Dark Flight
Disclaimer: Legacy of Kain: Soul Reaver and all concepts and ideas belong
to Crystal Dynamics and Eidos Interactive. All characters not belonging to
them belong to me, of course.
Chapter 1
Sunlight spilled into the valley, lighting the Sarafan village of Taron, flowing into its streets and alleys. Here and there, a wooden window shutter would swing open, to greet the morning sun. In the middle of the village, on one of the smaller houses, a door suddenly slammed open, releasing an energetic inhabitant out onto the street. The door, which had began to swing shut of its own accord, was slammed open once more as another being followed the first. The first, a small boy only 12 years of age, with shoulder-length raven black hair and glacier-blue eyes, spun to face his companion, a boy of similar build and hair color, but with emerald green eyes.
"Thorin!" The second cried to the first. "Thorin! You are always the Sarafan! It's my turn! You can be the Vampire."
Thorin rolled his eyes and mock-sighed, crossing his arms in front of his slim chest. "Mikael, you know very well you have been the Sarafan the last two times we played. But if you wish it so, I cannot stop you, little brother."
With Mikael grinning contentedly, Thorin drew himself up on to the balls of his feet, and hunched over slightly, wiggling his fingers in an imitation of the three-fingered 'hands' of Nosgoth's darker race. Mikael, scanning the ground quickly, snatched up a long stick and wielded it in the fashion of a Sarafan pike man, grimacing in righteous disgust.
"Come here, human cattle, and meet your death." Thorin hissed, mimicking what he believed was a great impression of a brooding, hungry vampire.
"No, scum. I will not embrace my own death, but I shall lead you to the end of your un-death!"
Mikael mock-charged his brother, who hissed and spat. For about an hour they played this way, trading lines befitting the roles they chose, until finally, the end of the play came, the 'Scourge of Nosgoth' impaled upon the 'Grievously Wounded Nobleman's battered weapon. Thorin emitted the dark scream all Sarafan children had heard at least once in their lifetimes. Then falling to the ground in a fit of giggles, they switched roles and played again, and again, and again. All over the town, children played the same game or a variation of it, sometimes with the vampire being dispatched easily, sometimes with the original warrior falling beneath the foul creature's claws only to be avenged by another warrior, either played by a third child or the same child rising from 'death' to take on the new role, or some endlessly complex version, all replaying one event out of thousands that had been dramatized and censored by the actual Sarafan themselves, some of which watched their children play proudly. Never did a vampire ever completely win, as eventually some even bolder grief-wracked warrior would fell the evil beast. Thus were the children, in a tradition as old as the Sarafan themselves, prejudiced against the Vampires before they were old enough to even know of such a thing. The glory of the Sarafan was firmly planted in each child's heart, and the hate of the dark beings planted even deeper. Taron, one of many Sarafan villages spread along the base of a jagged mountain range, was no different from the others. Each night, hunters from the village would wind up the mountain trails, hunting any unlucky vampire Fledglings who crossed their paths. Then, they would return the next morning with vampire heads, trophies won in 'glorious' battle, and stake them outside their gates, warning off the bloodsuckers. The Sarafan were on the verge of completely destroying the vampire race, and something would have to be done quickly to save them.
Raziel stood atop the mountain peak, cloven feet gripping the hard surface, his wings stretched out for balance. The sun's bright lays lit his pale features, but as an Adult and the leader of the Razielhim, one of the many vampire clans, sunlight no longer effected him. He glared down at the waking towns, brooding deeply. Only a year had passed since his clan moved from the marshy lowlands up into the mountains, a change of climate demanded by the clan-wide growing pains his people were experiencing. His dreadful evolution had come, closely followed by his strongest followers, and he knew one day soon he must face Kain, lord of all the vampires, and repent of his atrocious sin. But for now, his mind was elsewhere.
Those Sarafan pigs. they hunt my people, my children, almost to the point of extinction. The Adults in the clan, weakened by their recent evolution, fall easily to Sarafan blades, and the new Fledglings, although already graced with wings when they first Convert, fall just as easily when their first pangs of the Hunger make them head-strong, He mused, running one 'finger' across his chin.
"M'lord?" Raziel's reverie was suddenly interrupted by one of his commanders, Machel, the second to grow wings after his dark master. Muscle- bound and tall, the pale vampire had been a very strong Sarafan warrior before he lost his faith in the zealous glory of his people and offered his services to none other than Raziel himself.
"Yes, Machel? I was simply watching the human settlements below. They're organizing another hunting party, for tonight."
"I know, Lord Raziel. If I might, I wish to bring forward an idea the other commanders and I have thought up." The larger vampire shifted uncomfortably, his wings twitching. "I wonder if our own feeding parties could also include gathering some of the Humans for..." He swallowed. In his mind, this disagreed with him thoroughly. "...For a forced Conversion."
Raziel blinked, staring wide-eyed at his underling. His amber eyes glinted in the sunlight. "Forced Conversion...? Only my brother Turel has ever done anything like that, and I do not like following his example."
Machel sighed, "We have few choices, Lord Raziel. The Adult vampires, still weakened from their transformations, are slaughtered like dogs, while the Fledglings have much to learn, and their wings are frail and cannot support their weight in flight. I suggest we do something now, or the Razielhim will be wiped from the face of Nosgoth."
Raziel nodded solemnly, his eyes saddened. "It was our way to wait for the Human cattle to come to us for the Conversion... but it looks as if we will have to follow in the Turelhim's footsteps."
The two vampires spread their wings wide, and leaped from the rocky peak, gliding down to the Clan caverns on the plateau below.
A/N: Well, the story unfolds. Please R&R, and I'll put up the 2nd and 3rd chapters. By the time this is published I'll have the 2nd chapter written, but I need at least 5 reviews before I start on the 3rd... I'd like to know if anyone has any interest so far.
