Remy perched on the boulder beneath the tree that gave his post its name, 'The Willow Gate' into The Realms. It was the quiet hours between midnight and four a.m. The humans were all safely tucked away in their homes. The creatures of the night were roaming, searching for food, but they were not passing his way. He was alone with his thoughts.
Many in The Realms, a parallel world to the mundane, filled with creatures humans thought were mythical or fanciful, thought him slow or at least challenged. How very wrong they all were.
Remy let them think what they might. In truth, he encouraged the rumors of his mental defects by always being slow and hesitant in his response. Over many centuries he had learned to feign focus on the everyday communications of his peers. So many memories filled his brain that he was often lost in them.
No one knew his history. All his deeds of the past had been lost over the vast amount of time his soul had roamed this world. The fact that he was literally the first vampire, or should he say, the founding father of the species called vampires, was thankfully lost to time. If he could have taken it all back, he would have. He would have unraveled it like a pennant caught in a wicked wind. He was not proud of what he had become, and what he had brought into the world through the poor choices of a troubled… no… a tortured soul.
Unlike the rest of the world, he could not forget. His mind stored a catalogue of his unseemly deeds and outrageous behavior. After so many years, he could not justify his actions, he could only continuously review them and acknowledge that his was a life ill-lived from his death until almost a century ago when he became the vampire Willow Gatekeeper to The Realms.
Remy shifted to his left as his superior hearing picked up the call of a fox and the replying challenge of another male. The screams were so like people in pain. His mind flowed back to the battle of Tyre and the screams of the Macedonian soldier Alexander ordered out upon his man-made causeway in an effort to storm the walled Persian city. The Tyrians were waiting with metal bowls filled with sand and fine gravel heated to almost an incandescent brew. It rained down on Alexander’s men. The red-hot sand filled their breastplates and shirts.
Alexander had almost given up at that point. Had it not been for the Tyrians’ fleet being bottled up in the harbor, he might have turned away from the insanity. Remy, or rather Cleitus at that time, had advised him to, and the young king almost did. They had been at this weary siege for over six months, but the king had passed the point of no return.
Alexander’s army continued to make forays against the city from all sides and toward the end of July they finally found a weak spot in the wall on the South-east side. They bombarded it until the city wall crumbled. Then he brought up two special assault crafts crammed with his best troops. Alexander led the charge himself, with Cleitus at his side. They fought along the battlement. A cheer arose below when the rest of Alexander’s forces succeeded in toppling yet another section of the city’s wall.
The Tyrians retreated, pelting tiles from the rooftops onto Alexander’s advancing forces. Cleitus raised his shield up over his head and fought on, killing anything that moved in his path.
When the last of the organized threat was slaughtered, Cleitus and the rest of Alexander’s veterans roamed through the street in an almost hysterical killing madness. The siege had been so long that the blood lust overwhelmed them. They killed over seven thousand Tyrians in that horrid battle.
Remy looked down at his hands. He had no trouble envisioning them running with blood. He had been one of Alexander’s Companions. His job for eight long years had been to fight or die at his king’s side. He was the consummate warrior and would remain so for over a century.
Many in The Realms, a parallel world to the mundane, filled with creatures humans thought were mythical or fanciful, thought him slow or at least challenged. How very wrong they all were.
Remy let them think what they might. In truth, he encouraged the rumors of his mental defects by always being slow and hesitant in his response. Over many centuries he had learned to feign focus on the everyday communications of his peers. So many memories filled his brain that he was often lost in them.
No one knew his history. All his deeds of the past had been lost over the vast amount of time his soul had roamed this world. The fact that he was literally the first vampire, or should he say, the founding father of the species called vampires, was thankfully lost to time. If he could have taken it all back, he would have. He would have unraveled it like a pennant caught in a wicked wind. He was not proud of what he had become, and what he had brought into the world through the poor choices of a troubled… no… a tortured soul.
Unlike the rest of the world, he could not forget. His mind stored a catalogue of his unseemly deeds and outrageous behavior. After so many years, he could not justify his actions, he could only continuously review them and acknowledge that his was a life ill-lived from his death until almost a century ago when he became the vampire Willow Gatekeeper to The Realms.
Remy shifted to his left as his superior hearing picked up the call of a fox and the replying challenge of another male. The screams were so like people in pain. His mind flowed back to the battle of Tyre and the screams of the Macedonian soldier Alexander ordered out upon his man-made causeway in an effort to storm the walled Persian city. The Tyrians were waiting with metal bowls filled with sand and fine gravel heated to almost an incandescent brew. It rained down on Alexander’s men. The red-hot sand filled their breastplates and shirts.
Alexander had almost given up at that point. Had it not been for the Tyrians’ fleet being bottled up in the harbor, he might have turned away from the insanity. Remy, or rather Cleitus at that time, had advised him to, and the young king almost did. They had been at this weary siege for over six months, but the king had passed the point of no return.
Alexander’s army continued to make forays against the city from all sides and toward the end of July they finally found a weak spot in the wall on the South-east side. They bombarded it until the city wall crumbled. Then he brought up two special assault crafts crammed with his best troops. Alexander led the charge himself, with Cleitus at his side. They fought along the battlement. A cheer arose below when the rest of Alexander’s forces succeeded in toppling yet another section of the city’s wall.
The Tyrians retreated, pelting tiles from the rooftops onto Alexander’s advancing forces. Cleitus raised his shield up over his head and fought on, killing anything that moved in his path.
When the last of the organized threat was slaughtered, Cleitus and the rest of Alexander’s veterans roamed through the street in an almost hysterical killing madness. The siege had been so long that the blood lust overwhelmed them. They killed over seven thousand Tyrians in that horrid battle.
Remy looked down at his hands. He had no trouble envisioning them running with blood. He had been one of Alexander’s Companions. His job for eight long years had been to fight or die at his king’s side. He was the consummate warrior and would remain so for over a century.
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