by Spark, Luc
Just as Viorel foresaw, the low life humans had a hold on the vampires because of getting lucky and acquiring an item which the vampires hold in high regard. So typical of weak and pathetic humans, the “Thieving sods Guild’ would play this card to their own advantage until the vampires make their move. It all made sense in a rather frustrating and annoying way. What was this item? Could it be some magical talisman or potion to aid the vampires? Or perchance some priceless emerald or diamond? Viorel disbanded with the speculating and got Dretore to lay out the mission brief, an influx of buyers and shady fences were lining up the markets and seedy back alley auctions, and they all sought a valuable pair of bellows. The ‘Thieving Sods Guild’ knew the location of some fine golden bellows with ruby indentations finely crafted around the edges. The location was pretty tricky and taxing-it was the local mayor’s boudoir in the city center. The mayor was a pompous and sweating great jelly of a man, not so much elected by the people but self-elected and darn sure nobody would throw him out of office, not while he had fat in his body. A local scummy contact would meet Viorel under the stone archway just a street along from the mayor’s flippant abode. No doubt the mayor would have had his usual fill like some pig from a trough; the gentleman was so bloated he could sweat naked in a mountain glacier. The infidels that the thieves were, they must have had some level of intelligence or just great spy’s at their service to gather such knowledge. The grandfather clock in the northern tower chimed for three in the morning, Viorel decided to leave Alexander behind for the time being and undertake the mission on his own. Once under the stone archway, he waited for the lowlife to rendezvous with him. Pretty punctual and direct the scum made his way towards the vampire; he did not seem intimidated by Viorel’s fangs-so obvious as he let them be seen by giving a sinister smile. The thief began his practiced speech.
“The thieves guild demands you enter the mayor’s boudoir and retrieve for us the golden bellows-we pay on delivery to our headquarters, don’t mess this up or we won’t have anything else to do with your species”
Viorel could not believe the gall and downright foolhardiness of this little scamp. He could send this feeble maggot to hell with one slash of his claw-the audacity was beyond comprehension.
‘So the thieves honestly do believe they have a blinking hold on us vampires-they think that with threats like this, that they can contain and mellow us-for the honour of Dretore and the others, I will infiltrate their hideout and report the location and state of affairs back to Dretore and I can sense an ambush impending-no humans dictate the rules to us, we are superior beings and they will regret this insolence’ Viorel smarted to himself with anger.
Still, the mission had to be completed in order to gain potential access to the hideout, with a swiftness that could out motion a bolt of lightning, Viorel arrived at the mayor’s house. No guards could be seen patrolling the grounds, so without further ado, Viorel put to the test some of the skills he had gained during his training. He assumed the form of a bat and floated himself up and through the mayor’s boudoir window. The mayor was a disgusting sight, fatter than a barrel of pigs and stinking twice as bad. His brush like mustache was filled with what Viorel supposed was the night’s self-imposed feast. No human deserved the luxuries he got for such little honor or toil when Viorel was done he would be a trifle worse off which was satisfying. In the distance, a group of night watch guards could vaguely be heard talking some tripe about their wives. Everything was set, and this would be a cinch so easy it seemed shocking that the ‘Thieving sods Guild’ could not have done this themselves. Bold as a mountain of brass, the bellows were propped up against the mayor’s stone fireplace, the gleam they gave off added fuel to the fire that they must be worth more than a few coins. Viorel made his play and swiped the bellows, but like some sick kick to the groin… the bellows triggered an alarm system that roused the stinking globular mayor from his sleep.
“Guards there is an awful creature in my boudoir, he has my golden bellows!”
Viorel was not in the mood to put up with this inconvenience. He jumped onto the mayor’s bed and bared his fangs… dripping with saliva and sharper than a carving knife-he would use them if necessary.
“Mayor you call off them guards now or else I will take away your greedy soul and banish it to Satan’s realm for all eternity” this perhaps not enough to steer the mayor into action Viorel went to stage two.
