The World is Not Enough
Aug. 20th, 2009 10:03 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
aidan_vilandrieThe origins of the text resting under his hands are unknown and mysterious. Some have claimed that the Chaldean Oracles, in the form in which they survive, were attributed to Julian the Theurgist, son of Julian the Chaldean, who served in the Roman army during Marcus Aurelius' campaign against the Quadi. The circumstances surrounding the writing of the Oracles are mysterious; the most likely explanation being that Julian uttered them after inducing a sort of trance akin to that of the archaic oracles of Greece.
Whether or not they were composed by Julian or whether they are in any sense translations from supposed Chaldean originals matters very little to the infernalist who finds wisdom in the poetic words. Hecate separates the two 'fires,' the purely intellectual fire of the Father, and the material fire from which the cosmos are created.
These words have been churned to pieces by the blossoming darkness lurking within him. Interpretation was often the cause of conflict. What one might read and find truth in, may seem to be fairy tales to another. In these words Aidan saw his climb towards his dark pursuits made easier by a wealth of knowledge not yet passed down to him. There was a barrier to be broken to gain the knowledge he sought. His perverse mind had dangerously twisted the Chaldean text to suit his own desires. To gain intellect he would breech the barrier between his mind and that of Christian, his sire, the father of his immortality.
Over time Christian had left a very dark impression upon Aidan’s withering humanity. Such was the path of every infernalist, to corrupt. And, he had been very successful in his deed. Perhaps too successful. This world was no longer enough for Aidan.
From the doorway piercing blue eyes gazed upon Aidan reading the text. He was silent as he watched his student study the words.
“Do you believe this is true?” Asked Aidan to his sire, his narrowed eyes never leaving the frail pages.
Christian’s steps held no real purpose as he strolled into the room, arms folding over his chest. His head shaking slowly from side to side. “No I do not.” He paused, his arms unfurling to caresses the yellowed parchment. “Do you?”
Aidan sighed wearily, flipping the book closed as he straightened up. “That is not our way, is it? To believe? To have faith…” As he spoke the conniver began to slowly pace across the warm wood floors. “We make our way through knowledge. Truth. Not fairy tales.”
Knowledge Christian possessed and did not share. Not entirely at least. Aidan had learned enough to begin to carve his own path. The road had already led him to many a dark and dangerous place, he had already crossed paths with the feared and loathed Baali, an association that he carefully guarded. Their secrets were becoming his.
There are worlds beyond worlds and places beyond space and time; the Baali shatter the boundaries between such zones of cosmic terror and the mundane world. Just a sliver of the Great Gulf Beyond, the Abyss, is all one would need to trap a powerful mind into a state of catatonia. This is never to be used lightly, for even the masters of Daimoinon fear what they might see -- or what might see them. Aidan fears living in the shadow of his sire far more then the demons that may catch sight of him from beyond the veil of this world.
With a few carefully chosen words spoken under his breath Aidan tore cracks in the walls of reality. Like the fault lines of a massive earthquake, the air in front of him shook and cracked with energy. Through those cracks came the sights, sounds, smells and other aspects of existence outside of reality as most know it. Blasphemous whispers, a charnel stench and the howls of the damned erupted the peaceful reprieve of the room. Lightening-like fissures tore apart the fabric of this reality only to show the unstitched mess of the next-horrible and cruel world. Christian’s face twisted in a mask of anguish, his skin pinching like wet clay slapped against wall. Tears of blood rushed to the corners of his eyes, marring him like some sort of unholy artifact. And like a statue, he could not move, his voice only brave enough to mutter unintelligible words. Christian was trapped in the nightmare that his childe had unleashed upon him.
The trap had been sprung most successfully, thanks to yet another ritual he would come to rely upon heavily through out his unlife, one that cloaked his mind and thus his secrets. It was in this moment of catatonic terror that Aidan made his move. There was no time to second guess his decision, already he had shown Christian too much, the power he envoked was not of the clan Tremere. Aidan’s dangerous liaison would be revealed if he did not follow through…
Into the soft flesh of the distinguished, stunned man, his fangs dove. Prying loose the viate that gave life to his infernal teacher. All of it. His secrets, his life, pieces of his very soul.
