This is the start of a character background I have been working on it has gone through multiple rewrites, I hope to post a chapter each week here until its done. Please leave any comments below.
After the First Crusade recaptured Jerusalem in 1099, many Christian pilgrims traveled to visit what they referred to as the Holy Places. However, though the city of Jerusalem was under relatively secure control, the rest of Outremer was not. Bandits abounded, and pilgrims were routinely slaughtered, sometimes by the hundreds, as they attempted to make the journey from the coastline at Jaffa into the Holy Land
The old man looked at his ring, thoughtfully. He was standing by a Portcullis, in the misty fog of Valettan streets rolling and wafting all around. It was winter. He wore suitable clothes, a long woolen coat and and simple robes underneath. In his hand, he held a cane.
He was leaning on it slightly, listening.
Occasionally a peasant would pass this small street, with it’s close Shanty Houses. He looked to be the timeless Spanish Lord, standing there, perhaps waiting to hail a coach, or maybe waiting for a lady to arrive.
Patient, reserved, predestine, in a calm collected manner.
His eyes were a deep green, his hair, Auburn and slightly graying but neatly kept. Clean shaven. Respectable in every department.
A long black coach, pulled up beside him. One the horses began to rear, the old man gazed into its eyes and it came to rest. The structure made one of those annoying creaking sounds that irritated him. But he ignored it. A face loomed out of the darkness.
At first, the gentleman forced a sharp intake of breath. The face of a woman, beautiful, like a marble statue is beautiful. And the color of ivory.
“Mr Hanlon Lees?”, asked the very pale woman.
Beautiful, he thought, but dangerous. He regained his composure almost immediately,
“Forgive me dear “, he said quietly, ” I am indeed the same Hanlon Lees.”
“Please, Mr Lees, step into my car, we have a lot to talk of. The night is … young yet” she spoke softly, elegantly. Enthralling tone of voice.
The man opened the door quietly and looked around, making sure that he was not followed. All he saw was the mist.
He stepped into the cab and quietly it pulled away.
In the shadows above, a man stood on a nobles balcony, somehow cloaked in the shadow itself. He was tall, philistine, and possessed a look of dedication. Undoubtedly, he had seen battle, such was his build and his stance. Suggestive of a warrior.
He looked into the deep air for no more than a few moments.
He whispered something quiet to himself, clenching a fist. He too was pale like the woman, though not as white.
Quietly, he lowered himself down to the street, and went over to a near boy dressed in bedraggled messanger clothing.
“Tell the Lord that she has taken one to speak with. They must be stopped, for the good of everyone. God be with you”
My Name is Vittorja Elanua, “I am justicar of the Camerilla”. He gazed down at her eloquate flowing dress, crafted from the finest of silks in Scarlet Red, with simple flower petals embroided into the design She layed her hand upon her lap.
“We have been watching you for some time”, Hanlon did not seem surprised. “We have been fighting an invisible war, not just against the Sabbat but another threat to all Kindred kine, you have been charged to abrogate this mennace”
“But what of my loyalty to my prince” He protested, motioning to stand up,but unable to in the the confined space of the cabin. “Your Prince has come to an understanding” She reached to wooden box below her seat and pulled out large object wrapped in dirtied linen
“You will need this to complete your task”
He reached over and carefull placed the object on his knees, it seemed to hold no weight for something so large. He delicately began to unfurl the linin, it soon became apparent to him that this had not been seen by a mans eyes in generations.
He could feel a heat build up from inside the wrappings, although it did not burn he felt a warmth that he had not felt since his days as mortal. He further unfurled the wrappings, a handle began to appear, crafted from fine leather and silk, in a crimson not unlike that of Vittorja’s dress, a pommel in the shape of an anque, with wings of a predatory bird inlaid with a fine jewel. It was of a metal he had not seen before but the craftsmanship was sublime and yet so precice. It reminded him of a time when he worked as a smith, when he could take pride in his work. The angles and edges on this pommel were so precice it could not have been crafted by a mere man.
He continued slowly unsheathing it revealing the hilt, mirroring the predatory wings on the pommel.
“Only those of true faith may gaze upon its blade” Vittorja recounted. Mezmorized by it beauty he continued revealing a long but perfectly balanced blade, The decisive killing tool” He Silibated.
He traced a finger over the Rhunic writing that was inlaid with precious metals on the blade He did not recognize the script despite being a scholar of languages.
“With this you will be a weapon of the Camilla”