“Of course I won’t make your passing easy for you, I will frisk you away to my friends and we will ensure you suffer worse than a thousand deaths… we will bury you alive in a coffin easily penetrated by the foulest maggots and flesh eating creatures on this earth… you will scream without being heard until your breath ceases to give you life, and you will die writhing in pain and immeasurable despair”
The mayor’s eyes were now expanded bigger than saucers; Viorel had got his message firmly hammered home. The mayor called out.
“Guards return to your posts I was having a nightmare and sometimes get delusional, go back to talking insular rubbish to each other… just ready my pulled pork and onions for the morning, and make sure my ale is ice cold!”
The euphoric and almost arousing sense of a job well done flooded Viorel’s senses, he made like a tree and got out of there. Within a heartbeat, he was back under the stone archway. The insular and slightly inebriated little thief appeared again and was donning a limp to his left leg. The thief rasped.
“Have you done your duty for the guild?”
“The mission is complete and now you will lead me to your hideout for payment, otherwise I will hand these bellows over to my friends” Viorel replied in haste.
The confidence and sudden growth in Viorel’s stature, suddenly gave rise to the thief becoming intimidated. A visible shake was all about his persona; about time too Viorel still could not believe the foolhardiness of the thieves.
The thief now rattled spoke out.
“Okay I will guide you to our hideout, it is not far from here-barely a stone’s throw, I’m only doing as I am ordered, my superiors will not be pleased… mister whoever you are”
The hideout stunk like a cows innards, the air was thick with fog and the whole area was more depressing than the darkest graveyard. The ground beneath cracked like a dirty mattress, before long the thief had escorted Viorel to the shack which belonged to the guild master. He handed over to Viorel the payment in a cloth sack and grunted about the inconvenience of being disturbed from his daily whoring. Viorel took the payment with no emotion, gave a lop sided grin and morphed into the bat again and made his way back to report to his friends.
Once Viorel had arrived back at the castle and given his report, including the mere detail of the thief’s courage and stupidity to try to enforce a threat on the vampires-Dretore felt an overwhelming urge to chuckle deeply; his chuckle was like a thunderous boom that echoed around the whole castle.
“So the little parasites think they can read us the riot act do they?” he paused and then continued “By the time we have finished with them not a soul in Bucharest will dare to stand up to us, we will take this city for our own… we will stop at nothing to achieve dominance!”
Dretore outlaid his plans for the storming of the thief’s hideout; there was an item they had in their possession that was more valuable than a thousand minted coins. This item was believed to be sent from God himself, and it had been brought to the earth to be read by one soul, the soul of the worthy one, the item could not be envisioned fully but Dretore had a pretty good idea of what it could be… the vampires had to retain this item and sooner rather than later. A simple hit and sweep of the hideout, the pathetic humans had not a cat’s chance in hell of any sort of resistance, it was almost too easy. Dretore made his merry way over to the castle’s armory chamber, the rest followed suit. Chain mails and spiked gloves were strewn about, pauldrons and iron greaves were all in abundance; Viorel liked the look of the hefty battle ax hanging in the far corner. This piece of weaponry divinity had been impor
ted from the fierce northern lands, the Nordic tribes called home. It was strong and imposing, woe betides any human who tried to stop the ax’s swing with a neck. Dretore’s weapon of choice was the mighty halberd, one that had been wielded by Lord Tepes during one of his conquering battles. Ivan took a keen interest in the Gaelic claymore, a finely balanced weapon-and he was a dab hand at swordsmanship anyway. The females went for the smaller weapons, Alexis took the oriental throwing stars, Violet grabbed the iron daggers and Elena armed herself with the iron staff. That only left Alexander, who made the courageous decision that his bare hands would do the blood spilling, looked like he was starting to settle into his new identity. The pieces were set; the ‘Thieving sods Guild’ would be turned over until the glorious item was recovered. The vampires headed out under a full mooned sky, it did not take them long to reach the cobbled road leading to the hideout. The eastern banks of the city’s river seemed to show it looking like it would engulf the narrow streets, must have been a large downpour of rain during the day. After another thirty minutes of trekking, the vampires came to the front entrance of the foreboding hideout. At the front entrance, two large sconces were glowing with a devilish demeanor. Dretore spoke out.
