ramaliam

[ramaliam]

[ Bloodlust ]

“Behind every exquisite thing that existed, there was something tragic.”                                                    ― Oscar Wilde

Ayutthaya, Present Day History is written by the victors.

For Liam, it was a painful reminder that would stay with him for as long as he walked this earth. Because he took the lives of many after his own death, he re-shaped the course of history and could never change his own timeline again. Crumbling ruins swarmed by tourists, who for the most part knew nothing of the heartbreaking history that lingered there. To them, it was merely a historic sight at which to take vacation photographs and get swindled by some of the locals. Liam didn’t go there often anymore, despite Mansu’s odd manner of encouragement. What used to be an annual pilgrimage turned into biannual, and so on until he visited only once every few years, and only at night when no one was there to pester him. Well. Almost no one.

Long ago, the Burmese had invaded what was once the capital of Siam-- present day Thailand-- centuries long after Liam was born, and the city was sacked after a year of being held in a siege. Ayutthaya’s majestic wats were set alight, and her treasures and surviving citizens were stolen away to Burma, leaving her in nothing but smoking ruin.

It was a war that he wasn’t there for, but one he’d started like a domino effect all in the name of love. What a repugnant concept that seemed now, such that it made his nose crinkle slightly in disdain on that natural scowl of his. Instead of being there for his people, he was confined in a Roman catacomb well over eight thousand kilometers away, severed from his heritage that currently lay in waste.

But for centuries prior to that fateful downfall, Ayutthaya had been the crown jewel of the east, serving as a trading center of commerce. Despite its constant threats of war, they maintained independence and grew in riches and prosperity.

As the Italian Renaissance blossomed worlds away, one year after Ivan the Great Prince of Russia was born, and one year before the birth of Edward IV, future King of England was born, Somet Phra Ramaliam Trakkanat Suphannaphum, crown prince of Ayutthaya, was born under an auspicious moon. He was the third-born son of the king in the year 1441, and was appointed ruler of Sukothai at the age of twenty two. Back then, sunset colored silks sailed in the wind, golden Buddhas guarded their capital, and music and dance filled the hearts of men. The sounds of a prosperous people filled the air around them.

Krung Tai, 1463. The rise of the Kingdom of Ayutthaya. When kings were like gods.

His tall, slender and toned frame was swathed in smooth, rippling silk, and his long, thick, dark chocolate colored hair hung down his back, half tied up in a bun and secured with a golden cuff that bore carvings of lotus flowers upon them. Gold bangles clinked at his wrists, and bejeweled rings winked every time the lantern lights hit them in just the right way. In the distance, he could hear the mahouts tending to the revered, royal elephants in their vast enclosures. His own white elephant lived among them, gifted to him as a young boy, from norther emissaries and named Mardji.

Liam wasn’t there to reminisce over his elephant, however. He found himself at the capital because his bride, a Sukhothai princess, had born him their first child; a son. Theirs was a union of political ties and a dharmic duty to which they were bound with their royal births. Nobles from across the kingdom came to visit and pay respects, yet In spite of the week-long celebrations being held in their honor and that of the child, there was only one person in the entire vastness of their kingdom that he wanted to see.

Prince Ramaliam loved few things more than he loved Kohn dances. Above all forms of entertainment, he valued it most, and watched every performance of the Ramakien that the royal dancers put on. He loved the music and the costumes, but above all, he loved the way the dancers moved their bodies, telling the compelling story with such grace and physical mastery. It was no secret that he had a special interest in the portrayal of the monkey warrior Hanuman by a very specific dancer. Whisperings often named Chayan as the prince’s phra vorachaya (royal consort), and blamed the prince of being cruel to his bride for abandoning her side to pursue his dalliances with the dancer a few years his senior. It was easy to call a man cruel when his wife appealed to the sympathies of those simple-minded enough not to see them as equals. There was no love between them, and the only love in his young princess’s heart was toward status and power, not even towards her own consorts. Ramaliam remained as icy and reticent of his behavior as he had his entire life, however, and none knew just how aware he was of those whispers until the servants with wagging tongues found themselves without them, or sentenced to labor camps outside the city.

The far away songs of jungle creatures filled the thick, humid air, and a subtle sheen of sweat glistened on the prince’s skin as he crossed the courtyard, somewhat dismissive of the greetings that bowed in his direction. Liam hadn’t seen Chay since the last time he’d spent time in the capital, and wanted to spend every waking moment he could with him before returning to Sukothai.

