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Post by Lestat de Lioncourt on Nov 30, 2009 7:28:53 GMT -8
Lestat sighed, the work he was doing with his fingers was tedious at best, but the slightest error would ruin his plans. Tattoo needle in hand, he delicately inscribed, in basic ink so as not to permanently affect his flesh, five small symbols into his fingertips. On the thumb, a delicate, ornate crown representing royalty. He was, after all, the Brat Prince of legend. On his index finger, a six pointed star, to demonstrate the sky as the limits. Middle finger, a Sun. The smiling ball of fire representing the light of illumination meant to be bestowed upon the receiver of this ritual. Ring finger, a Lantern to light one's way in dark times. And on the Pinky finger, a key. Representing the momentus occasion, and opportunity that was going to be unlocked, for the lady of the evening. Satisfied with his work, Lestat gave a nod as he watched his healing potential immediately draw the swelling away. Standing up, Lestat clenched his palm to himself. A precautionary measure to not activate the spell just yet. Muttering the words to himself, he used his left hand to prepare the dagger for the night's events. The knife was special, alright. Rumoured to be the blade nearly used to sacrifice Abraham's son on the mount, the iron blade was sharp to the touch, and the bone handle ornately carved like a Gothic masterpiece. Indeed, this ritual would be like nothing the young ones of the clan had ever seen. Simple as it was, it surely wouldn't frighten them, but they wouldn't be expecting it. Sheathing his ceremonial dagger into his right sleeve, Lestat left the private room in the bank, and strolled quietly to the Halls, awaiting his family, and the newest addition.
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Tatyn
New Member
Reality's a plague, we're the medication.
Posts: 38
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Post by Tatyn on Nov 30, 2009 7:31:24 GMT -8
The environment of familiar faces, laughing voices, and all-around joyous excitement set her at ease. Tatyn Cheyanne Devres rocked from heel to heel as her inner nerves buzzed with both excitement and sheer anticipation. This night was one to be documented. Clearly so since Demo and Toki had already began to work on the pre-gaming beforehand. Her grin was nothing less than sincere, though.
Devres wrung her long fingers together as her gaze shifted from one set of smiles to the other. She could feel her heart beating within the barriers of her rib cage. Due to the usual too slow pace it held, the rise in jitters was undoubtedly noticeable. It wasn't until Lestat came into view that she set herself to a stand still stance, collection of coins tethered to a belt loop of her jeans, anxiously awaiting to be entertained to set this night and the ritual to follow in the right direction.
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Post by Lestat de Lioncourt on Nov 30, 2009 7:32:09 GMT -8
Lestat smiled as he saw all gathered, and ready at the Halls. With a heavy sigh, he, too, was nervous. He'd never performed quite such a blood ritual, and he was sure the confused glances wouldn't make it any easier. Thankfully, Lestat thought to himself, I don't have to say these words loudly. The words he was referring to, were in Aramaic. Yes, the vampire had dug deep into the annals of history for a proper blood ritual for this evening. So deep, he wasn't even sure what the words meant, in English.
Having properly memorized them, he stepped into the Halls, set his bag to a ritual table, gave Lyric a soft embrace and a kiss, before hugging Tate as well. "Ready?" He said calmly through the jitters before setting out the candles, and lighting them with his thoughts.
With a deep, unneeded breath, Lestat began to humbly whisper the words he had memorized. Hands resting just an inch above the flickering candle light, he smiled in satisfaction at the feeling of pain. The sacrifice of comfort was one of the simplest an individual could ever accomplish, and it was the best he could make on such short notice. No one could blame him, hard as it was to find a worthy animal sacrifice when one feeds on humans three square meals a day. He hadn't stopped his...prayer, of sorts, as the pain ran through his nerves swiftly.
Turning to the childe to be, Lestat grinned, and removed the dagger from his sleeve. Offering his hands, palm skyward, he uttered a brief piece of the prayer aloud.
דם דם שלי דם דם שלך בונד של הדם החיים של הדם
(Blood of my blood blood of your blood Bond of the blood Life of the blood)
The words rolled off his tongue, with his usual French flair, before eying the girl, and placing the blade in his right palm, offering his hand to her. "Put your hand in mind, as if we were to arm-wrestle." He gave her a calming wink, letting her know it would be okay.
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Tatyn
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Reality's a plague, we're the medication.
Posts: 38
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Post by Tatyn on Nov 30, 2009 7:32:42 GMT -8
Ready or not, Devres figuratively threw herself head long into the makings of the best night of her life. The soles of her clean, newly washed for the occasion, tennis shoes scuff the flooring below as she stands to the side in quiet observation. Her vivid attention flickered every which way available, from the approving faces of their company to the dancing flame of the candle, finally to rest on Lestat's moving lips with the language he spoke.
