Bio from a Past Life
Journal Entry -- May 2nd, 1816.
I know now that the creatures of the night, the vampires are more than just myth. I have seen two such creatures of dark beauty in company. I was in Paris with my father on business, and he left me to explore the city while he met with Duke DeArmais at his town home. It was past midnight when I left Chateau Des Hautes Tours, and traveled by carriage into the country to the Chateau Rouge De Lune. The grounds were so beatifully terra-scaped, that instead of going into the Chateau's commons, I went instead for a preamble of the gardens. The moon shone down like a great lamp to bathe the paths and islands in its enchanting glow, and I in my black attire felt at home in the shadows thrown by the weeping boughs and the rose vines twining the arching arbors. I saw then, three figures, two handsome males and a female who would have been far more comely had she not adorned herself in so many glittering rich bobbles. I paused to lean on the frame of the arbor in polite observance of the three. I say polite, because they were quite out of particular hearing range of me, and I remained unobtrusive, indeed waiting for them to take leave that I could continue with my journey, while yet, I was held by something I could not explain to myself. My heart then began to race as the one handsome gentleman, whose hair was the color of flax, embraced the woman, while the other, a dark haired male who was too handsome to walk the earth and dare others to rival his devilish good looks, fell upon the lady to tear a rent in her throat and draw from her, her life's blood. I could not move, nor breath, nor could I look away. I then realized I recognized the comely older gentleman as Count Byron Decasey, whom my father did business with in the purchase of wines from Decasey's vinyards, and horses from his stables. I stood amazed as he took the woman's wrist in hand and bit down with what I perceived in the moonlight, as wolf like canines. The woman moaned as if the two kissed her with their favors, seeming oblivious to the fact these two handsome devils drained her very life away, and indeed they did, dropping her to the ground, cold stone dead. A shadowy mist then covered her form and all the billows of cloth and wale bone, then.. she just.. vanished from sight as the vapors parted to reveal a flattened patch of grass where she had laid. I felt as if my muscles had been seized by some force, then realized it was fear which locked me in place as two pair of eyes turned my way, both equally dark in their iron wraught color. It felt as if the ground fell out from under me as their eyes looked straight down inside of my soul and my mind. After they stared at me some while, the one glanced at the other who nodded, as if he had spoken without uttering a word, then they turned and walked away. I dare not speak of this to anyone, for I would surely be marked as a mad man and locked away, and I tread close enough to being an enigma to my father. Perhaps they knew I would keep my silence, and that is why they left me alive. I will assume nothing for certain, but this is my best guess.
Journal Entry: Nov. 5th, 1818
We have come to Paris again, and there is a theatre I wish to research, or rather, I wish an interview with one of the theatre's occupants. My father and I had another heated arguement which he ended in his usual manner of violence after paying me poor measure for a request I made of him, for a year's sabbatical out on my own now that I have graduated from my class with the highest honors in Science, Archaology, Literature and Ancient History. I attained also the King's Master award for Swordsmanship, and alas he was insistant that I persue a parliamentary and military carreer and put away all my foolery for what once was, and shall never be again, to quote him. I weary of the beatings and the burning, despite how numb I have grown to the pain. It is as familiar to me as the air I breathe. It is not that though which has lead me to this, my final determination, to part ways with my father, even if it means he shall disown me and estrange me from all the security of a bountiful inheritence. Maybe I am foolish, but if it is so, then I am hardly worthy of his estate and a position of power. I am admittedly petrified of facing this world with nothing, but the clothes on my back and my wits, where I am accustomed to such comforts in living, and hale health granted by consistant and savory nourishment. I love my father and have the courage to face his unforgiving nature forever, but I can not abide his ambition to live my life and make all my choices for me, to be trapped into a life not of my chosing. So I go this night, to the theatre, and from there shall the wind and the fates lay my path beneath me. I have left my father a letter, and shall pray he shall try to understand once his temper grows lonely for fuel. God be with me in this, my greatest challenge and endeavor, and may my father forgive me and call me his son again one day.
