Ramshir sat there in his seat. A meditation, a means for a god, but no god, only the respect from in himself as a means of an existence. For once the cellar is portrayed from in under the electrifying shine. A shine that has grown stronger and now stronger before it comes to its full force.
Saxzin knows this time would have come. The day of the god as it did for many generations before. With his soul no grown weak, leaving him a nimble old man and now having to compete with the likings of young Ramshir along with what now is means to him, A new Tribe. With the cellar in its electrifying glaze, a warning, the death trap and Saxzin has many times come with grips of its crazed sorcery. A being that had never held a pleasure for him or from any of his master's. With Ramshir sitting to the brass table to him self. A table that has come long to be a servant for eight is now in its remains for serving only one.
Ramshir has been dead for days. A long fall from nights with only its day of light to blow in a breeze that has now led him to stand his ground. At fasted for weeks and grown tireless from in its ritual Ramshir's seven daughters; They lay awake in the den from in beneath the towers clock, awaiting their call, the feed, the birth from life and when its their time then the one hunger from in the tiring acts of orgies will once be restrained for its feed.
Saxzin well aware of this time, the time from when his master's siblings have now grown to become with in the one act that a lifeless god has forsaken them with. A sexual desire, a means for its combat, the day for a death. Seven beautiful young girls lay in the towers den. Night after night he would listen in on the moans and screams. The fighting hiss and before the sun had its rise, a taunting howl that he him self new was leaving them there during the peak ours of the sun in their own spilling lust for its been a slip for what he thinks; one too many days.
His thoughts of being their with them, baring his lust, letting them feel the one moment from in a gods lust. Has lapsed him mind, leaving him in thought's for betrayal and he knows if was to have exercise it, then his master would have sensed it with in a cloud away then have his remains fed to the sea serpents from after pinning him onto the sea shores lamp light steak as his blood in a drip would have been a call, the means for a feed as the spilled salts from in the bone yard would be its sings of a polluted feast.
Dameon; Saxzins son, his only son. Once a well educated boy and great warrior. A man that one day was to be held in superior next to Ramshir. A promise that was passed onto him from Ramshir's father and now left along side of his father and in hold of the misfortunate cast of light that had been slipped in under Hexgore Ramshir's father; once king, once a boy, a son of a pasture before he led his own ruins in to the revenge for the inferno that has landed his family to death. The sayings were that he was a dead soul, a boy he never would and if he could then it couldn't. He went on and was token in by a sanctum.
There he was taught and provided knowledge by the monks and high priestess until the day came that is now know as "The day from when Christ had was how fed" He was then pronounced man from after his encounter with the one woman they had acknowledged to be a demon keeper; A nun, in high amongst the sanctums priestess. The announced coming of birth, a birth granted and betrayed that left her in its heart from in a dudgeon. Hexgore had remained silent, only to acknowledge that he had been in its wind. Being known as the boy of in Hells hand and having no choice but to go along with the accusations of him been molested.
Before his seventh month of inhaling and digesting the every thought that went along with the screams and horrors taunts of his flesh and blood lay there in a dudgeon then soon to be wade for wickedness had him in a wickedness for him self.
After the flames blew over, leaving every man to him self as its blaze closed in on them from after Hexgore had them staked to their beds and pinned to the walls as was the one and only man who under stood this sacrifice him self. The once sanctum for life was now his and the one man that had stood by his side; Saxzin joined in its pleasures, Ramshir's was born and in the midst of it all appeared Dameon; a lost soul, a cause with out being. Only to be ending up feeding from The demon keeper her self. She remained mute, knowing she had been betrayed and from after hearing, smelling, and inhaling the burnt flesh that had accommodated the birth of her son. She was pronounced dead, as the two boys laid in her arms with only the sour milk from her remains to fulfill their infants.
Dameon now a man, only with the knowledge that Saxzin is his father and together with Ramshir he had been raised in this once sanctuary and now sanctum. Ramshir sits to his table, a table that only from in scriptures and from visuals from when he was young has its story. His Father had once and only once accommodated him to it. He was told one day he would be in need of its service and also his grand daughters. Ramshir remembers only that he was too young to come to understand with what his father had been telling him.
Only leaving him with this cruel fact of his father being denied life and the visuals of his father and his men standing by the one flaming pit that had provided light for its battle. The light that had been swept from off of its ground as his father was last to show his blood from in the wind that had left him in its life. The life that had left him with out a father and a field of dead men; not one of his father. His father was nowhere to be found, who was; was feed for the wolves, and what sea serpents took there likens upon the dead of land.
