The Homunculus Knight

Chapter 24: Cruel Smiles

“We lost four more fresh boys today. Don’t matter what we tell them. Dumb village jaggers need to see it to believe it. Well those who survived the attack know now. Not all Ghouls are stupid shambling things. Some are fast and mildly clever. Evil jagging things. Nothing should kill with a smile, not even an Undead.” - Note from Vulch, of the Crow Pickers.

It hadn’t taken much effort for Dietrich to pry something useful out of the Direbat’s corpses. As Dietrich ordered, the Hibernaculum Tenders collected the ruined brood, leaving Dietrich with a mess of mutilated bat carcasses. The Scarlet Knight’s initial efforts to learn who’d controlled the Direbats failed. Whatever binding put on them were erased when they died. But that did not end this trail of investigation. Using Necromancy, Dietrich breathed unlife into one of the more intact Direbats. Reanimating the fresh corpse into a twitching unsteady flesh puppet.

True rot hadn’t taken this creature, and that presented an opportunity. Dietrich commanded the Direbat to return to the last place it’d been ordered to. Taking to the air on ragged wings, the Direbat flew off into the night sky. Dietrich assumed his wolf form and followed the Direbat. Despite lacking the advantage of flight Dietrich could keep up with the Direbat. Complicated actions like flight were not easy for risen corpses. Even an Undead creature whose existence revolved around flight struggled to keep aloft. This was partly why most Courts of Vampires bothered with living minions like Direbats. Sometimes it was easier to subvert a mortal's mind rather than puppeteer its corpse.

Still, it didn’t take long for the Direbat to guide Dietrich to his goal. Lupine speed combined with Vampiric endurance made travel easy. The Direbat took him east, deeper into the mountains, entering a dip between two peaks, a craggy stretch of boulders, frost, and stunted grass. The Direbat ended its meandering flight at the bottom of this mountain notch. Flopping itself onto a boulder pressed up against one of the mountain slopes. It lay there waiting for its next command while Dietrich inspected the area.

The first thing apparent was this boulder had been moved relatively recently. Scrapes marked the ground and rock face where the boulder had been dragged As Dietrich got closer, it also became clear the boulder blocked an entrance. Preventing passage into a natural cave created by eons of rainwater flowing down into this shallow valley. Eyeing the edges of the boulder, Dietrich saw numerous small gaps, large enough for a Direbat to slip through easily. One of those gaps caught Dietrich’s attention, something was sticking out of it.

Approaching the boulder, Dietirch’s armored boot crunched against a patch of snow, and the thing sticking through the gap twitched. It was a hand, an emaciated and ruined human hand, that reached out with worn fingers towards the sound. Dietrich didn’t need to breathe in the cloying scent that surrounded the cave to know what awaited him. This was a Ghoul someone locked away. Dietrich just discovered a “cache” of undead prepared by his unknown adversary.

Unsheathing his oversized sword, Dietrich approached the boulder. He gripped the cold stone with a single gauntleted hand and sunk his fingers into the rock. It cracked under his grip and gave the Vampire a solid hold on the boulder. Undead muscles bulged with black blood, as Dietrich ripped the boulder free with ease. He cast the Ogre-sized rock to his left like so much debris and faced the opened cave.

A mass of hungry corpses surged toward him. The cave was filled with an obscene number of Ghouls, who now streamed out like ants stirred from their nest. Dozens of arms reached out towards Dietrich, grasping for his cold flesh with undead hunger.

Alone and away from the castle, Dietrich smiled and made a contented growl, it had been three years since he’d truly fought. Even then, during the breech, he’d been weighed down with concerns over managing the town's security. Now he had an enemy before him and no reason not to indulge.

Dietrich met the Ghouls, charging them with his executioner sword held high above him. He swung the brutal weapon down, its sharp edge ripping through a ghoul and sinking half a hand-span into the stone ground. Dietrich then pulled up, sending a shower of pebbles moving fast enough to draw blood from the Ghouls. Spinning his sword in a great circular arc, Dietrich butchered half a dozen Ghouls with a single cut. The weight and momentum of his blade doing as much damage as its killing edge.

Dietrich tore through the horde, using his sword, hands, and feet to batter and break corpses by the dozen. Ghouls lunged at him, half-rotten arms wrapping around Dietrich; he paid them little mind as ten different Ghouls tried to latch onto him. The Scarlet Knight swept through the bodies with ease, tearing them apart and leaving a wake of rotten blood and spoiled gore.

