Clan Dalca Journals
Act Two; Scene Two
October 31st
"My line has not yet died out.
It was a far cry from where they would meet under most circumstances. 'Her' meager hut, fashioned at this particular time of the year, out of gingerbread and hard candy, was being prepared for Her annual festivities on this, the witch's holy day of Samhain. So many children would flock amongst the ghouls and spirits that walked freely this eve, none the wiser, begging for treats and playing mischievous pranks on adults and each other. A few, two -- perhaps even three, would find the hut crafted of tasty treats and be invited inside. They always did. And yet none would ever be seen again.
The news sources of the mortal realms never did tell the entire truth, even if there were knowledge behind it. Far more disappearances and vanishings happened on this, the 31t of October, than any other particular day of the year. It could never be explained, although the close minded would blame kidnappers and pedophiles, watching closely for the lone straggler of a child wandering off on his or her own, begging at that one particular lonely home at the end of the street for just one last goody. Only a handful of people, mostly in their middle years, knew the truth; that mortals were not behind these random disappearances. The source behind such dealings was by far more sinister in nature.
They knew that on this eve, the legends that stated the veil between the worlds of the living and the dead were at their weakest on this night were not mere legends. The dead did indeed walk the earth on this night, and sometimes they would drag the hapless victim back down into their graves with them for their own Samhain feasting. Hellmouths would be pierced by the denizens of the Underworld and creatures that would chill the blood and instill fear among the living would roam the night, hunting for their annual repast. They would gorge themselves on whatever manner of living being they might find, be it human or otherwise. The feline was the only animal traditionally safe from consumption, as they too ruled this night.
The only thing these specters and demonic entities had cause to fear was one brand of mortal: the Hunter."</color>
The matriarch of the newly formed Romanov clan, Clan Dalca, stood in wait with the voiceless child in her arms as she waited. It was the end of more than just October, but the close of the summer's end and soon, the autumn celebrations would begin anew in the familiar yearly cycle. It meant the end of the year was that much closer, but there was yet much to be done this evening. Much to be brought closure to and also to bring honor upon.
It was the first Samhain rituals she would be a part of ever since the banishing of the Pale One, and the loss of the majority of her former clan and family. Loved ones lost in the fight against the forces of darkness, but a new arrival into the folds of her warmth and loving arms. A young man, brave and loving. A new son. And the child held in her arms, a child afflicted but one loved no less for being so as her own.
She was by some regards, elderly, as she stood here in her sixty fourth year in this good world, but she was no less brave nor eager to do her part in the war against evil than those a mere third her age. It was her own strength and the spells she had learned, passed from parent to child over the course of many a lifetime, that marked the final nail in the proverbial coffin for the pale one, the 'Bogey man' that had been bound to the Void mere months ago.
Now the sun was beginning to set in the sky, and the time drew near to honor and remember those who passed, not only in her family and loved ones, but that of Andrei as well.
The young man set foot out of the home that was once shared between himself and his friend and love, Nicolai. In his hand was an unlit torch, the end wrapped in kerosene soaked rags. He walked over toward the clearing in which they stood before a large pile of logs, each piled on end against the other. In the center of the 'pyramid' was a vertical pole, and tied to it, a scarecrow fashioned in pure white. An effigy of the one whom their loved ones fell in battle to.
A lit candle rested on a stone and Andrei held the torch over it and immediately the rags on the end lit. He then looked to Nadya who nodded to him without saying a word. Andrei looked to the boy child, whom together they agreed on the name of Nicolai the Second, in honor of his love and a warrior lost, yet remembered. Until then, the babe had been unnamed, as it was believed by his clan as well as Nadya's, that naming a child during times of war could only spell disaster for the young one. The child appeared to know that eyes were now upon him and he looked around with blind eyes until they seemed to fall upon Andrei himself. A small hand reached out toward him and Andrei could not help but smile sadly.
Never before did he consider the possibility that he would ever be a father, and yet here the evidence was that anything would truly be possible, given the correct circumstances.
A single tear slid down Andrei's face before he collected himself. He turned and tossed the torch into the wood pile and it immediately caught alight, the wood soaked in oils and kerosene and soon dancing with a billowing flame that stretched up toward the sky.
Andrei then reached toward his waist and slid a dagger from it's pouch at his belt. He approached a table erected at the clearing's edge, an altar fashioned by Nadya's hands. Strewn atop it were herbs and offerings, and a small chalice that had been in her family for generations on end. Inside of it was a small pool of crimson, offered from her own hand earlier in the day, before she again took charge of the care of Nicolai II. Nicolai then held his open palm over the chalice and with a deft flick of his wrist, slid the blade's edge over the rough skin and split it open just enough for a slim but steady stream of his own life force to drip down into the offering, blending his with the elderly Nadya's, making theirs one, and uniting their families in an official manner.