Memories as Cassavant
The Recurring Dream
He beholds of himself pacing the floor of a well furnished room without windows, deep in some underground, and talking to himself, while visions of what he speaks to himself are manifested in flashes. "I wish my Lord Master would allow me to call him my beloved, if only from my lips to his ears. I am no flaming faery.. F*ck no... I am a product of my past. I am proud of being male.. I love the male body but that is not it either. If HE had been female, I would be in love with a female. It is about HIM. He has never asked me about my past. I am not sure he needs to.. Does he see it all through my eyes? The way he looks at me sometimes, I know he can see my soul, and it humbles me.. Shakes me, for what if he sees it all? The degradation I suffered at my mortal family's hands? Does he know how depraved they were? The unspeakable things my father, my mother, my uncles, and when they came somewhat into age, what even my brother and sister did to me? The rapes.. the forced pleasure, the beatings, and the tortures? How they sold my youthful image away with my soul in sordid living images? Because I was beautiful they said.. How could they? I was a child.. a SMALL child when they started it. My uncle was a fool to send to me to the Yoshoto Dojo in china town after school everyday. San Yoshoto was such a wise man. He saw the pain there I think. He tried to help me, to give me hope, but it was too late. I miss him... I miss my dark father... I wish I could forget.. I wish my beloved would return and take it all away from me. Satan worshippers.. They shame satan's name, if satan does exist. I am willing to bet Satan is not as bad as he is made out to be, just collects the souls of those who disgrace his name doing such foul deeds in his name. It probably all really pisses him off. They took any beauty I had away and made me ugly, until I loathed every breath I drew until I could take no more.. I do not remember a lot about that stormy night. The rain was pouring down.. It all boiled up inside of me.. and then my father's cheap replica sword was in my hand, and everything was crimson after that. I know I murdered them all that night, I just have no clear images of it. The night he found me, struggling with allowing myself to live, perched on top of that tall building, seeking a single reason, my family's blood painting me. The scent must have driven him mad. I could find not one reason, not until he took me away from all of that. I think it surprises him in some ways that I crave the pain I was conditioned to.. That nothing he can do to me will break me of my love and devotion to him. Or does he expect it? He is such a mystery. I love that about him too. I wish I were as much as mystery to him sometimes. Occasional kindness cut to peices by his demons release on me. I think he hates me because he loves me, because I love him unconditionally. Perhaps it disgusts him.. Perhaps he wants me to fight back.. or perhaps he simply knows that a soul once raped and devoured by terror, can never be the same, can never find a way to purge themselves of the demons. I fight back.. just not against him. I can not find it in myself to do so. I don't have a weak will, that's not it.. if I did, I would not be here. Sure.. I am bonded to him.. but that is for my protection, it was not necessary to attain my love and loyalty. Maybe though.. He gave me the strength to live.. I hated life until him. I was forsaken before he ever found me. My only virtue is my love for him. I will never let anyone touch me but him, unless he forces me to. I am not ashamed of anything I allow, return to him. I shiver just to think of pleasing him.. satisfying any desire he needs gratified. Please.. please.. don't let him forget me.. Satan.. I am yours.. please, my soul is yours.. give me this one hope.. this one wish.. Please don't let him forget me." Always the dream was the same.... Was it some premonition of the future? Or some memory of a past life? Or... just a dream derived of those hollow fathoms of anomolous longing digging and fracturing his sanity, his every hope with obsession? 'Why, why does this dream haunt me so? What does it mean?'
His past is very convoluted and complex, and he is utterly ignorant of his yesteryears beyond the life he now knows as a young man who was born the son of a strict and sometimes unforgiving Marquis. His father, Marquis Desmonde Desormeaux, often beat or burned Casavant when the youth exibited 'strange behavior', or was having 'strange ideas,' always assuring his son that it was for his own good, and to make him a man where he was grooming his son to be his Viscount. The fact that Casavant showed no interest in woman whatsoever was of particular concern to him, where Casavant was his only son and an heir was needed. Despite his father's austerity, his cruel abuse, Casey loved him and held the utmost respect for him. It was not his father he wished to escape as he matured and researched those 'dark subjects' which arrested his interest to the point of obsession, but the rigorous expectations of high society, of court, his noble heritage which he felt so completely estranged from. He wished only to explore the world.... to discover the answers to all the questions which stormed in his soul and mind like a tempest over the wide seas.
A Poem Written by Casavant: titled - To Whom it Concerns
This love I have is beyond imagination.
No words can reflect its impression.
Love, adoration, admiration,
Yes, for I can only give him ALL in my possession,
And ask for nothing but a secret hope in return.
To be his most adored is perhaps no secret.
But to ask nothing else of him with no regret?
For what I give, and share,
I offer of myself at any cost.
No torture could compare,
To the very notion of his loss.