Skeletal hands tried vainly to claw at solid plate armor, and rictus-taught jaws failed to puncture the underlying mail. In the face of a Vampire warrior with a century and a half of battle experience, the Ghouls posed no threat. Normally that would stifle Dietrich’s enjoyment. There was no sport to this, only crude slaughter. But after so long learning the delicate political games of his kindred and feeling blindsided by this new threat, it felt wonderful to simply do what Dietrich was meant to do. Destroy and butcher anything and anyone who got in his way.

Soon Dietrich stood alone, surrounded by a lake of ruined bodies. His armor, weapon, and exposed face were covered in congealed blood. It was hard to tell now, but Dietrich estimated at least two hundred Ghouls were once crammed into this small cave. They were so packed together that the Ghouls had rubbed against the rock walls and smeared them with their rotten skin.

Dietrich was also fairly certain these had been Grinning Ghouls. An unpleasant type of Undead, far more dangerous than any common Ghoul. Capable of running and attacking with surprising ferocity, Grinning Ghouls were animated corpses enhanced by thick miasma. The Necromantic pollution in the Aether pushes these Ghouls to be stronger and faster than normal. A Grinning Ghoul could be incredibly lethal to a common peasant or even a foot soldier. Unleashing two hundred of them on a civilian population would be cataclysmic, with every victim rising as a new Ghoul empowered by the miasma created by painful deaths. Checking to see if his initial assessment was accurate. Dietrich rolled over a reasonably intact corpse and looked at the Ghoul's face. Its facial muscles were pulled taught in a rictus that earned these Undead their name.

Delving deeper into the cave, Dietrich deciphered more of the puzzle. Grinners fell apart quickly. Their dead muscles become overtaxed and are unable to repair themselves. So the ‘Feeder’ shoved them into what amounted to ‘cold storage’ up here in the mountains. Where the packed confines and cool rock would keep them fresh. The only remaining question is, how did someone manage to lure such a large number of Grinners up here and keep them occupied long enough to seal the cave shut?

Dietrich got his answer when he reached the end of the cave. On the far wall of the dark cavern was an intricate sigil scratched into the stone. Here away from the light of the moon and stars, Dietrich needed to magically enhance his sight to see what had been carved onto the wall. Eyes glowing red with blood magic, Dietrich examined the carving. Even worn by scratching corpses, the pattern of a necromantic ritual mark was clear. Dredging up his lessons on ritual work, Dietrich tried to decipher the purpose of the symbol.

As a Wyrmoi Vampire and Knight of Duke Drakovich, Dietrich’s talents did not lie in complicated acts of necromancy or other magic. His skills were more straightforward, focusing on dominating and controlling the world around him, through sheer force of muscle, mind, or minions. Tricky ritual work like this, stunk of a Strix, one of the other breeds of Vampire. Still, Dietrich was educated on the basics of this type of magic and could partially understand what had been done here.

Someone created a spiritual stain in the Aether. A mark of concentrated miasma that sucked in the ambient magical discharges created by strong negative emotions. This ritual was designed to feed on loss and suffering, creating a nexus of miasma in this remote location. Perfect to lure in Ghouls and turn them into Grinners. After the plague, wandering Ghouls were not uncommon in these parts. This was an arcane mechanism designed to collect and empower them. As long as someone maintained and fed this spell it would keep gathering Ghouls. Which it had until someone decided they had enough, and shut the cavern. Trapping the transformed Grinning Ghouls until they might be needed.

As he finished his examination Dietrich spotted something. Lodged in the corner of one carved run was a little piece of black glass. Smiling, Dietrich grabbed the chip of the material and left the cave. In the (relatively) bright light of the moon, Dietrich could see he held a shard of obsidian. Like the type often used to make an Athame, or ritual knife. Tucking the shard into a pouch on his belt, Dietrich couldn’t help but smile. He knew of only one Vampire of his court who used an obsidian Athame. By the time the night was out he’d have a confession or a cask of ashes for his Lord.

Natalie sat and stared at the box. With Cole off chasing Ghosts, Natalie decided to do something she’d been putting off for a while. Examine the inheritance her mother never told her about. While Natalie had known about the box her parents kept in the false bottom of their dresser, she’d never bothered to look inside. Her parents had assuaged her curiosity by saying it contained the Silly Goat’s deed and other important paperwork. For some reason, the normally rambunctious Natalie had never bothered to investigate further. The reason became clear as Natalie looked down at the box.

