The Homunculus Knight

Chapter 30: In the Blood

“Immortal? No they aren’t immortal. Vampires are dead. Very very dead. The Evil jaggers just steal time from others. They are the worst kinda thieves. They take the one thing everyone has. They take time, they take life. They take and take and take. All because the troll-shit bastards are afraid of the inevitable.” - Testament of Andrew the Fool. Shortly before his impalement in Noct-Bucharos

The next three days passed by without incident. While the Silly Goat had fewer customers than normal, it still did steady business. The lure of good drink and good food steadily increasing the number of townsfolk willing to push past any newly created taboos. Throughout that time, no news of Cole came to Natalie, something she decided was a good sign. He hadn’t been caught and was still out there with no one but the skull for company.

Idly, Natalie wondered how much the Paladin talked to the Skull when by himself. The thought had a slightly sour tinge, and Natalie realized why. She was jealous, jealous of the cursed Vampire skull. An idea that sounded ridiculous but rang true. Natalie found herself in the unenviable position of falling for a tortured soul bound to a God of Death and enthralled by a Vampire’s ghost. Those slightly bitter thoughts thankfully didn’t last long as Natalie refocused on her task of cleaning up after the breakfast crowd. In the three days since the incident, the old pre-Cole rhythm of life had returned.

The only serious difference was Barnabas spending even more time in the Inn. While he wouldn’t admit it, events had rattled the old merchant; and he felt the need to keep a protective eye over his adopted family. Natalie was grateful for his presence and found having the company kept her occupied. Staying busy was proving to be important for Natalie’s sanity. While not much had changed within the Silly Goat, a pall had been cast over the town.

The mine remained shut, with no word on why or how long it would stay that way. Rumors spoke of strange cargo being unloaded at the quarry at night and of some sort of large excavation happening. There had also been more than one disappearance. Most jarring of which was Gurni. The Dwarven miner refused to abandon his claim and apparently got into a shouting match with some of the Daymen. One loud enough to be heard in a different neighborhood. Gurni hadn’t been seen since the night of the argument.

It was not the only incident of the like, and bizarrely in the aftermath, more people were coming to the Tavern and pretending things were normal. Natalie couldn’t tell if they were trying to drink away their worries or hoped if they pretended hard enough, things would be okay. Ultimately this left Natalie and the rest of Glockmire with a metaphorical sword hanging overhead. An ever-present threat that might drop at any time. Natalie, for her part, reacted better than most of the customers she saw. On more than one occasion, she witnessed a full-grown man reduced to drunken blubbering as the stress got to him. Everyone in Glockmire knew something had changed, and not for the better. They just had no clue what exactly had changed.

As the days passed, Natalie got the worrying sense that whatever was happening was more than the incident with Cole. Several Daymen who lived in town had disappeared the night Lorena and Cole fought. No official word had come from the Castle on this matter. Only nervous-looking Daymen with strange demands that few townsfolk were willing to question.

Ultimately all these events led to where Natalie was, in the Silly Goat, waiting down the clock. Simultaneously cherishing every moment and wishing time would speed by faster. A paradoxical situation brought on by her desire to leave Glockmire but not leave her family. Just as Natalie finished cleaning the last table, the tavern door opened as the first of the lunch crowd arrived. Turning to the door, Natalie prepared to greet whoever had arrived. Words died on her lips when she saw who’d stepped through the door.

Short and slightly hunched over, the sickly form of Simon the Dayman filled the doorway. On either side of him were Castle Guards. Silent armored shapes that loomed over the smaller man. Simon strowed into the Inn with the same dismissive air he’d shown the last time. After a moment, the Dayman’s attention fell on Natalie. A sickly smile split the waxy-eyed man’s face, and he gestured to her.

“Take her.”

The world stopped for a single terrible moment as confusion and shock slowed time. Natalie tried to muster up her usually glib tongue and argue with the Daymen. Before she could so much as speak, a loud shout of “NO!” filled the inn. Wilhelm vaulted over the bar with surprising agility and put himself between his daughter and the Daymen. Fear had pushed the middle-aged man to impressive speeds, and he’d arrived before the Guards could take more than a step forward.

“What is the meaning of this?” cried Wilhelm. “We have been good citizens of Lord Glockmire. My daughter has done nothing to warrant this! The Lord’s will protects us!”

Old Barnabas had hobbled to his feet and was coming to join the argument. The guards stopped advancing on Natalie, and the Daymen instead stepped forward. Looking Wilhelm up and down, Simon answered.

