:: Marco contemplates your barrage of questions for a moment. He picks at his arm beneath his robe. During the conversation, you chance a glimpse at his arm while temporarily exposed as he raises his arm to scratch his head, causing his robe to recede. There are numerous wounds up the length of his chubby arm. Perhaps this scratching is some sort of tic, a nervous habit. The monks speaking is somewhat labored, as though his fat tongue does not want to properly form his words ::
“Well, let me see if I can rejoin. What are we now? Hmmm… Some label us cursed. Some even trust we are blessed. That Caine’s Judgment came in the form of a gift. A gift to place us above mortal men. We refer to this sacrilege as the ‘Cainite Heresy.’ The Prince you met in Venice, not THE Prince, as you might believe, is one of the more prominent members in this loathsome conviction. Each major city throughout Europe possesses a figurehead to maintain some semblance of order and protect the secret of our blood. Our kind requires order, just as any other.
Our blood… now there is the true matter, is it not? If what we are can be related to some physical thing on the earth, it is the blood. Mortal men possesses it temporarily. It is a life-sustaining fluid, without further advantage. To those like me and you, it grants a divinely handed power. How we use this power… for the Lord’s work or for evil. That paves the way to the Kingdom of Heaven. Mortal men find this existence a transitory one, hoping to do well with others in order to secure their place above. Men like you and me have an eternity to stake our claim to holy absolution. Will you subdue your Beast then, child? Or fall further toward the Devil’s influence? The Beast, we believe, is Satan’s touch upon us.
Now where is our place then? We are cursed. We suffer, so that others may not. We seek to offer aid to those in need. Even to a poor wretch like you. Our path is one of tears, of martyrs. Our lives, or unlives as some say, are lives of suffering. Suckling at the veins of mortals, as a babe to its mother’s breast. It is a pathetic existence. It is also, as I hope you will see, a meaningful one. The greatest saints suffered, like Our Lord in Heaven, to appease. To retribute. The Heretics, on the other hand, see the suffering of others, perpetuated all too often by themselves, to be their road to power on this earth, where Satan holds sway. The Prince of Venice, Guilelmo Aliprando is of clan Lasombra. He is old and powerful. We know not why he sent you to us, though we are grateful. Perhaps as a joke? Or perhaps he intends you to spy upon Malachi. Either way, we invite you into our order. It was among the simple, the plain, that Our Lord Jesus Christ emerged. This is why we practice the poverty not inherent in the views of The Church.
You seek to work with the earth and the beasts of it. I will certainly not wish to interfere with your desires, your works. Please do give the order a chance. Tomorrow you are free and welcome to walk our grounds, save the areas the abbot has restricted. I currently prepare for my departure. It is time to spread our word. I have located a haven in Melk where our order may grow and persevere. While I remain here, I look forward to helping you on your path.”
Moderator: durden
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Guardiankrillin
- Lost Knight
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- Joined: Tue Apr 01, 2008 5:15 am
- Location: Edmond, Oklahoma
::After tending to a nights work of rabble around the abbey and tedious upkeep of his territory outside the abbey. Abellio returns to the abbey. Although very territorial by way of his weakness, he has made exceptions due to his need for survival, one of his primary drives. More out of neccesity than anything else. Abellio enters the room and claims the area Mario was about to claim::
"So I knew one day they would find another to occupy this room with me. Never thought it to be this soon. My name is Abellio and yours?"
"So I knew one day they would find another to occupy this room with me. Never thought it to be this soon. My name is Abellio and yours?"
Last edited by Guardiankrillin on Fri Jun 13, 2008 6:10 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Road weary and increasingly aprehensive, Felix raps repeatedly on the gate of the Abbey, seeking entrance. The sun, he knows, will soon rise; heralding his destruction with its glory. Not a fate he was eager to meet.
"Is anyone in?" he shouts, his voice carries a heavy German accent.
(If needed, I may need to trade English as one of my known languages for Italian in order to faciliate communication with the other PCs :P)
"Is anyone in?" he shouts, his voice carries a heavy German accent.
(If needed, I may need to trade English as one of my known languages for Italian in order to faciliate communication with the other PCs :P)
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Guardiankrillin
- Lost Knight
- Posts: 346
- Joined: Tue Apr 01, 2008 5:15 am
- Location: Edmond, Oklahoma
"It would seem that we are sharing this room. Nice to meet you Mario. These tattoos are family relics, memories from my distant past. They help me remeber where I come from and who I am. I do not believe myself to be a heretic. Writing in another language is not enough to make you a heretic. Maybe soon I will teach you how to write your own name in my native language. Assuming you are kinder with your words. What brings you to this fair abbey?"
