|
Through the Looking-Glass Upon entrance through a shadowed crevice, the pounding of footsteps was obscured by a disembodied cry. “Vampire!” Strange, how the shout which rang through the cavern was so familiar after two-thousand years. Did it know what she had been, what it had made her? Or was the shining blade embedded in blue-grey slate merely reacting out of instinct, repulsed by the Eternity? In the end it didn’t matter, she supposed. The vampire slowly approached the sword, which still held that distinctive glint of midnight and appeared to have just come from the forge. It was enough to make the edges of her mouth quirk upwards; the great enemy of the demonic tribe forged in the fires of hell. The woman following her was not so cautious, having much less to lose in their deal with the devil. The sword would trust the mortal, the vampire knew, so it was best to take herself out of the picture for now. “How very perceptive of you, sword. But it’s not me that you want to talk to.” “No. It’s you I want to kill, demon,” rasped the spirit of the blade as it began to glow with the ancient runic power. “Enough! We come to ask for your help, mighty Star Dragon Sword,” burst
the auburn-haired woman, trying desperately to avoid imminent conflict
by stepping between the two. She should have known that the mortal would
be clever enough to flatter the foolish old relic. This one would have
“Of course, mortal. If you wish to bear the honor of becoming my slave in order to spare the world the curse of this abomination then I would gladly…” “No! We come together to ask you to join our fight against Neclord. He’s the one you want, the one who created legions upon legions of undead.” “The one I want? Hah! This one escaped my grasp for two thousand years, mortal: the longest that any of the demons have eluded my wrath. That walking corpse has created a few legions herself…” “Lies! I know her, I bonded with her, I know that the vampire tribe lived in peace!” “Peace? Peace!?! Mayhaps for a while, mortal. Mayhaps for a while,” the sword mocked, knowing that it was as close to harming the vampire as it could be without someone to wield it. Cold steel seemed to bear a malice-filled smirk, the reaper’s grin as his scythe as it threatened to sever her tenuous connection to a world with more than moonlight and cadavers. This wasn’t working; they should have known better than to enter the sunlit chamber without a plan. Well, it was never too late to improvise. “You think you can kill me blade? You think you can threaten me? You can’t even move,” Sierra purred with a taunting fang-filled grin. Puzzled, the bodyguard turned towards her friend, radiating a perturbed glare. “Sier, what the hell are you doing? This isn’t the best way to get his cooperation…” Oulan hissed. “Cooperate with a vampire? Kill her mortal, use that great anger which I sense in you and kill the demon before her poison spreads. We could do it together, watch lifeless blood run from her broken body …” Oulan frowned at the obsessed greatsword, feeling her anger rise indeed - against the very weapon she needed to fight her friend's personal demon. She fought the desire to lash out with either words or fists, scowling. The shadows were growing darker now, smothering flaming red eyes and hair alike. The shade made fangs of the overhanging stalactites, jaws sharpened by the light of one illuminating crack in the cave walls. “The darkness can’t lull to sleep one who has already dreamt, old man! Your dullness in mind and body is matched only by your stupidity in thinking that you could ever kill me! You made me, but you can’t erase the past. All of that stolen blood is on your razor edge, not my fangs…” the bloodlust, the tempting madness, they both crept into her tone as Sierra taunted her ancient enemy. “WRONG! I CAN change the past, witch. Kill the demon, mortal. Take her head while she’s weak, before the rise of the accursed vampire tribe…” An halo black as ice formed around the incarnation of vengeance, spiraling out to create a portal through the depths of some unknown netherworld. Before she was swallowed, the bodyguard didn’t even have time to scream. “Enjoy your last moments, vampire.” The portal was closing, gaping maw of darkness fading back to monotonous stone. “I think not, old man.” Undaunted, the vampire jumped in after her friend. This was certainly an unexpected development. Oulan arrived at the end of a long black tunnel - inside an opulently decorated palace. She looked around, determining it was nowhere she'd ever been before. {Hmp. Not Harmonia, Toran, or any of the City-States, then: I've seen their palaces,} she mused. {So where-} Just then a young pale-haired girl raced by the bodyguard, sobbing hysterically.
