Alexander Prost's page

A pragmatist, first and foremost, Alexander prefers to keep himself alive, or as close as a Caintite might possess. He finds it infinitely easier to achieve his goals in such a state, after all. Of course, a large chunk of his goals usually involves ‘not being dead’. There is clearly no point in being able to live forever if you don’t, after all? And it’s quite clear that if something follows this life then being a vampire probably excludes you from the better end.

He has no great care about feeding on humanity, and isn’t especially tortured or tormented about his new life. He killed people as a human, after all. Feeding on people didn’t even kill them, usually. Most could do with a little less blood to balance their humours, anyway.

Witty, if not always charming, Alexander doesn’t especially respect those above him. He feels some respect for his sire, and any vampire that proves themselves suitably dangerous, but he feels most of them are lazy and lackadaisical. Power is nothing without will, and a lot of the more ancient things seem to have little will. Just pride.

In the meantime, Alexander craves to make a name for himself. This is a problem, given the spectre haunting him and the curse she has placed on him to never gain credit for his own deeds. This is a large problem, and he truly desires to break the curse. The removal of the spirit...less so. He feels no great remorse over her death, especially since had, technically, killed him. If she wants to rage against his existence for her afterlife in an attempt to break him, let her.

It is safe to stay the Alexander Prost was never the finest example humanity had to offer. Born in the area of the Low Countries of Guelders, of low birth from merchant parents, he grew into a tall, powerful young man with a quick tongue and quicker hands, able to fight better than most through raw speed and solid strength. He found the idea of mercenary work infinitely preferable to merchanting, but often worked with his older brother to guard their families goods when more exciting battles weren’t being fought.

As people who fight for money, Alexander was on the better end of the scale, however. He typically didn’t betray people once he’d been paid, and he made sure the men under his command didn’t loot, pillage or rape. What’s more, he was moderately successful as a commander, partially because he forced his men to be disciplined and was relatively fair in doing it.

It was this that saw the small mercenary company being sent to defend the small town of Tiel that was being raided by the Norse. The town had grown rich from pewter and making jams, of all things. But it mattered little where the gold came from - the raiders wanted it. Alexander wanted to take at least a portion of it for himself.

The small mercenary company dug in, using barricades, long spears and by using crossbows, which were becoming a more common weapon of war, and an excellent weapon for a stationary unit. The Norse tried raiding at night, but was oddly unsuccessfully. Something inevitably made the warriors cry out, and sometimes even had a fire lit, and they were riddled by bolts that made a mockery of there shields.

Alexander was smart enough to realise something was out there, helping him, but assumed it was one of the locals who was using the terrain to stay away from the raiders and cause havoc. In fairness, he was entirely correct in this assumption. He just didn’t understand what the local was.

The Vikings, however, were not idiots, and Alexander was starting to worry, as this was not normal raider tactics. Clearly there was something unusual in this town the Norse wanted, badly. The enemy seemed to agree that night raids were proving unsuccessful, and apparently worried that they had been stymied so long in their usual hit and run tactics, they made a brutal assault as the sun rose, when the mercenaries were exhausted from waiting for the nightly attack.

Overwhelmed, the mercenary band fell back in good order, pursued by the attackers. If they expected the exhausted mercs to grumble, they were sorely disappointed. The mercenary unit fell back to choke points, forcing the raiders to bunch up and get in each other's way. Outmanned and worn down, the mercenaries were whittled down into a smaller, and smaller circle, falling back to the mayor’s manor by early evening.

Alexander led his men, and while he couldn’t see a way out, he refused to break and run. Everyone had to die eventually. Besides, he was curious - what the hell did the raiders want? More than half of them were dead, and they seemed intent on killing the people in the mayor’s home more than anything.

The Norse assaulted the building as the sun fell, eventually breaching the building. Their chieftain - a woman, to Alexander’s shock - came straight for the mercenary commander, who bought as hard as his worn form could manage. The fight was brutal, short and ended with Alexander being ran through the gut.

Or it should have. As the chieftain walked past Alexander, in a petty, spiteful rage tackled her backwards, the sun setting at his back as rushed her through the doors. The Norse were...unimpressed with the continued display of fight from the dying man, and he was soon pinned and held, his next exposed for the final strike.

And then the Norse found their goal. The ancient thing that ran Tiel had risen as the sun descended, and with little to lose and almost no one left to hide from, The Norse had hunted for immortality, but it wasn’t interested in them.

In the shattered remains of humanity that the vampire left behind, however, he decided to offer Alexander a chance to live. The old creature had long since been given the choice to have a Childe, and therefore offered the dying mercenary the chance of life...of a sort. Alexander had kept him safe, if unknowingly, and he appreciated that. Plus, Alexander’s tenacious refusal to lay down and die was something he approved of.

And Alexander liked the idea of eternal life. There was a lot of fame and glory that could be won in a lifetime that lasted forever. He grinned as the old monster Embraced him.

It was then the final surprise of the day played out. With her dying breath, the Norse chieftain revealed that she knew more than the sword, but also runic magic. Her hand crashed down on Alexander’s arm, burning a mark into his still-living flesh, her dying breath a curse upon Alexander.

Once Alexander rose from his shallow grave, and began to learn the life of the vampire, he founds that fame was something he couldn’t grasp. While the name of his Sire was something in the vampire community, Alexander’s own deeds were ill remembered. Perhaps it was simply because he was young. But occasionally he saw the chieftain, laughing at him, from the corner of his eye.