The Blood of Ravens

Feb 06, 2007 04:02

The high archways of the castle perched over Prince Christofis head. For his age, the young Prince is a dark and serious type. Christofis face is Symmetric and angular around the eyes, cheeks, and jaw-line. His nose is a hawkish beak that seemed posed to strike. Christofis lips are thin and dark; they were slightly purple in hue. His eyes are black as the pit, deep with secrets.

A tall and lithe man, Christofis mien is that of his noble father, Lord Roman Roma; Sovereign Monarch of Ravnoff. Christofis walked slowly down the ancient hallways of Castle Ravnoff. He was dressed in the royal colors of his family, black and crimson. The rocky walls are decorated on each side with portraits of clandestine noble persons of the Ravnoff monarchy. In between each portrait a grandiose suit of archaic armor stood at attention. Dark shadows flittered through out the dimly lit corridor of pictures.

Christopfis's felt invisible eyes watching him as he transverse over the thick crimson and gold carpet to the stairwell. A fluttery feeling of uneasiness snaked up Christopfis’s spine. He clenched his teeth and pushes back the fear. He had fought this fight since he was a young boy. The howling wind wailed against the shutters in the stairwell, sounding disturbingly inhuman and unholy.

Entering the stairwell, Christofis descends many levels, heading for the Castle’s ground floor. His breath was misty, as the cold set into his bones. Again Christofis clench his teeth, this time along with his hands to fight back the aching frost. Torches dotted the staircase at each level he descended. Underneath them more antique armor posed. It seemed as if the shadows dined on the light of the low burning torches, almost casting the stairwell in complete darkness.

This would pose a problem to normal senses; however Christopfis’s senses were supernaturally acute. Christofis could see completely in darkness. This ability is a family trait passed on down from father to son. Never had any of the Ravnoff females every displayed the uncanny abilities that the Ravnoff males displayed. Christofis found this peculiar, as with other family circumstances. His father and his self were the only males in the family, literally. He had no brothers, grandfathers, uncles, or male cousins. All of his known family is indeed female, with the exception of his father, Lord Roman.

There were many more mysteries to his heritage but none were more powerful then the Ravnoff male’s lost for blood. It was a damning heirloom passed down from the progenitor of the noble line, King Ravnoff the ravenous. Christopfis’s parents had never talked about their own parents or even the King. His mother would change the subject, and Christofis could never seem to summon the courage to ask his cold father.

Lord Roma is a dark and serious creature. He is a tall, thin, and pale man with eyes, hair, lips, and nails of night. Lord Roma never played with his son, never showed any affection for the young Lord except with a deadly silent stare or nod. He was the kind of man that people spoke about in whispers. Strangely medieval in his mannerisms, he wore velvet cloaks, and moved about the castle only at night and even then he was a shadow on the wall.

Often he would seem to peel out of the dark corners, startling Christofis or the servants. There where nights when Christofis would hear screams coming from his father’s study, or slurping and gurgling sounds. There would be a stench like the grave animating from the room. Rarely would the Dark Lord ever raise his voice in anger. His ire is always voiced in a deep low craggy articulating hiss. His eyes would slit and his face would tighten around his skull. Christofis father is not a warm or loving man.

This is a notion Christofis had grown to understand and accept. Christofis himself had grown to be a hard man, very much like his father but still distinctively different in very apparent ways. Christofis like his father was a highly intelligent, perceptive, charismatic, witty and ravenous appetite.

Unlike his father, Christofis is a passionate lover of art and sport. He has a heart and nature of a gallant. Christofis constantly focuses to retrain his family curse, and redirect it via positive outlets. This method has allowed Christofis to exceed greatly at martial sciences, hunting, and many athletics. Christofis proceed to his father’s audience hall.

Two royal guardsmen stood at attention outside the huge embroiled double doors. The doors length stretched up and disappeared into the darkness that was the ceiling. Prince Christofis often wonders exactly how the castle’s architecture defied the laws of science. The ceiling seemed to be an ominous sky of shadows. Prince Christofis sighed, pushing the thoughts from his mind; this was just one of many mysteries of his heritage he had yet to unravel.