Recognition flashed through Oulan in an instant: she had seen that scene
before, from another point of view - in Sierra's
Sierra emerged from the rift just as Oulan was turning the corner. {The mortal wouldn't *actually* be going to kill me, would she?} flashed through the vampire's mind, followed by horror as a more likely explanation occurred to her. {She's too soft to let me kill myself! I thought she knew better than that...} Realizing what this would mean to her - likely the end of her existence as she knew it - Sierra ran through the eerily familiar corridors after Oulan... and herself. Oulan hurled herself up the spiral stairs with a speed that *almost*
matched that of the hysterical girl she was pursuing. {How can a pampered
socialite run so fast?!} Oulan thought to herself as she
Only to have her arm caught by a gentle hand - that nevertheless stopped her as surely as a stone wall. Turning to look, she prepared to knock out this idiot... only to freeze as she met the blind eyes of the Seer Leknaat. "I sympathize with your distress," the blind oracle apologized, "but your sister-in-spirit has a tremendous role to play in the stream of Destiny. You cannot interfere, for it would destroy even your own youth." "*My* youth?" Oulan hissed, trying not to be overheard by the sobbing child inside the room. "How could it ruin *my* youth? Sier never-" "You stand now within *her* past," Leknaat noted. "Is it so impossible?" Oulan stood still as the older Sierra came around the corner behind her, trying to figure that out. A sound of blade meeting flesh shook her out of it, and Oulan stared aghast into the chamber of the Night Rune. Finally, she sighed and stepped into the room, pulling the strangely-silent Star Dragon Sword out of the girl's body. With a sad sigh, she turned to the seer. "According to *my* history, this was found to battle Renillard Variev in the cave behind Qulon Shrine. Could you see that it gets there?" Leknaat nodded, and Sierra laid a hand on the shoulder of her.. sobbing?.. friend. "Oulan... let's go." Oulan let her 'sister-in-spirit' guide her out of the castle as she fought to contain her grief. "It's not fair, Sier. It just isn't fair." "No... but it's right. Fate does some starnge things, but if it led to the present then I can't say I'm complaining." Oulan waited by the grave, as she had been doing since the moon came up. Sierra, the one from Oulan's time, waited in a stand of trees in a corner of the graveyard. Suddenly there was a slight noise from the coffin, as the occupant woke from her Dream. Silently Oulan drove her hands down through the dirt and fastened them on a coffin lid, hauling the box back up through the loose dirt and prying off the lid, releasing the young girl inside. {She's so different from the Sierra I know,} Oulan thought. The young Sierra just blinked in the moonlight for a few moments, then started sobbing. "W-what *happened* to me? Where am I? Who're you?" she asked between bouts of crying. "I wanted to be dead, and I coudn't even do *that* right. Why am I worthless? M-Mama.." After she blurted that out, the girl crumpled into Oulan's chest and bawled quietly for a few minutes. Oulan gave her the time. {I know all too well how it feels to lose everything and have no one to comfort you,} the bodyguard thought. {I can at least give her that.} Finally, the young Sierra had cried herself out, and pulled her head up to look at Oulan. "Thank you, ma'am," she said with some degree of formality restored. "I suppose I'll have to find another sword now." "No, you will *not,*" Oulan commanded firmly. "I went to a lot of trouble
helping you, and I don't intend to see it wasted." The girl looked up at
Oulan, surprised. "And as for being worthless," Oulan
Young Sierra looked where Oulan pointed and stared dumbly for a few seconds, then let out a piercing scream. "AAAHH! How could I.. the Moon Rune... I'm a... *vampire?*" "Yeah, you are. So?" Oulan asked. "Do you feel any different? Do you think you're evil now?" Seeing the girl's expression of panic fade, Oulan continued. "My name's Oulan, by the way." "S-Sierra. Sierra Miuret," young Sierra replied, her ingrained courtesy kicking in. Oulan bowed. "Dozo yoroshiku (Pleased to meet you)," she replied, and kept going. "Trust me, Sierra - where I come from, there are a lot of stories about that Rune, and it's not evil. No Rune is, by itself - it's all in the person who uses it. I even know one story about a young woman like you who inherited the Rune, centuries before I was born. She went off to the mountains and founded her own clan, and men came from all over seeking her. They say that she lived nearly forever, and she could give a bit of her Eternity to her lovers and clanmates. Even *I* look up to her a bit, frankly." Oulan kept a straight face, but cringed inside. {Given her hearing, *my* Sierra probably caught that, and she may never let me hear the end of it..