[Flashback] The Banker (solo)

by **Vhast** on July 18th, 2012, 6:03 pm

21st of spring 502 av

Dust-flecked rays of morning light filtered through the painted white trim casement, accenting the shadows in grim relief of a young boy’s room in noble Ravok. There were no toys or baubles of fancy to speak of, the pale gray marble floors burnished only by an Eypharian made rug that struggled to bring life to the already dismal ambiance of the room. The furniture too, sculpted from polished black walnut, was fit for the elegant tastes of nobility, and hardly reflected the joys and innocence of youth. Decorating the walls were paintings whose colors seemed just as depressing as the rest of the room, dark landscapes concealing the even darker emotions of their creators tucked beneath each thread of canvas.

Only one painting, placed above a charcoal swept hearth, held a man whose features were proud if just a touch too arrogant. The boy did not care much for this painting, for it stood malevolently right across from his bed, and made the boy feel as though he were always being watched. In the man’s right hand rested a red rose, his arm stretched across his chest so that the flower blossomed just over his primly tailored left shoulder. His thumb had been pricked by one of the rose’s thorns, and a small rivulet of blood leaked down from the finger and disappeared into the cuff of his jacket. Beneath the painting a small inscription was traced into the murk gray frame that read: “Without sacrifice, we fall short of purpose.”

The boy hated this proverb…

While there remained other large burgundy drapes to be pushed aside to allow more gilded light in, it was just one that suited the boy’s needs at this bell. The light it shed was placed right over a lacquer stained desk, a small stack of leather bound books pushed off neatly towards a corner. In the middle rested an open journal of sorts, its binding a limber black sheepskin with tawny pages that held only a few words scribbled on the first page. “My name is Vhast Maximillian Proctor. Like Galifer Odalah, I plan to change the world.”

Perhaps it was not the perfect way to begin one’s own journal, but the boy’s handwriting was in a practiced script that far exceeded the capabilities of most his age. And there Vhast sat, admiring what he’d written in a rather wistful state, the kohl black strands of his hair mussed by sleep. A dark silk robe was wrapped around him, outlining his thin frame and pooling at the foot of the chair like bloodied water. Vhast’s moss colored eyes, immediately inquisitive by nature, continuously read each word he’d written one after the other. They were not the words he’d been instructed to write over and over, slashed by a switch on the back of his hand every time his quill slipped the slightest fraction. They were his words, and no one could take them from him even if they burned the journal.

“Vhast?”

Startled, the boy twisted around in his chair swiftly, breath hissing between his teeth as he noticed that the door had been cracked well enough to permit his father’s face to slip in. Without ever realizing it, Vhast had slammed the journal closed with hand poised on top in case he needed to get rid of it quickly. But mercifully, it was not his father he'd needed to be fearful of. Sometimes his father felt like the only friend Vhast had left in this world.

“For the god’s sake boy, show a little more finesse when trying to hide something from prying eyes, won’t you?” Ander Proctor’s voice was subtlety gifted with good nature, a smile flourishing on his thin lips that parted just enough to reveal the edge of his teeth. “Breakfast is ready downstairs. Come won’t you? I’d like to take you along to an appointment I have today.”

Nodding abruptly so that the long strands of his hair danced upon his scalp, Vhast squeaked out a simple "Yes father" before descending from the chair. Hearing the door click to announce Ander's departure, the boy raced on bare foot across the room to his dresser to find a suitable outfit for the day. Normally a servant would have been tasked with such a trifle during the boy's interim at breakfast, but today such things could not wait. Vhast wondered with fire ignited in the deep emeralds of his eyes just where this new adventure would lead him.

by **Vhast** on July 20th, 2012, 1:02 am

Breakfast that morning consisted of two lightly seasoned eggs, a slice of toast with a spread of golden marmalade melting off its warm edges, and a blackened sausage that had seen the pan for a minute longer than was necessary. The last item in particular was precisely the way Vhast enjoyed it, made better by the repulsive look his eldest sister gave him whenever his teeth crunched through its crispy skin and grease dribbled down his chin. Walking quietly up to the table with hands folded quietly in front of him, he eyed the spread with marked delight.

Sitting down in the chair that was customarily his, the table which easily sat thirty guests was drearily empty at this hour, save for the two places reserved for his siblings. His younger brother Gavin of five years was attended by a servant that was helping to ensure that the boy kept his food on the plate rather than around it. Shaelyn on the other hand was intensely occupied with a sheaf of parchment her fingers were working to keep from rolling in on itself. It seemed she was making every effort to ignore the newest arrival, her nose wrinkling indignantly when Vhast took his place.

The hall was brightened by tall glass windows flanked by maroon curtains on the east wall, though a gilded candelabrum had also been lit and placed in the middle of the table where the three Proctor children sat. The ceiling stretched twenty feet high, marked by white wooden arches that created a hexagonal pattern every ten feet. The fluted columns which they belonged to stretched all the way down to the tiled floor, which was covered in the middle where the long table sat by a manicured carpet that matched the hue of the curtains. It was all very prim and clean, the scent of spring roses wafting through the air.

Reaching out towards his piece of toast first, Vhast’s ears prickled to the sound of his sister’s dissatisfied grunt coming from across the table. Looking up, he noticed that Shaelyn had finally decided to pay him some mind, a scowl slowly crawling onto her features. “What?” Vhast spoke when his sister refused to speak, her eyes indicating that he was doing something blatantly wrong but wouldn’t tell him.

“Where are your manners?” Her voice was as cold as their mother’s, slithering with condemnation that made one feel like they were the worst breathing life form in all of Ravok.

“Guess I left them upstairs,” Vhast retorted with sneering sarcasm, knowing full well what it was Shaelyn was prying at, but refusing to give in.