Nadya watched as Andrei gritted his teeth, but bore the pain of the self inflicted knife wound like a man would, and should. He then whipped a long strip of cloth from his belt and bound the wound. Slowly, Andrei turned around as Nadya walked across the clearing, joining him with the babe in her arms. Silently, Andrei marveled that at her age, she never seemed to tire of holding the babe in her arms. Perhaps she was stronger willed than he ever realized, or perhaps that was the personal strength of any woman who knew the love of being a mother. It was a mystery to him that would perhaps never be solved.
This was something he was loathe to do, but it was necessary as Nicolai II was of their clan too, a child of the couple of the deceased Guaril and his bride that had fallen at childbirth. An offering was to be made by each that yet lived, but both Nadya and Andrei knew it did not have to be blood. Neither wished to cut the child and give him any due harm in any fashion. Deep within their hearts, he was to be protected at any and all costs. Yet even this, what they would allow the child to give, gave them pause so as not to alarm him.
As Nadya held the boy, Andrei took a lock of his hair and before the child could react, Andrei cut it from his head, leaving the child none the wiser. Or so they thought, as the boy reached blindly toward the spot they had taken the small clump of hair from. This, too, Andrei dropped into the chalice before scooping it up into his hand by the long stem. Together with Nadya and Nicolai II, Andrei walked over to the now roaring bonfire with the 'sacrifice' in his two hands. This was the moment where they appeased their God, and remembered their loved ones.
The sun dipped even lower against the sky, blanketing it in colorful hues of oranges, purples, pinks and yellows. The moon could be seen rising to grace the night with its presence, and one by one, the stars twinkled in the ever darkening twilight that was rising steadily. Only then did they bring their heads up from their joined prayers of remembrance, and Andrei poured the offering into the flames of the bonfire. Sparks rose and the small wonders of light drifted high up into the sky, burning themselves out against the cool winds.
"Do they look down on us and think in loving memory?" Andrei asked in a coarse whisper.
Nadya looked over to the man that was growing to be not a grandson, but a true son of her heart in her own mind. Carefully cradling Nicolai II with one arm against her bosom, she reached over and ran her hand gently down Andrei's arm and replied in a soothing manner she had long thought forgotten.
"They do." She said. "They were graced with entrance through the gates of Saint Peter, and those who went before them gather in Heaven to watch over us."
She leaned in and gripped his arm tightly with a strength he knew not that she wielded, and she emphasized, "All of them."
He knew to whom she spoke of. He knew her words were meant to comfort, but deep down they rang hollow as neither of them knew of Nicolai's true fate, as he had vanished the same as the Pale One. yet, the thought was there as was the comfort her words offered. For that, he truly appreciated her as a matriarch and a mother figure.
He did not care that tears now flowed freely down his face. He was proud to mourn with love, and he smiled as he looked to her and he asked Nadya, "Did you give them their offerings?" He was referring to the special offerings, left for this night on the graves of their loved ones who just too recently fell in life.
"Offerings of milk and honey." She nodded. "And sweet biscuits." She brought her eyes off of Nicolai II and a twinkle in her eyes danced for Andrei as she added, "When I could get them from this one's hands."
Andrei could not help but bark in laughter. He shook his head and found himself admitting aloud, "He truly is named after the right one then, in that regard."
More moments passed and the bonfire slowly started to die down and as twilight reared its head, Andrei turned to Nadya and said, "I'll leave the final offering. Take him inside."
"I can..." She started to say but this time she saw not a son nor a grandson, but a man looking at her with solid eyes that showed strength.
"Take him inside." He said with finality, and she nodded in acceptance.
Andrei watched her walk back toward the home and close the door behind herself and the child. Only then did he follow along the same path, until he came to the edge of the home he had shared with his own family throughout the years. From the back of his wagon, he withdrew a flask of ale, and a basket of fruit. Both of these he set on the door step of the abode, and then he retreated and returned this time with a plate of oat cookies and a jar of fresh milk. These two he set on the front step. The fact was each of these treats was something that Nicolai had adored, and this was a night he would share them with whomever, or whatever, came through this way with pangs of hunger.
He looked around the clearing, and for many minutes more, he inspected the wards that Nadya had carved into wood and stone around their home for protection against the spirits and demons that would roam the world this night. Apples with laurel leaves set in their hearts were placed at five points around the clearing, the better to ward against evil and block its path.
