Post by Amadeo Vittore on May 24, 2005 11:02:56 GMT -8
Tusday, March 28th, 1506. 8:37 PM
An Unknown Location
Milan, Italy
Darkness. The entire world was dark, almost completely black save for the small light that filtered in through the barred window in the wall. Or was it a door? It was cold. Colder than it should have been for the time of year. And there was pain. And thirst. The pain was hot, pounding in his head as if it’d been broken open. And the thirst. It was maddening. It felt like he hadn’t anything to drink in ages. No water, no wine, nothing. Amadeo doubled over, clutching his stomach, begging for the pain to stop.
He was churning on something. It wasn’t rough, but soft and some how inviting, save for the gnawing pain and crippling thirst. His stomach ached as if it hadn’t been full in ages. He called for his wife, begging her to bring water, but he received no reply. Where was he? How’d he come to be in this place. He struggled to remember, struggled to find answers to his questions, but none came.
Had he died? Was this purgatory? Or even hell? He desperately attempted to retrace his steps in his mind’s eye. Slowly it came back to him.
He remembered that he was celebrating something with friends.
A victory?
No, it was a birthday. One of the men he worked with. They’d gone to the tavern to drink, to celebrate and to trade stories.
No. Wait. It had been a victory and the birthday. The men had been commissioned for more work from the Duke. Amadeo had negotiated a higher price than average, talking up his crew’s work and having discovered the Duke’s personal tastes toward a Florentine style. They celebrated the wealth they’d receive and the birth of a friend. He was walking home and then there was him.
Or was it her.
A voice, a pair of dark eyes.
“Sleep,” they spoke. He tried to keep his eyes open, but he couldn’t fight it. The world faded to black.
A demon?
No.
What was it?
Who was it?
Amadeo struggled to remember, but the pain consumed him, clouded his mind. He could hardly think. He couldn’t concentrate on anything but the pain and the thirst. He felt like he was dying. Light, there was a single light and it served to bring him focus. Slowly the world around him came into view and he willed himself to focus.
The room was sparse in its décor, three pillars stood near the far wall and a single tapestry hung behind them of a crown with some kind of bird, a raven or an eagle with some kind of saying “Muerte Ascendo” it read. He found that he’d been laid on an elegant and comfortable bed and the light filtered in between the bars of a single window set into a large oak door and Amadeo had to wonder if he were in a prison of some sort.
“Hello? Is any one there?” He waited, but he received no answer. Behind one of the square columns, something stirred and Amadeo waited for his eyes to adjust. The shadows seemed to disperse at his wish and a rat darted for the bed. It was pure instinct when he leaned down and grabbed up the rodent. Amadeo gave the animal a sympathetic look as he stroked its filth ridden hair before sinking his fangs into it.<>
The blood rushed through him, giving him a moment of freedom from his pain and hunger, and in that second, he realized that his heart no longer beat. He did not breathe. He let his hand, still clutching the now dead rat, fall limp to his side. Amadeo looked down at the creature in his hand and realized, with horrible clarity what had happened. He was a vampire.
Horrified, he threw the rat’s corpse across the room. It hit the wall with a dull “thud” as he began screaming for help, throwing himself at the door. The threshold shook violently with each strike, the hinges rattling loudly. Then, beneath the sound of his mind screaming at him, under the sounds of his feet against the stone floor and his body colliding with the door came the sound of footsteps growing closer. Amadeo stopped, his hands gripped the bars as he yelled for help. Then there was a sympathetic face, staring at him from across the threshold and on that face were those dark eyes, gazing into his again.
“Good, you’re awake. What is your name?” His voice was calm and kind, like a father or a priest as he spoke to Amadeo.
“A… Amadeo, Vittore.” Was this man a priest? Would he kill Amadeo for what he’d become? Then Amadeo noticed it, the lack of breath and the unblinking eyes.