In a time when people could be property, he never treated Chay as such. Despite the open invitation for him to come live in Sukothai among the prince’s court, the man had a dedication to his craft, acting out his own dharmic duty by honoring the Kohn dance. No one could do it as well as he, and it wasn’t something he wanted to give up while still in his prime to be a prince’s concubine. Despite fights between them, they could neither completely sever the ties that bonded them, nor could they forsake their duties. Liam, four years his junior, simply could not abdicate his crown, especially when still in the succession to become ruler of the entire kingdom.

So it was, that in those stolen moments they found their bliss, taking from and giving to one another what no one else could, bathed in nothing but candle light.

Sukhothai, 1463. Wars exacerbated. The Anomaly

Nights together were full of bliss as they indulged in one another’s company. Sweet poetry dripped from Chay‘s honeyed lips as he sang for his prince, watching his features shine with delight. Ramaliam rarely smiled, but when he was in the company of his beloved, he couldn’t help it. His heart was full of joy, and life was suddenly more beautiful and warm. Beneath the canopies of breeze-blown linens, surrounded by wafting incense and candle light, they were equals. With their jewels and silks strewn on the floor and nothing they were two hearts beating as one in rhythm to one another’s bodies, until exhaustion pulled them into sleep’s peaceful embrace.

But it had been two nights since the prince awoke without his lover in his arms, with his silks had still been there in the morning, but the man himself was nowhere to be found. It became apparent that he had been taken, and no one in the king’s court had heard a thing. The livid prince went on a rampage, threatening to have heads spiked if he wasn’t returned, and offering rewards for his safe return. No stone was to be left unturned.

Not long after, a northern messenger arrived from Lan Na with a severed hand. Liam recognized the rings on the fingers, and the birth mark between the index and middle fingers, and his heart dropped. The prince was to meet the messenger’s lord in battle in two days’ time, or his lover would be killed and hacked to pieces for the scavengers to eat. Raging with grief and a tempest of wrath, the prince called for the messenger’s head, then called upon his army to march out battle come sunrise. His suspicions turned to those immediately close to him, suspecting his brothers and his bride of conspiring against him, but the traitor or traitors in his midst would be dealt with once Chay was in his arms again.

No sleep was had that night, and the prince readied himself for battle. Mounted on his armored white elephant, he led his men out in the direction of where the battle would take place. With haste, they made their way out of the capital to the north, where war continued to brew between Ayutthaya and Lan Na for the rights to the Sukhothai lands. It was a conflict that began the very year the prince was born, and one he had been familiar with his entire life. It was also a conflict he’d hoped would end with an heir that descended from both lines, but that was not to be so.

The prince pressed forward, marching through villages in his way north, and cutting through sparse jungles and rice fields to reach their destination with haste. Prince Ramaliam paid little mind to the villagers who cursed him for destroying their crops with his band of warriors. He promised that if his lover was returned unharmed, they would be repaid, but didn’t tarry as he continued until he arrived at the supposed location for the battle.

Except no one was there waiting. Thinking that perhaps the had arrived too early, or more likely had fallen into a trap, he sent forward scouts to see if they caught a glimpse of their enemy. The prince’s rage continued to mount as grief and worry weighed in his heart, compounded with the fact that the scouts had yet to return. As night began to fall, the prince decided to take matters into his own hands, and appointed his best general and two skilled warriors to follow him into the brush with torches to find their scouts.

As they began to make their way through, aided by the bright light of the blood moon above, there was an eerie silence and stillness in the forest that had the warriors on high alert, ears trained for any little sound. It was Mardji who sensed it first. Something was wrong, and he refused to move another inch. The prince urged him forward, but the elephant’s agitation only grew, nervously tracking back and to the sides until it bucked to launch is rider’s saddle off. The prince was thrown to the ground as Mardji charged away, leaving the company as they scrambled to aid the prince back to his feet, yet that had been the perfect distraction.