The anguish I bear inside, this bane,
He takes from me with blissful pain.
If a soul dared try to harm him in my presence,
Then the blind would know the full fury of my violence.
The day he forgets me, I die.
He is the beginning and end of me.
Journal Entry: May, 4th, 2028.
It has been a long time since I have written anything in this journal, although not so long as the dates recorded allude. It has been two and half years almost to the day since I was last inspired to write down my thoughts. A feeling of isolation I suppose, prompted me to begin venting my thoughts on these pages, and I guess a sense of isolation, maybe loneliness compels me presently as well. I went in search of a dream, an enigma, but it was HE who found me again. My breath, my love, my reason for existing, who not time, death and ordeal can take me from. He is my only obsession, my purpose, only lately he stands aloof of me, and I do not know why. If I only knew... but he avoids my questions, changes the subject, removes himself from my sight with duties telling me every instance to 'stay put' in our suite, tells me, 'patience, Cassavant, I will answer your questions when I am damn well ready to, I told you we need to have a talk, and we shall.' Then he leaves and goes to Brian to see how his 'test tube' child is coming along, or seeks Leon out for various reasons, visits Nicky whose health seems to be going down hill lately. Ever since that night when we busted that blood bar, he has avoided me. Did I do something wrong? Something requiring I pay a penalty? If so... why can he not just tell me? Was it the power I exposed to obey his commands as expediantly as I knew how? Was it the hand I took in assisting Leon in the execution of all those he and Leon condemned? I was so bitter with enmity that they turned their backs on their maker. I HATED them for not loving him. What have I done, not done? Is my desperate need to BE needed BY him, to serve him, is my love for him, my desire to be whatever he NEEDS me to be, a thorn, a burden, an aggravation to him? Is he ashamed of me? Not knowing is unbalancing me. I control the chaos in myself better than I have for years.. Since before that bastard crept out of the woodwork and made all our lives a living hell for awhile. Now? I conceal these curst emotions which tear inside of me every time he tells me to Stay, every time he avoids me. He has not touched me for a month, no.. christ, for almost two months now. Not even embraced me.. Carressed my hair.. nothing. When he wakes with my arms tangled around him, he pries himself loose of me even as he rouses, and immediately goes about his business, telling me to gather this information, or that report for him, to check on Aman for him and insure he has eaten. I am SO thankful he at least keeps me as near as he does. He barely ever lets me out of his sight, only for as long as it takes to fulfill my tasks. I practice martial combat and the sword once all my duties are done, then shower, return to the suite, go to him, and he tells me to go lay on the bed, or to have a seat, or listen to music... anything to keep me at a distance. I have asked him countless times... My Lord, have I done anything wrong? Have I disappointed you in some way? He always answers the same, 'We shall talk later, Cassavant.' Only the last time I addressed him to ask why he is so utterly aloof of me, he spoke, 'Do not ask me again, slut. You will know when I am ready to broach the subject.' So I have kept my silence ever since. It never hurt me before to be called slut by him, but it hurt then, deeply. I felt dehumanized. Why is he doing this? It is getting harder and harder not to crack.. I am trying SO fucking hard not to let my emotions get the better of me. It is so painful... I feel like my soul is dying a little every day he holds me apart. I vow if he decides to banish me from his sight and presence as well, I shall be unable to keep the pain locked inside of me. I can stand any pain if I can at least be near him... I just wish I knew WHY. He is carrying a lot of pain around.. and he will not talk to me of that either. I SO want to ease his burdens. He once sought my counsel.. Does he not trust me anymore? Is it something he feels I can NOT assist him with? Damn the questions burn in my mind. I am trying... with ALL my will NOT to let it unbalance me. How shall I survive the crush if he never lets me in? All my hopes rest in being needed by him. If I become a mercy fuck, or a task to him, I will ask him, beg him if I must, to BE merciful and put me out of my misery. As it is recently, he prefers drugs over me. I am failing him... utterly failing him and I do not know what to do.
