If only these walls could talk.
Yússila sighed. Every dent, crack and scratch on this wall was now etched in her memory. She built this mud hut with her bare hands. Alone, through trial and error, she erected this round dwelling. Even the thatched roof on top, she built it alone. And no one was here to witness her work.
She rested her face on her right hand and returned her gaze back at the Rasà board in front of her. Opposite of her, sitting with crossed legs, was her Undead handmaid, Lesrin. A grey-skinned Wight with bright blue eyes.
"Your last move was quite impressive, your highness. I think I might lose this round,” she smiled at her.
Yússila remained silent. Once upon a time, that smile would have brought joy to her still heart. Now it only reminded her of the past she lost. And so she did not respond to her. There was no point conversing with a mirage after all.
Lesrin seeing Yússila’s non-response made her turn. Blood Knight to red-5, a desperate attempt to shield his King from its inevitable fate.
Yússila had already lost her Bat, the most powerful piece in the game. However, it was a necessary sacrifice to gain a tactical advantage. She now controlled the centre of the board.
Lesrin was too focused on collecting pieces that he forgot the real prize in Rasà — the Crown.
Using a chain of Skeleton pieces, Yússila managed to trap her opponents Bat by moving one of her Skeletons to green-7, trapping Lesrin’s Blood Knight and effectively exposing her flank.
Checkmate in four moves.
Lesrin laughed heartily, “I admit defeat. How about another round, your highness?”
Honestly, she hated playing Rasà — especially by herself.
With a simple flick of her wrist, her handmaid and the board faded from existence. That’s the beauty of illusion magic.
Playing Rasà against herself was getting tiring. Maybe she should think of a new game that needed less mana to simulate.
Her stomach grumbled all of a sudden. Yússila’s eyes went immediately to the plank of wood that served as a door to the hut. The sun was still out judging by the small amount of light peeping underneath her ‘door’. For now, she was trapped here till night-time.
Suddenly, a scurrying sound emerged below the ground. Part of the ground cracked. A fat forest rat peeped its head out of the newly formed hole.
Her mouth watered. It’s been a week since she last had a meal. The rat was a couple of steps away from her but she wasn’t in full strength to dash at it without risking the escape of the rodent.
Yússila closed her eyes and concentrated on her skin. She could feel the tiny pores around her body open up and release her pheromones into the air. Her scent dallied around Yússila before drifting stealthily towards the rat, guided using the least amount of mana.
The sweet lavender-like aroma finally reached the small creature.
The rat’s pink nose twitched. It sniffed the air around swayed its head as though a breeze of wind was passing by. Then the rodent crawled slowly out of his hole, with his eye closed still closed, and moved closer to Yússila.
This is how far Princess Yússila von Netsir, heir to the throne of Slavania, had fallen. Who would have imagined that her pheromones would be used to ensnare a measly rat? So powerful was her pheromones that Vampires of all ranks would be brought to their knees with a single whiff.
And yet she felt no shame. She had to survive after all. Besides, this wasn’t the first time she used this tactic to trap animals around here.
When the poor rat was at an arm's length, Yússila swiftly grabbed it and snapped its neck. Quick and merciful.
She opened her mouth to expose her vampiric fangs. They pieced the fat body of the rodent and she quickly slurped the red liquid that came forth. A bit bitter, she thought to herself, with a bad after taste.
Back in the day, she had a platter to choose from: Humans, Elves (her personal favourite), Dwarves and even exotic species like Sirens, Minotaurs and Demons to name a few.
She threw the dried up corpse at the once after she was done feeding. Her meal barely sated her appetite. Living in perpetual hunger was now the norm. Maybe it was a good thing that no one was here to witness her fallen state.
She settled down on a bed made from leaves and sticks, far cry to the silk mattress she once had.
This was no way of living. Oh, how many times had she been tempted to just run out of this hut while the sun was at meridian?
For once, she saw her immortality as a curse. At least if she could age, she would have long been dead or at least senile enough to not care about her current state.
