Path: usenet.ee.pdx.edu!cs.uoregon.edu!news.uoregon.edu!engineer.mrg.uswest.com!cherokee!csn!magnus.acs.ohio-state.edu!math.ohio-state.edu!jussieu.fr!univ-lyon1.fr!swidir.switch.ch!newsfeed.ACO.net!Austria.EU.net!EU.net!uunet!not-for-mail From: guido@rbg.informatik.th-darmstadt.de (Guido Roessling) Newsgroups: rec.games.frp.archives Subject: STORY: Qelrik (part 36) Followup-To: rec.games.frp.archives Date: 8 Aug 1994 14:03:48 -0400 Organization: UUNET Technologies Inc, Falls Church, VA, USA Lines: 227 Sender: smm@uunet.uu.net Approved: smm@uunet.uu.net Message-ID: <325s24$sa2@rodan.UU.NET> NNTP-Posting-Host: rodan.uu.net *************************************************************************** This story is a collaboration of seven people: one German, two Canadians and four Americans. Comments about particular characters should be forwarded to their character's "owners": Finn Ambrose - Sheryl Ann Galchutt* - fi48@sol.acs.unt.edu Gernodt - Guido Roessling - dida@pu.informatik.th-darmstadt.de Dahlarin - Brent Hughes - bhughes@student.business.uwo.ca Kyle - J.E. Mason - ** no current mail address ** Fox - Barbara French - bcfrench@mailbox.syr.edu Will appear in future chapters: Gladrial - Jennifer Immel - bhughes@julian.uwo.ca Sir Percy - Bret Rudnick - rudnick@cfatrw.harvard.edu By now, there is even a FTP site that's archiving our story -- it's ftp.cs.pdx.edu. The directory to look out for is /pub/frp/stories/qelrik. Sadly, the site is not well-maintained, and only has chapters 18 to 32 in ready access. For other chapters, mail dida@pu.informatik.th-darmstadt.de *************************************************************************** ==================================================================== Blood ==================================================================== Fox took the cup between her hands, savoring the cold stone against her flesh. The Blood of Nocticula would heal her wound completely, but that was not the reason she wanted to drink it again. It was another step toward her final destination,the destination which would start her life anew. "You know the caution," Pasithea said, wrapping her own hands around the chalice to steady it, knowing the Ilar would fall. "One mouthful only, no more." "I understand, sra'krin," Fox whispered as she put the cup to her lips. * * * * * Pasithea, although a priestess of Nocticula for forty years, had never tasted the Blood. She watched with mixed emotions as the cold stone touched the Ilar's thin lips. She had wanted to be an Ilar herself, but did not possess the magical gifts deemed so necessary by the Children of Nocticula. She had instead devoted her life to Nocticula's service, to prayer and sacrifice and to what poor help she could offer. She also became a Chalice Guardian, and not twice in two decades had she given leave for an Ilar to drink from the Cup. The Seven decided. She was the vessel of the Seven's desires. She knew the effects of the Blood, how it changed the Ilar -- the Chosen -- slowly, gradually. Aging was slowed, then halted entirely. Photosensitivity. The gradual need, craving for blood. Finally, full vampirism, after the Chosen One had drunk the equivalent of a full chalice. No Chosen One could drink more than a small amount at any given time and live, and so it was rationed carefully in reward for service. It was better to drink from the Chalice than to be given the Dark Gift through other ways. To be bitten by a vampire, drinking the blood of a Blessed One, was not the most desirable way to become a vampire, but at this point it was the only path open to Pasithea now. To drink of the Chalice of World-Without-End was to drink the blood of Nocticula himself; such vampires were more powerful, stronger, more revered. But, although she guarded the Chalice, she could not drink from it herself; the smallest sip would kill her. Only those rare few Chosen to pursue full vampirism by the Circle of Seven could drink of the Cup and not die -- only those who had experienced and survived Immersion could drink and be so changed. Thus Pasithea kept the hope that one day, one of the Ilar who had drunk from her Chalice would remember her favorably after Creation and reward her with the Life. The thick, black liquid slid forward, and Pasithea watched intensely as it met Fox's lips. * * * * * The sharp smell of the Blood made Fox hesitate as her lips hovered over the lip of the heavy Chalice. She had drunk of the Chalice four times before, and it always reminded her of the Immersion. Her pale eyes closed as she smothered a shudder which threatened to wrack her entire body. She dreamed of drinking from the Chalice. She strove, she fought, she worked tirelessly to be deemed worthy to drink from it. She knew the taste of the Blood would heal her wound, take away her pain -- but at the price of the pain the Blood always caused. Fox was not afraid of pain. But when her hands wrapped around the cold stone and the smell of the Blood lanced her brain, it reminded her of the Immersion. She saw