Journal Entry: May, 7th, 2028
Leon came to see him three days ago, only hours after I had written my last entry. I tried to cheer him, offered to relieve him, asked him what troubled him, and he just.. walked out, said he would be back later. I snapped inside like an unraveled guitar string... and just... left. Some washed up shadow of a man tried to mug me and I killed him, only I was being watched and did not know it. Someone, a voice, I never actually saw him, barked a warning but I could not get away in time. Cops surrounded me, closed in, and I had to surrender my weapon. I had a task force surrounding me with twenty automatic, several anti-aircraft guns, pointed dead at me. Sure.. I could have slipped away in shadows, but I am of a mind NEVER to reveal my power to mortals. I brought down the curtain of my prowess in fact, and made myself as near to human as I am capable of. They read my rights, booked me for first degree murder, and then two officers questioned me, a man named Captain Rodger Loran. He was a real dinosaur, a 'Last Boy Scout' type and very charismatic, the other gave me the willies, a CIA agent I think, Agent Hartel. Loran asked me where I learned the art of swords, I told him I just picked it up, practiced. He said I looked like a master, and then he asked me why I killed that guy, and I told him the truth, that the guy tried to rob me at gun point, and I defended myself and the small amount of cash I had. He gave me one phone call, told me to call a lawyer. I told him I did not know any lawyers. Hartel then questioned me, asked me if I worked for Mr. Serandon. I told him I sometimes work as a body guard for his public relations agent. He knew Nicky's name, dropped the fact that she was human, then he asked me if I was human. I told him I was. He then asked me how it was I have worked for him for over twenty years and remained the same age if I was human. I told him he was mistaken. He went through my wallet looking for an ID when I told them my name was Casey Lott, then stood and came around to grip my arm and pull me up. He was strong.. very strong, and he led me out of the interrogation room and down a barren hallway. I asked where he was taking me, and he said, to a cell, only on the way, he slipped a knife from beneath his shirt incognito.. I never saw it coming. He turned to face me as if he was going to ask me something, and stabbed me in the heart. He muttered a language I KNOW... summoned the light of redemption into me, had started to chant words focused on raising me into the light, and then Captain Loran came running down the hall and shook me loose from Hartel's hold, jerked the knife from my chest, shouting at Hartel, asking him what in hell he thought he was doing. I hit the floor the minute that blade was pulled from me, and Hartel's hand pulled away from me. He was holding me up easily with one hand. I remember nothing after that. I bled to a death like state rapidly because I was not regenerating at ALL quickly with my powers lowered to human levels. I remember now what dying feels like. I got so cold so fast. I woke up to a face I have not seen for ages.. with the taste of his blood in my mouth.. Malkeom. Damn his blood was sweet. It tasted like york peppermint patties. It was amazing and I was so weak, so desperate for the nourishment, the intense WARMTH his blood offered. I wanted to cry as I fed from him, because.. his blood was better than mine, and the way it made me feel.. so high, rushes of potent intoxication, and all I could think, was that Tragedy did not seem to want any of that from me... That my blood, my body was not even good enough to tempt him any more. I felt so... small, so raw, so knotted up inside, so totally imbalanced. (He had NO idea that Tragedy had drained him dry while KOed and stolen away with his power and the knowledge to command the paths of chaos, leaving him only with his trait powers locked within his physical and metaphysical being, and that he was VERY unstable yet where his soul's surpluss staying powers had not fully shifted to concentrate in his carnal embodiment.) He took Malkeom and the figure who appeared to be his Lord out of the suite, leaving me alone once again, only, Tragedy breathed hope into me with a mere caress of his magic fingers in my hair before he left. It was like... a drink of cool water to a desert parched man to me. I feel so fucking pathetic sometimes... I swear I can not help it. He is everything to me. Life without him is a wasteland of rot to me. I love him, and it does not matter if he loves me, as long as he keeps me, as long as he needs me. I hope with all my heart and soul that my love is not too great for him to bear.. to overbearing for him to tolerate. It just is.. This love beyond words or thought for him, just is as the sun which curses his existance just IS.
Journal Entry: October, 1st, 2028.