But there was one thing that kept her strong during these troubling times. The only token from her kingdom she had left, her lute. She cradled the instrument close to her body as though she was holding a helpless child.
So long as she had her lute, she had a piece of Slavania with her. A reminder of why she had to stay strong. A reminder that she couldn’t let herself die. So long as she was alive, Slavania lived on.
Hours passed and the sun finally set. Yússila got up and after stretching for a few seconds, she stepped outside the hut. She felt something tugging on her hair. A wasp was trying to bury itself in it. She shooed the insect away.
Now coming to think about it, her hair was just too long. In fact, it reached around her waist, an unacceptable length for a lady of royalty. Her unruly silver curls were out of control. But trying to shorten her hair without proper tools was just too much work.
Instead, she went to the nearest pond to wash it. There was a lump of hare fat, a bit of lime and crushed flower petals mixed together to act as shampoo. Her own homemade mix. Being presentable at all times was paramount for her. She wasn’t a beast of the field that could live happily in their own filth. Yússila was a princess, royal blood was in her veins.
After rinsing off the last lump of the shampoo mix, she dried her silver hair using a tier 0 magic spell. She was barely using any mana. One good thing that came from all this wilderness survival was that it improved her mana control. Having to be more efficient with her powers have made her more frugal.
Lastly, she put on the same tattered royal robe she’s had since arriving here. A once beautifully red and ebony Slavan silk outfit was now a dirty brown rag that even peasants wouldn’t dare wipe their behinds with.
There was just one last thing to do to complete her routine. She walked about 50 metres from her hut and stopped at the energy barrier in front of her. This magical cage was spherically shaped; she knew that because she once tried digging underneath it only find out that it wasn’t simply a dome.
Yússila watched a lizard pass through the barrier. All living creatures could pass right through it and seem not to even notice the barrier is even there. Only a holy magic caster like a priest could break this seal.
Yússila extended her hand to touch the barrier, only to be met with an electric bolt coming from it. Officially, that’s about the 128,000 strikes from this barrier. Divide that by 320, the number of days in a year, and bam — that marks 400 years being trapped here.
There was now a glowing sigil in the shape of a triangle on her palm. It only appears when she touches this translucent barrier. This triangle marked her as though she was some common animal. Yússila sighed. There was no point of getting angry, she was only wasting her remaining strength.
The princess returned in silence. She lay on the cold grass and gazed at the night sky. The forest was quiet today. Any sound would be comforting now, even the music from a cicada.
She closed her eyes. Admittedly, she was tempted to cry. To let at least one blood tear loose.
Crying only attracts mosquitoes.
Yússila chuckled. For some reason, she was reminded of her late father’s words.
To commemorate this special day, her 400th year anniversary, what better way can a bard such herself do but to sing a poem?
“An Ode to Slavania:”
May the sun never rise again, May the songbirds be forever mute, Oy! Let the rivers run red with Human blood.
Slavania, my sweet-home — is gone: A land once showered with honey-scented Rues, And dashing, enlightened Undead creatures.
Into the ash, she has fallen But she shan’t be forgotten.
***
"There can never be peace between Vampires and Dragonborn. This millennial war will not end through mere words, princess. It will end when your kind kneels before us,” the Dwarven translator informed Yússila of what King Qonkor, leader of the Draconian Kingdom, had said.
“That’s unfortunate,” she lowered her cup of tea and stared at the king who killed her father in battle. “And here I thought you agreed to this meeting to end our family blood feud.”
The Dwarven translator converted her Slavan words into Draconia. Unfortunately, the Dwarf’s translation skills were mediocre at best. He instead translated to Qonkor, “This blood feud between us must come to an end immediately,” thus coming off a bit desperate.
