 | Little is known about the true origins of Suriel den Shemhazai. You might get the impression that even he doesn't remember. He certainly doesn't care. Suriel is a member of the Elite Guard (Sephirot) of Shemhazai, a dragon. His role within the Sephirot is that of the Astrologer (indeed, the very name Suriel implies astrologer; if he had a different job, he would be called something else.) Suriel is unusual in that, unlike the rest of the Sephirot, he was previously a member of the Sephirot of Shemhazai's father, Sandelphon; he was reblooded to Shemhazai as a present for the voyage across the Maelstrom. |
There was once a Flembic Courtier, whose name is long forgotten. He was invited to the chamber of a noblewoman of significant political importance, but upon arrival, found her dead. Her window was open, and hurried footsteps could be heard in the street below. Enraged, the courtier pursued the murderer out the window and through the streets. His quarry, unfamiliar with the territory, took a wrong turn down a cul-de-sac, where he was quickly met with a bloody flurry of dagger and fist.
The Courtier looked down at the body of the silver-scaled assasin, but before he could react, a similar figure dived into the courtyard, picked up the body and escaped over the rooftops. Returning to his residence, the courtier heard worried whispers that his lady had been found dead, after inviting him to her room, and he had been seen fleeing the scene. It became clear that he needed to leave as soon as possible.
A few days later, in a bar in the lower city, a lone figure sat drowning his sorrows in a corner. He didn't notice the small company of dracoscions until they had him completely surrounded. He feared the worst, but it turned out they were impressed by his loyalty and devotion, and the manner in which he dealt with the assasin, and in fact now had an opening within their organisation.
And so it came to pass that the courtier was recruited, and rose through the ranks of Sandelphon's household, gaining a position on his Sephirot; Silendriel den Sandelphon, or Sandelphon's spy, under the command of Suriel den Sandelphon.
More than 100 years later, Sandelphon had a son, Shemhazai. When it became clear, at his coming of age, that Shemhazai wished to travel to the New World, Sandelphon made a gift of Silendriel to his son. Silendriel was reblooded, and assumed the role of Suriel den Shemhazai, the spymaster of his new Sephirot (publicly described as the astrologer.) Sandelphon's last command to his Silendriel was to serve Shemhazai as he had served Sandelphon himself, but also to rely back any significant developments, dangers or decisions facing Shemhazai in the New World, and to keep an eye on the rest of the Sephirot of the young dragon...
A figure leant on the railing at the prow of the ship; the talons of his left hand, shining silver in the moonlight, lightly penetrated the woodwork; the fingers of the right hand drummed a seemingly rhythmless beat against that of the pounding rain. The boat pitched and lurched as the sea swelled and lapsed, and gusts of magical energies swept across the deck, leaving a thin dew of crystal like gilt on irregularities. Lord Shemhazai had retired to his chamber to sleep. The rest of the Sephirot were below deck, honing their skills and meditating for the challenges ahead. Suriel den Sehmhazai had little reason to be upon the deck during the storm, but he had felt a restless excitement, like an expectation, growing ever since they had left Mayan shores. Oh, he had heard tales of the New World, and the creatures that inhabited it, but he was sure they would be left wondering at his lord and master. As for the legend that the New World was the true home of the dragons- well, he would believe that when he could see the ancient cities before him. No, this feeling was something entirely different.
Struggling against the fierce winds and cruel lashing rain, a servant struggled across the deck. Buffeted by the storm, he fought to keep balanced a silver tray, upon which was the bottle and glass of fine Mayan wine requested by Suriel. The dracoscion could hear the servant’s barefoot, misplaced steps on the deck; his labored, struggling breath; almost, indeed the sound of the cold sweat seeping from every pore. It was a painful reminder of what he had once been. When he finally came close enough for Suriel to take the glass, he opened his mouth to needlessly announce his presence. In that moment, a sudden gust of light bounced upward from the deck and into the tray. There was a crash which seemed impossibly audible above the roar of the tempest. The glass had fallen and broken on the deck. Suriel waited for what seemed to him to be an eternity, to give the servant enough time to take in what had happened, and why he was going to be punished, before turning round. The servant stood, still holding the platter with the bottle at waist level. Suriel's words cut through the storm like a blade through weak human flesh. “You incompetent mortal. You worm. Tell me, why did we bring you with us, to eat our food, to see the splendors of the New World, if you are not even capable of carrying a glass of wine across the deck? Tell me, give me ONE GOOD REASON WHY, I should not just THROW YOU TO THE FURY OF THE MAELSTROM!!!”