(For Steven)
:: You here some commotion behind the gate. Perhaps they are debating whether or not to let you in. The air is cold and another storm is approaching. It seems there is always another storm approaching this time of year. You would see your breath before you, if you breathed that is. Finally, a large mechanism clicks, alerting you that the gate is opening. Several lamps light the way down to the main church building. You step inside, not seeing anyone at first. A voice behind you startles you. You spin on your heels to meet the kind soul willing to shelter you from the sun’s righteous gaze.
The creature behind you is apparently a monk, though his torn and dirty habit make him look like a vagabond, and his face bears a resemblance to those of the monsters living in the catacombs of many major cities in Europe. His head is hairless, not shaved in penance but as the result of the past action of some viscid eczema .The brow is so low that if he had had hair on his head it would mingle with his eyebrows (which are thick and shaggy). The eyes are round, with tiny mobile pupils, and whether the gaze is innocent or malign you cannot tell. Perhaps it is both, in different moods, in flashes. The nose could not be called a nose, for it is only a bone that began between the eyes, but as it rose from the face it immediately sank again, transforming itself only into two dark holes, broad nostrils thick with hair. The mouth, joined to the nose by a scar, is wide and ill-made, stretching more to the right than to the left, and between the upper lip, nonexistent, and the lower, prominent and fleshy, there protruded, in an irregular pattern, black teeth sharp as a dog’s. The creature speaks, a guttural, broken Italian. ::
“Heheh. Looks like we have a straggler, yes? A lost sheep needs a herd. Heheh. Come come.”
:: The monk observes you intensly for a moment, as though he is looking into your very soul ::
“Ah yes yes! Powerful. Strong blood! Yes, blood. Why you find yourself here, friend?”
:: You here some commotion behind the gate. Perhaps they are debating whether or not to let you in. The air is cold and another storm is approaching. It seems there is always another storm approaching this time of year. You would see your breath before you, if you breathed that is. Finally, a large mechanism clicks, alerting you that the gate is opening. Several lamps light the way down to the main church building. You step inside, not seeing anyone at first. A voice behind you startles you. You spin on your heels to meet the kind soul willing to shelter you from the sun’s righteous gaze.
The creature behind you is apparently a monk, though his torn and dirty habit make him look like a vagabond, and his face bears a resemblance to those of the monsters living in the catacombs of many major cities in Europe. His head is hairless, not shaved in penance but as the result of the past action of some viscid eczema .The brow is so low that if he had had hair on his head it would mingle with his eyebrows (which are thick and shaggy). The eyes are round, with tiny mobile pupils, and whether the gaze is innocent or malign you cannot tell. Perhaps it is both, in different moods, in flashes. The nose could not be called a nose, for it is only a bone that began between the eyes, but as it rose from the face it immediately sank again, transforming itself only into two dark holes, broad nostrils thick with hair. The mouth, joined to the nose by a scar, is wide and ill-made, stretching more to the right than to the left, and between the upper lip, nonexistent, and the lower, prominent and fleshy, there protruded, in an irregular pattern, black teeth sharp as a dog’s. The creature speaks, a guttural, broken Italian. ::
“Heheh. Looks like we have a straggler, yes? A lost sheep needs a herd. Heheh. Come come.”
:: The monk observes you intensly for a moment, as though he is looking into your very soul ::
“Ah yes yes! Powerful. Strong blood! Yes, blood. Why you find yourself here, friend?”
"I'm traveling, quite obviously, though from further to the East. I thought I might pass through Italy on my way home," he lets his thick German accent illustrate where home is for him.
"I was not expecting to encounter anyone who would recognize my - our? - condition here, I admit." Felix readily follows the twisted monk towards any shelter.
::If left unobserved for a moment or two, Felix attempts to read the monk's aura in order to verify his nature and attempt to discern his motive, if any::
"I was not expecting to encounter anyone who would recognize my - our? - condition here, I admit." Felix readily follows the twisted monk towards any shelter.
::If left unobserved for a moment or two, Felix attempts to read the monk's aura in order to verify his nature and attempt to discern his motive, if any::
:: The monk scratches the back of his neck for a moment a smiles an aweful grin, revealin a patchwork of bone that must be his teeth ::
"Your kind now? I no think you are MY kind, but Cainites we both are, yes. I am Salvatore. I assist the cellarer here. Come. Come this way."
:: Salvatore shambles over to a work shed, dragging out a large barrel from inside. He opens the top, revealing a morass of dark liquid you readily and happily identify as blood. It smells a bit off, but not spoiled. Perhaps he treats it with something to keep it fresh. You must remember to ask him about this later. The monk disappears into the shed for several moments, emerging with a ladle, offering it to you. You infer that he is looking to feed you for the evening. Assuming you do not suppress your hunger with an act of will, you careful sip the blood, finding it refreshing and not too bad, really.