Whether or not they were composed by Julian or whether they are in any sense translations from supposed Chaldean originals matters very little to the infernalist who finds wisdom in the poetic words. Hecate separates the two 'fires,' the purely intellectual fire of the Father, and the material fire from which the cosmos are created.
These words have been churned to pieces by the blossoming darkness lurking within him. Interpretation was often the cause of conflict. What one might read and find truth in, may seem to be fairy tales to another. In these words Aidan saw his climb towards his dark pursuits made easier by a wealth of knowledge not yet passed down to him. There was a barrier to be broken to gain the knowledge he sought. His perverse mind had dangerously twisted the Chaldean text to suit his own desires. To gain intellect he would breech the barrier between his mind and that of Christian, his sire, the father of his immortality.
Over time Christian had left a very dark impression upon Aidan’s withering humanity. Such was the path of every infernalist, to corrupt. And, he had been very successful in his deed. Perhaps too successful. This world was no longer enough for Aidan.
From the doorway piercing blue eyes gazed upon Aidan reading the text. He was silent as he watched his student study the words.
“Do you believe this is true?” Asked Aidan to his sire, his narrowed eyes never leaving the frail pages.
Christian’s steps held no real purpose as he strolled into the room, arms folding over his chest. His head shaking slowly from side to side. “No I do not.” He paused, his arms unfurling to caresses the yellowed parchment. “Do you?”
Aidan sighed wearily, flipping the book closed as he straightened up. “That is not our way, is it? To believe? To have faith…” As he spoke the conniver began to slowly pace across the warm wood floors. “We make our way through knowledge. Truth. Not fairy tales.”
Knowledge Christian possessed and did not share. Not entirely at least. Aidan had learned enough to begin to carve his own path. The road had already led him to many a dark and dangerous place, he had already crossed paths with the feared and loathed Baali, an association that he carefully guarded. Their secrets were becoming his.
There are worlds beyond worlds and places beyond space and time; the Baali shatter the boundaries between such zones of cosmic terror and the mundane world. Just a sliver of the Great Gulf Beyond, the Abyss, is all one would need to trap a powerful mind into a state of catatonia. This is never to be used lightly, for even the masters of Daimoinon fear what they might see -- or what might see them. Aidan fears living in the shadow of his sire far more then the demons that may catch sight of him from beyond the veil of this world.
With a few carefully chosen words spoken under his breath Aidan tore cracks in the walls of reality. Like the fault lines of a massive earthquake, the air in front of him shook and cracked with energy. Through those cracks came the sights, sounds, smells and other aspects of existence outside of reality as most know it. Blasphemous whispers, a charnel stench and the howls of the damned erupted the peaceful reprieve of the room. Lightening-like fissures tore apart the fabric of this reality only to show the unstitched mess of the next-horrible and cruel world. Christian’s face twisted in a mask of anguish, his skin pinching like wet clay slapped against wall. Tears of blood rushed to the corners of his eyes, marring him like some sort of unholy artifact. And like a statue, he could not move, his voice only brave enough to mutter unintelligible words. Christian was trapped in the nightmare that his childe had unleashed upon him.
The trap had been sprung most successfully, thanks to yet another ritual he would come to rely upon heavily through out his unlife, one that cloaked his mind and thus his secrets. It was in this moment of catatonic terror that Aidan made his move. There was no time to second guess his decision, already he had shown Christian too much, the power he envoked was not of the clan Tremere. Aidan’s dangerous liaison would be revealed if he did not follow through…
Into the soft flesh of the distinguished, stunned man, his fangs dove. Prying loose the viate that gave life to his infernal teacher. All of it. His secrets, his life, pieces of his very soul.