“That might have been true, once; but things change. ”

Moving faster than Natalie could register, Simon plunged his forearm into Wilhelm. Driving his hand clean through the Innkeeper's body and out through his back. Flesh tore and bone snapped in a sickening cacophony. Wilhelm looked down at where he’d been impaled, confusion showing on his face. Simon pulled his arm free and let Wilhelm’s ruined body fall to the floor. Blood exploded from the terrible injury, and Wilhelm tried and failed to breathe. Bubbling red spit dribbled from his lips, and his eyes were wide with shock.

Raising one hand toward his daughter Wilhelm wheezed: “Natty…”

Wilhelms's hand fell to his side and blood poured more slowly from him. The last bits of the Innkeeper's life draining away with his blood, leaving only a corpse. Wilhelm Striga was dead.

Natalie started to scream. The type of pained horrified scream that could ruin voices and wake the dead. Barnabas stumbled over to Wilhelm, a rictus of pain carved onto the old man’s face. Barnabas bellowed for his friend to stay with them, and his voice joined Natalie’s shriek in a duet of loss. Simon watched this with unconcerned boredom. Only taking the time to wipe the viscera away with a handkerchief.

Cold metal fingers clamped over Natalie’s shoulders and wrists, dragging her away from her father's body. Natalie’s perspective tunneled down onto the sight of her father dead on the floor. As the Castle Guards dragged her towards the door, it was all she could see. The terrible reality of what had just occurred crashed into her like an avalanche. Sense and understanding started to seep back into Natalie, and she began to thrash and pull at her captors. It was no use; the Castle Guards resisted her attempts to break free without a modicum of effort. But as she fought, Natalie caught sight of Simon, standing nearby, licking the last few drops of her father's blood from his hand. Just then, Natalie saw his fangs, hidden before, but now present for all to see. Simon was a Vampire, a Vampire out in daylight. Something that should be impossible.

As the Castle Guards dragged her from the Inn, Natalie stopped her struggling and shouted a message. Her only hope for salvation and vengeance.

“BARNABAS!” the old merchant’s eyes snapped up to meet hers. The pall of shock started to fade from him slightly as Natalie caught his attention. “FIND COLE! HE CAN HELP”

Recognition flickered across Barnabas’s face, but before Natalie could elaborate, Simon loomed over her. Catching her eyes with his own. A psychic hammer blow hit Natalie, an overpowering command that tore through her defenses and ordered her to sleep.

Natalie’s dreams were terrible things, of blood and darkness. Visions of her mother being bitten in half and her father being impaled. Interrupted only by the vague sensation of being carried, and the hot-copper smell of fresh blood. Natalie tried to force away the dreams, trying to escape the nightmare. All she managed to do was distort them into new terrible variations. Versions where her parents died slower, more horrible deaths or other people joined them in their demise.

Distantly, Natalie knew she was crying, but she didn't care. A world submerged in hollow grief was better than the charnel house her mind currently showed for her. Red misery and bitter loss consumed her, making Natalie wonder if she’d ever know anything else.

As those terrible thoughts filled her mind, something else joined them. A light, a cold blue light in the distance of her unconsciousness. On instinct and a desire to escape the whirling hell-scape of dreams, Natalie pushed towards the light. As she struggled forward, a great pressure started to tighten around her. Natalie felt like she couldn’t breathe, like all life and air were being squeezed from her, yet she pushed towards the light. It grew brighter and brighter, resolving into a blue sky above a rippling meniscus. Suddenly a hand reached down from the light and grabbed her. It bodily pulled her from whatever mind-scape she’d been stuck in and deposited her on solid ground.

Coughing and twitching, Natalie blinked away red and looked around her. She was on a riverbank. A grassy meadow covered in lilys stretched out around her, interrupted only by a mellow stream that she lay next to. Looking down at herself, Natalie realized she was covered in blood, not her own, but still fresh and foul. Getting to her feet slowly, Natalie looked at the stream, where she’d been pulled free. The crystal blue water was polluted near her; clouds of smoky scarlet billowed in the creek. Uncaring of the current, blood stained the river, and its sight sent a shiver up Natalie’s spine.

Speaking more to herself than anybody else, Natalie asked, “Is this still a dream?”

“Yep, this is a dream.” answered a mellow voice from nearby. Natalie whirled in shock to see a tall, wiry man wearing a wide-brimmed hat and casting a fishing pole into the river. Try as she might, Natalie couldn’t discern the man’s features. They seemed to shift each time she looked. Hidden under the hat’s brim and changing every time the shadows played over them.