His eyes spied movement in the darkness above as he came directly upon the guardsman. Often one could see crimson dots, flickering shadows or hear movement in those shadows, however Christofis knew exactly what they were. They were the Birds of Prey.

Instinctively Christopfis’s eyes rolled over the guardsman. The guardsman wore striped black and crimson cloaks that covered their black uniforms and were held fast to their shoulders with golden raven pins. The raven was the totem animal for Ravnoff Royal family.

A unique flock of ravens was specially bred for the royal family, and they lived free in the high alcoves and perches of castle Ravnoff. These immense and highly intelligent ravens were the Birds of Prey. Solely Lord Ravnoff commanded them. Prince Christopfis’s attention was back on the guardsman. As with protocol, the two guardsmen crossed their crimson pikes with a clang. “State thy name and business”, the guardsman on the left said to Prince Christofis in a rehearsed voice. “I am the blood and the blood is I”, Prince Christofis said in a low tone, also rehearsed.

The Guardsman smiled and unlocked their pike blockade. “Tlad, Boris”, Prince Christofis nodded his head to the guardsman, whom both returned the nod enthusiastically. Their faces lit up in the Prince’s presence. Tlad, the guardsman on Christopfis’s left turned and waved his gauntlet-covered hand over a small portion of the door.

A wooden panel slides back from Tlad’s hand signal to reveal a digital control panel with an indented hand design into it, Tlad punched in a code, and then turned back to attention as Boris turned, removed his gauntlet, and then placed his hand onto the hand impression. The digital display glowed. “Clearance acknowledge”, the data console said in an electronically and articulate female voice.

Prince Christofis smiled inwardly, although the upper levels of Castle Ravnoff were indeed archaic, the first level of the castle had been upgraded with high tech technology. Lord Ravnoff Seneschal Beaumains and Tyr the Capt. of the Guard, have both tried for years to council the unmoving Lord to modernize.

The idea was implemented only after an assassin had almost breached the then infant Prince Christopfis’s nursery. Now the entire first level and outer laying grounds of Castle Ravnoff have been remodeled with technology. The pressure locks could be heard unlocking as a smaller entryway within the huge doors opened. The Prince entered slowly, again focusing his will to part the aura of dread that accompanied his fathers Presence.

There were many times Christofis had to battle the overbearing aura that seeped from Lord Ravnoff person, however there had been just as many times where the overpowering effect wasn’t present. During the times it was, Christofis had to push his mental stamina to the extreme in order to function around his father. Even then he felt if he was powerless before Lord Ravnoff. Often he could not remember what transpired between them. This is one of those times.

A familiar frigid voice engulfed Prince Christofis, “welcome, my son”. It caressed his body and mind, invading his spirit. “Ah fuck”, Christofis exclaimed silently as his mind blurred.

“Ah fuck”, Christofis yelled. The expression yanked him from the embrace of sleep and dreams. Every night he dreamed of his days at Ravnoff Castle. Every Night his father’s presence molested his mind. Awake now, Christofis looked over to a digital clock, which was the only illumination in the darkness that surrounded him. Although he did not need to know the time, Christopf still viewed the clock. His body was sluggish and aching. These were its unavoidable symptoms during the daylight hours. Another attribute of his heritage.

With slow deliberation Christofis heft himself out of his plush bed and into the shower. Afterwards he dressed himself in the darkness, and prepared for school. During his preparations a moan echoed out in the darkness from the bed. “Umm, some light would be good”, said a groggy female voice, followed by a verse of laughter. Christofis laughed too, and pulled the shades back.

The orange light of the setting sun flooded the huge elaborate room. Its rays cast the female’s half naked cocoa colored body in a glow. Christofis smiled widely as he gazed on Twila, his vivacious girlfriend. Christofis still could not believe his luck in having a relationship with her.

