Afanc's Tale: Chapter 2
If this is the Afterlife than it's just as screwed up a place as the real world.
That was my first thought when I started to come around. My second was that they weren't supposed to give you beer in Heaven.
My third was that they didn't give you beer in Hell either. Unless, that is, it was bad beer.
I brushed the dirt off myself as I rose from the coffin (this also seemed somewhat strange, because if all dead people brought their coffins to the afterlife with them than the afterlife would have been over run by coffins). The bottle of beer was still standing there on the bed stand, and I was so extremely thirsty.
So heaven or hell, afterlife or no afterlife, I popped the top off it and threw back my head, intending to drink it all in one gulp. For a moment I forgot to swallow, but I finished off the beer shortly thereafter. It didn't do anything to slake my thirst. Then I took the time to survey my surroundings.
The floor was made of a wood that I hadn't seen before, beautiful and dark almost to the point of blackness. The ceiling arched upwards grandly, a hand-painted fresco covering it with angels who fought in the clouds. The walls of the room described a circle, and placed at equidistant points along the walls were three hangings. One was an iron buckler and rapier, in good condition but well worn from use. A third of the way around the room was single painting, held in a hand-craved mahogany frame, of a medieval baron standing before his castle. Midway between this and the next hanging, a clay tablet with what looked like cuneiform on it, was the door. Midway between this and the first was my coffin, lying flat on the floor up against the wall.
The center of the room was occupied by a massive desk, computer, and short bookcase. I glanced at the books, but they made little sense to me, having titles like "The History of The Kindred", "The Power of Blood", and "A Beginner's Guide to Dominance". With the computer at I least knew what I was doing. I flicked the power switch and with a reassuring hum it sprang to life. I took the time to glance at the bottles on the wine rack that was in an alcove between the sword and the painting.
I pulled one of the bottles off the rack, a deep red, and wiped the dust off the label. And nearly dropped it in surprise when I read "Noblemen of the French Revolution". I assumed it was a bad joke and glanced at a few other labels. Among the seemingly odd labels of "Early Twentieth Century Political Leaders" and "Members of The Lewis and Clark Expedition" I found bottles with even stranger labels, such as "Garou", "Kindred of the Cappodocian Clan", "Fae", "Mages of the Order of Hermes", and "Members of the Society of Leopold, (811-1241)". Those labels scared me more than most, although not as much as the one labeled "Jesus Christ", but I was so thirsty…
I chose a seemingly innocuous "Kings of Macedonia", and looked around for a glass. There was one on the bookcase, so I returned to the computer, which had finished booting up, popped the cork from the bottle, poured the sanguine liquid into the glass, and tossed it down. I was still feeling parched, so I helped myself to a second glass.
Having nothing better to do I checked my e-mail. A message from my mentor a man who called himself Vlad was the only new thing. Something went off in my mind, saying that there was something I should remember about him, but I just shrugged it aside when nothing came forth. I opened the e-mail.
Afanc,
The answers you have sought are within your grasp now. Learn fast, and learn well. I fear you will have little time, fledgling, given the current pace of events. We will meet again.
-Vlad Tepes
That was the full extent of his e-mail to me. But it was enough to open the floodgate. I remembered his fangs in my neck, the pain the pleasure, wound together until they were inseparable. I remembered dieing, rising free from my body like in the hospital so long ago, and feeling this tug backwards. I remembered the searing pain as something fiery and potent burnt its way down my throat, so akin to the rush I felt with each glass I had from the bottle by my side.
And I realized for the first time that I wasn't breathing.
Author's Note: Okay, here's the next installment of the tale. I know I've been neglecting this piece for a while now, and I'm sorry. I'll try not to do so again.
As for the questions about Kylith's generation and age…no, it's not a mistake, or a typo, or anything like that. Rest assured that all will be revealed in time.
Anyway, thanks for taking the time to read/review this. I promise that the next two chapters will be substantially longer.