Some part of Natalie told her this wasn’t another figment of her overtaxed mind, but someone entering her dream. Cautiously, she tried to get answers.

“Who are you?”

Instead of answering, the fishermen gestured toward her and spoke. “Did you know the process of falling asleep is a lot like dying? Your heart beats slower, your breaths become shallower, and your mind does all sorts of strange things. It's so much like death, in fact, your body takes the time to twitch and make sure you aren’t actually dying.”

Confused, Natalie responded with a flat: “What?”

Seemingly not to register her words, the Angler kept talking. “People seem to wish sleep would just turn into death when the time comes. The idea of dying in your sleep seems to appeal to most people, which I guess makes sense.”

The line of the Angler’s pole twitched, and the strange fisherman stopped to pull on the rod. He wrestled with his catch for a few moments before pulling it free from the water. Instead of the fish Natalie expected. A shifting ball of silver smoke clung to the end of the line. The Angler brought it close and plucked the mercurial sphere from his fishing line. The Angler set the sphere down on the ground nearby with unusual tenderness, where it melted away into wisps of gray vapor.

Casting the line out again, the fishermen continued speaking. “There was once a people who lived along a great river that stretched across an entire continent. For these people, the river was the focus of their entire lives. Everything that was, is, and will be, could be traced to the river. Their beliefs reflected this, with each God or Spirit they worshiped connected to that great river.”

Stepping closer to the river bank and peering into it, observing his reflection, the Fishermen continued. “Including their God of Death. Who they saw as a great Angler who plucked souls from the world when it was their time.”

Turning to face her, the Fisherman smiled sadly. “Those people are gone now. Their world faded away eons ago. Few care to remember them, but I do. The way they viewed me always struck a certain…cord. So I wear this form when I can to honor their memory.”

Understanding blossomed in Natalie’s mind, and she looked at the Angler and his pale blue eyes. A strange shade she’d seen only once before, the Angler had Cole’s eyes. Slowly trying to find her words, Natalie asked her host. “Am I dead?”

The Angler smiled sadly and shook his head in the negative. “I already told you, you’re dreaming. Which happens to be just close enough for me to speak to you.”

Disoriented and chilled, Natalie asked another question. She knew the answer to this one as well but still wanted confirmation. “Are you Master Time?”

The Angler bowed to her with a dramatic flourish. His wide-brimmed hat nearly falling from his head. “In the metaphysical flesh. I must apologize for my… ham-handedness in our earlier encounters. Interacting with mortals without the proper medium makes my touch a tad bit ungentle.”

Natalie shivered at the memory of that oppressive coldness slamming against her soul. It was hard to imagine that brutal icy power belonged to the same being that stood before her. But some instinct whispered truths to Natalie. What she was seeing was not truly Master Time. It was a mask he wore for her comfort. A form animated in her mind to not further injure her already wounded soul.

“Why are you here?” asked Natalie “What are you doing?

The Angler set down his fishing pole and turned to face her fully. With a gentle, almost sorrowful tone he answered. “Doing what I can to help you. There are limits on my power, but it's within my grasp to do this. Petar, the Vampire who knocked you out, is a cruel creature. He would have let you stew in the nightmares his power created. I can ensure the rest of your sleep is unbothered by his malice.”

Confused, Natalie started to ask “Petar? The Vampire who attacked me was named Simon…oh,” More understanding arrived as Natalie got another reason for Master Time wearing a mask to their meeting. Simon the Dayman was a mask Petar the Vampire wore.

Nodding at her recognition, Master Time spoke. “I don’t know how much you will remember from this when you wake up. But I hope a little of my message will stick when you awake.”

The riverbank around them started to fade, dissipating into foggy shadows. Master Time tsked with annoyance and spoke more quickly. “Consciousness is coming soon. So just remember this if you can. Do not lose hope when all seems lost, and remember your Mothers gift to you. “

The image of the Angler faded away and Natalie felt herself start to fall through the ground. Hurtling through wisps of blurry fog. The sensation of falling pushed Natalie awake.

Sitting up with a gasp of surprise, Natalie blinked away sleep and looked at her surroundings. She was lying on an oddly shaped couch in an obscenely opulent sitting room. A number of overstuffed couches and chairs littered the room, all surrounding a fireplace the size of her bed back home. Strange green flames danced in the hearth, casting witch-light shadows over the room. Looking down, Natalie realized she was wearing a slip she didn’t recognize and nothing else. Before she could contemplate even worrying about what that implied, a voice called out.

“Ah, you are finally awake, good.”