“Okay my friends this is where the slaughter begins, I hope nobody is feeling sympathetic or mellow minded tonight-because there is going to be bloody murders, these insects will be crushed and nonexistent by the morning’s sun rise, this night we are sending out a clear and strong message”
Viorel gave a proud and sure minded grin-he turned to his fellow vampires and proclaimed.
“Tonight I feel humbled and proud to be among such company, if I have lived for a hundred years as a human, I would not have had the courage or moral support to do such an honourable thing-I will be privileged to be the one to take the final thief’s life-and hang his head on a stake” these words came out like a practised well-rehearsed speech but in truth it was from the heart and totally spontaneous and off the cuff.
Dretore took up the lead and used a strong form of magic to open the big doors, some form of manipulation magic that he had been using for years on smaller assignments. With the opening of the huge entrance doors came the inevitable loud creaking noise. Some of the thieves were on random patrol through the hideouts compound; four particularly burly thieves came bounding towards the vampire team. The biggest one made a swipe for Dretore with his Silver dagger-how convenient it was coated Silver Did they expect this attack?
The feeble attempt to take Dretore’s life resulted in the thief having his body sliced down from head to groin in one great hulking motion. The halberd made the death look easy and very gory to the core. A thief had got around the back of Viorel-now was his time to show how he could handle himself in battle. He waited until he could hear the swish of the thief’s longsword, and then faster than a cheetah on the hunt, he ducked under the resultant blade and spun on the spot like some majestic acrobat, and brought his battle axe under the thief’s neck-cutting it clean off right through the glistening white bone and out. The thief did not even have time to squeal out in hell binding agony, instead, he just slumped on the floor-his head meters away from his now maggot feed corpse, the blow flies would be in soon to have their way with the scoundrel.
Viorel had just acquired his first kill, and he was ready to add more to his permanent record.
“That will teach you a lesson to try and bloody strike me from behind like some sneaky weasel, may the lord of darkness not make you peel too many potatoes, in his kitchen of eternal fire”
Viorel let out a guttural roar fuelled by the intense increase in his testosterone-often associated with success and fighting. The females had not fared too bad either, Alexis had been caught unaware by some stumpy little thief with a squint-he had attempted to put her in a headlock, but Alexis was not going to let this happen. She brought her leg right up behind her and made direct contact with the thief’s testicles, and as he fell to the ground wincing from the burning terribleness of the strike-she took out one of the throwing stars and with the accuracy of God himself she hit him square on in the left eyeball with the stars business end. The scream that the thief produced would have roused a sloth.
That was the first wave of the thieves done and out of the way, now came the ensuing charge of the second and final wave-thieves of all statues and characters came into the theater of battle. The vampires had to split up to create a diversion so Viorel could get into the main hut to retrieve the sacred item.
Dretore took point and ran away to the northern end of the hideout, around ten or so thief’s followed him, screaming like deranged rabid wolfs. This gave Viorel his chance to break for the hut-which hopefully would be not too heavily guarded. After a minute of running, he made it to the hut, outside a wooden sign read out ‘Thieving sods Guild-Head Office’.
Viorel took a sneaky peek through the frosted window, inside there appeared to be no guards, which was slightly disconcerting. With no need to act like a reconnaissance spy, Viorel tried the door-as he foresaw it was heavily locked. So the obvious next maneuver was to assume his mist form, he floated in through the window. Sat in a satin clothed chair was an oblique man of mature age. He wore a pirate hat, bizarre for this part of the world, and he had a long ginger beard that might signify his intelligence.
Viorel once again returns to physical form.
The man bellowed.
“What the fudge are you doing in head office?”