I hardly write in this journal anymore. Perhaps I have too much to tell, too much bottled up inside of me. I want to believe he loves me, but I wonder if I am deluding myself. I often feel deep within that his heart has grown so cold that his ravenous sense of possession IS love for him. What he knows as love. Love is distracting, painful, a sort of madness which may be a vulnerability he can not allow himself. Regardless of whether it is love or possession which binds us, I am grateful to BE his. No matter how arduous and agonizing it is to have to be one among other lovers, I can not resent him for being who he is. The pain is no less, rather I am willing to sacrifice what I must to remain his devoted thrall. I would give my life to him if he needed it... asked for it, so there is no logic in regret and jealousy. I realize now I was naive to ever think a day might come, if I only waited long enough... Served him, pleased him long enough, that he might claim me as his one and only mate. It took me far too long to acknowledge the truth and accept it... and now that I have... I can only offer myself to him as I never have before... unconditionally, as his possession to share as he wills. He has enough respect for me that I can give all I am and have to him, knowing he would not force me to endure anyone I could not tolerate... HIS sole superior aside. I hate HIS touch for it is so charmed, so raw, such a PURE taint of seduction as I vow corrupts and weakens the will without one even knowing it, but I DARE not offend him by refusing him if my Lord desires that I join them. It is strange... I fear the son of chaos and yet I do not. I feel somehow I have nothing to fear BUT myself... My own mistakes... My own flaws. That a day shall come that my love stirs resentment, even loath in my beloved master. That he will try to crush it only to discover that by my death alone CAN my love for my sole obsession BE diminished. I feel a great sense of release that I do not envy his other lovers anymore. Like I have freed myself to TRULY love him now. I can spill gallons of blood on my hands and look to him as he does the same, and seeing him, I feel only this unquenchable hunger and this love beyond thought, words and expression for him. Does he see the horizonless sea of emotion I harbor for him when he looks into my eyes, feel how I am stirred by him? Is he thankful for it? Or does he resent it in silence? I only know what he allows me to know of what lurks within his soul. He witholds so much of himself from me, while I would let him bear my soul naked and pick me apart thread by thread. Some might say it was not a fair shake he embraces me with, but I understand the forces at work against him and which he must beware. If someone were to seize me, who was superior in power... THEY could attempt to tear me apart and find knowledge of him inside of me. Much as I wished he could reveal himself to me without caution, he is ever my muse, a source of perpetual intrigue and an endless challenge where he remains a mystery to me. I am his until he ends me. I would rather die than belong to any other. Please, Satan, never let that happen. What else have I to reveal to these pages? I feel nothing for those I kill. My Lord possesses the only emotions left inside of me. I have only one hope left now that I have resigned myself to the facts. If I can not be his alone, I hope he shall one day trust me to be his equal, his partner, and free my power that I may serve him as he deserves, with all I am capable of at his beck. I shall not write again until something changes. I am content with the way things are now. I only hope that he is too.
Sired of Arcadius Caerellius, Artorius was both spoiled by his adoring and handsome Roman Sire Arcadius, as well as strictly disciplined. His Sire taught him everything there was to know about his blood and its powers, and then in the year 1200, 1000 years after his Sire claimed him as his lover, Arcadius disappeared. He had left everything he possessed to his progeny Artorius in his will, for among his other progeny, Artorius was his most trusted, and had a better sense for business and diplomacy, and hiding their 'family' secrets, namely, what they were and their powers. To Artorius; Arcadius passed on the 'Mask of Mortality' that when healthy (well fed) his hands felt warm, his scent was masked, and he glowed with a human health, warmth and pigment, although he was still very fair, he did not take on that Undead pallor as long as his blood supply was healthy. He waited for his Sire's return for twenty years, when his Sire's mortal executor, about to pass away of old age, still sharp in his mind, made it final that the Marque, Artorius Caerellius, inherited his Sire's bequeath and so he became the Count of Wenne and all its fortunes.
Art found a box with a letter in it in their bedroom, a letter addressed to him to read, in the event anything befell his Sire. It explained the workings of a beautiful Medallion within the box, which had been passed down from the Dark Father, the letter also instructed him in its use in detail. It would take him five years to unlock its powers, which opened a gate to the underworld, to hell. Arcadius told his progeny to use it with it care, and that he would know the time when he should use it, for it was unknown where in the underworld the 'Morning Star Gate' would lead. He warned him also that there was no telling what would come OUT of the Gate if he did not enter it. He told him also never to let the Medallion out of his sight, and how to trigger the arcane powers which hid the medallion from sight and sense. Arcadius was perhaps the only soul Artorius had ever, or could ever love, and tears spilled from Art's eyes when Arcadius ended the letter by expressing his everlasting love to him, with his vow that he would see him again one day, whether on earth or in the hereafter. His Sire left to him one last item, an heirloom ring with a faceted ruby tear set in a white gold band of interlocking chains links. He had left wearing a ring exactly like it. Art placed that ring on his finger, and swore to himself he would never remove it, nor the gold medallion.