Sitting across from her in a large high-backed armchair was Petar. While she’d known the old-looking Vampire as Simon, something inside her told of his true name. It was one of a few nagging hunches that pulled at Natalie’s mind. Things she would need to examine later if there was a later.

Petar was dressed in a posh suit and cravat that didn’t quite match his shabby, ragged look. He looked like someone had taken a particularly large rat and stuffed it into a gentlemen's outfit. His unkempt stubble, receding hairline, and unblinking waxy eyes added to the contradiction. A Vampire who did not look the part.

Standing up with a liquid grace that seemed at odds with his body, Petar looked over Natalie with an appraising eye. “I’d been hoping to wait and enjoy this, but circumstances have called for me to move up my timetable.”

Natalie tried not to shiver at the emotionless predation implied in those words but failed. Petar saw her shiver and sniffed dismissively. “I am not going to rob you of your virtue. You flatter yourself if you think I’d go through the effort. What I want is much simpler. Your blood.”

Confused and not any less alarmed, Natalie looked at the Vampire without comprehension. Petar did not seem to notice or care about her expression and continued speaking.

“I’ve run into an issue. One that requires a fortune of power to resolve. While I already have such a fortune at my disposal, wasting it on this would not be productive. So when you came to my attention, I could not pass up the opportunity.”

The smell of rotting flesh and wet dog slammed into Natalie, and she nearly lept from the couch in utter terror. She knew that smell; she would never forget that smell. The rustle of fur and padding of great paws filled the room as a huge shape resolved itself from the shadows. The Varcolac, the beast that killed Natalie’s mother, was in the room with her.

Frozen in terror, Natalie watched as Petar went over to the foul thing and stroked its head like it was a loyal hound. “This toy of mine was what first alerted me to this opportunity. It was badly damaged by that fool Dietrich three years ago. For a while, I thought I might have to put it down and recycle the parts. But then something surprising happened. My Varcolac healed from its wounds far faster than I expected and grew not only in size but strength. An interesting result I needed to investigate.”

Scratching between its shredded ears, Petar kept speaking. “Varcolacs get stronger when they feed, particularly if their food is magically potent. So I went through the records and pleas for vengeance to find out exactly who my pet ate. It was an impressively long list that ended with your Mother. Someone who immediately caught my eye. A strange outsider that no one knew anything about? That was worth investigating.”

A new terrible chill cooled Natalie’s blood even more. Making it feel like pure mountain run-off was flowing through her veins.

“My search started out promising but never got anywhere definitive until I had the chance to stop by your Father’s place of business. Where I saw you and more importantly, that little bird in your hair.”

Natalie reached up to her hairclip. The silver ornament was still there, keeping her hair wrapped up. Petar gestured at the ornament and elaborated. “I could hardly believe my eyes at the time, but when I saw it, many things made sense. That hairclip is the sigil of House Strixscion. One of the high breeding families of the Capitol.”

In half a whisper, Natalie asked for elaboration. “House Strixscion?”

Petar smiled widely, his previously hidden fangs now on full display. “Do you know how we Vampires reproduce?”

Natalie had a few ideas but did not know for certain, so she shook her head no. That seemed to be the answer Petar was hoping to hear. “We drink a prospective Vampire to near death and pour our blood into them. The fresh blood kills the blessed person and raises them up as a Vampire at the next dusk. To do this is a significant investment for a Vampire, and we work hard to find good potential scions. It’s an awful lot of work, and Duke Drakovich’s inner circle wished to streamline the processes. Putting our immortality to use in breeding valuable livestock. Cultivating families over centuries to produce mortals with features and aptitudes useful for any prospective Vampire.”

Natalie felt sick. If what Petar was saying, her Mother had escaped from something even worse than the fate she herself had been trying to flee. Natalie had wanted to escape being livestock; Iona had escaped being a broodmare.

After relishing Natalie's dawning comprehension and horror, Petar continued his grotesque lecture. “Of all the breeding families, none produce more prized stock than House Strixscion. Beautiful, intelligent, and most importantly talented in Blood Magic.”

Natalie’s eyes shot up to where Petar loomed over her, confusion etched on her face. “Yes, every member of that House is a natural-born Savant in Blood Magic. A very useful attribute for a Vampire.”

Suddenly a few things made sense. When Natalie had tried to start the fire with Cole’s spark-stone, she’d created a jet of flame. Back then, she’d thought it was Cole’s blood on the stone that had created the fire. Which it had been, but with Natalie’s influence drawing it far more power than dried blood should be able to. This fact also brought up a few new questions.

