leaps from the window to the ground, vanishing into the fading twilight. Moving slowly now, Belthezzar leaned to look around the corner of the island. He could see his mother’s leg, twisted at an awkward, unnatural angle, that made him sick on his stomach. He leaned back to where he was, his knees drawn to his chest again. He rested his head against the cold, hard surface of the counter, his eyes slowly closing.
How long he rested there, he would never know, but he awoke to a bright light shining in his eyes. There was no way it was the sun, as he could clearly see the window, and the sky was void of all but stars. Finally, he heard a voice behind the light, calling his name. It was one of his father’s friends. He had seen them together often, but his name was escaping him at the moment. Darius? Dieter? Dante. That was his name.
The man lifted the boy into his arms, his words reaching Belthezzar’s ears, but they went unheard. He carried him from the place, but all the lad could tell was that he was no longer in that house filled with death, where he had given up on life, and expected to just wither away with his parents’ corpses, to die there, just as they had. The man moved swiftly, the horizon swimming in Belthezzar’s vision, his eyes rolling as he lost consciousness again.
He heard the man’s voice again, this time crystal clear, as if it were spoken into his very mind, even as he slept. .::. You will be safe in America, Belthezzar. I am sending you to a place where you might learn of your father’s profession and take up your family’s trade. .::.
Opening his eyes only a bit, the boy looked up, seeing the man’s face moving through the stars. He blinks, thinking that perhaps he has gone crazy, only to realize that he is being carried through the night. He lets his gaze dart around, the concrete jungle he had been brought to was nothing like his home back in Lorraine. “Mon Dieu…” were the words that slipped from the lad’s lips, whispered so quietly that sure the man carrying him could never have heard them, yet, he responded.
“Indeed, little kit. Indeed.” the man said, looking down at Belthezzar. The man’s eyes were hidden behind heavily tinted glasses, so he could not see the man’s true gaze. Belthezzar could only smile, feeling safe near the man, yet, he was so very afraid of the man that now placed his feet upon the ground. “Follow me, young one. We’ve only a little more to go.” he could hear the man say, before turning to look up at him.
“You know, I’m not that young.” the lad muttered. The man responded simply with a hearty laugh and a shake of the head before he looked down at the lad. “You really have no idea.” Belthezzar could only glare up at him, seeing as the man looked only twenty five years in age. “You can’t be much older than I, you know.” he muttered again as the man pushed open a door to a large wooden building. It was quite out of place, this structure, in this sea of concrete, a lone wooden lodge-type building, known simply to its patrons as ‘The Tavern.’
The man looked down at him once again, an amused, lightened smile crossed his face as he looked the lad over. He shook his head, hand brushing through his long, dark strands before turning to glance inside, his gaze darting around the room behind the tinted lenses. “Six thousand and two.” he said simply, forcing the door the rest of the way open, pulling Belthezzar inside quickly before he could ask any questions, the door slamming shut behind them before he could turn to look.
[[[[[[That is the first section... some time passes between this part of the story and the next... the span in between I haven't quite figured out just yet, but I'll be sure to have it soon, and replace this text with that.]]]]]]
An icy cold rips through the lad’s body, chilling him to the bone as the darkness takes him. What seemed like a lifetime passed before he stirred, Belthezzar’s body sitting bolt-upright, his emerald gaze searching the darkness around him. The scene that he had left behind was all but gone.
He moved to his feet, the soft thud of his heavy leather boots the only sound in the hidden room around him. His head throbs with a pan the likes of which he had never before even imagined, a pale hand clasped over his own neck revealed that the events earlier were no dreams. She had bitten him.
Looking about once again, he shouted into the unknown, “What is this place? Is anyone here?” his voice echoed throughout the room. .::. You are nowhere, Belthezzar. .::. a familiar voice whispered to him, almost as it were n his own mind.
.::. Nowhere at all… .::.
The hairs on the back of the boy’s neck stood on end as his nails sank harshly into the now pale skin. With his teeth gritted, he hissed into the dark, “What sort of game is this, Dante? What do you expect to do? Frighten me again?” the lad’s voice reverberated from the walls again.
After a long moment’s pause, as if the other were contemplating the question, a quiet laughter snaked its way through his mind, growing in volume and depth until he was on his knees, both hands clasped over his ears from the pain, and then… silence.
Jumping again to his feet, Belthezzar roars in anger, something he had never before done n his entire seventeen years of life. “Answer me, you b*****d!” his voice boomed through the room now, his teeth gnashing in anger and frustration. His fist was clenched so tight, his nails dug deep into the skin, blood seeping between his fingers, or so he thought.
He looked to his hand, expecting a flow of red liquid leaving his body from that point, but there was nothing.. He blinks once, his gaze focusing on the hand. His lips, trembling from the cold, mouth words, yet he dares no t to breathe.
‘What is going on?’ his lips form the words, and instantly the same voice from before, the one he knew as Dante, answered. .::. You have been blessed, Belthezzar, with a rare, great opportunity. The place in which you now stand is known to your kind as the Valley of the Shadow of Death. It is a place of judgment, of decision, and the final moments of what you now call life. .::.
