Tales of a Charming Man
Jacob was born in 1516, a very close relative of Anne…. and watched her beheading with horror when he was around 19 – he immediately went incognito and worked furiously at his skills . In his efforts to perfect a resurrection spell for Anne he accidentally stopped his own aging process. Poor Anne remained headless. Warlock yes, major sorcerer definitely. His non aging means he has to relocate quite frequently and his proclivity for romance occasionally makes it essential.
Wealthy beyond the dreams of avarice, charming to the point of destruction – he also will always have his own way in everything always. He is supremely arrogant, very sure of himself and knows the ways of the world.
Never ever trust him, he has all the time in the world for his own amusement usually to the detriment of some hapless maiden. He has thoroughly gone off children – he is the father of many many children and keeping up with their birthdays was very tiring so he stopped. Keeping up with their birthdays that is not having children. His sense of humour is particularly annoying, he never tires of the simple tricks he plays on normal people and finds their confusion, yea even their pain extremely funny. He never lacks for companionship…. charm, good looks and money always work in his favour. Silken rope anyone?
So now we know and are wary of our central protagonist…. and we begin our series of tales of his life, good bad and downright naughty.
Lock and Go
Jacob is a warlock, not a vampire and in the normal run of things vampires are the ones with never ending or over extended lives, so they look at Jacob with some confusion. He is not a vampire. He doesn’t even smell good to vampires. Conversely he absolutely abhors vampires – he considers them parasites on humanity, blood suckers. Sure they have some advantages over him, they can move really fast, but Jacob can teleport. It saves his hair being ruffled. Plus he can go outside in the sunlight, pose on the beach and charm the beautiful women. Snicker. They sleep in coffins, he gets a feather bed with a mountain of duvet, fine goose feather pillows and silken sheets. However one teeny problem – he cannot for the life of him remember what he did when trying to resurrect Anne. It sort of whacked him off his feet and into black unconciousness for three days, maybe longer. He had truly no idea what he had done, what he had said or who he waved his wee wand at. Or indeed what was in the mixture he had made. The other warlocks in the world, and there are a fair few, do not believe he can’t remember and therefore just occasionally he has a tough time under torture or via some poisonous mixture designed to drag the secret out of him. Luckily one thing about whatever it was he did means he heals really fast, just a scratch? within five minutes its gone. Broken leg? Three days max. Depends on whether it is a simple or compound fracture. Still bloody hurts though.
His favourite trick is the bamboozle, he sits or stands and looks deep into the eyes of the ‘victim’ and somehow they are persuaded that what he wants is exactly what they then want to do. The remark ‘keep the change’ means they think he has paid which is unlikely. And when a girl sighs and whispers ‘oh yes’ she thinks that he…. well what ever she thinks that he has just said is true and therefore he gets just what he wants – again. This trick he perfected at about 16 and now does it completely unselfconsciously. Just a tiny whiff of lavender. But this seems only to work for small purchases (and maidens) and he has bigger dreams than that. For ‘small change’ he plays the lute in local hostelries, and seems to make an extraordinary amount for little effort.
Another ability he discovered is, with a certain gesture, small and discreet he can make his hair grow…. not his beard, somehow thats never been successful, he just doesn’t have one. He can go from buzz cut short to waist length in the click of a finger. He discovered this some hundreds of years ago in a tavern where he was the resident musician.
He clicked and suddenly his hair was at waist length. Luckily most of the clientele were so drunk they didn’t notice or just blinked sleepily and went back to la la land. Unfortunately the tavern owner was not drunk. He was hot, tired and fed up with the carousing – it was a Tuesday dear God who carouses on a Tuesday? It was also 2.30am (ish) – clocks were a tad unreliable when they consisted of a marked candle… he wanted to go to bed. His wife had gone to bed. His mistress had long gone to bed. With someone else he suspected but had been too busy to find out for sure. So when this loopy lute plucking tomfool of a minstrel suddenly sprouted a headful of locks he had not had before Mr Tavern keeper had promptly flung him out the door. None of your stupid magical stuff here m’boy he roared. To be fair he had also smelled that distinctive odour of magic…. sort of lavender and fire all at once. It was more common back then. Nowadays we would wonder at the smell and put it down to some chemical air freshener.
Jacob spent the night clicking and gesturing with his hair growing and sort of sucking back at will. By morning he had it perfected. So quite pleased he dusted the hay off himself and went off with the arrogance of youth to find some breakfast. This all happened way way back in his history… long before he discovered the ins and outs and how to’s of what he had done to himself. And so far this is only a tiny view of what he is capable of. Some things are really very dark and unpleasant and involve blood and chit lings….But more of that later. Back then after his ejection from the tavern, and over yet another free breakfast he was reading in a broadsheet some news about a prize for rescuing some imprisoned princess who was being held somewhere in the mid countries.
So our fairly penniless youth set out to make his fortune….. after all what’s a warlock without ambition?