Qonkor smiled rather smugly at the words he heard, “I’m sure we can come to some agreement. Your letters gave the impression that you were reasonable, for a Vampire. Just prostrate yourself before me and maybe I’ll consider a peace treaty. “
She would never prostrate herself before a mortal. Yússila would rather be crucified and left outside for the sun to burn her into ashes. The shame she would bring to her clan by kneeling to a creature that had a heartbeat would be too much to bear.
This meeting was not going according to plan. Having the King of Draconia agree to a meeting was one thing, having him agree to a peace treaty and not simply an armistice was another. Even though this Dragonborn killed her father and she had every right to seek a blood vengeance, for Slavania she needed to end this endless 1,000-year war.
Now was the time to bring out her trump card.
“Mu’klar xri jhaenor?” Yússila spoke in Draconia, her words could be translated as ‘how about we talk privately?’
The king’s brows went up.
“You speak Draconia?”
Of course she did. Yússila spoke over 12 languages. It was one of the ways to increase her bardic powers.
“Believe me, King Qonkor, it wasn’t easy. Even now my confidence is rather shaky. But Draconia has that beauty about it that I can’t describe. An elegance that isn’t found in my own language.”
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
“Well, Draconia is the language of dragons after all. Though I must admit, you’re not bad for a foreigner.”
Yússila glossed over the fact that she found Draconia inferior to her own mother tongue, Slavan. Slavan was just too sophisticated for mere mortals to understand. Even the Dwarven translator was struggling with Low Slavan, a dialect spoken by mortals which is far cry to proper Slavan.
But of course, flattery is one tool in the art of diplomacy.
“Thank you, King Qonkor, you’re too kind. The more I learn about Draconia, the more I fall in love with it. Even though I’m still struggling with ‘xr’ sound.”
She was over exaggerating. Thanks to her vampiric hearing abilities she could pick up even the subtlest sounds and mimic them. Most of the sounds in Draconia are at times tricky to produce, such as ‘xr’or ‘kl’ which is produced exclusively from the back of the throat and at times sounds like someone choking on a hairball. Talk about self-abuse.
“You’re not so bad, dare I say you are better than this Dwarf,” Qonkor chuckled at her.
“Speaking of the translator, how about we talk in private? Without the translator. I’m sure I can understand you.”
Qonkor nodded and the Dwarf left the study room.
“By the way, King Qonkor, I heard you recently flew so high up in the sky that your scribes claim you even saw the curvature of the planet with your very eyes. Is that true? I’m sure not one Vampire has ever done that.”
“Damn right!” he bellowed. “No Vampire could be so brave and strong enough to survive a place where the air is so thin that even eagles dare not approach. Many Dragonborn told me that it wasn’t possible, that no one has ever done that. And I showed those weak cowards how it is done.”
“I’m sure your Legend will spread across all the corners of the continent.”
“Indeed princess, such a great feat is expected of the King of Dragons.”
“And how did you prepare your body for such a difficult endeavour? I can’t imagine it was easy.”
Qonkor’s hostile body position, his crossed arms and a smug smile slowly washed away. He opened up and faced Yússila with a genuine enthusiastic smile as he spoke on and on about his achievements. He probably did not notice these changes but Yússila did.
And like an inquisitive child, she asked for all the details. And Qonkor being a person who loved the sound of his own voice happily answered everything. Not that she was particularly interested in Qonkor’s description of the curvature of the world. After all, Slavan philosophers had years ago proved the curvature of the planet through calculating the shadow produced from equal lengthened obelisks in different locations around the state.
Suddenly, a distressed knock came from the door.
“King Qonkor, it’s been over five hours. Are you alright?” one of his envoys asked behind the door
“Oh my!” Yússila gasped, “time has surely passed. They must surely think that I have murdered you by now.”
“Haha, well this conversation was quite pleasant. All is well, Xremia!” he shouted to the person behind the door. “Imagine you, Princess Yússila, a Bard, killing a Dragonborn Knight such as me.”
He laughed rather too heartily. While it was true that she couldn’t kill him in a one on one combat, but a saying goes in Slavania, the neck is not the only place to draw blood.