“Why didn’t the Temple say anything? They are supposed to inform people of magical potential at their Rite of Youth?”

At that, Petar actually laughed, a dry hacking sound that lacked any truly joyful mirth. “The Gods prefer to leave those details out. They prefer not to let every potential Necromancer, Blood-Mage and Fleshcrafter know what they can do. It's one of the dirty little secrets of the Temple.”

At this point so many emotions, so many revelations spilled over Natalie that she had to partially shut down. So much had happened, her ability to process and understand it all was flagging. Petar would not let her have the opportunity to collapse or digest what she was learning. He added a final terrible secret to this growing pile.

Stepping back towards the huge wolf-monster, Petar gestured at it. “This leads us back to my toy here. Members of House Strixscion are not just prized as potential Vampires. But as useful bloodmeals. Some of that magical savantism in your blood can be used by whoever drinks it. A property I intend to use to its fullest for my purposes. I’m going to drink you to death Natalie Striga.”

In a quiet monotone, Natalie asked, “Why are you telling me this? Why not just kill me and get it over with?”

Returning to his position of looming over her, Petar answered in a matter-of-fact way. “Because fear and despair make you taste better. They form a wonderful spice.”

In another flash of insight, Natalie knew that was not the whole truth. Spending her entire life working in a Tavern, Natalie learned a lot about the different types of people who liked to talk. Petar stunk of the type who was so isolated that he'd talk to anyone who’d listen. Normally she found this type in old widowers, merchants who’d spent too long on the road, and shepards back from moving an entire flock by themselves. Petar spoke not out of just pure sadism but because he lacked anyone else to speak to. The only type of person he trusted to listen was one who’d quickly take those secrets to the grave.

Natalie got a little bit of understanding about the Vampire standing over her. Just as Petar lunged forward and sunk his teeth into her neck. Sending lances of cold pain through her body. Natalie tried to scream but couldn’t find the energy. The venom of the Vampire robbed all strength from her. This was not the type of Venom that put prey into a pleasantly drugged state. This toxin simply made her sluggish and unable to fight back. The tool of a predator who saw no need to hide what he was.

The feeling of coldness spread through Natalie, moving through her torso and out through her limbs. Pushed back against the couch, Natalie felt another source of coldness. This one crisp and invigorating, not numbing and awful like the venom in her rapidly emptying veins. A voice from a dream whispered in her ear.

“Do not lose hope, and when all seems lost, remember your Mothers gift to you.”

Natalie knew this new source of cold. It was the touch of metal on her skin, pressed to the back of her scalp through her hair. The hair clip gifted to Natalie was a beautiful symbol warning of the world's dangers and providing a weapon against them.

Understanding, hot and violent filled Natalie. Driving her to fight against the slow draining cold of blood loss. She knew what she had to do; her mother had prepared her for this moment, even if she never meant to. Shakily, Natalie reached up to her hair. Fumbling through her raven strands and touching the silver of the hair clip. Grabbing the little bird, Natalie slipped it free, using much of her remaining strength.

Repeating a motion she’d done thousands of times, Natalie flipped open the hair clip, revealing the short silver-coated blade within. Darkness started to encroach on Natalie’s vision, and she almost dropped the stiletto. But some last bit of strength pushed her to act. Natalie jabbed the knife into the neck of the monster drinking her blood.

As the silver-dipped knife point struck home, Natalie felt Petar scream into her neck. The Vampire pulled away from Natalie, savaging her neck with his fangs as he leaped back. As her vision swam, Natalie looked at a panicked Petar, a bird-handled blade sticking from his jugular. Gouts of black, tar-like blood poured out of the Vampire as he tried to pull the weapon free. Its silver coating burned him where he touched it. It took Petar multiple tries to get it free, leaving his fingers blackened and burnt. Finally, he succeeded and let the knife clatter to the floor. Twitching and wild-eyed, Petar fell forward. Catching himself on the couch. He was healing, but slowly, and a steady stream of black blood poured from him and right into Natalie’s wound.

A new feeling struck Natalie. A sense of hunger and oily darkness slithering against her. Rapidly losing blood, Natalie smiled up at Petar. Her semi-delirious mind gloated in her perceived victory. Not realizing the full horror of what was about to happen. The circling darkness at her vision’s edge came closer and closer as Natalie’s frantic heart pumped out her last bit of life-blood. All while another, darker substance seeped into her.

On the day her father was murdered, and when her world was shattered half a dozen times, Natalie Striga, the human, died. But that night, when the fate of Glockmire would be decided, Natalie Striga, the Vampire, came to life.