At this, Belthezzar fell to his knees once again, his sharp gaze glaring into his hands, eyes wide in disbelief. “What opportunity? Death? Is that what you mean, Dante? I’m dead?” he breathed, the words leaving him as a white puff of vapor. .::. Dying, actually. .::. the man spoke again.
.::. Belthezzar, I once told you how old I was, do you remember? It was the night we made it to the Tavern, and the first night you saw me in the flesh. .::. “I remember…” the boy whispered into his hands. “But what has that got to do with…” .::. Hush, boy. Let a man speak. .::. the voice whispered through his mind. .::. Do you remember how old I told you I was? Hmm? .::. The voice continued in an almost taunting tone.
“You said it was like your sixty-first birthday, or something like that…” Belthezzar whispered again, his eyes rising to search the darkness once more for the one speaking to him. “But I still don’t see how…” .::. Six thousand and first, actually, Belthezzar. I am six thousand and one years old. .::. Dante interrupted as the boy was about to question him again.
If Belthezzar’s eyes could have grown any wider, they might possibly have fallen out of his head. His mouth moved to speak, but his mind formed no words, his lips trembled silent gibberish before Dante spoke again. .::. Did your father never tell you of the day we met, Belthezzar? .::. he asked, his voice still a soft whisper.
“No.” Belthezzar let the word fall from his lips, so soft, so quiet, that no mortal ears could have heard. “HE spoke of you… only once, and never to me. To my mother. She had accused him of being with another woman… one of those nights where he didn’t come home until late n the morning all worn down and exhausted. I think even then your name was a slip, because he said it, I can remember, and his face suddenly looked nervous, like he was afraid…”
Another quiet laugh shot through the boy’s mind once again before the other’s response came. .::. I remember him telling me about that… Ahh, Estella… she never really believed for a minute that Jean-Jacques was unfaithful, you know? No, that was all some ridiculous ruse she came up with, something she used to try and get the truth out of him. It never really worked, did it? You never really knew your father’s job, did you? Where all his money came from? .::.
“No…” the boy mouthed again, not finding himself capable of words. .::. Your father was a hunter, Belthezzar, and one of the best. The night we met was the night he became a part of the Order. .::. Again, Dante’s quiet laughter crawls through the lad’s mind, like a spider over her web. .::. And don’t worry, your father wasn’t a murderer. He refused to take any contract where shedding the blood of any natural being was involved. No, he only killed the… supernatural… I suppose you would term them… .::.
“What do you…” the boy began before he was cut off by Dante’s voice in his mind again, this time a harsh serious, almost angry, annoyed tone. .::. Vampires, Belthezzar. Vampires, lycanthropes, ghouls, goblins, all the beastly little things that go bump in the night. Things that your kind believe to be mere “fantasy.” Well, Belthezzar, I am here to say that we are pretty damned real. .::.
“We?” the boy managed to whisper, a confused look crossing his face. .::. Oh, come off it Belthezzar. Stop playing the damned fool. You have witnessed more of my kind in the past year than most mortals have in the last ten thousand years. .::. Dante’s voice growled through his mind. “So you’re a…” .::. I am a Vampire, Belthezzar, yes. A monster, a demon, something that most all living creatures fear… for they do not understand. .::. Dante interjected once again, his voice still harsh. He continued to speak, only now his voice was softened, returning to the soothing whisper that he had began speaking to Belthezzar with.
.::. I spoke to you earlier, Belthezzar, of opportunity. I come to you now, in the fleeting moments of your life, with a chance to become what most mortals only dream of, speculate upon. I come to you, bearing the gift of immortality, a chance to return from this place of death. All that is required of you, is that you accept. .::.
Needless to say, the boy was speechless. He hadn’t known such beings truly existed more than forty seconds and he was being offered to become one himself. He pondered, turning this over in his mind as Dante spoke again. .::. Look to the ceiling, Belthezzar. .::. The lad did as he was told, his gaze rising to the sky. He saw a tiny speck of blue-white light. .::. That is your Light of Life. If that goes out, then you can no longer return as you are now. You must make your decision quickly, as your light is already dimmed beyond repair. .::.
The boy stood, his gaze transfixed on the light. Even in its tarnished state, he had never before seen anything so beautiful. He shook his head, emerald eyes closing as his thoughts whirled in his head like a mighty maelstrom. He looked upon the light again and saw that it had dimmed in the brief moment that he hadn’t looked.
“I’ll do it…” he whispered, his eyes turning away for the last time.
.::. Are you sure, Belthezzar? Once you have turned, there is no way back. .:. Dante whispered through his mind, the sound soft as a breeze in the windless night that Belthezzar now stood. “Just do it, god damn it!” he shouted into the darkness. Dante’s voice whispered through the boy’s mind one final time. .::. As you wish, Belthezzar. .::.
The boy opened his eyes and gasped for air, feeling as if he’d held his breath for hours. The taste of iron lingered on his tongue, slowly becoming sweet, a taste that he suddenly craved. The warm light of the room hurt his eyes as he blinked them into adjusting. He raised a ghostly pale hand, brushing his knuckles over the corner of his mouth and looked upon the back of his hand. It was covered in fresh blood. Indeed, he had been changed, and he could feel it as he lay there in the tavern floor…
[[[[[[That is all I have right now... like I said before, I hope you all like it, if anyone even visits this little corner of the guild anymore.]]]]]]
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