Chapter 1
Sunlight spilled into the valley, lighting the Sarafan village of Taron, flowing into its streets and alleys. Here and there, a wooden window shutter would swing open, to greet the morning sun. In the middle of the village, on one of the smaller houses, a door suddenly slammed open, releasing an energetic inhabitant out onto the street. The door, which had began to swing shut of its own accord, was slammed open once more as another being followed the first. The first, a small boy only 12 years of age, with shoulder-length raven black hair and glacier-blue eyes, spun to face his companion, a boy of similar build and hair color, but with emerald green eyes.
"Thorin!" The second cried to the first. "Thorin! You are always the Sarafan! It's my turn! You can be the Vampire."
Thorin rolled his eyes and mock-sighed, crossing his arms in front of his slim chest. "Mikael, you know very well you have been the Sarafan the last two times we played. But if you wish it so, I cannot stop you, little brother."
With Mikael grinning contentedly, Thorin drew himself up on to the balls of his feet, and hunched over slightly, wiggling his fingers in an imitation of the three-fingered 'hands' of Nosgoth's darker race. Mikael, scanning the ground quickly, snatched up a long stick and wielded it in the fashion of a Sarafan pike man, grimacing in righteous disgust.
"Come here, human cattle, and meet your death." Thorin hissed, mimicking what he believed was a great impression of a brooding, hungry vampire.
"No, scum. I will not embrace my own death, but I shall lead you to the end of your un-death!"
Mikael mock-charged his brother, who hissed and spat. For about an hour they played this way, trading lines befitting the roles they chose, until finally, the end of the play came, the 'Scourge of Nosgoth' impaled upon the 'Grievously Wounded Nobleman's battered weapon. Thorin emitted the dark scream all Sarafan children had heard at least once in their lifetimes. Then falling to the ground in a fit of giggles, they switched roles and played again, and again, and again. All over the town, children played the same game or a variation of it, sometimes with the vampire being dispatched easily, sometimes with the original warrior falling beneath the foul creature's claws only to be avenged by another warrior, either played by a third child or the same child rising from 'death' to take on the new role, or some endlessly complex version, all replaying one event out of thousands that had been dramatized and censored by the actual Sarafan themselves, some of which watched their children play proudly. Never did a vampire ever completely win, as eventually some even bolder grief-wracked warrior would fell the evil beast. Thus were the children, in a tradition as old as the Sarafan themselves, prejudiced against the Vampires before they were old enough to even know of such a thing. The glory of the Sarafan was firmly planted in each child's heart, and the hate of the dark beings planted even deeper. Taron, one of many Sarafan villages spread along the base of a jagged mountain range, was no different from the others. Each night, hunters from the village would wind up the mountain trails, hunting any unlucky vampire Fledglings who crossed their paths. Then, they would return the next morning with vampire heads, trophies won in 'glorious' battle, and stake them outside their gates, warning off the bloodsuckers. The Sarafan were on the verge of completely destroying the vampire race, and something would have to be done quickly to save them.
Raziel stood atop the mountain peak, cloven feet gripping the hard surface, his wings stretched out for balance. The sun's bright lays lit his pale features, but as an Adult and the leader of the Razielhim, one of the many vampire clans, sunlight no longer effected him. He glared down at the waking towns, brooding deeply. Only a year had passed since his clan moved from the marshy lowlands up into the mountains, a change of climate demanded by the clan-wide growing pains his people were experiencing. His dreadful evolution had come, closely followed by his strongest followers, and he knew one day soon he must face Kain, lord of all the vampires, and repent of his atrocious sin. But for now, his mind was elsewhere.
Those Sarafan pigs. they hunt my people, my children, almost to the point of extinction. The Adults in the clan, weakened by their recent evolution, fall easily to Sarafan blades, and the new Fledglings, although already graced with wings when they first Convert, fall just as easily when their first pangs of the Hunger make them head-strong, He mused, running one 'finger' across his chin.
"M'lord?" Raziel's reverie was suddenly interrupted by one of his commanders, Machel, the second to grow wings after his dark master. Muscle- bound and tall, the pale vampire had been a very strong Sarafan warrior before he lost his faith in the zealous glory of his people and offered his services to none other than Raziel himself.
"Yes, Machel? I was simply watching the human settlements below. They're organizing another hunting party, for tonight."
"I know, Lord Raziel. If I might, I wish to bring forward an idea the other commanders and I have thought up." The larger vampire shifted uncomfortably, his wings twitching. "I wonder if our own feeding parties could also include gathering some of the Humans for..." He swallowed. In his mind, this disagreed with him thoroughly. "...For a forced Conversion."
Raziel blinked, staring wide-eyed at his underling. His amber eyes glinted in the sunlight. "Forced Conversion...? Only my brother Turel has ever done anything like that, and I do not like following his example."
Machel sighed, "We have few choices, Lord Raziel. The Adult vampires, still weakened from their transformations, are slaughtered like dogs, while the Fledglings have much to learn, and their wings are frail and cannot support their weight in flight. I suggest we do something now, or the Razielhim will be wiped from the face of Nosgoth."
Raziel nodded solemnly, his eyes saddened. "It was our way to wait for the Human cattle to come to us for the Conversion... but it looks as if we will have to follow in the Turelhim's footsteps."
The two vampires spread their wings wide, and leaped from the rocky peak, gliding down to the Clan caverns on the plateau below.
A/N: Well, the story unfolds. Please R&R, and I'll put up the 2nd and 3rd chapters. By the time this is published I'll have the 2nd chapter written, but I need at least 5 reviews before I start on the 3rd... I'd like to know if anyone has any interest so far.