“Good, then there has been no permanent damage. My name is Thomasino Rosellini. I am your sire.”<br>
“You bastard! What have you done to me!? Why have you taken me!? I’ll kill you for this!” Amadeo’s rage boiled to the surface, he knew the truth about his maker and he wanted revenge. In that moment he felt the beast’s influence. Amadeo slammed himself against the door, over and over, gnashing his fangs and clawing at the wood. He pressed his face against the bars and Thomasino knew that at this time it was pointless to speak to the childe. He turned his back from the door, making his way once more up the stairs from the cellar to the main haven of Prince Giangalleazzo. From behind him, the screams of rage came. The door still shook with each impact from the newly created Lasombra.
“How is he?” Giangalleazzo looked to his own childe as he asked the question.
“He is as I was, angry at first. But I believe the Abyss will make him stronger in time.” Thomasino looked to his sire, this noble scion of the Camarilla. If only Prince Giangalleazzo could bring to heal the violent Anarchs, Milan might find peace again under the laws of the Fledgling Camarilla. But no such peace was in sight.
Wednesday, March 29th, 1506. 8:25 PM
The Cellar of Prince Giangalleazzo’s Haven,
Milan, Italy
The world greeted Amadeo again with a cool embrace that he wasn’t yet accustomed to. The luxury of comfortable bedding and a spacious room meant little with the loss of his mortality. He was stripped of his soul. At least so he had believed. There had once been compassion, love, faith and a paternal instinct. Now, there was only anger and hate. He wanted to destroy his maker. He wanted to destroy himself for the horror he believed he had become.
Angrily, he paced the cold stone floor of his cell. It was no longer the spacious resting place it might have been for the rest of the Prince’s brood and their own childer, but it was his prison. For him, there was no comfort, not like those other Lasombra who had adjusted to their new existences. Now he was alone, the fledgling with neonates and ancillae. But they were all elders to him. They knew the hidden truths that he had not known in life and it made them all seem so much older. Five in that haven, including himself. He was scared, but anger overpowered any fear that he felt and he took every opportunity to antagonize the youngest in the haven. At least until his sire grew tired of waiting.
An Unknown Location
Milan, Italy
Darkness. The entire world was dark, almost completely black save for the small light that filtered in through the barred window in the wall. Or was it a door? It was cold. Colder than it should have been for the time of year. And there was pain. And thirst. The pain was hot, pounding in his head as if it’d been broken open. And the thirst. It was maddening. It felt like he hadn’t anything to drink in ages. No water, no wine, nothing. Amadeo doubled over, clutching his stomach, begging for the pain to stop.
He was churning on something. It wasn’t rough, but soft and some how inviting, save for the gnawing pain and crippling thirst. His stomach ached as if it hadn’t been full in ages. He called for his wife, begging her to bring water, but he received no reply. Where was he? How’d he come to be in this place. He struggled to remember, struggled to find answers to his questions, but none came.
Had he died? Was this purgatory? Or even hell? He desperately attempted to retrace his steps in his mind’s eye. Slowly it came back to him.
He remembered that he was celebrating something with friends.
A victory?
No, it was a birthday. One of the men he worked with. They’d gone to the tavern to drink, to celebrate and to trade stories.
No. Wait. It had been a victory and the birthday. The men had been commissioned for more work from the Duke. Amadeo had negotiated a higher price than average, talking up his crew’s work and having discovered the Duke’s personal tastes toward a Florentine style. They celebrated the wealth they’d receive and the birth of a friend. He was walking home and then there was him.
Or was it her.
A voice, a pair of dark eyes.
“Sleep,” they spoke. He tried to keep his eyes open, but he couldn’t fight it. The world faded to black.
A demon?
No.
What was it?
Who was it?
Amadeo struggled to remember, but the pain consumed him, clouded his mind. He could hardly think. He couldn’t concentrate on anything but the pain and the thirst. He felt like he was dying. Light, there was a single light and it served to bring him focus. Slowly the world around him came into view and he willed himself to focus.