Art's hunger for pleasure was something his Sire had instilled deeply within him, sharing other lovers and sexual blood feasts with his lovely male progeny, indeed introducing him to the splendors of bisexuality. Artorius was a beautiful man his Sire had shown every carnal passion to, and urged his blood child to take other lovers when business and combat carried his Sire long weeks away. Indeed they often shared their bed with others of both genders, and so would he continue his pursuit of that desire.. a desire which included finding a bed mate as pleasing and fiery as his Sire, and as handsome, and a female mate to rival both their lusts. His thirsts seemed unquenchable for his prowess as a lover was difficult to find in another, and so often his methods in seeking arousal became violent.. Indeed where his satisfaction was so hard to achieve even in fine lovers.. the violence and bondage made up for it. Business, Leadership and Keeping his homes in order aside, his passion was in seeking and 'collecting' lovers. Those whose skills as lovers he adored, he made his best attempts at keeping for himself as long as they pleased him in some sexual manner, even in submission. When he wearied of them ... often because they fell in love with him and grew jealous of his other lovers, he simply killed them.. or cast them aside to suffer the deprivation of his bonds. If he grew to cherish them with his very possessive nature, he kept them.. and a few he freed when he wearied of them out of no fault of their own, IF they were trusted by him to what degree he felt certain they would not come back to haunt him with treachery.
There were times when he found himself alone again, and that is when his search became an obsession to find the perfect mate to torture with pleasure and pain, or to 'love' as much he KNEW how to love, or both if he were truly ambitious in his hunt for a sex pet. In the lonely hours.. he longed for the return of his Sire.. his most secret wish that he would find him again someday. Unknown to Artorius, his Sire had been captured on that fated day of his disappearance, and bound to a vampire clan in slavery, and remained their slave all the years his progeny waited for him. A slave who was bound to his Regent by the powers of HIS hellish blood and domination, as he picked him apart year after year attempting to discover the secrets of his blood. Regardless of how Artorius sometimes pined for his Sire, and remembered him with a mixture of sorrow and joy, he lived his life seeking new outlets in his absence in the hunt for power, blood and carnal indulgences.
Arts Lover Lavoy
Lavoy was a seventeen year old struggling artist in Venice when Artorius met him. The handsome blonde was barely able to feed himself. He was born the son of an aristrocrat who disowned him for his pursuits in art instead of taking an interest in the Family's Real-estate business. The beautiful young Frenchman moved into Artorius' Castle in Wenne France six months after meeting the dashing vampire, and six months later Artorius Sired him and took him as a lover. Artorius allowed him to pursue his talents as an Artist and Poet, while also training him in the arts of his blood's gifts, the office of Seneschal and keeping the books for his businesses, all which Lavoy proved an able student of. Lavoy loved his Sire, and though he struggled with his Sire's passion for multiple lovers, always harboring a secret wish to be his one and only mate one day, Lavoy was unconditionally loyal and devoted to his Sire as his sex-thrall, progeny and advocate. Artorius protected and guarded him as possessively as Lavoy guarded him.
On October 1st, 2004, the French Secret Services (FSS) on a secret mission to rid France of 'Known' Vampires, attacked Arthur's Blacklion Heritage Estate in Wenne France during the day and gutted the place, burning the stables and vinyards to the ground. Lavoy, in his secret resting place in the Chateau's Dungeon, had slept during the entire attack, while his manservent, Kael, routed the servents and hid them in the Wine Cellar, while Kael went to guard his regent, and when Lavoy woke, all were gathered and fled to Kent. Artorius was not at the Haven when they arrived. After seeing that everyone was settled in, Lavoy left the Estate, distraught and depressed, to search for his Sire in London to tell him the disturbing news. He felt as if he had failed Artorius, his heart in his stomach as he arrived in London City to track him down, reaching out to him in a mental whisper to ask him where he was. The very path of chaos Artorius followed wreaked havoc on their lives it seemed, one ordeal after another swamping them like tidal waves.
For awhile things improved. Life at the Kent estate fell back into stable routines, and in time Art found his own Sire Arcadius. The France Estate was repaired and they moved back into it, and no sooner was life settled and good again, than FoG seized Artorius. When he was returned to his clan he was a strange sort of wreck. Lavoy did all he could to help him through his horrors, but something definate in his Sire had changed, and when his Sire was recaptured AGAIN by FoG, Lavoy was beside himself with rage and depression. A man named Astle who was an agent of FoG's organization helped to get Artorius out, and hope sprung once again in Lavoy's heart, but each time his Sire was taken, he was more distant, harder to reach, and different in so many ways.