Now the day has come, a day that had been awaiting the time for life. The life Ramshir knew would have come but never had believed that it would be in a manner such as this. His wife, a mistress, the dark being that only came to him during the nights. Seducing him in its winds and never letting him know why until he was awaken to her screams then left their in bed with seven newborns as her spirit showed him a flesh, a taste, gave him a taunt of blood as its lusting sense had giving him the one answer as she seeped in under each of the babies breath knowing he new and all along he has known that his mistress from in a dark has been led in to each one of her seven siblings; Theirs.
Then being introduced to Sliffa; as she deems to be referred by. A night of howling screams, gasps for wind and what seemed to him a call for death. When the man size Bat presented its self in thru his window, transforming in to a women, leaving him in a stance in front of the window as he seen the nightly sky perform a breezing cloud that was in resemblance of his father as it waved him on, turning his back to him and leaving him and his children under the care of Sliffa.
"Six spills" Saxzin says as he sets the tray of six blood filled glasses on to the center table. Each representing a different line of blood. A blood he is to choose for his daughters and a blood to be chose for his men; a new army and the remains as a spill for celebration for when his army has become one and for when his daughters are to be set free for a life they are intended to lead. Ramshir remains, looking over the silver blade that has been placed in front of him. It has been there on the table in its place since the time of his father. A blade that has been known and used to stand its ground and to shed any life that has been sought un welcomed. The one weapon that has been used for centuries. Used by priest, in séance, and as a tool to welcome or ware off evil as it shines in its taunted light.
Ramshir nods his head in acceptance, in a silence that he had been in hold since the day he had accommodate his seven daughters in to the lock of the towers den. Saxzin takes in a breath, not wanting to spoil the silence as he stepped back. A squeak-thumping footstep from above had him matching eyes with Ramshir and they both new it was no other then the ones of Sliffa. Saxzin continues to step back, bowing his head then turning away and heading down towards the tunnel.
A cast of shadows hover in and around Ramshir's hand as he lets them ease the wait on to the blade. Letting the shadow its self cast a means for darkness before clenched together his finger, separating them from in the demons that had led its way down on to it as it darkened his grip around it, With his left hand as it lines a path for what only seemed to him to be a serpent then matched its grip in to the darkness from under it as he clenched on to the tray and pulled in towards him. The bubbling blood that has been rushed in thru the veins from in his left has now come to an ease. The blade shows it self as he holds it up in front of his face. Feeling its every power, the wholeness from in its grip on death and begging to accompany it with him self. The darkness that brings his hand in over the tray, slowly seeps in along the edge of each glass, leaving him with a power of serpents and leading him to believe that the power is now his and the serpents have now been exposed in to the first glass as he slipped the end of the blade on over it.
Leading him with a strength that only a hunger could describe is dipped in to the next glass as the glare from on the silver lets the blood slide a drip back in to the glass. A tempting pulse has his lip in a quiver, only knowing that the blood that he had just spilled was not that of his choice but only one for his pleasure. With in a pleasure he has token, letting the salvias from on the blade that his tong has left it with; to soak in as he holds the blade back up over the reaming glass's and lets the succulents suck from in his cheeks for fill his breath from a taste for blood. A one silence holds in his face, over taking the trance that he had held for his daughters as he see's the second last cup boiling in to a bubbling blood then notices the cup next to it rippling as if a drop from above had passed his eye and left him staring in to a waving ripple. He sets the cup of its bloody ripple in front of him then sets the cup of boiling bubbled blood to the left of the tray and calls for Saxzin.
"Have this cup set aside. We will be feeding from theses four." He tells Saxzin as Saxzin stands there glazing in to the blade then follows it over to the cup that had been set aside as Ramshir says. "I will be needing this one for after the girls have." The cup as the blade sets over it blows up in to one last boiling shock in bubbles then sat still in its glow for a stale setting of blood. Saxzin turns, catches Ramshir in the eye and nods then reaches over and picks up the tray of the four glasses up from off the table. "And Saxzin, have one for your self and one for Damian before we call it a night." Ramshir said to him as he began to step away, leaving Ramshir to him self.
Ramshir sets the blade back in to its place, picks up the glass, matching his inner visual of the ripples waving the blood with the shine from off of the blade as it brings the cup up to his lips. Leaving him with only, the rippling waves as the cup tilts the blood back in to his mouth and he matches his every thought with the swishing slurp that has him now in a lead for what is now to become.