< Jerusalem Mortals? | Black Crescent | Dragosani Prelude 2 >
ST The teenager, gaunt, starved and dirty, smells offensive to Dragosani's sensitive nose but the blood welling from his wrist is sweet and thick with his young life. A new member of the cult, recruited from amongst the poor beggars of Jerusalem. He can feel the young man's life. And something else.
ST The pulsing throb of the boy's blood is joined by a second beat, slower. One pulse to every ten of the boy's. Each one deeper, softer. From far away. Dragosani has heard this sound before, in his visions, in his dreams. Never when feeding. As he drinks, the pulsing gets faster and stronger, coming into synchrony with the boy's pulse. It throbs...hungrily.
ST The Malkavian can feel the remembered hunger, the longing to drink in life. The desperate, horrible, ache to suck in blood and steal the vitality of a living being. He can almost forget that his own belly is filling with fresh, hot blood in the ancient hunger that sings through him.
ST And instead of the soft moans of the mortal on his knees before him, Dragosani hears mutters. Sometimes he understands them, but this time he can make out no real words.
Dragosani thirsts, as all of his kind do, and while the thirst that he feels now outstrips all but the most terrible of his own longings, Dragosani has not survived for as long as he has by engaging the baser impulses to the detriment of caution. This, he decides, deserves further exploration, and so he pulls back, leaning backward in his threadbare "throne", peering thoughtfully at the child.
ST The boy is gasping in the aftermath of giving his blood, his life, to the prophet he worships. He trembles, blood still moving sluggisly from his wrist even after the wound was closed.
Dragosani taps a finger softly against his closed mouth, eyes never leaving the child before him. This is something new. A portent, yes, possibly, but of what? Reaching down to wipe the blood from the child's dirty wrist with a thumb, he lightly pushes the boy's chin up, so that they might look each other in the eye.
Cult Boy tries for a few seconds to avoid the gaze of the Malkavian, but he finds himself unable to resist the temptation to look into the eyes of the prophet. For a second his eyes drop to Dragosani's mouth and a trace of his blood on the man's lip. Then they are drawn back up.
Cult Boy "..Master?"
Dragosani peers for a moment more into the boy's eyes, and then wipes the traces of blood from his thumb and lip on the ragged linen bandages that enwrap his arms. "You haven't been among my Chosen for long, have you, child?" he asks, his voice like honey poured over gravel.
Cult Boy makes a minute shake of his head. "No, Master. I am new come to your truth."
Dragosani nods slowly, leaning back and resting his chin in one palm, beckoning for the child to rise. "And how did you come to be here, beneath the All-Seeing Eye?" he asks, pointing to the rough-carven symbol that dominates the wall behind him, a symbol he himself scrawled there in a moment of particularly lucid madness.
Cult Boy "One of your followers found me on the streets. She told me you knew the truth, you'd share it with me. And...I was tired and hungry. Here, I don't have to worry about dying in my sleep. You saved me from that, Master."
Dragosani nods sagely, and lightly pats the boy on the head, a sign of vague favor that is not unusual for him. "You are safe here, child. And though I am not yet certain, I sense the possibility of memorable deeds in you. Now you should go and eat with the others, I am told one of the younger Chosen has brought bread and cheese for today's meal."
Cult Boy scurries off after making the proper respects to the Great Prophet.
Dragosani slowly rises from his dusty throne of ancient leather and bone, and slowly walks around the "temple", which is merely the largest of the catacombs in which he makes his home, carven with eldritch gibberish. After a few moments of silent contemplation, he decides that this is most likely a sign of some sort, perhaps that the Dead Gods Beneath the Sands have something more that they wish to share with him.
ST After he stopped feeding, once the blood was no longer on his tongue, the pulsing stopped and the hunger he felt was reduced to that which gnaws in his belly no matter how full it is. The contact was lost the moment he let the boy's wrist go from his mouth
Dragosani pulls his ragged brown hood back, and smooths back his hair with a bandaged hand, eyes closed. Was it the boy? Was he the connection? Or was it the blood? It was too soon to drink more of the child's blood, he had only recently arrived, and he was still too starved to give more than he had. Another vessel would have to be found, in order to explore this new development further. Yes. He was still thirsty anyway.
Dragosani disappears into the winding catacombs, seeking out another of his Chosen, someone he knew well enough had not elicited such a strange response in the past. Lissa, the fortune-teller, the young native girl who once cast bones before the temple, before she had been driven away. A personal favorite.
Lissa is sitting cross-legged upon a block of fallen masonry deep in the catacombs where Dragosani makes his haven. As he approaches, she tenses slightly, having heard him, but she does not move. She knows he likes to approach her from behind, to surprise her. She tries to make him think she doesn't know when he's coming. It is a game for them.
Dragosani creeps quietly, the barest flutter of stained, ragged bandages and tattered robes, garb suiting a mad prophet such as Dragosani, the only sound betraying his presence. Even though he is almost sure that she knows his dusty scent by now, he creeps forward, until his mouth is bare inches from her ear, the strange, almost flowery smell of her skin filling his nostrils. "I seem to have found you again." he whispers in her ea
Lissa turns around and smiles up at the Prophet. "Yes, Seer, you always know where I am."