They had met during his first year at college and been together ever since. Twila had accepted Christopfis’s strange habits that he attributed to a unique genetic ailment. She was very intelligent, witty, open minded and extremely beautiful. Christofis truly felt blessed for having her. “Morning babe”, Christofis said in a playful tone that sounded that bought Twila to more laughs because of his Eastern European accent. “I gotta jet, I’m late for class”, he explained as he finally stepped out of the shadows from behind the curtains.

For a second he paused, as the movement strangely reminded him of his father’s own shadow stepping habits. “Not before breakfast”, Twila cooed. “Come here little man”, she continued to jest, as she wiggled her finger in a jester for Christofis to come over to her. Christofis quickly swallowed the awkward feeling and leaped into the bed, showering a laughing Twila with a barrage of intimate kisses and love taps.

Their play quickly turned into an intimate entanglement of heated pleasure. For Christofis, this pleasure was also painful. The sun’s dwindling rays ran an aching massage over his limbs, however his passion for Twila surpassed these throbbing pains and washed his mind, body and spirit in ecstasy. When their passion was spent they laid naked in the bed together as the twilight of the evening set in. Christofis strength returned in full, so he initiated yet another steamy session of passion. “Ready for round two”, he expressed impishly. “I never decline a chance to defend my title”, Twila returned the drama, her lithe hourglass form rolling over and mounting Christofis.

Hours later Twila slept blissfully in Christopfis’s arms. Her rheumatic breathing sooth Christofis. “Damn I missed class, but its cool, I pass that up anytime for Twila”, he thought happily. Since the start of their junior year in college Twila and Christofis had less time for one another. Twila was real serious when it came to her studies. Her dedication is due partly to the fact that she came from an impoverished background, and that her success in college would be a first for her family. In addition such success would improve her chances to raise her family’s living standards. Twila could not afford to fail, so she did not.

Christofis on the other hand is rich. He told Twila he is the son of a wealthy Eastern European businessman and that he came to the United States for his education for the experience and to get away from his mongering father. His story included a tragic tale of his mother’s death at the behest of a withering sickness and that he too suffered from a minor version of the illness. Christofis hated to lie to Twila, but he did not believe she would understand or want to deal with the truth of his history. That he is the son of a despotic tyrant whom is under suspicion by the United Nations for humanitarian crimes is a truth Christofis simply did not want to share with Twila. He did not want her to view him in such a negative light, especially since she admired him for whom he is.

Twila is not the judgmental type but Christofis did not want to chance it. He just could not imagine explaining to her about the curse, or that the face she looked at everyday was a cosmetically altered version of his real ghostly visage. Christofis loved Twila, loved her more then anything, and he had not felt this way for anyone except his mother. This treasure was not worth spoiling so he did not ruin it with weird stories of far off lands, monsters, and clandestine politics.

Christofis had even allowed Twila to mix beeswax in his hair and let it tangle into locks, just to please her. “Now that’s love”, Christofis whispered. Christofis wondered how his father would react to the knowledge of Twila and her relationship with Christofis. The daydream only went so far before a hot emotion broke Christopfis’s reverie. It was the curse; it bucked to be released.

Christofis could feel his body temperature rising, he slowly unwrapped himself from a sleeping Twila and quickly cast about for a pen. Quickly he wrote a letter to Twila explaining his absence. Then he entered his inner sanctum via a private access way hidden within his bedroom.

As a twisted sort or irony and parody Christofis called his inner sanctum “The Grave”. It is located on a sub-basement level under Christopfis’s family estates. It was jointly decorated with state of the art equipment and the gothic trends and art of Christopfis’s homeland. When Twila was not around, this is where Christofis is most comfortable.

The Grave is a high tech training facility as well as a state of the art virtual library. In addition, here is where Christopfis’s most guarded possession resided, his coffin. Christopfis’s coffin was a black metallic; rectangular shaped vehicle that sported the embroiled black, gold and crimson heraldry shield of the Ravnoff royal family.

The hot throbs continue to harass Christofis, who chained the urges temporarily in shackles of iron will. Christofis set at an electronic control desk; his fingers ran rapidly over the computerized console initiating a sequence of commands.