From the shadows, a creature swept down and immediately snapped the forward general’s neck. Before the jolt of urgency could call the warriors into action, they felt a chill curling around their spines, and were frozen in place, as if by some inexplicable force had taken over them. They wanted to raise their shields and spears in an attempt to protect the prince, but the creature moved closer, its hands out as if holding them in place. It felt as though time stood still while this thing moved around them, until a compulsion caused them to gaze at one another in a panic. They were no longer in control of their actions as their spears turned one on the other and drove forward with a sickening squelch.

The prince was alone at last, standing there with a golden, jewel-encrusted blade in hand, poised to attack, but equally frozen.

“Mine at last.”

The Price of Pride.

“What a perfect familiar. Beautiful. Strong. Exotic,” the raspy voice uttered as the form circled behind him.

Ramaliam’s body remained still, but he was still conscious of the way that the leaves remained suspended mid-air, a moth was as still as a painting in the air without moving its wings, and yet his own heart beat like a hummingbird in his chest, as if only parts of him existed outside of the fabric of time itself. He couldn’t move, frozen in place by some unknown sorcery he could not see or begin to comprehend. There was only a dark shape in his peripheral vision, although he could not move to look and see. It felt like a night terror in which he was frozen in place, yet aware of what was happening.

“For one so young, you have so much rage. I can feel it,” he said as a cold, grayed hand reached up to caress the smooth expanse of the prince’s jaw. Liam realized the voice was in his head. No lips moved as the words permeated his thoughts. “Come with me, little prince, and I will give you all the revenge you seek. Your enemies will be laid to waste, and you will live forever. Beautiful and terrible.”

Liam’s grief and anger brewed in his chest like a rising tempest inside of a glass jar. Every second he delayed was a second that risked Chay’s life, if he yet lived. His eyes began to mist as the figure moved in front of him, horrifying to behold. Vermilion eyes gazed at him the way a tiger would looking at its prey. His face was sunken, wrinkled, and ashen like that of an old corpse, with hair as white as Himalayan snow, and a touch as icy to match. Where a nose should have been were slits, as if the proper nose had long ago been severed. His clothing was rich and ornate, though clearly not from any of the neighboring kingdoms here. The monster’s hand curled around Liam’s throat, and he could feel the coldness of his breath prickling over the skin of his smooth, warm neck.

In an instant, he witnessed the moth fluttering away and the breeze rustling his dark hair. The second he realized he could move freely, he spun around and drove his sword right through the monster’s core. An animalistic howl filled the forest, and Liam pulled his sword out, ready to behead him when the creature lashed out with inhuman strength and threw him against a tree.

“HOW?!” it hissed.

Liam’s sword fell, and the monster leapt toward him, seeking his neck. The prince scrambled to his feet and turned to run from him, but he was too slow. A mere mortal, unlike the heroes of the legends he loved so much.

At once, he felt the piercing, almost paralyzing pain of fangs sinking into the silk on his back just above the shoulder. The prince howled in pain as he felt the poison began spreading through his body, blood simultaneously being sucked out. He felt a heightened sense of arousal briefly before falling to the ground in a convulsion. Liam’s blood-curdling screams filled the forest as he writhed in unimaginable pain. Every nerve in his body felt as if he’d been set alight in flame, burning without an actual fire.

Liam’s vision began to darken around the edges, as if he were falling backwards into a dark well until his consciousness slipped away, eyes rolling back into his head. His final thoughts were on his beloved he meant to rescue, but would never see alive again. When his once hazel eyes opened again moments later, they were vermilion just as those of his attacker, but his tempest had not abated. Liam leapt to his feet, much to the surprise of the monster that stood not far from him, then pounced on him. He no longer had coherent thoughts that could be pieced together to form a fragment. There was only a compulsion to kill.

The monster attempted to control him with feeble commands, as though he were some kind of pet and not a deadly animal there to destroy him.

“I command you to stop! I command you to fall on your knees!”

Each command was more desperate than the last, and each only served to fuel the newborn vampire’s pure rage and bloodlust. The once beautiful face was now pale, veins bulging throughout his body with the fresh venom that painfully pumped into every living cell in his body. The bite had not been clean, and the poison didn’t kill him as intended. A final command began to form on the elder vampire’s lips when Liam’s fangs closed in on his throat, ripping into it as a ravenous animal into fresh meat. Every drop of foul, blackened blood fed him and poisoned him at the same time, but he couldn’t stop until the creature beneath him stopped moving. Liam tore him limb from limb, gorging himself on his essence until nothing was left but tatters of clothing. His thoughts drifted in and out, but only coherent thought prevailed.