Only when he had been satisfied, did Andrei finally walk to the porch of the homestead and open the door. he carefully stepped around the offerings and set foot inside.
With one final look into the night, he shut the door behind him, the whisper of a name on his lips, and the image of a loving memory firmly in his memories.</color>
"Would you please stop that pacing and sit yourself down?"
The witch goaded him as Brother Grimm paced the stone floor of this new, fresh setting that she had crafted for her own amusement. Her hut was in preparations for the holiday known as Halloween, and so this she thought would be amusing for herself, and yes, for him as well.
The stone fortifications of the ancient cathedral were falling apart at random intervals, exposing the infrastructure of the interior that glowed with an ethereal red light, almost light the glowing beat of a demon's heart -- if demon's had such things to begin with.
Her ever present rocking chair was by the fire lit in the hearth of the church, held together by will and magic. her features hidden as always in shade and shadow, while she watched Grimm walk around the structure, his hands clasped lightly behind his back as he contemplated many a thing.
He cast a sidelong glance at her and huffed, "Forgive me, but you have given me a great deal to think about over this coming evening."
"Oh please." She clucked her tongue as she picked up the knitting from the small table at the right of her chair. picking the knitting needles up with her weathered hands, she started to follow up on the project that seemed to go on without end. "Are you certain its this mortal holiday that has you so enraptured? perhaps it's the arrival of the Druids in your territory."
Grimm just paused to give her a withering glance and he scoffed without a verbal reply.
"True." She acknowledged. "Druids are not what they once were. Not that they ever were truly much, mind you. Yet to have them show on your doorstep forebodes something in the future works."
Grimm stopped his wandering and raised his knuckles to his black lips and shook his head. He said, "It would be their swan song if they thought themselves foolish enough to confront me in this day and age."
"I'm glad to hear you say that." She chuckled deeply in her breast. "Then perhaps you can look past such insects toward the one you have already scheduled to do combat with. This..."
"Jon Dough." Grimm finished for her. He shook his head in disgust and turned away from her and walked over toward one of the many crumbling openings of this ancient church of the Christian God and looked out into the night. He said, "Ridiculous. Ho a mortal man can forget who he is but hope to face me in open combat... it staggers the mind. Then again, this is the proper time of the year for human sacrifice."
He turned his back to the night and looked at her with a frown, "It is, is it not?"
"That has not been the case for an eon, my dear reaper." She answered. "Though since when have you ever paid heed to the changing of the times?"
To this statement he could but smile, and he nodded. "True." He said. "From what I gather, he sees himself as something of a trained warrior. I look forward to seeing what he might be capable of."
"Hmph." She shook her head. "The woman that stands at his side is the one to be concerned with. She, not he, is the true warrior of that clan. She is dangerous, mark my word."
"Pity it is then," He started to say with a tilt of the head and a knowing smile. "That I do not have you at my side to protect me."
"I am always at your side." she answered plainly. "Whether they be aware or not, I am always watching." Then her hands paused in her knitting and she said, "Perhaps then it is time that I venture out and join you on a little excursion."
"You?" Grimm's eyebrows rose and he laughed. "You wish to join me on a nightly haunt this Hallow's eve? Aw."
In an instant, his pale form was standing behind her rocking chair, having emerged from the shadows. He leaned in closely and whispered in her ear.
"I admit, I'm touched."</color>
"Jon Dough, a name that is as meaningless as the man behind it. I admit there are times where I am, as they say, lost in time given my recent imprisonment, but even I am aware that the name is linked to the names of the unknown or unwanted who have left the mortal coil."
"To that, I fear, you will find the name you have been coined with deftly appropriate. On the coming eve when you and I meet inside of the ring before the many, the eyes of your mortal brethren will watch you fall, and only at your bleakest will you find yourself realizing what it was that you have done, and what you attempted to do."
"You thought yourself capable of standing against the one that haunts the shadows in the closets of your children. You believed you could defeat the monster that lies in wait beneath the beds of the young, eager to grasp their feet as they set foot on the floor and drag them away to a fate that remains unknown to your kind."
"Only fool stand against me and believe they can emerge victorious in the long run. I was defeated once by warriors mightier than you by far, and even then all they could do was imprison me. They were Hunters. Even I must admit they were far above the mortal coil that you yourself languish in. You are not fit to wipe the refuse of animals from the soles of their feet. You are a man, and you are mortal, and like all who have attempted before you, you will fall to the will of the shadows of the night."
"You will fall to the Bogey Man."</color>
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