Etched into its lid was a sigil, an arcane symbol designed to attach a spell to the box. At the center of the sigil was a fleck of red, a very small piece of ruby anchored at the heart of the symbol. Natalie had never noticed the gemstone or paid much attention to the symbol before. Her eyes had slid off it, and her mind dismissed it as decoration. As she forced herself to stare at the box, it became clear that was the symbol's purpose. Cole once mentioned something like this before. Magic designed to hide objects, making it hard for someone to find the enchanted item unless they are actively focused on it.

Tracing her hand on the box lid, Natalie continued to force her eyes to look at the symbol, trying to become used to its odd effect. Her fingers brushed the ruby, and Natalie pulled back her hand in sudden surprise. It was cold to the touch and crackled with energy, zapping her finger as a wooly blanket rubbed on carpet might. Natalie was far more shocked than hurt as she shook her fingers in confusion. Deciding she needed to ask Cole more about enchantments when he got back, Natalie opened up the box.

Her eyes widened in shock as she saw the wealth of coins and jewels sitting before her. Hundreds of gold and silver pieces. Dozens of rubies, emeralds, and sapphires poked through the coins. Natalie snapped the lid shut, stood up, and backed away from the box. After taking a deep breath, she sat down and opened the box again. The contents hadn’t changed. It was still a trove of wealth. Looking at the treasure, Natalie couldn’t help but laugh. She’d imagined her nest egg as maybe a dozen gold and perhaps a weight of silver and bronze. Not a veritable fortune. This wasn’t a nest egg unless that nest belonged to a Dragon! The amount of money she was looking at was enough to buy the Silly Goat ten times over.

Natalie had to seriously reevaluate her plans. While having this fortune would certainly make creating a new life somewhere else easier, it also presented myriad new dangers. For example, getting it somewhere safe and not having it stolen would be a serious issue. People killed for far less gold than what she found herself in possession of. Barnabas had filled her head as a youth with stories of bandits, con-artists, and disreputable merchants. A young woman trying to create a new life with such a treasure would be an ideal target.

That line of thought brought Natalie to a startling realization. Her mother had done exactly what she was now considering. Traveling by herself from a distant land to start a new life, while carrying this small fortune. That idea was both comforting and daunting to Natalie. If her mother had done it, then maybe she could as well. But considering what had ultimately happened to Natalie’s mother and that she never discussed her past, the comparison was also worrying.

Natalie reached up to the hair clip she almost always wore. Taking it out of her hair, Natalie let her dark locks flow free as she examined the little piece of silver. The outer clip of the barrette was shaped like a bird in flight seen from a profile view. The bird was worn, and Natalie couldn’t tell what type of bird it was supposed to represent. Something else her mother had never properly answered when asked. Absently Natalie unfolded the barrette and flipped open the short stiletto blade hidden inside. Natalie stared at her reflection in the blade, pondering what she was supposed to do.

Eventually, Natalie shut the box and returned it to its hiding place. A pang of grief rippled through her, but Natalie quickly shut it away. She had so many things she wished she could ask her mother. Now she doubted she’d ever get answers to her questions. Letting out a deep breath, Natalie returned to her room and grabbed a few pieces of paper she’d gathered to write on. It would be good to distract herself from the worries about the box and her mother. Looking at the paper, Natalie just had to snort in amusement at the ridiculousness of that thought. To deal with the grief and confusion surrounding her mother’s death, Natalie would focus on avenging her mother's death.

Natalie spent about an hour scratching out words onto the paper. Trying to document and organize every last tidbit she’d scrounged up about undead, monsters, and mysteries in the area. Over the years, Natalie gathered a truly ridiculous amount of information about her town. Something that almost earned her a reputation as a gossip. Natalie had learned the hard way that being able to casually list the schedules, drinking habits, and personal indiscretions of people she barely knew wasn’t something that endeared her to most folk. It wasn’t like she tried to memorize or spy on people. They just talked in the tavern where she lived and worked, then she remembered what they talked about. While rationally, she could now understand that her talent was abnormal and that people value their privacy. As a teenager, Natalie had spent many a time angsting over why people loudly proclaimed facts about themselves, then became distressed when she knew those facts months down the line.