“Let’s drop the needless formalities, Yússila will do fine.”
“Then call me, Qonkor.” He stared at her for a few seconds before in a serious tone continued, “I’m curious, Yússila. Why did you choose the Bard class? It’s a rather odd choice for a Vampire, let alone one of royalty. Your father was a Blood Mage. He was able to kill several of my siblings with his magic. Do you plan on fighting your opponents by singing to them?”
The question took her by surprise. She wasn’t expecting him to ask such a personal question so soon. In any case, she was certain that Qonkor knew the reason. Everyone in Slavania knew about it. So why feign ignorance? Surely his informants scattered around the state must have whispered something to him.
Yússila locked eyes with this stern looking king. While she was wary on talking about herself, she preferred having him talk about himself actually, Yússila was certain that this question could be the key at getting through Qonkor.
“Since the founding of Slavania,” Yússila began explaining, “every single one of the twelve Vampire monarchs of the Netsir clan were daywalkers.”
“Daywalkers are vampires that can walk in broad daylight, right?”
“Yes. And my clan is the only one who has this ability — or should I say had. The Netsir clan members are also known for their prowess in blood magic but it was being daywalkers that enabled the founder of this kingdom, Koemilla von Netsir, to unite the Vampire Counts and other Undead lords under one supreme liege. Now the future 13th ruler, Princess Yússila von Netsir, is the first to be born without this ability, nor do I have a natural proficiency in blood magic. So, I chose to be a Bard in order to speak the languages of my mortal subjects. It’s the least a runt such as myself can do for her people. I hope that answers your question, King Qonkor. Not all of us are born with natural physical prowess.”
She had enough talking about herself. But looking at Qonkor, she noticed something unexpected. She expected the same scornful look that the Vampire Counts gave her. Instead, he looked… guilty? Guilty perhaps for even asking?
“I’m…” he trailed off and looked to the side.
“Sorry? Don’t be Qonkor. I’m the first in my family dynasty to understand the numerous languages of my people and need not a translator. Don’t they say in Draconia that dragons lose their flight not when their wings are clipped but when their hearts give up?”
Qonkor smiled, “You’re full of surprises.”
“Speaking of surprises, I have a gift of sorts.”
Curiosity filled his eyes. “A gift? You know I’m a rather a picky king. Only the finest gifts will suit me.”
Yússila rang her bell. Her handmaid came in carrying a large book.
“Fine looking book. But I have no interest in reading,” Qonkor remarked as Lesrin placed the book next to him.
Yússila kept quiet as she moved to sit next to Qonkor, their shoulders touching. She knew that Qonkor could not read, not that he didn’t want to read. A fact that her spies in the Draconian Kingdom found out.
She opened the book to reveal beautiful written pages, the finest work of her best calligraphers. The ink was a mixture of gold and syre, one of the most expensive inks.
“Out of curiosity,” Qonkor said as he stared at the pages before him, “what is this script?”
“Draconian.”
“But—”
“Yes, your people write using Dwarven runes. Highly inefficient as the Draconian language is too different from Dwarven. After all, the Dwarven language does not make use of compounding words in order to create more meaning, a feature prevalent in your tongue.”
“But why? Why would you create an entire script?” his eyes focused on hers.
“When I heard that most of your subjects could not read Draconia, I was heartbroken. Even in Slavania, my subjects cannot speak proper Slavan with its 21 tones but Low Slavan , which is less demanding, is used as the common tongue. I believe your people too deserve to fall in love with Draconia. Trust me, I can teach you how to read it in less than two hours. The writing system is alphabetic and really easy to learn.”
“What?!”
After about one hour of teaching him the basics, he already grasped most of the rules.
“In… the… beginning… the world was awash with lava and green flames….” Then he stopped. “Wait a minute, isn’t this the Draconian Story of Creation?”
She nodded. And for once, Qonkor was speechless. Yússila believed now was the right time to wrap things up.
