Nine of Wands: Creative Journal Entry 7
Creative Journal Entry #7
Tarot Deck- Gothic Tarot of Vampires
Tarot Card- Nine of Wands
The house smelled of sickness and death; the heavy, sickly sweet odor of someone long past their prime wasting away in an agony so terrible it had no pain; no words; no way of telling how close the death was.
Dracul knew how close the death was, and it hurt him to think of his mentor and friend moving on to the next stage of his life.
“Don’t pity me, son; my life has been long enough as it is,” a dark, rich voice chided from the next room over. Dracul smiled sadly; Even though he was on the verge of death, the old man still spoke like an emperor.
“Don’t you think that’s asking a bit much, old man?” Dracul asked in husky voice as he walked through the house into the old man’s bedroom where he lay under a heavy blanket that reeked of pain and blood.
The man under that blanket was as thin as a reed with a fall of thick white hair draped over the sheets, perfectly sleek and silky despite the sweat that continually ran down his brow.
“I always ask more of you then the others… and you never had a problem with it before, your majesty,” the old man said with a grin, his long incisors glittering in the dim, dusty light of the lamp that rested on the bedside table.
“Don’t start that up, Altan; I get enough of my title all day,” Dracul said, sitting on the overstuffed chair at the edge of the bed. “By the time the day is out I wish that I had never accepted the blasted throne!”
“Would you rather your little sister have it? Hmmm?” Altan asked dryly, the paper thin skin around his milky eyes crinkling in a slight smile.
“Don’t taunt,” Dracul said with a grin, “you know I would never inflict her upon our people.”
“I know, son, you’re a good king,” Altan whispered.
Dracul bowed his head, hiding his blood tears needlessly with the sheet of shiny black hair that fell over his face… his fathers hair…
“Don’t cry, Dracul,” the old man said, reaching his shaking hand over to Dracul and gripping the other’s fingers with waning strength. “There is nothing in this world that could have stopped what happened to me.”
Dracul bit down on his lip to choke back the sob that was beating at his throat to get out.
“I could find something for you,” Dracul snarled out, his voice roughened by his pain. “I could get the best doctors and--”
“No, son… what happened to me was no normal hunter,” Altan said sadly, softly. “No human hunter would have known where to attack to make my death like this…
“Dracul, do you know where your sister is?”
“Alayne?” Dracul asked, surprised at the abrupt change of topic. “No… The other one,” Altan said softly. Dracul felt his blood grow cold.
“Kirryn?” Dracul whispered.
Dracul’s family was one of the three oldest, coming from across the sea during the time when vampire hunting was a well respected tradition but now Dracul and his brother and sisters were the only true blood left…
Dracul was the eldest and obvious heir to the throne, Alayne the next oldest and coveted the crown more than any other vampire, Thorne was the last boy and immersed in the lifestyle of a teenage human…
Then there was Kirryn, the youngest of the four siblings… after the fire that had destroyed their home, Kirryn had vanished only to reemerge as a vampire hunter, completely denouncing her heritage and people.
Needless to say, Dracul had been both hurt and angry about his sister’s betrayal and shocked that both Alayne and Thorne had seen it coming for years. It had been Dracul’s lowest moment when he realized that he didn’t know his sister anymore.
The heavy voice of Altan brought Dracul back to himself.
“She was the one who did this to me,” the old man said weakly.
“Kirryn did this to you? How could she? You were her mentor as much as you were mine!” Dracul snarled.
“Indeed… But she has gone another path… I wish I could have spoken to her but she had other things to do I’m sure,” Altan said with a small chuckle, “she was always such a busy little girl, our Kirryn.”
“Yes… very busy…” Dracul growled; he would find his sister, he would take her to a dark, quiet place and make her suffer as much as Altan had, he would—
“Don’t punish her for doing what she thought was right, Dracul,” the old man said softly, his voice becoming weaker and weaker as he spoke.
“Altan? No! You can’t leave! I’ll find the best doctors; I’ll help you get better. Just hold on and I will help you!” Dracul said desperately.
“No, Dracul, my life is done… I’m done… No matter what anyone else thinks… always remember that you are a good king,” Altan murmured.