} The girl stopped sobbing and looked up at Oulan. "Really?" Oulan smiled. "Yes, really." {The fact that it's *your* story doesn't make it untrue,} the bodyguard thought to herself. "I won't lie to you, though - if *you* want to do that, it'll mean giving up everything you have here, everything you know - and it won't be easy." "Everyone else here already took that away from me," the girl answered, "and life here would be just as hard, without Mama. I'll go." Oulan nodded, and handed the girl an Emerald Ring from her pack. "Here - use this to buy yourself some supplies. Then head out of town without letting anyone you know see you." "Will... will you come with me?" a timid voice replied. "I'd love to, little one, but I can't. I have to go somewhere else now." {More like some*when* else,} Oulan thought. "Oh well. I suppose I'd have to do it on my own anyway," the girl remarked, surprising Oulan with what could have been resolve or depression. "Goodbye, Oulan-sama!" Oulan winced. {You know, that may be the earliest anyone *ever* calls me that, taking *when* we are into account..} *** It was odd, being back there. The crisp night air was so invigorating that she could almost feel that first tiny thrill her power had brought her. Yet if not for the wonder of when they were, she would have been utterly bored. The time spent waiting near the graveyard had given them a chance to formulate a plan, at least. Once she had explained her motives Oulan had been most cooperative. It was funny, really: To think that the old man was even more responsible for her endless hunger… …hunger… It had been too long since that last rush of scarlet adrenaline, too
long since Oulan had proffered virgin wrists to her outside a madman’s
castle. She could feel her muscles frost with an oft-experienced numbness,
the clouds of sleep returning once more to fog her mind. But
The sound of crackling bracken disturbed the vampire and alerted her to the presence of a young girl dressed in very expensive rags. Sierra knew that she should leave now, that she should return to the one who was as close to as close to a friend as she had had in centuries. It was so tempting to go back there and do nothing - to forget about what she knew must be done and lose herself in banter, sleep, or vengeance - but this was her last chance. Soundlessly creeping past the racket of the girl’s inexperience, Sierra materialized behind her... well, she supposed it was her partner. "So, we're going to go get medieval on those guys who set you up, right?" the brawny woman stated expectantly. "No... I'm going to see my mother." "Your Mom? Ummm... look Sierra. From what I gather the last time you saw your mother you ended up, well, as much of a wreck as that kid. Why don’t you let me go and straighten her out while you wait and...” "*No,*" the vampire interrupted, her words now barbed. "I'm going to see my mother." "Hey, I just think that it might not be what you need right now. Besides, those two losers have an Angry Dragon to face..." "I don't care about those pathetic mortals. I said that I was going to visit my mother and that's what I will do. I don't need your protection, Oulan. What I need is to set things right," Sierra shot back. "I'm only trying to help you, dammit!" “I said that I don’t need you!” The ensuing silence was painful, neither of the two stubborn women backing down. She could see that mother bear look on Oulan's face, the one that said not to mess with her because it was for your own good. The infuriating thing about the expression was that usually Oulan was right, but just this once couldn't the woman see that it simply had to be done? With every mistake Sierra made, every failure, every little imperfection that the vampire noticed in herself she could hear the voice of Mistress Yashka. The right thing for Sierra to say at that moment would have been something
about the importance of their odd friendship. Just a taste of verbal sugar
- the simplest of apologies – would have sufficed to
"I'm going to visit Mother, Oulan." As she walked away, the vampire hoped that her partner understood. There was simply no time to argue. Oulan stiffened with indignation as Sierra turned away - then slowly smiled. "You're as stubborn as me," she commented ruefully. "You'd think you'd have learned better in two millennia - I *am* just a foolish youth, after all," she followed up when Sierra turned a surprised stare on her. "But your mind's made up," Oulan said with a slight grin, "and if you're going to do something that could affect you that badly, you're not going alone." She took up a position just behind Sierra and to her left - the classic bodyguard's position. "She hurts you again over my dead body." Gold on mahogany, crushed red velvet drapes kissing azure filigree,
