Vlad Tepes (![]() ![]() @ 2019-06-30 23:55:00 |
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Entry tags: | dracula untold: vlad tepes |
Who Vlad
Where: Everett
When: Start of June [backdated]
What: His armor arrives
Rating: Moderate; profanity, mentions of blood, violence, death, war, torture, etc.
Status: Narrative
Word Cound: 1196
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It was late at night as Vlad Tepes began to wake from his slumber. The moon was high in the sky, the hours late, the darkness deep. And ohhhh, he was thirsty. It was time to feed. Time to hunt. And by hunt, of course, that actually meant just going to the vampire bar Fangtasia and getting blood over the counter, or from willing 'feeders' or however was done now. Or the brothel was an option. He had been talking the business up as promised, so maybe Katherine would allow him a bit of supply. His eyes were now opened as he was fully awake, taking in the surroundings of yet another empty house had had found to sleep in.
He found it was safe to keep changing it every few nights. Make it easier to avoid being hunted. Not that he needed to here. But back home there were a small number of people, misguided humans that knew of his existence. Damn that Bram Stoker, damn that man who made one little book after learning the smallest of things about him, and every story or movie that followed depicting him as the ultimate villain. Of course.. the joke was on them, as his own people, even modern citizens of Romania, considered him a hero.
Not that he care about it too much. Oh, it was nice. And he appreciated it. But all that mattered in all that time? More than those he never met, what mattered most of all to him was thus - was he a hero to his son? And the answer to that was yes, yes he was. Even if he also had to be a monster. But his son had understood that too, and Vlad had read one of his later writings that sometimes the world needed a monster. To fight other monsters.
As he stood up, he made his way into the living room, then stopped still in his tracks mid-step. "What.. what is this?" He saw something very familiar suit of armor on the large table. Leg plates, arms, girdle, boots, hand guards, and the main torso breastplate. It was a mixed color of midnight black and crimson red. And the symbolic design, especially on the chest portion was unmistakable, seemed to be a serpent theme, but he knew it well. It was a Dragon. His Dragon Armor. A suit of army given to him by the Order of the Dragon, or as it was in the original language? The Order of the Dracul. And this armor that he was seeing, touching right now, it did not feel ancient, no rust, no signs of age, it didn't look like metal that had been sitting for five centuries. Really, it looked and felt just as new as the day it was forged, as new as the time he had first worn it.
This represented memories of horror for him. Of a time when he had to be a monster in battle. To be the most bloodthirsty and cruel. To put away all mercy, compassion or quarter for the enemy. To yield into his darkest natures and kill the enemy armies, and to do so with extreme prejudice. And to do so in a multitude of violent and bloody ways, destroy every turban-wearing infidel until all had fallen and until the fields were red and wet with their blood. It was a barbaric time in his life. It was fucking war. And after the wars were done, he had put it away and swore never to wear it again (unless in the most extreme circumstances). And he had only worn it once more - after his wife's death, when he was forced to accept full vampirism, to save his son and kill the enemy at the top.
As he held it, his hands gliding over the metal's surface, perhaps either as a caress or touch of trepidation, he saw images in his mind. Of himself on the battlefield wearing this armor. On the grassy fields were man enemy soldiers, knights, warriors. But as soon as he was seen walking in that armor, armed with sword and dagger, not to mention holding a thick, long wooden spear in his hands? And coming in their direction with rage on his face?
These battle-hardened, season men of war.. well, a good number yelled out in shock and fear, a couple even running in the other direction. The Impaler was here! Fear the Lord Impaler, run from this demon! Those foolish enough to band together in groups of ten or more, that was a mistake as he had cut most of them down in seconds, and several others stabbing with a spear or two. And then raising said spear upright and planting it in the ground! More images of this flooded his mind, of him cutting through vast numbers, the sounds of screams and crying, then a flash, and an image of those either dead or barely alive.. hanging upon raised pikes.
He growled with a heavy sigh, shaking his head, and the memory faded. He stared down at this Dragon Armor on the table, once again brushing his hands over it in curiosity. Why was this here? Why? Was it to torment him? To remind him that he isn't human anymore? He thought that was evident when he had become a vampire again. But no, now it seemed he hadn't learned that enough, he needed something to remind him exactly of the monster he was. There was a question in his mind now. And the question was this, "Should I put it on?" Was it necessary? He had only worn this during war, during times it was needed of the utmost emergency, when the world needed him to be a monster. Well, this was technically the end of the world. They were living in a zombie apocalypse. A literal apocalyptic end of humanity. He found himself giving the slightest of nods in agreement, of silent assent.
If this type of world, this type of life? The type of end-world scenario that wasn't just zombies, but also worse things that appear? If that wasn't a sign of the utmost emergency to qualify for this question, then he didn't know what would. Heaving out a heavy sigh, resignation, admittance. Yes. Yes, this was needed again. So he began to try it on, see if it still fit. It took nearly twenty minutes but soon he was fully garbed in his ancient armor.
And surprising, it was still snug, every part of it had fit him just as perfectly as it did centuries ago. And he had to admit, he was feeling a strong sense of resolve right now, a feeling that he was ready for a city-wide battle if it should happen. He felt more ready to fight and decimate. And he noted that he also looked pretty good in this too. So he found another question. Should he wear this, the answer was yes. The new question -- should he now take a, what did the kids these days call it, should he 'take a selfie' as it were? Also yes.