The solid blade of the dagger was what stole the show, though. Her gaze traced from hilt to sharp tip, running along the dueling edges. The glisten of the iron held her captive in concentration before he approached. Her eyes darted to him, taking the wink for all it was worth and the instructions into her mind. Fear was an odd thing for many. She, herself, only felt it in the most inappropriate of times and this was, thankfully, not one of them.
Hooking the thumb of her right hand in accordance to his own, she matched his gaze. The heel of her palm came to rest against the near hilt of the blade pressed in against her skin and still there was nothing for her to be afraid of. Only the dreaded grip of anticipation anxiety.
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Post by Lestat de Lioncourt on Nov 30, 2009 7:33:28 GMT -8
With a grin, Lestat watched his fearless childe-to-be take his hand, the cold iron blade pressed to both their palms. His hand was warm, fresh from the flame. "With this act, may Tatyn Devres be ever linked to Lestat de Lioncourt, in sire-childe bond." the attendant said, finally broken by the spell the ritual played on his emotions. The man hadn't said a word to this point, obviously taken aback by the strangeness of vampires. He had his palm open now, as if waiting for his own 'sacrificial offering.' Lestat smiled, hooking the 5k from Tatyn's belt, and flopping it into the man's hand.
Now that the financial fee was taken care of, the ritual was one step from completion. Taking the bone handle in his left hand, Lestat twisted the dagger between their hands, and with the double edged blade, sliced the pair's hands simultaneously. Clasping Tatyn's hand tight, the blood flowed and combined, seeping into each others open wound. With his blood, Lestat gave over to many, many memories of his two hundred and forty-nine years on this Earth.
First, came the somber moment, the death of four of his older brothers, lost to the cold of the French winters. Next the battle with the wolves, the loss of his horse and two hunting dogs in that perilous fight that almost took his life prematurely. The pelt-made cape still hung in his closet.
The feeling on stage, and the rush of life as he performed in the Paris traveling theatre came next...short to follow was his own death, flying high in the Paris night, the ancient and powerful vampire Magnus drained him dry. Magnus' blood became his that night, and tonight, it was hers as well. The fight with Armand and his coven, the turning of each of his childer before RavenBlack City, and the loss of all but two. These flooded by as the blood flowed. His escapade with the queen of his kind, her blood also now belonged to the young Tatyn. All these life lessons, hers in an instant. Next, the blood of Christ, and his journey to Hell and back. Finally, RavenBlack City. Secrets only he knows, he kept to himself. But the emotions he felt in each stage, how he feels for his companion, and his happiness at his siring to Sartori, and accompanied sadness at the loss of the same man.
Grasping her hand to keep her connected through the traumatic and epic experience, he whispered softly in her ear. "It's a lot to take in, I know. But trust me, it's worth it." He said, as her blood seeped in to his wound now, and he prepared to take her memories as well.
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Tatyn
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Reality's a plague, we're the medication.
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Post by Tatyn on Nov 30, 2009 7:34:09 GMT -8
She was held in silence. Nothing escaped the back of her throat as her hand gripped in against his own. Her wrist began to shake, quivering like a small leaf put through upset from a storm. She fought to control it, though that became the overall beauty of the experience. She had no control. Yet, despite fully accepting this, she couldn't just open herself up like a book. Too few had ever bothered peeking in at the many blank pages that made her up, and the space that was filled wasn't exactly considered great literature. Tatyn Devres had nineteen years of life under her belt. Only one of those consisted of her being turned, a little over a year ago now. Her life was simple, in sharp comparison to anyone else's. Her fondest memories were of her father and yellow Tonka trucks. Her worse was her father's funeral, even though the memories were foggy, hazy, and unclear from the eyes of a five year old. Just noises. The twenty-one gun salute, the cries of those that loved him, the military commands surrounding her. Life took a dramatic turn, as all typical ones do. Her mother took to drinking and drowning her sorrows with other men in her bed. Those horrible noises would never be forgotten up to the age of fourteen when she finally left. Amazingly enough, a wandering teenager was easily over looked, as many would have thought differently. People would spare her change, in pity, for food and the chance to wash her clothes. Once she got older, no one paid attention. The flipping of cards passed into her mind's eye, Three Card Monte and other easy street scams kept her fed. The sudden rush of blue and white lights of a police car just as easily kicking her out of that lifestyle. Tally's beautiful face, perky step, and overloaded shopping bags followed. Coffee, conversation, and the vicious hours of an entire day as her body changed. Her Turning. So many faces of those she had to meet. Powers, two lovers, and the beautiful faces of her favorite women in the world later and she finally sighed. It was worth it. The increase of physical strength now coursing through her veins waned when compared to the mental bonds she held; not only with Lestat, whom she stole a glance from, but also with her siblings. She steadied her hand against his own, tightening her grip as if to solidify her place in his line before releasing the hold. Her grin was anything but wavering. The binding ritual is complete. Your new sire is King Lestat.
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