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Create 111 - Interrupted Talks, SC
🕑 Added 2024-09-15 17:58:39 +0000 UTCSunday sat alone in his room, preparing for his meeting with the Baron. He had given up on testing the rest of the spells. They seemed trivial in comparison to the Mournful Bear and the destruction it could cause under the Berserk Moon.
It had been a couple of weeks since the accident with the vampires, and a lot had happened, so he was quite excited as the golden scroll once again unfurled before him. Last time the boost had been small, and he had two new names, perhaps the result of different rumors culminating in different bonuses.
The Fable’s Strength talent had a way of messing with his mind, so he checked rarely. What one expected of rumors and stories was not often what they led to. He went for the names and titles pages since it gave more exhaustive information and told him what he could work on.
Names and Titles
Sunday – a name given to you by a thieving caretaker. It’s unoriginal and dim, but it’s all you have. Perhaps your deeds will make it shine one day. Few whisper it in the nights, around hearths, and speak of your deeds.
Savage Healer – The story grows. From the wetlands beneath the Spine of Thorad, to the villages resting in the valleys below and the grand city resting on the shores of the lake of eternal flowers, they share words of your deeds. A violent healer who saved the day. His palms are heavy like a King’s decree – a punishment for the wicked, a salvation for the deserving, a change of heart for the repentant. Drink what he offers, and know health. He wields life and death, and fury that is better left forgotten. Yet, beneath it all he caries a heart of mercy and helps those forgotten by society. They whisper of their savior, but they know the darkness he hides.
*Savage Healer - Your strength has grown significantly, and so has the potency of any healing you administer personally. Your spells take less essence when used to heal. Death essence favors you, and some beings can sense it.
Sometimes a slap can bring wellness to its victims, but that seldom happens due to the state of your heart and the spell taking hold of your mind.
A spell taking hold of my mind? I’ve only bonded one… or does it mean the Berserk Moon? That wasn’t there the last time I checked. I’ve barely used it apart to test the bear summon… Is it the Mirrored Soul art? That weird ‘Truth’ guy said it could make people crazy, but it’s no spell.
That was a lot to take in. The words were similar, yet changed and expanded. His previous names ‘Crazy Wretch’ and ‘Slayer of Lords’ were gone too. Maybe the stories had merged into one? This was fast. Sunday didn’t expect overnight results, but he also thought it would take months for the real result to show itself. Rumors were fleeting. It was important to create lasting impressions.
Blessed by the Night – A tale of a corpse. A crazy wretch. A slayer of vampires, and a lord. He is but one figure dressed in darkness. The creatures of the night don’t understand his existence or the powers that protect him. To speak to the eldest as an equal after killing a lord, to wield the holy moon made of blood, and to fall into a trance as the knights of legend… It is known in the city of flowers, that vampires have found their match. Many rejoice, and many scheme how to use this… The Arcanum speaks of the strange undead as well, but it is all kept quiet, for words have power.
*Blessed by the Night – Your strength has grown. You can resist the aura of elder undead. Their compulsion does nothing but warm your mind. When you fight vampires or their thralls it's easier for to anticipate their mood and attacks. The dark night makes you feel safe.
Well then. The Arcanum was once again proving they were a bunch of worthless bastards. At least the vampire thing was paying off big time. He hadn’t tested his strength all that much, apart from slapping that dummy, but he hadn’t been focused on putting it his all. Slaps were supposed to be special.
He also hadn’t experienced any compulsion, but being able to resist it was nice. He didn’t even know it was a thing. Surely Mera or someone else would’ve warned him?
I was oddly accepting of the Baron’s words last time… I wonder…
No matter. This was a good development.
For a start.
***
The vampire district was as he remembered. Of course, last time he hadn’t come with a horse and carriage, provided by the absolutely overdressed Elora. It was weird seeing her in a fancy dress that left too little to the imagination, but it was not unwelcome. Her jewelry glistened under the stray rays of moonlight and probably cost a few breweries to put together.
Knowing she could kill most people with a touch kind of made things… better. Sunday shook his head. His mind was so preoccupied with all his new spells, his inability to properly use his talents, and the utter lack of clues on where to seek out the Prophet he had to kill, that thinking with his undead but quite alive libido was the last thing he wanted to do.
Sure, pretty girls were all fine and nice, but he wanted to slap the shit out of someone. Not go on dates while the world fell apart around him.
The Baron’s home was almost a castle. It was only three stories high, but wide enough to house hundreds of people. Sunday didn’t want to imagine what the stone walls and square oddly chubby towers had seen through their existence. It looked almost as old as the broken city walls.
Perhaps the Baron could shed some light on what had brought them to this state.
Their escort of vampires fortunately didn’t include assholes or worse… Rubien. They were as proper as one would expect of vampires. With peerless manners and even better looks. In comparison, Sunday had put on another pair of new clothes which were as regular as they came. Trousers and a shirt. Of course, the stolen cloak of Rubien now sporting a few quite colorful and hastily added pockets was a must.
Why go meet someone that could kill you in a blink, without pissing everyone off in the process?
They were led through a lavish double gate and a large corridor decorated with works of art, skeletons of strange species, and even a few human ones. The plaques beneath them stated names and years of service as… blood supplicants.
What a wild gesture to the dead.
Elora was as put off as him, and even more, and she didn’t hide it quite as well.