If this is the Afterlife than it's just as screwed up a place as the real world.
That was my first thought when I started to come around. My second was that they weren't supposed to give you beer in Heaven.
My third was that they didn't give you beer in Hell either. Unless, that is, it was bad beer.
I brushed the dirt off myself as I rose from the coffin (this also seemed somewhat strange, because if all dead people brought their coffins to the afterlife with them than the afterlife would have been over run by coffins). The bottle of beer was still standing there on the bed stand, and I was so extremely thirsty.
So heaven or hell, afterlife or no afterlife, I popped the top off it and threw back my head, intending to drink it all in one gulp. For a moment I forgot to swallow, but I finished off the beer shortly thereafter. It didn't do anything to slake my thirst. Then I took the time to survey my surroundings.
The floor was made of a wood that I hadn't seen before, beautiful and dark almost to the point of blackness. The ceiling arched upwards grandly, a hand-painted fresco covering it with angels who fought in the clouds. The walls of the room described a circle, and placed at equidistant points along the walls were three hangings. One was an iron buckler and rapier, in good condition but well worn from use. A third of the way around the room was single painting, held in a hand-craved mahogany frame, of a medieval baron standing before his castle. Midway between this and the next hanging, a clay tablet with what looked like cuneiform on it, was the door. Midway between this and the first was my coffin, lying flat on the floor up against the wall.
The center of the room was occupied by a massive desk, computer, and short bookcase. I glanced at the books, but they made little sense to me, having titles like "The History of The Kindred", "The Power of Blood", and "A Beginner's Guide to Dominance". With the computer at I least knew what I was doing. I flicked the power switch and with a reassuring hum it sprang to life. I took the time to glance at the bottles on the wine rack that was in an alcove between the sword and the painting.
I pulled one of the bottles off the rack, a deep red, and wiped the dust off the label. And nearly dropped it in surprise when I read "Noblemen of the French Revolution". I assumed it was a bad joke and glanced at a few other labels. Among the seemingly odd labels of "Early Twentieth Century Political Leaders" and "Members of The Lewis and Clark Expedition" I found bottles with even stranger labels, such as "Garou", "Kindred of the Cappodocian Clan", "Fae", "Mages of the Order of Hermes", and "Members of the Society of Leopold, (811-1241)". Those labels scared me more than most, although not as much as the one labeled "Jesus Christ", but I was so thirsty…
I chose a seemingly innocuous "Kings of Macedonia", and looked around for a glass. There was one on the bookcase, so I returned to the computer, which had finished booting up, popped the cork from the bottle, poured the sanguine liquid into the glass, and tossed it down. I was still feeling parched, so I helped myself to a second glass.
Having nothing better to do I checked my e-mail. A message from my mentor a man who called himself Vlad was the only new thing. Something went off in my mind, saying that there was something I should remember about him, but I just shrugged it aside when nothing came forth. I opened the e-mail.
Afanc,
The answers you have sought are within your grasp now. Learn fast, and learn well. I fear you will have little time, fledgling, given the current pace of events. We will meet again.
-Vlad Tepes
That was the full extent of his e-mail to me. But it was enough to open the floodgate. I remembered his fangs in my neck, the pain the pleasure, wound together until they were inseparable. I remembered dieing, rising free from my body like in the hospital so long ago, and feeling this tug backwards. I remembered the searing pain as something fiery and potent burnt its way down my throat, so akin to the rush I felt with each glass I had from the bottle by my side.
And I realized for the first time that I wasn't breathing.
Author's Note: Okay, here's the next installment of the tale. I know I've been neglecting this piece for a while now, and I'm sorry. I'll try not to do so again.
As for the questions about Kylith's generation and age…no, it's not a mistake, or a typo, or anything like that. Rest assured that all will be revealed in time.
Anyway, thanks for taking the time to read/review this. I promise that the next two chapters will be substantially longer.