“Then I suggest you go get them lest I tell mother.” Her propriety was unsettling for a girl her age. She was just two years Vhast’s elder, yet spoke with such vindictive composure she may as well have been an old shrew.

But the boy knew better than to test the limits of his sister’s posturing. Out of all the children, their mother looked least favorably upon him. Vhast couldn’t be sure why, but when his mother laid eyes on him, there was always a faint trace of sadness etched in her features before it gave way to enmity. Perhaps because unlike Shaelyn, Vhast held little interest in upholding the Blackmont (his mother’s maiden name) tradition of being egomaniacal sycophants to Rhysol‘s dogma.

Placing both hands on the table to each side of his plate in submission, Vhast clawed the wood grain and bowed his head. The morning prayer would be muttered this day with a touch of detestation. “Bless this food that it might nourish my body, so that I may enact the will of the god whom has given me all I have to be thankful for. May he watch over my family, and strangle my older sister for opening her big--”

“Vhast!”

It was his father’s voice once more, though it had dropped a few decibels and held a cold fury that spat through his clenched teeth. Opening his eyes meekly, Vhast looked up to see the shocked expression lining his sister’s face, finding it hard to keep a malicious smile of his own from spreading to each ear. Feeling the collar of his shirt being dragged on rather unceremoniously, the boy quickly got to his feet and did little to fight against the old man’s grip. “No breakfast for your today!" he heard Ander Proctor growl, the sound filling the deep spaces of the room. "Come with me!”

As though he had little choice…

by **Vhast** on July 20th, 2012, 7:05 pm

There was a last vestige of winter’s chill in the morning air when the two Proctor men stepped through the imposing double doors of the family estate and down to a ravosala awaiting them at a private dock. Vhast had been released from his father’s clutches for the time being, which allowed him to tug the white threads of his wool cloak more comfortably around him to stave off the prickling cold. There was still a palpable tension stirring between father and son that kept the boy‘s head down and eyes out of reach. Not speaking only helped him remember how hungry he was though, his stomach moaning pitifully as he took seat in the gently swaying boat.

Steering the long and slender craft was a kelvic that Vhast knew well. His name was Myril, and as far as the boy could tell, he was incapable of speaking because of a missing tongue. Yet somehow he had made a bond with Ander in the past, and was his personal assistant in all things that pertained to the banking business. Though Vhast’s interactions with the kelvic were scant at best, he knew his father entrusted the non-human with his very existence, confiding in him things Ander would not even speak to his family of. It was a relationship Vhast had witnessed first hand causing rifts between mother and father in the past. Eliza Proctor did not seem to trust Myril in the slightest, and as a result felt resentful towards her husband whenever the kelvic was present. Somehow this only made Vhast like him more, though he had seen less and less of Myril as the years passed.

It became more difficult to look away from his father once the two were seated across from each other. The boat had already drifted into the canal’s swell and was being pushed deftly by Myril’s capable guiding by pole. Averting his gaze towards the side where the dark waters awaited him, Vhast sat stiffly with his hands twined together in his lap. Swallowing the fear that had conjured a knot within his throat, the boy’s voice was a wisp of misery. “She was going to tell mother on me.”

“Likely she still will with that little stunt, Vhast.” His father’s words were cool yet held just an ounce of consoling pity. Leaning back against his cushioned chair, the older man splayed his arms lackadaisically out to each side, his fingers dangling mere inches above the water’s surface from the rim of the ravosala. He seemed thoughtful for a moment given the chance to finally relax, deciding to speak only when he‘d drawn in a calm and lucid breath. “But Shaelyn can be quite the brat at times.”

A stifled gasp filled Vhast’s throat as he beamed wide-eyed towards the man who may have well just as said the highest blaspheme known to Rhysol. The boy had never heard his father speak of his own ilk in such ways, much less so undignified. But the hint of a smile had grown on Ander’s lips, his eyes casually perusing the latticed walls to one side that held a disfigurement of moss and green ivy. “This city is going to the dogs, Vhast,” he mused lamentably. “Such corruption and cruelty the likes of which is kept sheltered from most eyes. I am thankful that one of those sets of eyes has been yours, but perhaps its time you saw differently.”

An eight year old boy hardly knew how to even begin a response to that, though that did not keep him from trying. “I don‘t under--where are we going?”

“To open your eyes, son. I realize how young you are, but certain times call for a boy to grow up faster than is necessary. How I wish it wasn’t so. Perhaps if we’d lived in Syliras or Zeltiva where the gods there do not promote chaos and hate.”

It was difficult for Vhast to maintain a level of comprehension towards his father’s disjointed ramblings, but something within him came alive. The seed of adventure had been planted, though that did not stop him from questioning the old man's motive. “But you pray to Rhysol, don’t you father?”

“In a fashion, yes.” Ander's voice suddenly cut down to a whisper and he leaned in closer, leaving his unconcerned mien behind. Vhast noticed that they were passing a thoroughfare where a collective of merchants and their clientele were handling business. None of them seemed to pay the boat any mind as they passed beneath the arched stone bridge. “But there is much more to my life than meets the eye, son. Can I trust you?”

Without even hesitating, Vhast nodded succinctly and showed a keen interest. Still, questions that would not be dissuaded plagued him. “But where are we going?”

Sitting back once again as they left the cacophony of voices behind, Ander was a little more business like in his demeanor, striking his hands together in a clap that echoed dully off the stone walls. “To meet a friend of mine. Though I wouldn’t dare wish for his teachings to pass on to you. Your life should not be dictated by mine. All I ask is that you listen to him, and learn on your own. Can you do that?”

Again nodding, Vhast licked his dry lips and looked behind him towards whatever destination awaited them, attempting to discern some clue from the network of canals. Ravok was a large city however, with a myriad of nooks to hide many precious secrets.