The Baron greeted them in a large hall. The table was filled with all sorts of delicacies fit for Elora’s consumption, and a few bottles of what Sunday hoped were some rare and expensive alchemical alcohols that could elevate his state of existence and allow him to trample all his enemies.
Or get him piss drunk, if the need arose. He had yet to experience that. Good undead booze was expensive, and opportunities to drink to his heart’s content didn’t seem to come easily.
“My dear guests, come, come. Allow me to welcome you to my humble fortress and to entertain you this fine evening. Lady Elora, you look absolutely ravishing tonight.”
The Baron’s sharp features made him look like a bird of prey as he looked at Elora from bottom to top and back. Creepy bastard. Not that Sunday hadn’t ogled her a few times, but she was his date for the evening and it was only right!
Elora, to her credit, curtsied a bit awkwardly, while Sunday moved toward the Baron and offered a hand. The ancient vampire looked at it with interest before gently taking it. It felt like touching cold granite.
“Thank you for the invitation, Baron Bloodfang. If you don’t mind me asking, what’s this about?”
“Ah, ever in a hurry. Sit, sit. Please,” servants led them to the chairs, filled their glasses, and then without wasting any time, left.
The atmosphere alone was suffocating. While the Baron still felt like a regular person, there was some sort of underlying tension beneath it all. Like staring at a mad beast. Had something happened?
“As everyone has made it clear,” the Baron said. “We know what you are. At least those of us who matter. To different degrees, but the fundamental truth is one. You’ve been chosen to serve as a weapon in the crusade against the Divine.”
Elora gasped.
That’s a blunt way to put it.
“I couldn’t imagine why you would end up in a small and worthless region such as this one. Oh, don’t give me that look. All of us are quite weak in the grand scheme of things. My own… development… has met untimely obstructions in the hands of your friend's sister. She was talented for a human. I can assure you that no mortal has ever posed such a threat to me or my kin as she did. I still wonder how someone so blessed, could have such a worthless brother.”
Vyn’s sister? Why do I have to do with her? This is not going the way I expect.
“Your efforts to spread your name have not remained unnoticed, and I’ve not suppressed the strange rumors that are circulating,” the Baron said.
Sunday felt gratitude wash over him, then frowned as it was crushed in but a moment. The Baron frowned too, and looked toward Sunday with curiosity.
Ah, shit. So he was influencing me… motherfucker.
His palm itched. A glorious sensation, although trying to practice on a vampire as powerful as the Baron was probably a suicidal idea.
“What do you want of me?” Sunday asked.
“Hm… this will complicate things. It’s a habit to put some of my… charms into my words. I apologize. You seem to have prepared this time around.”
The unspoken question remained without answers as Sunday refused to entertain the bastard.
“I want you, after cleansing this city of course, to find Halline and get my sword back.”
The compulsion was quite strong again, but the Baron seemed to retract it on his own. So, that was part of the plan. Fucking vampires.
“Why would I?”
The Baron blinked. “Because I’ve been quite helpful to you? Is gratitude a foreign concept? Is stopping my kin from tearing you apart not a kindness?”
Oh, he seems ticked off now. Shit.
“Don’t misunderstand. It's just that everyone’s been quite generous… well, the Arcanum put on quite the silly performance, but they’ve done a lot for me.” Willingly or not. “Unfortunately, I know the least about my abilities out of everyone involved, so I don’t think I can repay the kindness in a way that would satisfy everyone.”
“All I want from you, my friend,” the Baron leaned forward, “is to keep your eyes and ears open. If you can get me what’s rightfully mine back, then I’ll reward you in ways you can’t imagine. You’re close to the brother, so I’ve left him alone. However, I have a device that could help locate his sister. It’s an ancient artifact made with lost arts and the help of spells even the Arcanum doesn’t know about. However, what it needs is willingly given blood. Young Vyn… is tough to persuade.”
“So you want me to convince him?”
This is so not what I expected.
“Yes.”
“Can’t you compel him? And what happens if I refuse.”
The Baron bared his fangs but stopped almost immediately. “I apologize. This is not something we like being discussed. Many of the kin themselves don’t know of those abilities, since only the oldest are proficient. Unfortunately, it doesn’t work that way. The creators of old had quite peculiar ways, and they were great believers in adhering to some… strange beliefs.”
Sunday didn’t like that word. Belief. Was the Baron alluding to an artifact of the Divine? If so… then that was an issue. Vyn’s blood or not, he didn’t want anything to do with this.
“As for refusing… I’ll be quite heartbroken. While your stature in the world will certainly grow to overshadow mine, I wouldn’t want to betray myself and help those who refuse to do me such a small favor… I’ve been more than generous, and all I ask is for a bit of willingly given blood.”
Sunday felt his nerves tighten. He could agree. Lie. Something stopped him though. Some primal instinct whispered that once having agreed, he had to follow through. Another compelling? No, it was something else. Could vampires do magic?!
“I’m sor—”
A steward burst into the chamber, but the Baron didn’t react more than merely turning his head.
“I apologize, your grace, but the city is under attack.”
“Oh?”
“What?” Elora exclaimed.
“What?” Sunday joined in.
“Ghouls. Thousands of ghouls are coming for Blumwin.”
Comments
BubblyGhost
I don't see why he wouldn't agree to at least ask.