At that, it seemed like all the noise ceased, and there came a sound which was felt rather than heard, like the death of a mine or the sinking of a ship. Suriel was awakened from this momentary daze by a much more real sound, for the servant had dropped both tray and the bottle, allowing it to smash into myriad pieces on the deck. He had taken off at full speed towards the other end of the ship, but Suriel knew that the servant could still not move as quickly as a dracoscion at a brisk pace. Suriel strode down the deck after him. He felt alive with the storm, vortices of magical energy swirled round his arms; pushed at his back, urging him forward. His eyes bulged as the servant threw open the doors of the dragon's personal chambers and slammed them behind him. Suriel broke into a run. There was an indignant roar, and- before he could reach the door, the rest of the Sephirot had assembled themselves outside it, being alert in all their duties, to the needs of the dragon. Seeing Suriel, they sprung into the doorway, arranging themselves so that they occupied all available space, and he was met with a wall of spear-points. The storm had suddenly intensified, and there was no possibility that any words may be exchanged. Suriel stepped towards the points, until they were inches from his face. Had there not been a particularly loud crash of thunder, he might have heard a scrabbling of claws as something attempted to move as far away as possible from the door on the other side. As the deadlock continued, Suriel took in each of his fellows, trying to understand what was happening. Surely they did not want him dead. He had no doubt that the full force of the Sephirot- even some of the individuals alone- could have dispatched him with ease, for he was not a part of the company for his skills as a warrior. Certain that nothing was going to change, Suriel took the time to admire the ingenuity of their stalwart, reflexive construction. Limbs interlocked to give support to the structure, and there was no gap left that would lend to weakness. Still, a brief coruscation of maelstromic light almost made it appear as if, in that tangle of bodies, just for a moment, someone had trembled.
Abruptly, there was calm. The storm still beat upon the ship with the same ferocity as it had for the last several days, and the spray still flung itself on board as if in an effort to reach the other side, but the invigoration that Suriel had felt was drained, and the flintlocked expressions of the other scions began to give way. Suddenly, the wall of bodies flew apart in an explosion of splintered wood and ash. The rest of the Sephirot landed expertly on their feet. In the doorway stood Shemhazai.
“WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?” he bellowed. All eyes were fixed on Suriel. The servant glanced out from behind one of Shemhazai’s great leathery wings, but disappeared into the room again at a glance from the dracoscion.
“My lord,” obsequiated Suriel, dropping to one knee, and from there bowing as lowly as he could. “I believe I have found a new power that might aid us in our investigation of the New World.”
Shemhazai eyed his scion.
“Get up. Tell me, what is the nature of this power, and how did it come about that you are using it on my ship?”
“I know naught, my liege, but that it came from the Maelstrom. It came upon me suddenly, but, having felt its power within me once, I am sure that I may recognize and control it in the future. Perhaps… if you would be so generous as to grant me some time with that slave, I may be able to wield it effectively ere we reach the new world.”
Shemhazai concentrated for a moment. Then, with a snort, turned around and back into his room. The dragon’s tail flicked up and whipped across Suriel’s line of vision, but he was unscathed. Suriel was sure that if his master had wanted to take his eye, he would have done it. At least, somewhere beneath the exterior, Shemhazai was pleased.
Suriel looked around at his companions. Across their faces he saw a spectrum of expressions: confusion, suspicion, intrigue, disbelief… awe? The servant was flung forth from the dragons room. Already others were bolting a new door into place.
“Let’s go,” he said to the servant as they headed below deck.
“We have work to do.”
Early on Saturday, Suriel met a 12-year-old undead girl who was going to be laid to rest to the Weaver the following day. In an uncharacteristically well-meaning fashion, he told her to "enjoy the life you have left." She replied "You too." Suriel walked away chuckling at a 12 year old saying this to a 300+ year old dracoscion.
2 hours later he was dead.
Damnit.
She outlived him.