Dracul nodded silently, his tears flowing freely now, despite his fight to keep them locked away. Altan had always been there and Dracul had thought the old man would always be there… no matter what.
“You’re father would have been so proud of you,” Altan said, his words carried on a sigh, and then he was gone; his pale eyes staring up at the dark ceiling blankly.
Dracul choked on a sob and leaned forward, kissing the old mans wrinkled forehead gently, his blood tears running off his cheeks and onto Altan’s, when the young king eased away from his mentor, Altan’s flesh was already beginning to crumble and ash.
Dracul turned away, stuffing his hands into his pockets and walking through the house, looking at the many photographs that covered the walls until he came to the door.
He had so many memories of walking through that door, so many memories of walking out again, feeling relieved, even is he had just watched Altan mediate
He tried not to think about never going through that door again; tried not to think about the humans that would move in and make it their home.
Tried not to think about never seeing Altan again.
Dracul wiped away the bloody paths that painted his face like a warriors mask and opened the door, coming face to face to the smirking face of Alayne.
“Well, hello, big brother!” she said in honeyed tones.
From the shadows on either side of her, two heavily muscled men stepped out and grabbed Dracul by his arms, twisting them behind his back ruthlessly.
“Alayne! What is the meaning of this!” Dracul demanded.
“Don’t be stupid, Dracul!” Alayne hissed, her fire=green eyes narrowing into slits of disgust. “The throne will be mine and you, oh dear, sweet brother, will vanish… Another unfortunate victim of the vampire huntress.”
“No! You can’t do this!” Dracul snarled as the goons pulled him from the house and deeper into the dark night around him.
“No? And why can’t I?” Alayne asked coolly.
“It was not how we were taught!”
Alayne shrieked in laughter, tossing her golden hair over her shoulder.
“You keep your precious lessons… I’ll have the throne.”
Dracul fought bitterly against his captors, Alayne’s screaming laugh echoing in his ears.
How could his world come crashing down like this? How could Alayne dismiss the fundamentals of their fathers training?
Before long the brutes holding him grew tired of his struggling and knocked him unconscious.
His last thoughts were of Altan’s words…
“You are a good king.”
Tarot Deck- Gothic Tarot of Vampires
Tarot Card- Nine of Wands
The house smelled of sickness and death; the heavy, sickly sweet odor of someone long past their prime wasting away in an agony so terrible it had no pain; no words; no way of telling how close the death was.
Dracul knew how close the death was, and it hurt him to think of his mentor and friend moving on to the next stage of his life.
“Don’t pity me, son; my life has been long enough as it is,” a dark, rich voice chided from the next room over. Dracul smiled sadly; Even though he was on the verge of death, the old man still spoke like an emperor.
“Don’t you think that’s asking a bit much, old man?” Dracul asked in husky voice as he walked through the house into the old man’s bedroom where he lay under a heavy blanket that reeked of pain and blood.
The man under that blanket was as thin as a reed with a fall of thick white hair draped over the sheets, perfectly sleek and silky despite the sweat that continually ran down his brow.
“I always ask more of you then the others… and you never had a problem with it before, your majesty,” the old man said with a grin, his long incisors glittering in the dim, dusty light of the lamp that rested on the bedside table.
“Don’t start that up, Altan; I get enough of my title all day,” Dracul said, sitting on the overstuffed chair at the edge of the bed. “By the time the day is out I wish that I had never accepted the blasted throne!”
“Would you rather your little sister have it? Hmmm?” Altan asked dryly, the paper thin skin around his milky eyes crinkling in a slight smile.
“Don’t taunt,” Dracul said with a grin, “you know I would never inflict her upon our people.”
“I know, son, you’re a good king,” Altan whispered.
Dracul bowed his head, hiding his blood tears needlessly with the sheet of shiny black hair that fell over his face… his fathers hair…
“Don’t cry, Dracul,” the old man said, reaching his shaking hand over to Dracul and gripping the other’s fingers with waning strength. “There is nothing in this world that could have stopped what happened to me.”
Dracul bit down on his lip to choke back the sob that was beating at his throat to get out.