The largest portrait in the Grave is a bloody medieval battle scene cast out of his family history; it parted to reveal a hidden video screen. The monitor’s high definition animation displayed a black raven with wings outstretched. “Computer on”, an exotic female voice echoed throughout The Grave.

“Acknowledged Prince Ravnoff”, the voice responded. “Raven, give me local crime reports, and in-progress crime probability projections”, Christofis ordered the artificially intelligent computer system.

“Linking to Ravenna Satellite…Link complete, virtualizing information. A movie came alive on the screen. It told stories of crime, horror, and death in the urban jungles of Chicago. Christopfis’s beast jumped in its mental cage, it knew that soon it would be released. Christofis viewed the data in picture in picture frame on the right side of the huge flat screen.

“Raven, download projections into the ZEPHYR”, he commanded as he walked over to a part of his sanctum where several mirrors, man-size in length and width dotted the rocky walls surrounding a natural pool of water. Christofis undressed then walked under a series of cylinder like tubes and pushed a button in the rocky walls.

A burst of steaming heated assaulted Christopfis’s naked body and engulfed him in an agitated cloud. His skin began to ooze like make-up as he quickly walked over to the pool and entered it.

“Raven, Jacuzzi mode”, with that command the water heated and erupted into a storm of bubbles. Christofis submerged himself in the pool, when he emerged his visage had changed.

Christofis still had his dark entangled locks, however his skin crimson red, and riddled with dark purple, blue, and black veins. Christopfis’s face was much more angular. With blackened nails his hands removed cosmetics from his pointed ears and now yellowed canine teeth. Lastly, Christofis removed his contact sun-lenses as his eyes transformed from storm gray to a glowing yellow. The human that was Christofis Roma stood now as the Blood-Raven.

A series of catacombs from the Ravnoff Estates connected to the old Chicago subways. Blood-Raven raced to the city using these old forgotten tunnels on a black computerized motorcycle called the Zephyrus.

Blood-Wind wore a unique helmet with a digital display wired into the visor. Through the wireless circuitry the helmet and motorcycle both shared a remote link to AI guided computer system RAVEN. Blood-Raven’s enhanced motor skills operated the motorcycle while his yellow eyes viewed Raven’s virtual simulated mapping of the catacomb and old metro tunnel connections. Blood-Raven’s uncanny reflexes avoided random vagrants and obstacles in the tunnel ways as they appeared. Blood-Raven slowed to a stop at a sealed in tunnel, parked the ZEPHYR motorcycle, and removed his helmet.

Blood-Raven sported an obsidian suit of poly-para-phenylene terephthalamide that was masterfully combined with unique titanium steel nylon-like polymers and crafted into an exquisite form fitting battle armor. Blood-Raven loved it; it reminded him of his favorite comic book hero Batman. Ravnoff Royal Guardsman wore this same special Kevlar armor.

The only thing was missing was the royal crimson and black Bird of Prey heraldry of Ravnoff. However, Blood-Wind thought that was too clichéd so had it removed. He also wore a black cape of the same material instead of the guardsman crimson and black striped version. Blood-Raven’s cloak also had a hood; he used this often to cover his devil red face.

A golden utility belt crisis-crossed his torso and surrounded his waist. This was done to encourage sniper attention to Blood-Raven’s armor and away from his head. The utility belt held various helpful gadgets and tools. Blood-Raven pulled the hood over his head and proceeded to climb steel prongs in the wall that lead to an access port.

Death came to Blood-Raven as a vivid mental flash. He almost lost his grip on the prongs but quickly recuperated from the disturbing premonition. Overhead the ceiling quacked and dirt rain briefly from it, as a horn bleared and the motion of a metro train exploded around Blood-Raven.

Its force shaking the ceiling and walls around him. Blood-Raven held tightly, silently sighing that his sensitive nature pre-warned him of the danger. When the train had passed Blood-Raven opens the access port and pulled him through. Illumination came from the fluorescent lights that dotted the tunnel.