Before Artorius could really truly recover himself, he hurled himself back into the life he had left behind with Cain, unable to let go of the past life his tortures had shaken loose in him. He left the Clan in Late August, and said only one thing in parting..."I have to go...I am sorry...But I must go...I have no choice." Nothing could persuade him to stay, and Lavoy had no idea if he was leaving for a day or a lifetime. Arthur walked away from Lavoy to make himself one with the shadows, and the months slipped by with no sign or word from him, and no amount of effort on Lavoy or the clan's part to reach had results. Then in September, the war that so many immortal Elders had warned of did indeed come. When the first assault came, the Black Lion, like others chosen across the globe, fell into a deep state of sleep, and when they woke 24 hours later, they found themselves spread out within a medieval castle in an untamed land unknown to them. An Morendor, the Shadowlands, a huge continent on the planet of Morashtar deep within the Middle Kingdom, a world on the edge of the very center of the universal hourglass which some called hell. It was only part of the Dark Kingdom which overlapped Morashtar, the outer planes of Acheron's vast inner-plane.
Acheron, or Hell, was not what earthlings assumed it was at all, its dark halls, the lake of fire, the hellish parts, only a mote of what Hell truly was. Morashtar on the other hand was both a primal, untamed world and a civilized one. The Black Lion Clan had much to learn about the universe and its many planes and kingdoms. Avery, the lover Lavoy had taken to ease the pain of his loss of Artorius, had gone amiss in the shift, and for all Lavoy's efforts he could not reach him, until two months of 31 days had passed, when quite suddenly, he felt his presence, his thoughts crying out to him to please, please find him. When Lavoy did indeed find him, taking Faust with him, what he found floored him. He was in the arms of two VERY handsome young men, obviously vampires, who were feeding from him as they dominated him fully with their lusts. Lavoy could not know at that moment, as he walked into that cave, that the two ravishing Avery were his own twin sons, OUT of Avery. How COULD he anticipate such an impossible thing? He had only been separated from Avery for 62 days. With angels, many unknown things were possible. The days ahead would test them both to be sure. What seemed an evil act at a glance, was innocent need in the minds of the two month old-sixteen year old vampires having their way with the male mother they had dominated. Pure instinct and need with the power to demand those needs, was the driving force behind what he found. In time he would come to understand it and deal with his offspring better, but at that moment, pure instinctual rage and misunderstanding drove Lavoy. Indeed the days, months and years ahead would prove intriguing, once Lavoy and Avery got past their shock and their very rough beginning as parents of two very powerful and incredibly intelligent true born-angelic vampires.
Journal Entry: October, 1st, 2038
To much has happened to even recount it all. I found this journal with my things. Maelmorda brought them to me. I thought the vampire who savaged my heart could do nothing to divide me from him. I was wrong. He let something so atrocious happen to me...that all my love for him...despite all bonds...turned cold. He observed me in thrall of...a pair of fiends who dominated me...It is easier for me to think of them that way....as fiends...he did nothing to stop it. It was in his power to stop them, but he did nothing. Much as I could not bear what they did to me...the betrayal I felt at his...apathy...is what squeezed my heart until it popped and all the blood ran out. I finally snapped and tried to kill him, but My Lord Lucifer defended him, and at the same time...he set me free at last. He destroyed his mark...Caine's mark, the bond he had built in me for a thousand years. I have since reunited with Lavoy. Fate led me to him and for the first time in my life...my cold, dark, empty life...I was grateful for destiny having a hand in something. I love Lavoy still...I am amazed even that I am so completely in love with him...Caine murdered my heart, and Lavoy has given it back to me...But I am afraid. Avery too has returned to him...and as I bonded him to me...I saw many things in his heart and mind...He suffered as I suffered...the unnatural, devastatingly immoral needs of his own twin born sons. For me it was truly Hell. Where I could not forgive Caine for allowing such a soul crushing act to take place...Avery forgives Lavoy. It was different with them... and though I would never tell Lavoy this...I fear he shall break my heart. Caine very nearly destroyed me...betrayed me in the worst way I could have been betrayed. If Lavoy should prove treacherous, and I must believe in my heart he is beyond all possibility of that...but if he should, there shall be nothing left of me. Nothing. He, his love, is all that remains of my heart. All that is left without him is despair. I love him...and I fear loving him. I will never let him go...Never. Death alone shall divide us.