Haenous
Written on 28 Jun : 00:27
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Cradle of Filth
His connection to the
kindred is both strong and at the same time devious. Owing a blood debt to
Tacitus Nocture, he is restrained from fully exacting his purpose in un-death;
the demise of the kindred, the demise of yet even his kind. He is known as one
of the VII, kindred by blood, an aberration in mind. The very core of his being
pulses with the desire, or better yet; need, to exact a type of revenge on all
kindred, revenge for being embraced, revenge for being borne.
The exact nature of the blood debt owed by him to Tacitus is known only to
Tacitus and himself. Some have speculated; those who are in leadership and know of his nature, that Tacitus had performed some type of enchantment or ritual exacting this devotion, others have hypothesized that at some point, Tacitus saved his life. Although it is only known by the two with whom it bears, elders throughout the domains with knowledge are deeply concerned regarding this arrangement. Many both dwelling within this domain and just passing through are employed as spies and watchers of this bargain, reporting back to their masters any piece of news that seems pertinent.
During his torpor, Tacitus need not worry about being slain, he knows the fear and respect other elders give to this relationship. They believe that a move against Tacitus would result in immediate reprisal by Haenous, by the VII. Given that they do not know the details of the bargain, he feels safe in the shadow provided by their ignorance, although knowing the conditions of the treatise; he is not always altogether comfortable in this relationship.
This is not to say that plots are not borne and that plans are not made for the purposes of unseating or usurping the power of Tacitus’ domain. It is only to say that none has ever come close to fruition, nor have many ever even been taken further than the beginnings of a plan. Mysteriously, those who would plot such action, disappear, they become part of the nether. No one knows for sure but all believe that Haenous exacts a heavy toll on those that bear such desires; neither does anyone understand how he learns of such plans nor why he continues to maintain such a vigil for the likes of the elder.
According to what is known Haenous is approximately 1,000 years old and has never slept. Never appearing to suffer from lack of extended sleep, never succumbing to the maladies and conditions of frenzy that other kindred are exposed, he seems only to exist in a quiet controlled frame of mind. Legend places his time of embrace/birth somewhere around 1010 a.d. No one knows from whence he came, neither bloodline nor heritage past the mystery of his alleged place with the VII. He is a weapon and combat master unequalled in known history, all who know his name fear him and what he represents. He has been the backbone of power supporting Tacitus’ domain for several centuries. Once committed to a prey he is singular in focus and relentless in pursuit.
In years past, a mercenary team of kindred were tasked with bringing him down. Although several survived the initial encounter, most did not. Those that did survive soon wished they would have perished in the initial melee, as Haenous painstakingly stalked, tortured and slay each and every kindred having participated in the hunting party. By the end of that particular hunt, Haenous had even drawn from the cursed hindered the names of the elders whom had set them on the course to kill him. It is said that no kindred in time suffered as much in death as Belarin Pallor and Sed Kellin. Some say he subsued them and burned them into the nether, inch by inch with small ultraviolet flashlights, extending the torture to cover weeks at a time and allowing time for damage tissue to begin to repair prior to continuing his deed.
To those who interact with him inside the compound he is neither friend nor foe. He may smile as he approaches, however one is left with the sense that they do not know whether the smile is meant in kinship or as a harbinger of things to come which he would enjoy and they most certainly would not.
Generally, he keeps to himself and is emotionless in feature. However, on certain nights, if you can spend some time alone with him in the garden he will fill you with amazement and wonder reliving the tales of the past as no other can. Speaking with a low deep voice that at times is barely audible his accounts of kindred past can mesmerize, time seems to stop and almost reverse back to the point in time that is central to his narrative.
The exact nature of the blood debt owed by him to Tacitus is known only to
Tacitus and himself. Some have speculated; those who are in leadership and know of his nature, that Tacitus had performed some type of enchantment or ritual exacting this devotion, others have hypothesized that at some point, Tacitus saved his life. Although it is only known by the two with whom it bears, elders throughout the domains with knowledge are deeply concerned regarding this arrangement. Many both dwelling within this domain and just passing through are employed as spies and watchers of this bargain, reporting back to their masters any piece of news that seems pertinent.
During his torpor, Tacitus need not worry about being slain, he knows the fear and respect other elders give to this relationship. They believe that a move against Tacitus would result in immediate reprisal by Haenous, by the VII. Given that they do not know the details of the bargain, he feels safe in the shadow provided by their ignorance, although knowing the conditions of the treatise; he is not always altogether comfortable in this relationship.
This is not to say that plots are not borne and that plans are not made for the purposes of unseating or usurping the power of Tacitus’ domain. It is only to say that none has ever come close to fruition, nor have many ever even been taken further than the beginnings of a plan. Mysteriously, those who would plot such action, disappear, they become part of the nether. No one knows for sure but all believe that Haenous exacts a heavy toll on those that bear such desires; neither does anyone understand how he learns of such plans nor why he continues to maintain such a vigil for the likes of the elder.
According to what is known Haenous is approximately 1,000 years old and has never slept. Never appearing to suffer from lack of extended sleep, never succumbing to the maladies and conditions of frenzy that other kindred are exposed, he seems only to exist in a quiet controlled frame of mind. Legend places his time of embrace/birth somewhere around 1010 a.d. No one knows from whence he came, neither bloodline nor heritage past the mystery of his alleged place with the VII. He is a weapon and combat master unequalled in known history, all who know his name fear him and what he represents. He has been the backbone of power supporting Tacitus’ domain for several centuries. Once committed to a prey he is singular in focus and relentless in pursuit.
In years past, a mercenary team of kindred were tasked with bringing him down. Although several survived the initial encounter, most did not. Those that did survive soon wished they would have perished in the initial melee, as Haenous painstakingly stalked, tortured and slay each and every kindred having participated in the hunting party. By the end of that particular hunt, Haenous had even drawn from the cursed hindered the names of the elders whom had set them on the course to kill him. It is said that no kindred in time suffered as much in death as Belarin Pallor and Sed Kellin. Some say he subsued them and burned them into the nether, inch by inch with small ultraviolet flashlights, extending the torture to cover weeks at a time and allowing time for damage tissue to begin to repair prior to continuing his deed.
To those who interact with him inside the compound he is neither friend nor foe. He may smile as he approaches, however one is left with the sense that they do not know whether the smile is meant in kinship or as a harbinger of things to come which he would enjoy and they most certainly would not.
Generally, he keeps to himself and is emotionless in feature. However, on certain nights, if you can spend some time alone with him in the garden he will fill you with amazement and wonder reliving the tales of the past as no other can. Speaking with a low deep voice that at times is barely audible his accounts of kindred past can mesmerize, time seems to stop and almost reverse back to the point in time that is central to his narrative.
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