AN UPSTART INHERITANCE: X -- SANCHENNA
Sanchenna slipped his fingertips down the breastplate, admiring the white-laquered metal, new and unscratched. The young acolyte knelt before him to put on his shinguards, of the same pristine white quality. He glanced in the mirror again. Dark leather and white, but all was dominated by the rich, flowing cape of sea-green, the clan symbol outlined sharply in the centre. The honour guard. Not since he was first embraced into the clan had the world felt so unreal.
He could remember it clearly, how he knelt to his new master, swearing an ancient oath of devotion and servitude. The hall had been filled with delighted faces, mortals and vampires alike, calling 'Sanchenna' like it was a cry of celebration. He had feared they were mocking him. He learned only much later that this was the normal ceremony to welcome a new member to the clan, that in this house, even the youngest fledgling was a God.
The mortal girl stood back, like a painter admiring her work. She nodded approvingly.
"Where's my..." he absentmindedly traced a slim band around his throat with his fingers, "torque?"
She retrieved it from a small box and placed it around his neck, a thin ring of polished steel, with a clear, deep green stone set in it. It had belonged to one of the first Turelim he killed, defending the village of Fiveham. He nearly died that night, but his men held the village, and he recovered. From that time onwards, no one called him 'the rat' anymore, or even 'the turncoat'. They called him Sanchenna.
"Sanchenna,"
He turned, slightly flustered. He would recognise that voice anywhere.
"Are you ready?" Zephon asked, an approving eye wandering over Sanchenna's figure.
He nodded, and Zephon walked up to him. The acolyte knelt, her eyes closed, her head tilted slightly back as if basking in His presence. Zephon adusted Sanchenna's cape, and pulled his breastplate down slightly with a little jerk.
"Perfect." He winked. He was dressed in his ceremonial armour, the uniform only he and his brothers wore; leather trousers laced up over the lower abdomen, the chest bare under large, asymmetrical epaulieres. An arm-length of cape cascaded down from his right shoulder, imprinted with his name sigil. "Are you worried?" he asked.
"No," Sanchenna answered. He wasn't worried, he was just... ill at ease. The world seemed like a foreign place, as if his mind had trouble accepting the recent turn of events.
"Good," Zephon smiled, "there's no reason to be worried. You will be there as my honour-guard, they have no grounds to command you, or challenge you."
Sanchenna nodded.
"You aren't one of them anymore, you're one of mine," Zephon insisted. His green-golden eyes sparked with ferocity. "You are not Sonny anymore." His face broke into a little smile. He took pride in his adopted son; the fact that he had chosen to serve him rather than Kain's firstborn was an endless source of delight to him. Sanchenna knew this, and was not above pandering to it.
"No, I'm not," he whispered. "I am Sanchenna, of clan Zephon. Defender of the Herd."
"That's right." Zephon leaned in close. "Don't disappoint me, my Defender," he whispered.
"Have I yet?" Sanchenna asked frankly.
Zephon smiled broadly. "No. In fact, you have exceeded everyone's expectations. Even mine." He grabbed hold of Sanchenna's hands and spread his arms. "Look at you," he said in the manner of a doting mother. "You're a picture of nobility. Your return will be a triumph!"
Sanchenna laughed and nodded. He had rarely seen such joy in his master's eyes. When not in his role as the benevolent Lord of Mercy, Zephon generally looked like he was on the verge of a bloodfever -- or in the middle of one. But something inside him shrunk as he remembered why his master was in such a good mood.
"If only he could see you now," Zephon said with a sly smile.
Sanchenna's smile wavered, in spite of his determination not to let Zephon know. The doubts in his heart must remain hidden. He felt he was being tested.
"Do you mourn his passing?"
"No," he answered blankly. "He cared not a whit about me. Why should I care for him?" It was true, and yet, to think, Lord Raziel...
"Good," Zephon purred. "And your former clan?"
"That band of traitors got what they deserved. Actually, no, death was too good for them. As for the rest..." he hesitated, afraid he might overplaying his hand. "They're a liability, as you said. Lord Kain is wise to put them in their place."
Zephon nodded, a grim sneer on his face. "The Razelim have all the strength and ferocity of a wild animal. Now that they've had their head removed they have all the stupidity of one, too. Kain will establish a new leader, one with the kind of understanding that is needed to keep those wounded beasts in check."