plush hand-woven carpet warming the hard ice of marble – all blended together
to form one sumptuous bedroom. A long-lost vision of her childhood domain,
materializing upon entrance from the balcony doors, caused the vampire’s
breath to catch in her throat. The cold night air infected the room with
a most unnatural presence – that of a vampire over two millennia old and
her erstwhile friend. Both were out of place
“You lived here!?!” “Yeah. Welcome to my prison,” Sierra breathed while falling back onto the once-familiar plushness of a four-poster bed. Quieter than usual, she continued. “Do you see how clean she kept it? Mama always insisted on perfection. I wonder if she keeps her pets here already? They were always more perfect than I…” Examining a piece of fine bone china which glistened in the moonlight, Oulan arched an auburn eyebrow. “Pets?” “The gardener, the housekeeper’s son,” the vampire stated with a wan smile while staring up at the veil suspended above. She couldn’t help but savor the surreal nature of her situation, and it would be so easy to fall asleep here one more time…. “Money can buy anything. It was the first, perhaps the only truth I learned from my mother. Give somebody a little piece of your power, a dram of disposable strength, and make them think you’ve offered them the world. After that, they’ll walk through the inferno for you. I tried so hard not to be like mother…” {That cruel old...} Oulan thought, then said “Sierra, you’re *not..*” Their fledgling conversation was interrupted then, broken by a patch of candlelight which profaned the silver-bathed suite. It was quickly overshadowed, however, when the heavy door opened wider to admit a middle-aged woman enveloped in a voluminous green dressing-gown. Oulan wisely moved into the background despite her instincts: this wasn’t her fight “Who..” the unknown figure rasped. “Mama…” Terror hit the faces of the bulky woman and the daughter who had outlived her by centuries as crimson eye met crimson eye. One shocked, the other uncomfortable, both looked away.. It was probably better that way, for any allowed preoccupation with what she saw in her mother’s gaze could very well have driven the vampire mad. For in the end, something identical that neither had seen when Sierra was alive resided in both sets of twinned orbs. It was a glimmer of a beast; something cruel, powerful, defiant, violent, and controlling. Some would call it horrid bloodlust; others would call it magnificent power. In any case, it was as if the two were mirrored; twinned despite their differences. Like mother like daughter, as they say. The gaping maw of silence threatened to swallow them, an emotional guillotine’s edge ready to fall. The vampire had to say something. “Y-you said I would never be a Lady Mother,” came a strangled beginning. Her soul’s sleeping beauty, the girl who had died so long ago, was awakening with a vengeance. The albino had to keep control, she had to… The whisper became stronger, building to crescendo. “You were wrong, Mother. I’ve ruled hundreds, possessed a fortune greater than that of the Tsar, worn the robes of Markavan princesses and marshaled wars on the Great Plains. I’ve taken what I pleased – money, men - and never looked back. I’ve watched empires rise and fall, I’ve seen the birth of religions and the death of dreams. And I’ve lived by a code, a code much more than the rules you drilled into me.” The woman was shocked but, as always, never without words. “What are you? A demon? A demon come to haunt me…..” “I did it all without you, Mother. I have everything, and I don’t need you anymore. You underestimated me.” Sierra took a step back, surprised, when Yashka answered with her characteristic smirk, “Then if you are my daughter, I approve. You took after me all along.” The statement struck like a sledgehammer, shattering clarity and closure. She wasn’t.. she was better than…. “You… Did you ever love me?” “Love? People like us don’t feel love, demon. Love is useful, a tool made potent by the bard’s craft, but no more. We’re the same, you and I. We don’t need that sort of thing.. I always knew that I was above most mere mortals. Even as we speak, I’m talking my way out of a trip to hell..” Mistress Yashka proclaimed, self satisfaction a mask for her fright. The moment had behaved oddly for the Muirets, ending with an unresolved