Once you are done, Salvatore walks you to a simple building off from the main church. This must be the monks' dormitory, you think. He leads you inside, taking a small lantern off the wall and motioning for you to follow him to a small, unadorned room. A simple mattress, stuffed with straw, will serve as your bed. The room has no windows. IT looks like you'll be safe for the night. He spots you trying to read his aura, smiling his wicked grin and grunting, which you interpret as a sort of mocking laugh.
His aura is...confusing. It's something of a patchwork, much like his physical appearance. He almost reads as human, but clearly not. No state of emotion can be garnered, though you sense no hostility from him. For now, that's enough. ::
"Tomorrow, I will wake you. Show you to master. Show you to others. Others...'like you.' Heheh."
"Your kind now? I no think you are MY kind, but Cainites we both are, yes. I am Salvatore. I assist the cellarer here. Come. Come this way."
:: Salvatore shambles over to a work shed, dragging out a large barrel from inside. He opens the top, revealing a morass of dark liquid you readily and happily identify as blood. It smells a bit off, but not spoiled. Perhaps he treats it with something to keep it fresh. You must remember to ask him about this later. The monk disappears into the shed for several moments, emerging with a ladle, offering it to you. You infer that he is looking to feed you for the evening. Assuming you do not suppress your hunger with an act of will, you careful sip the blood, finding it refreshing and not too bad, really.
Once you are done, Salvatore walks you to a simple building off from the main church. This must be the monks' dormitory, you think. He leads you inside, taking a small lantern off the wall and motioning for you to follow him to a small, unadorned room. A simple mattress, stuffed with straw, will serve as your bed. The room has no windows. IT looks like you'll be safe for the night. He spots you trying to read his aura, smiling his wicked grin and grunting, which you interpret as a sort of mocking laugh.
His aura is...confusing. It's something of a patchwork, much like his physical appearance. He almost reads as human, but clearly not. No state of emotion can be garnered, though you sense no hostility from him. For now, that's enough. ::
"Tomorrow, I will wake you. Show you to master. Show you to others. Others...'like you.' Heheh."
"Right, well, thank you very much. I shall look forward to meeting with him." Felix sketches a shallow bow.
After the monk has gone he settles into the room, doffing his well-worn boots and attempting to beat the dust of the road out of his clothing. He does what he can to secure the room so that an errant acolyte won't open the door and fry him to death with sunlight. Once done and the sun feels like it is going to come up soon, he'll settle onto the straw mattress for daysleep.
After the monk has gone he settles into the room, doffing his well-worn boots and attempting to beat the dust of the road out of his clothing. He does what he can to secure the room so that an errant acolyte won't open the door and fry him to death with sunlight. Once done and the sun feels like it is going to come up soon, he'll settle onto the straw mattress for daysleep.
(The day passes uneventfully for all. You are awakened by monks, making rounds just as the sun sets. Prayers begin in the church soon after - Vespers
A note on Canonical Time:
Vampires obviously don't pray during the day. There waking hours are somewhere between 6 am and 6 pm, give and take given the time of year. Religious types tend to be conservative, so they have maintained the existing system, regardless of their unique situation. God will understand.
A note on Canonical Time:
Vampires obviously don't pray during the day. There waking hours are somewhere between 6 am and 6 pm, give and take given the time of year. Religious types tend to be conservative, so they have maintained the existing system, regardless of their unique situation. God will understand.
- Matins (during the night), sometimes referred to as Vigils or Nocturns
Lauds or Dawn Prayer (at Dawn)
Prime or Early Morning Prayer (First Hour = 6 a.m.)
Terce or Mid-Morning Prayer (Third Hour = 9 a.m.)
Sext or Midday Prayer (Sixth Hour = 12 noon)
None or Mid-Afternoon Prayer (Ninth Hour = 3 p.m.)
Vespers or Evening Prayer ("at the lighting of the lamps")
Compline or Night Prayer (before retiring)
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Guardiankrillin
- Lost Knight
- Posts: 346
- Joined: Tue Apr 01, 2008 5:15 am
- Location: Edmond, Oklahoma
::After conversations with Mario, Abellio slumbers during the day. When he awakes Abellio will begin with a excursion to his territory outside the haven. If anyone asks his reasoning he will proclaim that "it brings him closer to the creator."::
Woods around the Abbey
Woods around the Abbey
Last edited by Guardiankrillin on Sat Jun 21, 2008 5:52 am, edited 1 time in total.
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Guardiankrillin
- Lost Knight
- Posts: 346
- Joined: Tue Apr 01, 2008 5:15 am
- Location: Edmond, Oklahoma