Dragosani straightens, mussing up the girl's dark, curled hair. "Perhaps it is a portent. Whispers in the dark trying to point me in the right direction." he jokes in response. "So, what has my little Fortune-Teller seen in the bones today? Great fortune for those who bring you coins, and calamity for the rest, as always?"
Lissa "Of course. And what do you bring me, Seer?"
Dragosani smiles, leaning against the stone and crossing his arms behind his back, a state of relaxation he rarely shows before anyone, save for those few of his followers he trusts most. "Only what I always bring, child. A tiny red drop for your tongue, a thirst to be sated, and a question on my mind. For while I have been blessed with the sight, the Dead Gods have not seen fit to shower me with coins. A pity, too, for great fort
Dragosani for great fortune sounds enticing, does it not?"
Lissa gazes up at Dragosani, smilingly happily. "It does. And I am happy to answer your questions as I can and for all the rest."
Dragosani sits down on the fallen stone, and with a flash of sharp fang, punctures a small hole in the palm of his own cupped left hand, holding it out for the girl to drink. "Have you met any of the most recent among the Chosen? A peculiar young boy was brought before me for this evening's observation of the Sanguine Host."
Lissa licks the blood from his palm, licking at his wrist as well. "You tasted him? I feel someone new inside you. I haven't met him. I have been fasting to see better."
Lissa is prone to doing odd things like fasting, holding her breath for minutes on end as often and close together as she can, refusing to sleep for days, drinking only goat's milk....all sorts of things.
Dragosani strokes the girl's hair, almost like a pet, his gaze far away in thought. "His life was as fulfilling as any other I have partaken of, but there was something strange with us as I fed. I was reminded of my earliest visions, the blurred meanings I felt." he explains, before softly leaning down behind her and puncturing her carotid artery, drawing in a taste of her sweet lifeblood.
Lissa makes a soft cooing noise as the Seer tastes her blood. It feels, as always, sparkling, as if something besides life was dancing on his tongue. He has used favors to see if there is magic in her aura, but none of those he has asked has been able to find any. Despite that, something is..unusual about Lissa.
Lissa Even with the dancing life blood of his favorite vessel going down his throat and filing the last of the emptiness in his belly. But there isn't a trace of the same feelings of hunger and pulse that there was with the other boy. There's something else...a lingering desire that feels similar, but it's fading rather then growing stronger.
Lissa moans again, letting Dragosani know he's taken what he can from a young woman already drained by fasting for days and whatever else she's done to herself recently.
Dragosani pulls away when he has taken his fill, and licks the wound and any remaining blood away, cradling her in his arms. "Strange." he says quietly, lost in thought as he sits there.
Lissa nuzzles into the cold comfort of Dragosani's chest. "I hear myself. Isn't that funny?"
Dragosani strokes her hair, a smile playing about his blood-flushed cheeks. "Not an experience many get to go through, I would think."
Lissa "Everyone hears themselves. You hear yourself. I'm hearing myself right now. But I'm hearing me from you while I'm hearing you. I hear him too. He doesn't sound special. Do you think he does?"
Dragosani closes his eyes thoughtfully. "It wasn't him, I don't think. But there was something there. It felt... old. Perhaps the Dead Gods are seeking another path to their Prophet. Someone will have to watch him for me."
Lissa "We are all watched, Seer. Eyes are already upon him."
Dragosani pats the girl softly. "But not all of those eyes are mine, sweet. And those that are do not yet know that I desire what they have seen. Questions must be asked to be answered."
Lissa "There has to be an answer before you can know you need to ask a question. But I know someone who can answer."
Dragosani continues stroking the girl's hair, wrapping her in the folds of his tattered cloak. "Oh? And who is that?"
Lissa "I haven't met them yet. But I will."
Lissa repositions herself, laying her head in Dragosani's lap. "Are your friends coming soon?"
Dragosani smiles. "I shouldn't be surprised that you know my former associates are on their way to Jerusalem." he says quietly. "I Chose you for a reason, after all. And yes, the messages I have recieved lead me to believe that they will arrive soon enough. A few weeks at most."
Lissa "Tell me what you hear from the new boy."
Dragosani closes his eyes, and takes in the sound and smell of the life that she has so willingly given him. "It was unnerving, on some level. Like there was a second heart beating alongside his own. Slow at first, but growing stronger as I took more from him. It seemed to fan the flames of my thirst, and I came very close to taking too much from him. And... whispers. Like the sounds whispered to me by the Dead Gods, but indistinc
Dragosani but indistinct, much like they were when I was young."
Lissa lays one ear against the Malkavian's belly and lays there for a few moments, holding her breath. "I don't hear anything now."
Dragosani "Nor do I. It faded as I drank of you." he explains, with a joking grin. "It seems you are so sweet as to overpower even this strange new presence in my home."
Lissa pushes at Dragosani's chest, moving him until she can resume her cross-legged position exactly where she was when he came upon her. "I am going away for a while. I am closer now to where I wanted to be."
Lissa "I'll be here if you need me. I think in a few days I'll be back."
Dragosani straightens, and makes a cursory effort at brushing dust from his seemingly permanently dusty clothes. "Safe journey, Fortune-Teller." he replies with a final pat on the leg, before pulling his concealing hood back up over his head, and skulking off into the labyrinthine halls of the catacombs.
< Jerusalem Mortals? | Black Crescent | Dragosani Prelude 2 >
Stryck Wiki