Wolfhood: Queen Of Rogues

Chapter 1

It's always a child's dream. To be a king or Queen. To be a knight that saves a princess. To be that princess. Even to be a vigilante that saves the day in the end for some. With age comes the forced knowledge that those can never happen. That all they are is fairy tales. That even though creatures, of all types imaginable and unimaginable, happen to live alongside humans they too often fail to reach their dreams.

Albeit hidden, they have their own hierarchies, their own unspoken rules. Those of better blood -whatever it may be- stick to better blood. Those that are dirt, dirt. Plain and simple, right? Far from so. Just like a dessert, hard packed, barren, foreboding, lifeless there is always hidden jewels that are buried below. Some may be just below the surface while others may have to be dug for. It's the same in finding those special people that brighten your life and change ways no one could imagine. A one in a billion with more fake gems than rarities. They may not be a exactly like you or even an exact opposite but something completely twisted that ultimately mesh together. I believe I have finally found four more of these. My most recent batch of broodlings are my own children. With the youngest, Innocent and naive Ely who couldn't manage to harm a spider. The scholar, a bit hard headed, Jefferson. Who mostly kept to himself and stowed away in his room. Then there was Darius, a jester that was afraid of his own shadow despite being the most capable of the males to fight. Headed by my adored Elder Broodling Nymphrodite. She was more of the mysterious sorts but was gentle with them all no matter how they pushed her buttons. There was only one person that I could admit I have been rather close to.

It was a horrid sight the last time I had seen him, like I was looking at a stranger. The lanky humanoid was curled in a ball, back pressing against a pillow on his bed, arm over his head while the other was laid out before him. He was born from the eldest female amongst us. Humble and caring for life, loving to carry on a meaningless conversation or simply sit in silence. It was hard not to admit that he did have a few small qualities like royalty would have despite his constant protests. The one the stood out the most was the sly way he could act when saving his own tail. Despite his unending need to care for those around him he could be the monster of one's nightmares as cliche as it sounds.

I had befriended him in his earlier years, centuries after his childhood still, and it was painful to once more look at the wreck whenever my mind wandered to him. Memories of him sprawled out, laughing his maniacal laugh or speaking in his fruity, soothing wisp of an accent about humans and what they were doing trying to remain prominent. Usually it was nothing pleasant and more often than not offended me since I had been once human but I would have done anything just to have another one of those conversations at the moment. It pained me to see him so lifeless and quickly dismissed myself. I haven't been back since. I couldn't bring myself to.'

Victore laid back in his chair, rocking back on his hind legs after dropping the quill down to the desk. He had noticed the way it was eerily silent, that even the Broodlings usually laughter was missing Yet, the elder didn't want to go see what they were up to. It could hardly be anything good as he had quickly learned with their child like ways. As many vampires as he had raised they had all been pompous or mature enough to simply follow along as one would.

The Ancient still hadn't decided upon who yet but one of the four brought out the child in all of them. "Ely?" Was his first choice to call out, but when nothing came he called for Draven. Expecting a usual thump from the bulky man bumping into something or someone when he jumped. Nothing. Not even a hushed whisper in the distance as a warning for him to keep quiet. "Jeff?" Resting all four of the chair's legs on the ground he stood, shoulders hunched and back curved from apparent old age. Despite the life in his green eyes and usual easy way of moving the grey streaks in his hair and stubble showed the exact opposite. Changed somewhere between his late forties and mid fifties Victore was the oldest human to have been turned.