You cannot command me.

He ran through the forest, feeling wildlife around him fleeing, as darkness enveloped his body. His muscles didn’t tire, and he didn’t stop until he reached the field where his soldiers had been ambushed by enemy forces. No longer did he think about his dharma, about his duties as a prince, a husband, and a new father. He was a ravenous beast, seeking to sate a thirst for blood and destruction that he couldn’t and didn’t care to comprehend.

It began with the small battalion, then villages, until word began to spread of an evil demon who stole the prince’s skin and ravaged the countryside. The kingdom mourned for the loss of their prince and the men slaughtered. Blame was shifted to the Sukothai, suspecting them of treason, working with the Lan Na. They were blamed for setting the prince up for a coup, then starting rumors of some demonic creature, plunging the kingdom into war once more.

Soon, the countrysides of Ayutthaya had become overrun, and rumors rippled out of the kingdom like waves of this demonic creature that began to spawn more.

Capture.

“While vampires are indeed predatory beings, not only with the ability but also the mastery to respond with lasting damage and even lethal power, it is not entirely accurate to believe that the majority would attack and harm for no well-founded reason. Higher power is achieved through discipline and inner mastery, which can only be unveiled under the light of responsibility, balance and awareness. Asetians are not mindless destroyers or creatures of evil, although they will bring pain and suffering if that is a lesson that may open doors to a higher understanding. They initiate through fire and silence, using magick old as time itself, and that is something that only few are able to survive.”

                                  -- Asetian Bible

This wasn’t supposed to happen. The rogue vampire had been much too careless, underestimated his prey in a vain attempt to play into the games of vanity that endagered the entire order and everything they stood for. Not only was the Kemetic Order in danger of being found out, but the Keepers of Time were now tasked with fixing this monumental fuck-up, and Percival would have ripped Cassian limb from limb had his failed experiment not already have done so. The amulet lay buried in the jungle, but was easily retrieved.

Find him. Kill him. Fix the timeways.

Finding the newborn wasn’t as easy as he thought it would be, with as many red herrings as there were. Unconfirmed sightings, mysterious deaths, mythological ghouls ravaging cattle and spooked elephants.

Finally, he managed to find the creature, wretched and full of insatiable rage. It took a magically trained group of guardians to corral and subdue him, but what he didn’t count on was the creature’s ability to not only stop the flow of time, but reverse it, much like his sire had been capable of once upon a time. Percival looked into his eyes and saw recognition in them. The newborn wasn’t completely feral. There were signs of life yet lingering, and with harnessed power of mind and body, perhaps he wasn’t a lost cause. Against all recommendations, Percival captured him, and at last, Ramaliam posed no more danger to the countrysides of the war-torn kingdom.

It was what history would later come to record as a Butterfly Effect. One small beat of a butterfly’s wing could cause a tornado mere weeks later. One killing would lead to tear an entire nation asunder. This kingdom would have to fall sooner or later, but not yet.

Recovery and training would be a lot of work, but those born with the gift were rare, and not to be squandered with their already dwindling numbers within the Order. He would need to be induced into longum somnum, where his body and mind could heal enough to control his powers.

Rome, 1765. The Age of Enlightenment. Every single event in reality is a result of a past action.

In one year’s time, the United Colonies would become the United States of America. Britain came into power, the Genroku era bloomed during the Edo Period in Japan, and the world was blossoming once again as technology and philosophy flourished.

That’s when Liam’s vermilion eyes opened to a ravenous darkness, as if his head had been pulled out of water, but he was blind.

“The anomaly awakens.”

The voice echoed, and Liam sensed he was in some kind of chamber, and clearly, he wasn’t alone. Restraints pulled across his chest, waist, neck, arms, and legs, holding him tightly in place, and something was strapped around his face, covering all but his eyes. Slowly, those unseeing eyes began to adjust to the dim light that flickered around him. Liam made no movement, and felt as though his entire body was made of lead.

“Do you know who you are?”

Liam blinked fast. He had seen the symbol of the flags that hung high above him before. But where? His vision became less cloudy, and suddenly he realized he could see the tiniest cracks in the stone blocks overhead. He could keenly smell the dank humidity of rotting corpses, and nearly tasted the iron from the mask around his face. He could hear the pulse thrumming steadily in the throat of something nearby... but strangely no pulse in the figures surrounding him.