Viorel was in no mood to play word games, time was ticking and he needed to get back to the others.
“Where is the sacred item, you have five seconds to tell me before I rip out your throat with my fangs!”
The head thief fell back on his chair and began to roll on the floor crying like some hungry baby. The pathetic image drove up an intense anger inside Viorel, the stupid and loathsome human was going to be of no use. The table he had been sat at was made of the finest redwood. The value of items inside this head office must be enough to provide a substantial income for years on end. The thieves had obviously done well for themselves, and now it was time for them to redistribute the dirty gotten wealth. Viorel noticed in the dim light that at the far end of the office, just opposite the oak shelving-was a grand looking yew chest-encrusted with beautiful emeralds. This had to be concealing something of great importance and value. The only problem was where was the key required to open said object. The head thief was now unconscious possibly brought on by being a drama queen-how he had run this network was beyond Viorel.
The thought just hit Viorel suddenly; he was a creature of the night and a well-trained one at that. The mage had taught him a whole manner of magic and illusions, and one of the most coveted was the ability to open objects using the power of the mind. Viorel began to put this power into motion and just as he heard Dretore shouting out from outside, the lid of the chest flew open. Low and behold inside was a rolled up and sealed with candle wax, ornate looking scroll. Viorel snatched the scroll and made his way outside to rendezvous with Dretore.
“Dretore look at what I found inside a rather well-locked chest,” said Viorel.
Dretore took the scroll from him and pulled off the wax seal.
“This is for your eyes Viorel-you must read the passage”
Viorel gave a slight frown and felt slightly bemused, but he took back the scroll and proceeded to read the text. The text was written in some sinister ink that could not be described, it was almost like the ink had a soul of its own. Within a minute of reading the scroll, Viorel had caught the gist of what the text was proclaiming to him. All the events of what had happened to him, since the fateful night down the alleyway began to fit into place-the whole sequences of events had been predetermined and no matter what choice he would have made himself, he was destined to become… a wanderer to search for a holy flipping cave?. No after numerous calculations in his head, the cave was not holy; in-fact it was a random cave that he had to locate to find the true scrolls which would outlay his order. What thes
e orders were was completely over his head at this juncture in time. He turned to his esteemed colleague Dretore, and instantaneously his colleague could sense the bewilderment in his eyes. Life is never simple and always laden with riddles and tasks before a soul can become enlightened. Dretore ordered all the vampires retreat from the guild and make like a tree back to the castle quick sharp, there was much to be discussed…
10,000 feet above the Siberian Tundra, 1979
The ice was freezing hard to the tips of the salamander’s wings, the whistling sound of the air passing over the fuselage was quite soothing to Professor Jürgen. Thousands of feet below the aircraft the Siberian landscape was clocking up the miles, towards his final destination and new home for many years-the secret Rain Arcane facility. The general had convinced Jürgen that he was an established pilot of many hours flying time, although, with the way he handled the turbulence over the Ural Mountains, Jürgen gave pause to such notion. The salamander had been modified to fit two people rather snugly, in leather seats that would not look out of place in a Bentley luxury car. The estimated time of arrival for the secret base was not for another two hours, Jürgen wondered if the aircraft would have enough range to make it to the destination. He could hear over the crackling radio, instructions from some unknown source to bank heavily to the east. The husky Russian voice was becoming more animated by each passing second. The general was starting to become anxious and flustered in front of Jürgen, this did not bode well. The general confirmed what the controller over the radio had been saying.
“Comrade Mixope we have to perform a series of emergency maneuvers, we have a bandit on our tail-and not one of the Mexican variety!”
The general’s face looked like a beetroot from all the flustering blood rushing to his brain, some extreme g-force was about to rear its ugly presence, the salamander was about to show just how able it was. Who could be trying to shoot down the general? And for what purpose? Was it some breakaway separatists who were sour over a bodged arms deal? Whoever it was had picked up on the salamander’s heat trail and was closing in fast.
