Post by Dayspring on Jun 24, 2004 20:44:11 GMT -5
Once again, didn't bother to proof-read it:
Vampyre: The Legend
Translated from the Romanian.
Approximately every five hundred years
There is a creation of unnatural circumstances
Borne to the Vampyre
Each of these Dark Princes
Is unlike their brethren
And will, as such,
Be granted unforeseeable power
The Power Of Choice
Let it be known hence forth
That He Who Makes The Pact
Is damned to betray
This Anti-Christ
Will choose between a
Death in the shadows
Or
Life in the light
He will know no physical pain
And will suffer from no weaknesses
Of Vampyrism
But until He has Chosen
His Soul shall be Forever
Damned
Book 1: Dark Messiah
Prologue
My story began with a gentle nudge, an almost annoying poke, and followed with a gut-wrenching tear. Stolen from my keep of warmth and tranquility, I was rudely thrown to the elements as a woman cried out nearby. The sound was unholy and alerted me that Hell would soon claim another soul. I remember feeling two great big frigid hands wrap around my small little frame and stealing me away from where I should be. Where I belonged.
I cannot see the faces of the thieves who appropriated me: they are lost in the recesses of my subconscious. Most humans tend to forget events from their early childhood. Those who claim to remember their own births are often disregarded for making ridiculous statements or for being absurd. I ask that you consider my story, however, for I am not like most humans. I am, in fact, not human at all. And the story of my birth is not humane in the least.
The only face I remember of that wretched evening was that of the alabaster skinned woman from whom I was pinched. It was from her that the howls of anguish, torment and fear emanated. I watched wide-eyed as an owl as she reached her arms up pathetically for me. She lay on her back, her perfect emerald eyes inviting me to return to her as I wished. Instead, a deep bestial growl came from the being that held me.
I watched wide-eyed as an owl as two more bestial beings swept to either side of her and placed their hands to her middle. My eyes followed their claw-like fingernails reach deep inside her. As she released another shriek I realized finally that her stomach was torn from the top of her vaginal cave up to her navel. I watched wide-eyed as an owl as the two demons gripped at the sides of this fissure and began to pull with all their might.
I watched wide-eyed as an owl as the woman, my mother, threw her head back in agony and let loose a howl that alerted the devils of a new arrival to their fiery domain. Her arms never changed position. They remained outstretched for me rather than try to fend off her murderers. With all her strength she lifted her head forward so she could meet my gaze. I watched wide-eyed as an owl as the woman, my mother, smiled at me, her eyes crying tears of crimson. I watched wide-eyed as an owl as her alabaster face cracked and smoked, as her porcelain hands fell off and shattered against the street, as her body slowly turned from a vision of loveliness to heap of used ash.
I watched wide-eyed as an owl as the woman, my mother, died in front of me on the night of my forced birth. The two faceless men looked up in my direction with a start as my captor lost his grip on me. As I rose higher and higher, higher than any of them could ever hope to reach, I remember hearing the rhythmic call of an owl and the flap of its majestic wings.
Vampyre: The Legend
Translated from the Romanian.
Approximately every five hundred years
There is a creation of unnatural circumstances
Borne to the Vampyre
Each of these Dark Princes
Is unlike their brethren
And will, as such,
Be granted unforeseeable power
The Power Of Choice
Let it be known hence forth
That He Who Makes The Pact
Is damned to betray
This Anti-Christ
Will choose between a
Death in the shadows
Or
Life in the light
He will know no physical pain
And will suffer from no weaknesses
Of Vampyrism
But until He has Chosen
His Soul shall be Forever
Damned
Book 1: Dark Messiah
Prologue
My story began with a gentle nudge, an almost annoying poke, and followed with a gut-wrenching tear. Stolen from my keep of warmth and tranquility, I was rudely thrown to the elements as a woman cried out nearby. The sound was unholy and alerted me that Hell would soon claim another soul. I remember feeling two great big frigid hands wrap around my small little frame and stealing me away from where I should be. Where I belonged.
I cannot see the faces of the thieves who appropriated me: they are lost in the recesses of my subconscious. Most humans tend to forget events from their early childhood. Those who claim to remember their own births are often disregarded for making ridiculous statements or for being absurd. I ask that you consider my story, however, for I am not like most humans. I am, in fact, not human at all. And the story of my birth is not humane in the least.
The only face I remember of that wretched evening was that of the alabaster skinned woman from whom I was pinched. It was from her that the howls of anguish, torment and fear emanated. I watched wide-eyed as an owl as she reached her arms up pathetically for me. She lay on her back, her perfect emerald eyes inviting me to return to her as I wished. Instead, a deep bestial growl came from the being that held me.
I watched wide-eyed as an owl as two more bestial beings swept to either side of her and placed their hands to her middle. My eyes followed their claw-like fingernails reach deep inside her. As she released another shriek I realized finally that her stomach was torn from the top of her vaginal cave up to her navel. I watched wide-eyed as an owl as the two demons gripped at the sides of this fissure and began to pull with all their might.
I watched wide-eyed as an owl as the woman, my mother, threw her head back in agony and let loose a howl that alerted the devils of a new arrival to their fiery domain. Her arms never changed position. They remained outstretched for me rather than try to fend off her murderers. With all her strength she lifted her head forward so she could meet my gaze. I watched wide-eyed as an owl as the woman, my mother, smiled at me, her eyes crying tears of crimson. I watched wide-eyed as an owl as her alabaster face cracked and smoked, as her porcelain hands fell off and shattered against the street, as her body slowly turned from a vision of loveliness to heap of used ash.
I watched wide-eyed as an owl as the woman, my mother, died in front of me on the night of my forced birth. The two faceless men looked up in my direction with a start as my captor lost his grip on me. As I rose higher and higher, higher than any of them could ever hope to reach, I remember hearing the rhythmic call of an owl and the flap of its majestic wings.
