Évrard D'Aboville has been the lethal left hand of King Sabien Arceneaux for centuries. Using his deadly skills, he's indiscriminately killed and maimed at his master's behest. He had never once been disobedient. That is until he was asked to kill a...
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Gaius Julius Caesar - The Grifter
I had many names before this one but none so famous as being Emperor of Rome. Two thousand some odd years later; forgive the rough calculations but I am no expert at chronometry. Born of strange sentimentality I once again resumed the identity that now lived in infamy.
Of course, no one save a few ancients know who I truly am. And grant you I am not foolish enough to wear the same skin and face twice, but there was still something about it I could not let go.
"Damn, Évrard! Fucking bastard." I seethe through clenched teeth and insurmountable pain. I'd barely escaped the chateau with my life. He and that damnable witch surprised us with an attack. They should not have been able to defeat us. We even had a Aqrabuamelu on our side but the few ancients and small contingent of mortals we had, were soundly beaten by only two.
I am an ancient. A shifter but I am hardly what you would consider an immortal. Nor has my best skill ever been in physical combat. I have always been a much better politician and a gifted statesman. I've never grown comfortable with calling myself an immortal because of the fragility of my gift. I do and can bleed out.
In fact, I was well on my way to doing just that from the wound, Évrard opened in my chest with his teeth. I would have sworn he was trying to make a meal of me, strange as that would be. I have no special skills besides the ability to change my form.
I catch colds every 80 years or so. If you cut off a part of me, it does not grow back. I had chest pain all last winter. I can feel my body rejecting the age. I have not lost the ability to ache. When I committed seppuku several lifetimes before I became Gaius Julius Caesar, a Chantress took months to bless me and bind my wounds.
The Miracles Mistress who set me back on the path of the living, told me it was only partial. Meaning I will not be given the gift of a full second existence if I offer it up again. So I tend to be careful. A pool of self-reflection causes inward glances on the stolid still water. I cannot accept being only half an ancient. I seek to be granted the dark miracle in full and that path has led me here.