The room was sparse in its décor, three pillars stood near the far wall and a single tapestry hung behind them of a crown with some kind of bird, a raven or an eagle with some kind of saying “Muerte Ascendo” it read. He found that he’d been laid on an elegant and comfortable bed and the light filtered in between the bars of a single window set into a large oak door and Amadeo had to wonder if he were in a prison of some sort.
“Hello? Is any one there?” He waited, but he received no answer. Behind one of the square columns, something stirred and Amadeo waited for his eyes to adjust. The shadows seemed to disperse at his wish and a rat darted for the bed. It was pure instinct when he leaned down and grabbed up the rodent. Amadeo gave the animal a sympathetic look as he stroked its filth ridden hair before sinking his fangs into it.<>
The blood rushed through him, giving him a moment of freedom from his pain and hunger, and in that second, he realized that his heart no longer beat. He did not breathe. He let his hand, still clutching the now dead rat, fall limp to his side. Amadeo looked down at the creature in his hand and realized, with horrible clarity what had happened. He was a vampire.
Horrified, he threw the rat’s corpse across the room. It hit the wall with a dull “thud” as he began screaming for help, throwing himself at the door. The threshold shook violently with each strike, the hinges rattling loudly. Then, beneath the sound of his mind screaming at him, under the sounds of his feet against the stone floor and his body colliding with the door came the sound of footsteps growing closer. Amadeo stopped, his hands gripped the bars as he yelled for help. Then there was a sympathetic face, staring at him from across the threshold and on that face were those dark eyes, gazing into his again.
“Good, you’re awake. What is your name?” His voice was calm and kind, like a father or a priest as he spoke to Amadeo.
“A… Amadeo, Vittore.” Was this man a priest? Would he kill Amadeo for what he’d become? Then Amadeo noticed it, the lack of breath and the unblinking eyes.
“Good, then there has been no permanent damage. My name is Thomasino Rosellini. I am your sire.”<br>
“You bastard! What have you done to me!? Why have you taken me!? I’ll kill you for this!” Amadeo’s rage boiled to the surface, he knew the truth about his maker and he wanted revenge. In that moment he felt the beast’s influence. Amadeo slammed himself against the door, over and over, gnashing his fangs and clawing at the wood. He pressed his face against the bars and Thomasino knew that at this time it was pointless to speak to the childe. He turned his back from the door, making his way once more up the stairs from the cellar to the main haven of Prince Giangalleazzo. From behind him, the screams of rage came. The door still shook with each impact from the newly created Lasombra.
“How is he?” Giangalleazzo looked to his own childe as he asked the question.
“He is as I was, angry at first. But I believe the Abyss will make him stronger in time.” Thomasino looked to his sire, this noble scion of the Camarilla. If only Prince Giangalleazzo could bring to heal the violent Anarchs, Milan might find peace again under the laws of the Fledgling Camarilla. But no such peace was in sight.
Wednesday, March 29th, 1506. 8:25 PM
The Cellar of Prince Giangalleazzo’s Haven,
Milan, Italy
The world greeted Amadeo again with a cool embrace that he wasn’t yet accustomed to. The luxury of comfortable bedding and a spacious room meant little with the loss of his mortality. He was stripped of his soul. At least so he had believed. There had once been compassion, love, faith and a paternal instinct. Now, there was only anger and hate. He wanted to destroy his maker. He wanted to destroy himself for the horror he believed he had become.
Angrily, he paced the cold stone floor of his cell. It was no longer the spacious resting place it might have been for the rest of the Prince’s brood and their own childer, but it was his prison. For him, there was no comfort, not like those other Lasombra who had adjusted to their new existences. Now he was alone, the fledgling with neonates and ancillae. But they were all elders to him. They knew the hidden truths that he had not known in life and it made them all seem so much older. Five in that haven, including himself. He was scared, but anger overpowered any fear that he felt and he took every opportunity to antagonize the youngest in the haven. At least until his sire grew tired of waiting.