herself almost three years before, elated and terrified at the same time of being Chosen by the Council of Seven. Her magical talents, combined with other strengths Fox herself was not entirely aware of, had named her Ilar -- Chosen. The first chosen in her Circle in thirty-seven years. Once she accepted, there was no going back. She had to face Immersion. She closed her eyes and remembered. * * * * (The cold, bitter and sharp, cut her like small knives as she stood atop the dais in the Great Hall, looking into the seething pit, black and boiling. Hands, claws and faces rolled along the surface, reaching for her, hungry. Hungry for her. One of the cowled attendants touched her head. Lights flared as the magical seal was made complete; whatever happened, she would not accidentally ingest the Blood. She was shivering beyond control as she stared into the bottomless dark -- -- and stepped off the dais into it. The agony was indescribable. As she her mind reached back on it, she could find no words to describe what happened while she was immersed in Nocticula's blood. Her soul was ripped from her body; she could remember seeing her body, curled into a fetal position from pain, disappearing above her. An eternity of fire passed before her soul rushed up to meet her body, and hands -- unseen, unfelt hands -- forced her soul back into her body. Her face, her body, tore as her soul rejoined flesh -- as if the soul had been reforged and would no longer fit exactly in her body. And then, a hand -- real this time -- reached beneath to haul her up onto the dais, every muscle on fire with agonizing cramps, the pain so total that she could do nothing but gasp in a terrible effort to breathe . . .) * * * * * * * The smell of the Blood in the Chalice always brought back her memory of the Immersion. She remembered her terror the first time she had been given the chance to ingest the Blood. 'It is not as bad as the Immersion. I lived through the Immersion. Many do not.' Fox closed her eyes as the cold liquid touched her lips, bitter and yet somehow sweet. With one swift, decisive move, Fox tipped back the chalice and filled her mouth with the Blood. And swallowed. She crumpled, the Chalice slipping from nerveless fingers, as a superheated sword of pain swept down her throat. She could feel the blood like an iron ball, squeezing down her throat, past suddenly tortured lungs. The burning knives spread through her entire body in an explosion, as her vision burst in hot light. She stared at the light, eyes wide, mouth open in a soundless scream as the ecstatic agony crashed over her like angry ocean waves. She did not know how long it was before the pain gave up hold on her body, leaving her muscles to twitch and cramp in response. She had lost track of where she was, how much time had passed, even awareness of her surroundings. At last, she became dimly aware of the priestess kneeling over her, wiping the sweat from her face with a cool, damp cloth. "How . . . long?" she managed past dry lips. Pasithea smiled. "Not as long as you believe. It is barely a quarter hour since you drank from the Chalice." The priestess offered another cup -- this one containing cold water, not the Blood. Fox managed a few sips, but her throat was still constricted. She frowned at the taste. "I took the liberty of adding some kellas to the drink. It will help relieve your cramps." "Thank you." Fox was astonished at how much better she felt after so short a time, and she was certain the medicine was only partly to thank. Each time she drank from the Chalice of World-Without-End, the process became easier, as the Blood of Nocticula was less a foreign presence, and more a part of herself. She was exhausted, but it was a _good_ tired. Pasithea smiled again, full of edged and fragile tenderness. "Remember me with kindness, Ilar. That is all the payment I desire . . ." * * * * * The sky was beginning to brighten at the edges of the horizon when Fox slipped back into the Inn, to her room, inside. Tsyon was still asleep in the bed. Just as quietly, Fox slid out of her clothes and back into bed next to the blond guard. He turned over, opening his eyes and smiling sleepily. "Your skin is cold," he murmured, his hand running over her bare arm. She managed a smile in return, pressing herself up against him. Tsyon's warmth felt good to her. "I went to the privy, and then I couldn't sleep, so I took a brief walk." He woke up a little at that. "You could have used the nightpot. And you walking around out there, after just getting stabbed last night!" "I was careful," Fox said, letting a little of her real irritation show. "Besides, I am NOT a damsel in need of protection. I took my sword with me this time." "Not a damsel in distress," Tsyon said sleepily, gathering her in his arms. "I wouldn't have had you otherwise." ************************************************************************** Next Time: Getting ready for the test... **************************************************************************