The metro station was near the sounds and smell of society waft through the after draft of the now passed train. Blood-Raven’s curse reared its ugly head. He doubled over in pain, however persevered and kept the spiritual beast in check. Blood-Raven waited patiently in pain for the next train to come and go, leaving few witnesses to his exit from the darkness of the metro tunnels.

“Wha da hell”, yelped a trench coat wearing businessman whose attention was drawn from the wrinkled paper he was reading. “Izza Izza demon”, shouted a drunken bum collapsed on the side of a trashcan. Blood-Raven ignored the stares and jibes, removing a small tube from his utility belt he spray a black liquid goop over the security camera.

The businessman shook his head in disgust. “I tell you damn freaks are getting bolder everyday”, the businessman said as he shook his head in contempt at both the dark clad and the intoxicated vagrant. The few other people near deliberately moved away from the scene further down the station plank. “Humph, damn freaks don’t scare me”, the businessman mouthed under his breath.

The businessman continued to read his paper, not noticing the dark clad figure moving quickly and silently behind him to pose menacingly above the now wide-eyed vagrant. “Arrr”, the scream was caught in the vagrant’s throat as a black-gloved hand clamp around his mouth in an iron grip. The businessman turned towards the sound however did not see anyone. The vagrant and the man in black both where gone. “Good riddance”, he mouth as he peeked at his watch, wriggled his face in a scrawl again and continued to read his paper.

The stink of the vagrant rose off him heavily, however it smelled like roses compared to the funk of sin that reeked from the businessman. Blood-Raven had moved in blinding speed, grasped the vagrant, and dragged him behind some columns. “Sshh”, Blood-Raven whistled with one gloved finger pressed against his lips. He spoke in a whisper, “listen to me very carefully and simply blink if you understand, ok”. The vagrant blinked slowly hoping that this was another one of his many alcohol-induced nightmares, however his wishes were sadly mistaken.

The hooded black creature with its yellow glowing eyes stood above him still. “Good, now listen, and listen well. You are having a nightmare, but when it is over you will never take a drink again, you will get yourself help, or I will come for you in the night. I will drink your blood and piss it out over your grave. Understand?” The vagrant blinked his red teary eyes several times. “Good, now one more thing. When the police ask you what happened here you would tell them death came to claim its due. Understand”. The vagrant blinked slowly, hoping, praying that Death’s due was not he. “Sshh”, Blood-Raven blew again and then silently left the scared vagrant.

Blood-Raven rushed up to the unaware businessman and snatched him into his arms. The man screamed as Blood-Raven ducked into the Train tunnel and moved with superhuman speed along the tracks. Suddenly Blood-Raven stopped then held the man against the slimy walls.

“SHUT UP!” Blood-Raven hissed loudly and cowed the screaming businessman. “I smell the stink of too many sins upon you sweat cretin, tonight you pay its toll”, he snarled as his fangs elongated. The businessman’s eyes were wide with fear, the fear paralyzed him, as the wind began to rush up on them and the tunnel shook. Bright lights blared from around the corner making Blood-Raven snarl again, as his yellow eyes rolled over the shaking businessman.

The aroma of the businessman’s bowls loosens bought a wicked smile to Blood-Raven’s face. “Aaahh, I think he likes me”, he jested wickedly as he caught the businessman in a deadly kiss. The businessman’s eyes look as if they would pop as the train sped past them, the darkness taking them in an embrace. When the train had passed the businessman was dead. His squishy bloodless skin shrank over his bones. Blood-Raven released the corpse from his grasp and moved like a wind after the train.

Within seconds he catches up to the still moving train and launches onto it, and opens the rear conductor door. Once inside he melds with the shadows of the rear conductor compartment. A kid half dazed from sleep instinctively looks up from his mothers lap. His child wide blue eyes spy movement in the shadows from behind the train door in the rear. The kid blinks but still sees the sinister yellow orbs gazing at him. He blinks again and they are gone. A natural fear wells in the child as it cuddles tighter with its mother, hoping that she will protect it from whatever lurks in the shadows.

fantasy, short story, fiction, writing

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