“I could find something for you,” Dracul snarled out, his voice roughened by his pain. “I could get the best doctors and--”
“No, son… what happened to me was no normal hunter,” Altan said sadly, softly. “No human hunter would have known where to attack to make my death like this…
“Dracul, do you know where your sister is?”
“Alayne?” Dracul asked, surprised at the abrupt change of topic. “No… The other one,” Altan said softly. Dracul felt his blood grow cold.
“Kirryn?” Dracul whispered.
Dracul’s family was one of the three oldest, coming from across the sea during the time when vampire hunting was a well respected tradition but now Dracul and his brother and sisters were the only true blood left…
Dracul was the eldest and obvious heir to the throne, Alayne the next oldest and coveted the crown more than any other vampire, Thorne was the last boy and immersed in the lifestyle of a teenage human…
Then there was Kirryn, the youngest of the four siblings… after the fire that had destroyed their home, Kirryn had vanished only to reemerge as a vampire hunter, completely denouncing her heritage and people.
Needless to say, Dracul had been both hurt and angry about his sister’s betrayal and shocked that both Alayne and Thorne had seen it coming for years. It had been Dracul’s lowest moment when he realized that he didn’t know his sister anymore.
The heavy voice of Altan brought Dracul back to himself.
“She was the one who did this to me,” the old man said weakly.
“Kirryn did this to you? How could she? You were her mentor as much as you were mine!” Dracul snarled.
“Indeed… But she has gone another path… I wish I could have spoken to her but she had other things to do I’m sure,” Altan said with a small chuckle, “she was always such a busy little girl, our Kirryn.”
“Yes… very busy…” Dracul growled; he would find his sister, he would take her to a dark, quiet place and make her suffer as much as Altan had, he would—
“Don’t punish her for doing what she thought was right, Dracul,” the old man said softly, his voice becoming weaker and weaker as he spoke.
“Altan? No! You can’t leave! I’ll find the best doctors; I’ll help you get better. Just hold on and I will help you!” Dracul said desperately.
“No, Dracul, my life is done… I’m done… No matter what anyone else thinks… always remember that you are a good king,” Altan murmured.
Dracul nodded silently, his tears flowing freely now, despite his fight to keep them locked away. Altan had always been there and Dracul had thought the old man would always be there… no matter what.
“You’re father would have been so proud of you,” Altan said, his words carried on a sigh, and then he was gone; his pale eyes staring up at the dark ceiling blankly.
Dracul choked on a sob and leaned forward, kissing the old mans wrinkled forehead gently, his blood tears running off his cheeks and onto Altan’s, when the young king eased away from his mentor, Altan’s flesh was already beginning to crumble and ash.
Dracul turned away, stuffing his hands into his pockets and walking through the house, looking at the many photographs that covered the walls until he came to the door.
He had so many memories of walking through that door, so many memories of walking out again, feeling relieved, even is he had just watched Altan mediate
He tried not to think about never going through that door again; tried not to think about the humans that would move in and make it their home.
Tried not to think about never seeing Altan again.
Dracul wiped away the bloody paths that painted his face like a warriors mask and opened the door, coming face to face to the smirking face of Alayne.
“Well, hello, big brother!” she said in honeyed tones.
From the shadows on either side of her, two heavily muscled men stepped out and grabbed Dracul by his arms, twisting them behind his back ruthlessly.
“Alayne! What is the meaning of this!” Dracul demanded.
“Don’t be stupid, Dracul!” Alayne hissed, her fire=green eyes narrowing into slits of disgust. “The throne will be mine and you, oh dear, sweet brother, will vanish… Another unfortunate victim of the vampire huntress.”
“No! You can’t do this!” Dracul snarled as the goons pulled him from the house and deeper into the dark night around him.
“No? And why can’t I?” Alayne asked coolly.
“It was not how we were taught!”
Alayne shrieked in laughter, tossing her golden hair over her shoulder.
“You keep your precious lessons… I’ll have the throne.”
Dracul fought bitterly against his captors, Alayne’s screaming laugh echoing in his ears.
How could his world come crashing down like this? How could Alayne dismiss the fundamentals of their fathers training?
Before long the brutes holding him grew tired of his struggling and knocked him unconscious.
His last thoughts were of Altan’s words…
“You are a good king.”
posted by Myrage | 4:30 PM
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