“It has been quite some time. We thought you would never awaken, and yet you did not crumble into decay. You have finally chosen to awaken. My name is Percival, and I am here to guide you back into the world of consciousness. Eventually,” he said, walking around and coming into view. Oddly enough, Liam felt no fear as he peered into amber golden eyes that seemed to reflect the glow of candle light. His gray skin appeared as smooth as marble, he sported a beard the color of fiery copper, and wore black robes that covered his head. Through his peripheral vision, he caught sight of two pairs of similarly gray skin and blackened nails reach to either side of his head to remove the metallic mask. The scent of corpses became stronger, and he felt like he wanted to retch, but didn’t.

“Where am I?!” he asked hoarsely when he could finally speak. Even his own voice sounded foreign to him.

“You are safe. You have been in deep hibernation for three hundred and two years. Why you have chosen to awaken today, I cannot say. But you’re no longer as feral as when you were found.”

Liam’s eyes widened, and he finally struggled against his restraints when memories flashed through his mind. There was so much BLOOD and pain, and anguish.

“How am... I able to understand you?”

Percival fell into silence as he began to write something. Liam’s frustration continued to mount, as each second, his mind filled with more questions than it had moments prior. Where was he? How could he understand? What happened? How had he chosen to sleep for centuries? How was that even possible?!

"You have a gift, and for that reason alone you weren’t killed for what you did. The one who attempted to become your master let his hubris stand in his way, and as such, you killed him and have somehow absorbed his power. That is highly irregular. You have a choice now. Join us. Develop your gift, understand what you are now, leave everything you knew behind in the past where it belongs. Let us teach how to develop your gift, and we will keep the world spinning as it should. There must always be keepers. It is entirely up to you if you wish to become one or not and set right what those who pretend to play god have broken."

It was too much information all at once, and none of them had time to really sink in and answer his questions. He didn’t understand any of it, but before he could fully gain his strength and pull against the chains, he was pricked by something on the neck, and suddenly, the world was dark once again.

Japan, September 1923

For centuries, Liam walked alone. Gaining control over his temperament had proven much more difficult than anyone could have imagined, and much of that struggle remained within him still. He fed on animals for a century, only to find that he was not progressing. The desire to conquer all was ingrained in him, as if he’d been put on this earth to lead and not follow. It was especially difficult when he had to follow the strictness of the Order. He moved on to humans, those he was allowed to kill immediately after. Their blood was never sweet, but always bitter. Each time he attempted to obtain a familiar, they went feral, just as he had, and each failed attempt caused him to rage. It all connected to the way in which he himself was turned, but was assured that time would rectify that injustice.

The time was quickly approaching in which he had to present a familiar if he wished to ascend into the High Council of the order. Being a Keeper was important, but if he could not master his blood magic and the power to raise a familiar.

His reason for being there was known only to himself and the Keepers of Time. The amulet that weighed around his neck kept him safe from detection as he made his way to the point of contact he needed to reach, but there had been a bloody uprising in the countryside. Liam came across the unfortunate aftermath.

Bamboo torture was used here, much like the Nipah palm torture employed by the kings of Siam back in his day, and it surprised him. They use this still? The sadism of mortals never ceased to amaze him, especially with how far technology had come in the last few centuries.

Looking at the impaled wretch brought a distant echo from the past, and Liam felt compelled to protect him, despite the scent that could easily drive him wild with blood lust. But why? He was almost dead. In fact, a few more hours and he’d be as cold as the earth beneath him. But Liam had nothing to lose by giving it a try. He knelt beside him, his vermilion eyes peering into those dark hues that peered back at him.

He yet clings to life when others have let go so easily.

There was no denying this man had the spirit of a proud warrior, not unlike himself. Maybe in another life, they could have been rivals. Mortal enemies, perhaps. Or lovers. But Liam let such thoughts fall away like the last of autumn leaves blowing in the wind. He was no longer of the mortal realm where idle fancies belonged.

He must have been quite strong. He is strong still and doesn’t flinch away from me. Perhaps this one might live.

“What is your life worth to you?”

[ramaliam]

[ramaliam]

[ramaliam]

Hanuman offers his services to Rama, Thai mural of Ramakien (Thai version of Ramayana).