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With a muffled cracking sound, a small hole opened in the south wall of the dusty subterranean chamber. New fresh air rushed into the square room, barely five meters across, to whip the accumulated dust of a century into a cloud. Once it had settled a rat as big as a man’s fist, with black mangy fur, popped out of the hole like a toy jester from a Bretonnian Childs toy box. To its beady eyes, it saw only the floor, but if it had been a mortal man it would have noticed the weapons rack set near the far wall, filled with ancient pieces of weaponry within whose hilts and shafts gleamed precious stones inscribed with sigils of power, or the massive bulk of an ornate black granite throne and the skeletal being which sat upon it.
The corpse’s skin was desiccated and dry, its limbs sat slack upon the arm rests. The whole of the corpse was clothed in ancient and decaying bronze plate armor, gilded with silver inlays’ of raging dragons. With a flick of its whiskers, the rat scurried towards the throne, running to the smell of unsoiled bone and the marrow within. With short, death-defying leaps, the rat picked itself upwards an armrest, catching handholds in the carved stone as a frog might catch flies. Succeeding in its ordeal, the mangy vermin perched itself upon one of the corpses skeletal hands, ivory digits mocking it from within a bronze gauntlet.
Suddenly, open air presented itself where the gauntlet had been, dropping the fat rat to the granite beneath. The vermin squealed, pawing desperately at the air as the powerful claw trapped it in an iron grip. Slowly the hand was raised to the skeletal beings mouth. With a dry rattle, parched skin creaked open, revealing fangs as long as an index finger and sharp as a cathayan long sword. Within a split second, the powerful fangs were buried deep in the squirming vermin’s body, sucking foul blood into the vampire’s system. Slowly the desiccated flesh started to fill with revitalization, taking on the pale color that showed its former strength
The ancient being stirred from his sleep, his armored gauntlet clanking as a century of rust and congealed grime split and flaked off with the movement. The dead carcass of the rat was thrown contemptuously away with a flick of the wrist. As he stood, the unearthly knight opened his eyes and power shown out, bathing the walls in blue light and making shadows dance upon the floor.
Revealed after a century of rest, Marcus cheval of the order of the blood dragon was meticulous in his movements. His eyes glowed with dark power, and with a single gesture, his armor was restored to its bronze splendor. Walking to a weapon rack set towards the left of his throne, Marcus selected a long, thin blade of cathayan craftsman ship. Sheathing it and fastening it to his back, the vampire made his way to the middle of the throne room. Waving his arms in a complex gesture, he then waited, a smile on his lips. With a tremor and a fountain of earth, a monstrous armored steed burst from the ground, it’s barding preserved, its eyes aflame with corpse-light.
Tonight, the crimson hunt would begin……
any suggestions for lengthening? i really have no idea what to add, and its not long enough for my tastes.
Last edited by lord-marcus; February 8th, 2009 at 02:33. Reason: wording
A really good piece there - I like it!
If you are looking to add to it, maybe a little bit about how Marcus Cheval came to be sitting and waiting on that granite throne? Was he trapped there? A self-imposed exile?
And what's he hunting for? Aside from crimson... Silly Vampire! You can't hunt a colour!
I like it. It kept me wondering what would happen next. You could say he is seeking revenge on whoever put him there.