Sanchenna chuckled. Zephon's analogy was unkind, but not, perhaps, undeserved. He had seen for himself the howling madness his former kinsmen could descend to under pressure.
Zephon grinned at him. "Good boy..." Playfully, he tussled his hair with his claws, and Sanchenna pushed him away, laughing. He smiled fondly at his master, but he felt that smile fade as soon as Zephon turned his back and led him out into the hall. Although he thought of himself as a child of Zephon now, he could not escape a sense of guilt, a sense that he should have been there. Not for Raziel, but for his clan.
He snarled in annoyance at his own thoughts as they descended into the great hall, where some thirty Zephonim, dressed in the same uniform as Sanchenna, were awaiting their Lord. His clan. After twenty-five years in Zephon's service, that still meant the Razelim.
Author's Notes:
You should remember this guy, if not, read 'The Temptations of Sonny'. The end is nigh, only three chapters to go. Next chapter, people will start dying. So, yeah, I guess this is kind of a calm before the storm...
Reviewer responses:
Good to know you're still out there. :)
Smoke: I suppose it is a symbol, yeah. It's just part of how the whole thing is falling apart, the death of Nosgoth. Kain knew it is Melchiah's destiny to help make Raziel stronger. One little explosion is not going to change that. I might write the scene where Melchiah is punished at some point, basically, Kain doesn't fire but throws the bolt. Melchiah's wound will never heal, his increasingly desperate attempts to fix himself up are what triggers the grotesque mutations. I might write Melchiah's story, which would run parallel to this and continue on, but I probably won't, so I'm just telling you now.
Schuldig: glad you're back. :) I don't think I could ever update fast enough to satisfy your curiosity, but I'll try not to leave it too long. So here's chapter ten. More suspense, yay! Don't worry, the excrement will hit the fan in the next chapter and following. Kain will not be very nice, I fear.
Glad you like the swampspeak. I'm Dutch, and although my German is not what it could be, I know a word here and there, and the general similarities between our languages do the rest.
Varyssa, glad you're still enjoying it. Next chapter should not be long.
Sanchenna slipped his fingertips down the breastplate, admiring the white-laquered metal, new and unscratched. The young acolyte knelt before him to put on his shinguards, of the same pristine white quality. He glanced in the mirror again. Dark leather and white, but all was dominated by the rich, flowing cape of sea-green, the clan symbol outlined sharply in the centre. The honour guard. Not since he was first embraced into the clan had the world felt so unreal.
He could remember it clearly, how he knelt to his new master, swearing an ancient oath of devotion and servitude. The hall had been filled with delighted faces, mortals and vampires alike, calling 'Sanchenna' like it was a cry of celebration. He had feared they were mocking him. He learned only much later that this was the normal ceremony to welcome a new member to the clan, that in this house, even the youngest fledgling was a God.
The mortal girl stood back, like a painter admiring her work. She nodded approvingly.
"Where's my..." he absentmindedly traced a slim band around his throat with his fingers, "torque?"
She retrieved it from a small box and placed it around his neck, a thin ring of polished steel, with a clear, deep green stone set in it. It had belonged to one of the first Turelim he killed, defending the village of Fiveham. He nearly died that night, but his men held the village, and he recovered. From that time onwards, no one called him 'the rat' anymore, or even 'the turncoat'. They called him Sanchenna.
"Sanchenna,"
He turned, slightly flustered. He would recognise that voice anywhere.
"Are you ready?" Zephon asked, an approving eye wandering over Sanchenna's figure.
He nodded, and Zephon walked up to him. The acolyte knelt, her eyes closed, her head tilted slightly back as if basking in His presence. Zephon adusted Sanchenna's cape, and pulled his breastplate down slightly with a little jerk.
"Perfect." He winked. He was dressed in his ceremonial armour, the uniform only he and his brothers wore; leather trousers laced up over the lower abdomen, the chest bare under large, asymmetrical epaulieres. An arm-length of cape cascaded down from his right shoulder, imprinted with his name sigil. "Are you worried?" he asked.
"No," Sanchenna answered. He wasn't worried, he was just... ill at ease. The world seemed like a foreign place, as if his mind had trouble accepting the recent turn of events.
