Cicero: Part 5: Verdarrio’s story

Elegance, pose and delicacy were the values and desires of Verdarrio Nyctari; it was the picturesque sights of a woman in pose; the elegant features of the eyes, lips and cheeks and the delicate, dainty fingers which embrace, that allured him. These were the beautiful lineaments of his first love, the daughter of a Nyctari cousin and the church in Siena, her face was long and drawn as if it was carved by the same craftsman who sculpted the exquisite ceiling of the cathedral. Her thin, petite waist was as attractive as the magnificent black and white pillars; so what better place to make love to her than on that ancient altar as she looked upon the exquisite ceiling, and he at the magnificent black and white pillars.

[i]Once upon a time I had been the greatest bladesmith in Italy if not the world, back in my mortality. My rapiers were renowned for their elegance, pose and delicacy as all art should be; elegant in their strength and resplendent design; posed in their balance like a coiled viper and delicate in their flexible and narrow blades. To follow my belief of the metaphysical form of art in all aspects of life, I lived in the rural town of Siena for its natural and simplistic charm, as the romantics said, I lived a life of blissful ignorance which immortality has taken from me.
One fateful day, an affluent Lord from Rome arrived in Siena after hearing tales of the mastery of my blades and asked for a rapier like none other; still just the memory of it makes my hairs stand on end in delight. The blade had five deep fullers to catch blood, the hilt was made from bronze and in the shape of a bat, its fang’s bared in readiness and from its throat it seemed to regurgitate the blade. But the rapier’s most recognizable distinction was the words inscribed into the blade ‘Purezza di Sangue’. At the time I didn’t have any such inkling of what ‘Purity of Blood’ might mean and was even more curious to what the sword’s patron was talking about when he promised me “A reward only dreamt of by King’s and Emperors…”[/i]

[i]The strange lord didn’t lie and a week later after the sword’s completion I was given the thing most men had dreamt of since their dawn, immortality. I married the Vampire’s daughter and was accepted into their family with a name befitting my new power, Verdarrio Nyctari.[/i]

The beauty and artistic perfection of elegance, delicacy and pose could not be hindered in Verdarrio’s mind but he had never felt such lustful desire’s until the night of the masque; it happened at every full moon and so was not unusual to Verdarrio; however while the other hedonistic Vampire’s found their concubines on this night, Verdarrio could not tear his eyes from the obsidian goddess. She walked into the room like a successful hunter carrying her body like a prize animal with a confident stride and flirtatious smirk. He watched her every minute move, the sway of her limp arms, the rise and fall of her bosom, the tensing of her legs at their connection to the ground. Each feature, each moment, an infinity of divine glory. His transfixed stare was that of a hunting wolf watching an unsuspecting rabbit; he could just imagine the raw pleasure of draining her lifeblood. The room and all its furnishings dissolved into her magnificent body and the violin strings accentuated her every move. 

She walked towards Verdarrio, her eyes gazing slightly to his left, they seemed to be set in playful determination on some seemingly intangible goal. Suddenly she stumbled and fell like a deer jumped upon by a wolf, her legs tangling and her arms flailing as she fell into Verdarrio’s grip. The feeling was sublime for a split second, the ecstasy of her touch was like a drug to him. Her tanned arms, soft and delicate in his touch, burned his skin like sunlight, his hands became crimson and enflamed at the touch of her and he fell to his knees in pain as he dropped her. His gasp wasn’t heard above the music but every member of the room looked questioningly at his incorporeal torture. The lady, now on the floor looked around in shock, a frightened doe in the midst of a pack, then a shadow fell across them both blocking the light reflected around the room from the crystal chandeliers.

“Verdarrio, manners maketh man.” A voice said in a cold and harsh tone.

[i]One dares to mock me?[/i]

“My lady, a hand?” The goddess took the intruders outstretched hand, grasping it softly as if it were fruit and was pulled to her feet slowly. She had already composed herself, and smiled at him with a hint of pleasure, she took a step towards him putting her arm through his as a gesture of thanks. Her savior ignored this, bending down once again to offer Verdarrio a hand, even behind his silver enameled mask Verdarrio could identify the Outsider. He looked at the out-stretched hand in disgust before lifting himself swiftly to his feet without the intruder’s aid.
  
“Don’t give me your airs and graces Spaniard, when I ask for pleasantries from a Vampire’s bastard, I’ll make sure to come to you first.” He spat, jealousy already coursing through his veins like poison; then with a disdainful final look he walked to the other side of the shocked ballroom, flicking his hand for the continuation of the entertainment and sat in a chair.

[i]This chair is itchy and uncomfortable, he thought in utter annoyance his mind and eyes still on the girl who feigned her flirtatious countenance, all it had taken was one glance at the terrified prey underneath her masquerade to find her true nature. Now she laid her head upon the broad shoulders of Cicero’s black dinner jacket letting the waterfall of her black hair tumble down his shoulder like the trailing wing of a raven. The bastard still didn’t appear to take notice of the siren seducing him with her pale blue eyes and instead stared at the next painting vaguely.

Through the throng of Vampiric patrons I heard the goddess’s voice like the delicate tap of my hammer on an opulent rapier. “The black raven amongst a gathering of crows, come to pick at the carrion of Santa Somabra.”

The filthy bastard turned at her remark, tilting his head in that annoying way.

“I know of your deceit, Santa Somabra has choked on this smog of corruption for far too long and now you have come to finish the deed.”[/i]

[i]This was disrespect, dishonor from a lowly concubine; the Nyctari, a flock of birds? And why Cicero a raven? More like a decrepit, albino crow, a freak of nature.[/i]

Verdarrio was incredibly suspicious now, his brow creased in concentration as he critiqued this beauty, she was much more than that now, she was a deadly inquisitor in their ranks, he thought.
She still smiled that sleazy grin but now it looked more repulsed and insulting as if he smelled of something rotten rather than his normal musty aroma. Cicero spoke his soft, unnerving tones in counter play, his eyes beneath the silver mask revealing nothing.

“What do you know of crows and ravens…?”