Madness consumed him and it was deep and terrible.
Since the death of Augustine, and his slow recovery from losing Salvador to winter's cold fingers two years prior, the Ravnos was in careful control of his sanity. There were moments, of course -- moments where the kindred overwhelmed the man, where Tohias could not bear the weight of the world and the instincts of the night-king took over. But those moments were always brief and easily contained: his violence was senseless, his mind was brash, and anyone with half a mind could easily subdue Sinjin Fai, the mad kindred king.
This madness, however, was unique. It began months ago, perhaps so far back as a year or more; it was a madness that tasted of Egypt and sounded like snakes in the dark. More importantly, it was greater than a madness driven by a crazed Ravnos. It was a madness also driven by a wild Spaniard who had lost his love.
The kindred loved the fae-child just as fiercely as the man. It was, perhaps, the one thing both sides agreed upon. And so a new, more dangerous madness began -- too calculated to be truly insane, too violent and carnal to ever be sane either -- he was somewhere in between, the unsane.
The spaniard Tohias had finished his last task; he gave his Words away, to collect them at another time, if there ever was one. He stepped into the night unfettered: more than a man, more than a monster, but never less than the cheshire grin stained dark with blood.
--
Bastian did not sleep but for a few rare hours past dawn and he generally considered those hours poorly wasted -- so when felt the presence of an unknown visitor disturbing his rest, his reaction was more pleased than disgruntled. The temporary domicile the master vampire has chosen in Rhy'din was quiet and somewhat apart from the city itself, though he had already covered every viable space with books, scrolls, and long-lost text which he spent trying to understand. And it was in the library itself on the lower floor that Bastian found his intruder: the hunched figure of Sinjin Fai standing over one of Bastian's loyal watchmen, now dead. The spaniard seemed unconcerned, hovering over the body as he picked flesh from between his teeth. Bastian was disappointed to see that the book-heavy walls were sprayed liberally with blood and tissue he could not yet identify.
Never the less, Bastian quietly proceeded past Sinjin and toward his study chair. "That was a little unnecessary, Sinjin Fai," he commented, picking a piece of a finger off the chair before he sat. It had been turn straight from its joint and the bone-stub was white and blue-veined.
Sinjin continued to pick away at his teeth until he pulled a fat piece of muscle tissue free and spat it to the floor. Bastian presumed it was part of his watchman's face, since it seemed to be bitten off. "Barely a kindred." His voice was hoarse and quiet; the similarity to Ambrose momentarily startled Bastian before the young Ravnos continued. "His blood is weak. Why keep him?"
"Weakness can be surpassed -- for both men and monsters," the Frenchman replied pointedly, though not without his odd humility and humbleness, watching with a patience granted by eternal time. "You and Ambrose.. I had not realized you were so closely alike."
"I hope we are." He stepped over his meal, now nothing more than a meat shell oozing its vitae across Bastian's library floor. "You said you were bound. Bound to protect him. No matter the cost?"
Bastian watched the kindred before him with eyes as gray as a storm, but his voice was still calm and at peace. "No matter the cost," he confirmed quietly.
Sinjin nodded once, mindlessly pulling a blood spattered book from its shelf. "Then you'll come with me."
"As you wish." Bastian rose from his seat with a faint sigh. "And where shall we begin, Sinjin Fai?"
The Ravnos snapped the book shut and tucked it in his trench coat as his wild, muddy eyes ticked up toward Bastian. "We begin with the end." He lead the way, pushing out of the library as the Frenchman followed in silence. "We begin," murmured Sinjin, "with Egypt. We begin with the Faye Random.
"We begin with She Who Tends the Dead."
Since the death of Augustine, and his slow recovery from losing Salvador to winter's cold fingers two years prior, the Ravnos was in careful control of his sanity. There were moments, of course -- moments where the kindred overwhelmed the man, where Tohias could not bear the weight of the world and the instincts of the night-king took over. But those moments were always brief and easily contained: his violence was senseless, his mind was brash, and anyone with half a mind could easily subdue Sinjin Fai, the mad kindred king.
This madness, however, was unique. It began months ago, perhaps so far back as a year or more; it was a madness that tasted of Egypt and sounded like snakes in the dark. More importantly, it was greater than a madness driven by a crazed Ravnos. It was a madness also driven by a wild Spaniard who had lost his love.
The kindred loved the fae-child just as fiercely as the man. It was, perhaps, the one thing both sides agreed upon. And so a new, more dangerous madness began -- too calculated to be truly insane, too violent and carnal to ever be sane either -- he was somewhere in between, the unsane.
The spaniard Tohias had finished his last task; he gave his Words away, to collect them at another time, if there ever was one. He stepped into the night unfettered: more than a man, more than a monster, but never less than the cheshire grin stained dark with blood.
--
Bastian did not sleep but for a few rare hours past dawn and he generally considered those hours poorly wasted -- so when felt the presence of an unknown visitor disturbing his rest, his reaction was more pleased than disgruntled. The temporary domicile the master vampire has chosen in Rhy'din was quiet and somewhat apart from the city itself, though he had already covered every viable space with books, scrolls, and long-lost text which he spent trying to understand. And it was in the library itself on the lower floor that Bastian found his intruder: the hunched figure of Sinjin Fai standing over one of Bastian's loyal watchmen, now dead. The spaniard seemed unconcerned, hovering over the body as he picked flesh from between his teeth. Bastian was disappointed to see that the book-heavy walls were sprayed liberally with blood and tissue he could not yet identify.
Never the less, Bastian quietly proceeded past Sinjin and toward his study chair. "That was a little unnecessary, Sinjin Fai," he commented, picking a piece of a finger off the chair before he sat. It had been turn straight from its joint and the bone-stub was white and blue-veined.
Sinjin continued to pick away at his teeth until he pulled a fat piece of muscle tissue free and spat it to the floor. Bastian presumed it was part of his watchman's face, since it seemed to be bitten off. "Barely a kindred." His voice was hoarse and quiet; the similarity to Ambrose momentarily startled Bastian before the young Ravnos continued. "His blood is weak. Why keep him?"
"Weakness can be surpassed -- for both men and monsters," the Frenchman replied pointedly, though not without his odd humility and humbleness, watching with a patience granted by eternal time. "You and Ambrose.. I had not realized you were so closely alike."
"I hope we are." He stepped over his meal, now nothing more than a meat shell oozing its vitae across Bastian's library floor. "You said you were bound. Bound to protect him. No matter the cost?"
Bastian watched the kindred before him with eyes as gray as a storm, but his voice was still calm and at peace. "No matter the cost," he confirmed quietly.
Sinjin nodded once, mindlessly pulling a blood spattered book from its shelf. "Then you'll come with me."
"As you wish." Bastian rose from his seat with a faint sigh. "And where shall we begin, Sinjin Fai?"
The Ravnos snapped the book shut and tucked it in his trench coat as his wild, muddy eyes ticked up toward Bastian. "We begin with the end." He lead the way, pushing out of the library as the Frenchman followed in silence. "We begin," murmured Sinjin, "with Egypt. We begin with the Faye Random.
"We begin with She Who Tends the Dead."