"Good," Zephon smiled, "there's no reason to be worried. You will be there as my honour-guard, they have no grounds to command you, or challenge you."
Sanchenna nodded.
"You aren't one of them anymore, you're one of mine," Zephon insisted. His green-golden eyes sparked with ferocity. "You are not Sonny anymore." His face broke into a little smile. He took pride in his adopted son; the fact that he had chosen to serve him rather than Kain's firstborn was an endless source of delight to him. Sanchenna knew this, and was not above pandering to it.
"No, I'm not," he whispered. "I am Sanchenna, of clan Zephon. Defender of the Herd."
"That's right." Zephon leaned in close. "Don't disappoint me, my Defender," he whispered.
"Have I yet?" Sanchenna asked frankly.
Zephon smiled broadly. "No. In fact, you have exceeded everyone's expectations. Even mine." He grabbed hold of Sanchenna's hands and spread his arms. "Look at you," he said in the manner of a doting mother. "You're a picture of nobility. Your return will be a triumph!"
Sanchenna laughed and nodded. He had rarely seen such joy in his master's eyes. When not in his role as the benevolent Lord of Mercy, Zephon generally looked like he was on the verge of a bloodfever -- or in the middle of one. But something inside him shrunk as he remembered why his master was in such a good mood.
"If only he could see you now," Zephon said with a sly smile.
Sanchenna's smile wavered, in spite of his determination not to let Zephon know. The doubts in his heart must remain hidden. He felt he was being tested.
"Do you mourn his passing?"
"No," he answered blankly. "He cared not a whit about me. Why should I care for him?" It was true, and yet, to think, Lord Raziel...
"Good," Zephon purred. "And your former clan?"
"That band of traitors got what they deserved. Actually, no, death was too good for them. As for the rest..." he hesitated, afraid he might overplaying his hand. "They're a liability, as you said. Lord Kain is wise to put them in their place."
Zephon nodded, a grim sneer on his face. "The Razelim have all the strength and ferocity of a wild animal. Now that they've had their head removed they have all the stupidity of one, too. Kain will establish a new leader, one with the kind of understanding that is needed to keep those wounded beasts in check."
Sanchenna chuckled. Zephon's analogy was unkind, but not, perhaps, undeserved. He had seen for himself the howling madness his former kinsmen could descend to under pressure.
Zephon grinned at him. "Good boy..." Playfully, he tussled his hair with his claws, and Sanchenna pushed him away, laughing. He smiled fondly at his master, but he felt that smile fade as soon as Zephon turned his back and led him out into the hall. Although he thought of himself as a child of Zephon now, he could not escape a sense of guilt, a sense that he should have been there. Not for Raziel, but for his clan.
He snarled in annoyance at his own thoughts as they descended into the great hall, where some thirty Zephonim, dressed in the same uniform as Sanchenna, were awaiting their Lord. His clan. After twenty-five years in Zephon's service, that still meant the Razelim.
Author's Notes:
You should remember this guy, if not, read 'The Temptations of Sonny'. The end is nigh, only three chapters to go. Next chapter, people will start dying. So, yeah, I guess this is kind of a calm before the storm...
Reviewer responses:
Good to know you're still out there. :)
Smoke: I suppose it is a symbol, yeah. It's just part of how the whole thing is falling apart, the death of Nosgoth. Kain knew it is Melchiah's destiny to help make Raziel stronger. One little explosion is not going to change that. I might write the scene where Melchiah is punished at some point, basically, Kain doesn't fire but throws the bolt. Melchiah's wound will never heal, his increasingly desperate attempts to fix himself up are what triggers the grotesque mutations. I might write Melchiah's story, which would run parallel to this and continue on, but I probably won't, so I'm just telling you now.
Schuldig: glad you're back. :) I don't think I could ever update fast enough to satisfy your curiosity, but I'll try not to leave it too long. So here's chapter ten. More suspense, yay! Don't worry, the excrement will hit the fan in the next chapter and following. Kain will not be very nice, I fear.
Glad you like the swampspeak. I'm Dutch, and although my German is not what it could be, I know a word here and there, and the general similarities between our languages do the rest.
Varyssa, glad you're still enjoying it. Next chapter should not be long.