Malice: Histories are written by war, and told by the tongues that survive them.
For as long as anyone could remember, there had always been a Tavern at the crossroads, always been a place to drown their day and temper their troubles with copious amounts of mead. When the door groaned then, and swung inward as if their town were now a western, not a single soul stirred from their revelry; for travellers were as frequent here, as the clouds that perpetually seemed to smother the sun. A rhythmic tapping sound heralded the stranger's arrival, as a cane slowly navigated the labyrinth of tables and legs; propelling the weary features of its owner not toward the bar, but instead the source of the commotion that now infested the room's interior. A raucous youth, draped in a melodramatic cape and surrounded by a host of his peers, was already mid-boast when the old man entered, and as he neared, he discerned the closing statements of, what had undoubtedly been a far longer claim. “I was there when the towers fell, their nine spires turned to shards, and dust. I fought alongside giants, like Delioncourt, and Darkness, whose armies tore these lands apart, and struck terror into the hearts of their foes."
Edging ever closer, like a boat born toward the shore, the stranger allowed himself a smile, a brief and ugly thing upon cankered lips such as his; as names older than the books that held them danced anew within the air, evoking awe for one brilliant fleeting moment, before they were lost again amongst the pages of time. Fortunately though, one of the more astute of the youth's admirers dared to voice the nagging question that had suddenly sprung up within his mind “But those battles happened thousands of years ago, how could anyone still be alive from those days?”, a valid question, whose answer the stranger had long known, before ever he had entered the establishment. The youth, however, seemed excited by the prospect of someone challenging his tale, almost as if he'd been eagerly anticipating its arrival; and with an exaggerated flourish of his cloak, he flashed his fangs and announced “Ah ha, well you see, I am a vampire!”. This revelation, the stranger realized, was the highlight of the creature's performance, because even as surprise coursed like a wave across the onlookers' faces, so too did human curiosity keep them strapped to their seats; allowing the vampire to continue its seductive story, and in doing so, secure their next meal when the evening waned.
For as long as anyone could remember, there had always been a Tavern at the crossroads, always been a place to drown their day and temper their troubles with copious amounts of mead. When the door groaned then, and swung inward as if their town were now a western, not a single soul stirred from their revelry; for travellers were as frequent here, as the clouds that perpetually seemed to smother the sun. A rhythmic tapping sound heralded the stranger's arrival, as a cane slowly navigated the labyrinth of tables and legs; propelling the weary features of its owner not toward the bar, but instead the source of the commotion that now infested the room's interior. A raucous youth, draped in a melodramatic cape and surrounded by a host of his peers, was already mid-boast when the old man entered, and as he neared, he discerned the closing statements of, what had undoubtedly been a far longer claim. “I was there when the towers fell, their nine spires turned to shards, and dust. I fought alongside giants, like Delioncourt, and Darkness, whose armies tore these lands apart, and struck terror into the hearts of their foes."
Edging ever closer, like a boat born toward the shore, the stranger allowed himself a smile, a brief and ugly thing upon cankered lips such as his; as names older than the books that held them danced anew within the air, evoking awe for one brilliant fleeting moment, before they were lost again amongst the pages of time. Fortunately though, one of the more astute of the youth's admirers dared to voice the nagging question that had suddenly sprung up within his mind “But those battles happened thousands of years ago, how could anyone still be alive from those days?”, a valid question, whose answer the stranger had long known, before ever he had entered the establishment. The youth, however, seemed excited by the prospect of someone challenging his tale, almost as if he'd been eagerly anticipating its arrival; and with an exaggerated flourish of his cloak, he flashed his fangs and announced “Ah ha, well you see, I am a vampire!”. This revelation, the stranger realized, was the highlight of the creature's performance, because even as surprise coursed like a wave across the onlookers' faces, so too did human curiosity keep them strapped to their seats; allowing the vampire to continue its seductive story, and in doing so, secure their next meal when the evening waned.