By the time she finished, Natalie had a list of maybe seven different locations Cole might want to investigate. There were, of course, more possibilities. Shepherds and the like loved to tell tales. But these seven seemed the best bets. After that, Natalie pulled herself from her room and got to work down in the Silly Goat. The evening was coming, and with it, customers.

It felt good for Natalie to just slip back into the old role of barmaid as the day burned into the night. Balancing plates and cups, taking orders, and generally managing the organized chaos of a drinking establishment. While her father seemed subdued all day, he perked up seeing her get into the old patterns. There was a bittersweetness to it for both father and daughter. They both knew Natalie would be leaving Glockmire in a few months and would probably never return. So having little moments like this where they fell into well-worn routines had a specialness it hadn’t before.

The night wore on, and Natalie flitted between tables, making small talk and taking orders. Around eight in the evening, the Tavern had really gotten busy, and Natalie was putting her skills to the test in moving dishes and cups to and from the bar. While carrying a particularly heavy load of dirty plates, Natalie saw something out of the corner of her eye that startled her enough to nearly drop them. A face she didn’t recognize.

Sitting alone in the back corner of the inn was a well-dressed woman sitting by herself, enjoying a glass of wine. Natalie knew every common patron of the Silly Goat by name and could recognize a shocking percentage of Glockmires population by face. So having someone enter the tavern without her recognizing them or even noticing they’d arrived was extremely abnormal. After depositing her load of dishes in the kitchen, Natalie returned to the stranger to take her order.

Now getting closer, Natalie could get a good look at the stranger. Dark of hair with lightly tanned skin, the stranger was gorgeous. She had sharp aristocratic features complemented by a curvaceous body and a palpable air of confidence. Sitting lazily in her seat, the stranger sipped a deep red wine from a glass and watched the tavern around them. The stranger's dress was sleek and fashionable, the type of garment tailors labored over with passion. Not at all like the utilitarian if colorful garbs of Glockmire’s people. Natalie decided this newcomer must be a stranger to the town, which, while rare, was not unheard of. Something Cole himself proved. But what really made Natalie wonder was where the woman had gotten the wine? Natalie hadn’t served it to her, so where in the Infinite Hells did she get it?

Approaching the table, Natalie put on her best service smile and asked. “Hello, Miss! Can I get you anything else!”

The stranger focused her attention on Natalie. Giving her a cool appraising look that quickly melted into a thin lipped smile. “Ah no, I am fine for now. But if I finish my drink I’ll call for you.”

Despite the polite tone, the stranger's words dripped with a type of arrogance that made Natalie’s neck hairs stand up straight. Gritting her teeth in sudden annoyance, Natalie nodded and started to leave, only to be interrupted by the stranger calling after her. “Oh, Barmaid, I have a question?”

Turning back to face the profoundly arrogant woman, Natalie adopted the polite consoling body language she saved for drunken customers. “And what might that be, Miss?”

Absently the stranger swirled her drink and asked. “I hear a Rest-Bringer of Master Time is staying in this… establishment. Bring him to me, would you?”

This was proving to be a new and profoundly unpleasant experience for Natalie. She’d dealt with rude customers, drunk customers, amorous customers, and one or two who were just plain mad. But never anyone with this level of arrogant contempt. So it brought Natalie a bit of spiteful joy to have a legitimate reason to refuse what was clearly meant to be an order.

“I’m sorry, Miss. He is not currently here.”

The stranger made a huff of annoyance and leaned back in her chair. Taking a sip of her wine before speaking. “Well, when he returns, bring him to me. We have matters to discuss.”

Wary now, Natalie decided more information would be useful. “And who might I tell him is calling upon him?”

The stranger licked a bit of wine from her lips as she spoke, and Natalie froze as she got her answer. “Tell him, Dame Lorena Sartori wishes for his company.”

Natalie almost didn’t hear the answer as she was too focused on the stranger's mouth. Where she saw long glistening fangs in between lips dyed red by what Natalie now realized wasn’t wine. A vampire had come to the Silly Goat and had both Cole and Natalie in her sights.

The Dame noticed she’d been revealed and smiled broadly. Her sharp fangs were on display, a subtle threat for Natalie alone. Swishing the glass of blood she’d brought with her, Lorena spoke. This time with a coy playfulness that didn’t suit the situation at all.

“Now, let's hope this Rest-Bringer does not keep me waiting for long. Or I might be forced to take up your offer to refill my glass.”