and uncomfortable silence though one had expected catharsis and the other
death. Neither anticipated the specter and
Oulan had been in the process of her own little upheaval when the timeshift took hold of them. Her temper, already frayed by the Star Dragon Sword and her inability to keep Sierra's younger self from suffering, had snapped upon seeing *that* face, so familiar to her from Sierra's mind's eye, hurting the vampire once more. Since she had been leaping up off the bed aiming a slap at the cruel old dowager, she quite naturally fell over when they landed on a set of outdoors granite steps. Sierra, still disturbed by her conversation, smiled but didn't - quite - laugh. "Balance problems, Oulan?" "Very funny, Sier. I - um..." "What?" "We're not back in the cave, Sier. We're in Rockaxe." "You mean we have to walk across half the city-states to get back there?" Sierra asked in frustration. "I guess, unless we-" Oulan, who had turned around to figure out just where they were, stopped dead and went so pale her shade matched Sierra's. "Oulan! What's wrong?" Sierra asked, worried. Oulan pointed to a sobbing head poking up above one stair. The hair was limp and unwashed, but scarlet. "Sier.. that's *me,*" she whispered. {A role in my own past, Leknaat said-} Sierra looked down. The redheaded girl was dwarfed by the ancient granite mountain – also
known as Rockaxe Castle - upon whose steps she sat. Dejected, alone, and
obviously holding back tears, the child seemed somehow more lifeless than
any of the undead. That wasn't the Oulan that Sierra knew:
"Wait here, mortal. It's my turn to help you out," Sierra said with a half-smile. This was important, and *anything* would do to keep her mind off that gaze, those words. The lovers, the position, the life of luxury.. {Maybe I'm just like my mother} Soul-sisters indeed: it was one hell of a family that her friend had stumbled into. Oulan would be better off without someone who bore the mark of the Miurets, someone who couldn't infect her soul with the disease which pulsed through their veins. {Mother.. I'm just like..} Forget it. Forget everything. She had to get out of there. Sierra wouldn't,
*couldn't* make the same mistakes... not this time. {Everyone I care
about goes away.. dies or leaves or just forgets to
The vampire refused to allow that to happen, thinking that there must be a way to fight the taint within her. Her mental state, however, allowed foreign memories which she had been struggling to suppress to creep through her defenses. ~Despair, a stout elderly man glowering down...~ ..if she hadn't known that these were Oulan's memories, she could have sworn that they were her own. Not bothering to hear the bodyguard question her silence, the vampire
left her companion at the door of one of the multitude of weapon shops
that seemed to breed like rabbits in the knightdom capital. Soon, the albino
was looking down at a teenaged, long-haired version of the bodyguard.
"Your name is Oulan, isn't it?" the vampire began, trying desperately to at least imitate a cheerful, positive demeanor. Although that was not a complete success, Oulan’s response at least assured Sierra that she hadn't scared the poor girl. "Ummm... yeah," the redhead responded, obviously not making the same sort of effort to mask her feelings. "What d'you want?" Where to start... she really wasn't good at these sorts of things. It was too bad that Oulan couldn't do this: she had some sort of strange affinity for young women. A conversation could be a good place to begin. Hopefully it would at keep the rational part of her mind from panicking and the irrational from descending on Oulan’s exposed artery. So very tired… "I heard that you applied to become a knight." "Yeah.... but I can't. Lord Gorudo says that women are too weak be knights," young Oulan replied wearily. "He's wrong." "But he's the leader of the white knights! How could he be wrong..." "He's wrong because I *say* he's wrong," came an angered retort. Oh great, that hadn’t exactly come out well. Mentally, the vampire sighed. She would have to go about this differently. What she wouldn’t do for the Highland Army to attack or a Rage Rune to accidentally go off… She also really wished that Oulan was here. Well, her Oulan anyway. "Look, Oulan. Do you see that rune on your hand? It's called the Angry Dragon, right?" "How did you...?" "That isn't important. What's important is that the rune wouldn't have appeared for you by itself if there wasn't a bit of an angry dragon in your soul," Sierra interrupted with a smile she hoped was comforting, "and we all know that dragons eat knights for breakfast." "But I've... I've always wanted to be a knight...." "A knight for who? For a man who openly scorns you? Maybe you'll never be a knight for him but don't you feel that Angry Dragon which has marked you, the one that wants to prove that bastard wrong? The one that would find that dishonorable coward, slit his throat, rip out his heart, and dance on his entrails!?! That would keep him from heaping such injustice on anyone else, ever!?!" As she stood over the girl with arms crossed, Sierra could tell from the expression on Oulan's face that something she was saying had finally broken through. Well that was a relief; mortals could react so oddly to perfectly sensible suggestions. Of course, the child might just be afraid, but Oulan was a more practical person than that. "Trust me, girl. Any person with half a brain can pick up a sword and say that they're a knight... but it's the rare person indeed who can be a dragon. I've only ever met one." "Really? Do you mean that?" Of course she meant it! Did she think that Sierra would dry the tears
of desperate young girls just for fun while surrounded by dozens of muscled
, blood-filled, and available Matildan Knights? Matildan
"When I say I know something, I *know* something, mort...I mean..ummm... Oulan. Have a few potch... I don't need them." "I don't know what to say.." The younger Oulan looked happier now. Relieved, Sierra was able to finally disappear into the crowd. These types of situations had always made her uncomfortable, and she was more accustomed to giving orders than pep-talks. Yet when she looked back, she was pleased to note that the girl looked a little more like her friend. It was the last thing the vampire saw before being pulled back into the void. Rising from the crumpled heap she had made before the sword and sweeping her arms dramatically, the vampire began an imitation worthy of one of the finest actors. Renny couldn’t pull this off half as well, she liked to think. Yet whatever quality her performance was it would have to do to continue the charade she had initiated before the trip through time and discussed with Oulan during long graveside hours. That was it: keep it down, keep it masked and it would leave her eventually: a true Lady’s modus operandi. “Mwahahahaha! You old relic, your own power has once again hastened my demonic reign!” Oulan remained down, kneeling before the Sword. “I’m sorry, mighty blade, but I just could not destroy the demon. My conscience…” Enraged at his failure, the sword made a resolution. “Hush, young one. I, the mighty Star Dragon Sword, will grant you the honor of becoming my slave so that you may gain the moral strength to defeat this foul creature.” “She’ll never kill me, old man… the reign of the Vampire Lady will continue for eternity! Mwahahahahaha!” Floating over to perhaps the most sane person in the chamber, the sword placed itself in Oulan’s hands. Excellent; this would allow them to keep the blasted thing with them for as long as possible. But now she was so tired. Her eyelids were beginning to drop; the inevitable was approaching… Tired…. …sleep. Looking down at the heavy steel blade and her slumbering friend, Oulan got a pained expression on her face. She was going to have to carry them both out of there. As if she hadn’t been through enough today… “Kill her! Kill her while she’s down, mortal!” “Not now, old one..” she mumbled, rolling her eyes. She stooped to pick up her friend, but missed as the Sword's call distracted her. Annoyed, she slid the weapon under the loose collar of her cloak and through her belt, a makeshift sheath. "Don't you dare cut my cloak or belt!" she warned. "I'll get you a proper sheath as soon as we reach a town, but I don't need to drop my drawers in the middle of a fight!" "Hmph," the Sword grumped. "As if *I* could ever be so clumsy! Now, if you can't kill her, leave her here, mortal. She'll never find the blood to wake up in this place- hey! What are you doing!" Fed up, Oulan grabbed her cloak and wrapped it around the hilt of the Sword and the 'mouth' on it, effectively gagging it. "I'm getting fed up with being called 'mortal,'" Oulan muttered as she gathered up Sierra's limp body in her arms. "Maybe McDohl can make this thing behave better. C'mon, spirit-sister, let's go." {Yeah, Leknaat had it right,} Oulan thought. {Sisters in spirit. I just
wish I could live longer, to be more of a sister to her...} -maybe you
can,- a voice whispered in her soul. Shaking her head, the
The sun was growing lower in the sky, shadowing a figure behind the rocks outside the famed Wind Cave. Luckily, this was not Emmett Chalmers’ first visit to the local landmark and he had easily found a comfortable place to both rest and stalk his prey. At present, dusty sandstone boulders sheltered him from wind and sight as they created a ridge above the cavern’s entrance. The vampire should be in there according to the trail he had found – years of family camping trips had proven their worth. Yet it was a strange set of footprints which he had tracked, odd in that they appeared to be doubled. Bored with what had seemed like days of waiting, he glanced away from the static view offered by his perch and pondered the gun he had been presented with. The tailor hadn’t really thought about the nature of Khan’s gift at the time, of course. Who could, when those hollies were nearby just waiting to crawl on you and bite you and do horrible disgusting holly things? But despite his cowardice - he had waited for hours outside this landmark many times without gathering the courage to enter and prove himself –Emmett wasn’t a stupid person. Nobody was who could survive the harsh Greenhill entrance exams. Now those had been a real nightmare. Forget hollies and trudging through the woods day in and day out, nothing was worse than calculus. Whoa, he had gone off track there for a second. Now back to the
issue at hand: how did that loser jerk get a hold of a rare imported non-guild
firearm, and why had he given such a valuable find to Emmett? Not
that he wasn’t happy about it –actually having to touch monsters in a fight
would have been so bloody and icky and gross – but the whole situation
was just a little bit implausible. Had the man realized in the course
of their conversation Emmett’s potential and tried to make amends by
Brushing a carefully maintained long blonde lock away from his face,
Emmett examined the gun more closely. Dad had bought him his first
and only weapon when he was nine, determined that his son would be a soldier.
The gun had been an obvious choice after noticing that Emmett couldn’t
hold his own in the Junior Defense Squadron fighting drills. It seemed
that the young kid was too squeamish to actually hit the other little boys,
the leader had told his father. Not to mention the fact that scrawny
little Emmett didn’t have the upper-body strength to use a bow. Yet
the gun let him play at fighting and Emmett had loved it; finally he could
play at war like the other boys even if the gun did
Scanning greyish metal and trying to ascertain the origin of his acquisition, Emmett’s wandering eyes soon found a tiny inscription on the barrel: “Good Luck Emmett
Of course! That “vampire hunter” must have been some drunkard thug to stupid to realize what he was carrying that Mom and Dad had sent after Emmett. Good old Mom and Dad.. they always came through when you needed them. Suddenly, heavy breathing interrupted his distracted thoughts.
Emmett’s feet made a whisper of sound as he turned towards the anticipated
target, locking mental crosshairs on the forehead of the one before him.
Squinting to block out the blinding effects of the sun, the tailor prepared
to pull the trigger… and couldn’t. Whoever this vampire was, he had
to kill her in style. Yeah, that was it, style! He couldn’t
very well shoot her camouflaged and anonymous while clad in a grass-green
sweater vest and jeans. This just wasn’t the way that a legendary
vampire hunter would operate. Dropping his chosen implement of destruction,
the tailor began to fish through his backpack in an
Not that he was scared that the vampire would kill him, had a deep-rooted aversion to blood, and had never been able to take a shot at anything that wasn’t vegetable or inanimate in his life. Of course not! He just.. ummm.. needed to look much cooler before he completed his task.. The vampire staggered by his lofty hiding place, hefting a heavy-looking
something wrapped in a grey cloak on her shoulders… wait a second! This
was some buff woman with red hair… definitely not the albino. Emmett
mentally kicked himself; he would have to be more careful whom he aimed
Emmett, however, noticed first that the woman was glaring out at the wilderness with a murderous air, carried a large blade, and looked to be talking to someone who wasn’t there. Oh joy- a vampire and a homicidal psycho. The tailor quickly returned to his hidden rifling. Not that he couldn’t handle it or anything, he was obviously simply choosing to… uhh… conduct himself in the proper manner. A vampire hunter wouldn’t intentionally hide or anything. Now if only he could find some leather…. Half an hour later a comatose vampire, one very exhausted bodyguard, and a highly perturbed ancient sword stumbled back to a place of safety within the wilderness. There those who were still conscious also found McDohl of the Toran Empire.
| ||||