“Qonkor, must we really continue this fighting? This blood feud, we can end it.”
“Why wouldn’t you wish to avenge your father and fight me in open battle? As our predecessors have done before us.”
“Because of my subjects, no, our people have suffered for far too long. If you really wish for my destruction, strike me now and you would end the Netsir dynasty. Here, take this silver blade and aim it at my heart.”
Qonkor went silent, he stared sheepishly at the blade she just pulled out.
“You’re no coward, Qonkor. Your advisors will tell you to continue this needless war. But I say, let’s make history together. Why should you follow the direction of spineless counsels who told you that you could never soar over eagles and see the world higher than anyone before? Imagine, Qonkor the Peacemaker as one of your titles.”
“I don’t know, Yússila…”
Yússila, without warning, wrapped her hand around Qonkor and squeezed it as though giving him a reassuring pat. For the finisher, she released just the right amount of pheromones from her skin. She only used her pheromones for very special occasion and this one was too important to let pass. She could see that Qonkor needed a little shove over the finish line.
“Trust me,” Yússila whispered.
Qonkor sniffed the air and the last gates of resistance opened, judging by his dilating pupils.
He nodded. “Let’s make history then, I will immediately inform my nobles that Slavania and Draconian Kingdom will be at peace.”
“Excellent, but there is a small favour I need from you.”
“You want his ashes, don’t you?”
“I trust you, but the Vampire Counts don’t. The cause for this millennial war was over those ashes. Think of it as a symbol of our new found friendship, a friendship between Draconian Kingdom and Slavania.”
Qonkor turned his eyes towards the book that Yússila made for him. A few moments passed with him just staring at it before opening his left free hand.
“Item Release!” a golden urn appeared on his hand. He then delivered the urn to a smiling Yússila. When her hands wrapped around it, a small gleeful giggle escaped her mouth. Finally, the ashes of the first vampire, the ancestor of all undead creatures was back home. Count Jèkula has returned.
She had achieved what the previous rulers of Slavania had failed to do. Not that she was gloating or anything. With this urn in her possession, any talk of rebellion by the Vampire Counts will cease. Her legitimacy to the throne was now established and they will no longer be able to come up with excuse for her not to be coronated. The silver-haired runt of Netsir had showed the futility of war and the importance of diplomacy.
Qonkor and Yússila made their way to the throne hall where their respective nobles were waiting for news that negotiations had failed. As usual, the two sides did not mix; the Vampire Counts were all standing on the left side of the hall while the Dragonborn were standing on the right. Both were eyeing each other aggressively.
“All hail Princess Yússila and King Qonkor!” the herald shouted, bringing all eyes to the front were Qonkor and Yússila were standing.
“We have important news. The war is finally coming to an end!”
Yússila let go of Qonkor’s arm and went over to the Vampire Counts.
“Princess Yússila, have you gone mad? At a time like this, we should be sending a clear message to those winged dogs,” Count Hemila said angrily.
He was truly a thorn to her side. Yússila knew that he was trouble the moment he said that her coronation be delayed until Slavania was at peace. The Vampire Counts through this endless war have steadily increased their powers. Their private retinues now matched the royal army. They were an important factor of why she chose to be diplomatic with the Dragonborn. By removing the need to fight, they will have no choice but to discharge their retinues.
Instead of arguing with him, she revealed the golden urn.
“Could this be…” one of the Vampire Counts asked.
“Yes, Jékula is back home. Ever since his death through dragonfire, the Dragonborn have refused to give back his ashes. This is why we fought the war, this is why our ancestors have been in constant war with the Dragons. Now we have his ashes, we need not to fight.”
“Honour should be preserved. If your father was still here, he would have continued this. In fact, none of your ancestors would have dared take this deal. But what can we expect from a vampire who can’t even use blood magic. Tsk.”
There were days that Yússila wished that she could spit at this man’s face, but doing so would give this vulture more meat for him to criticise her.
“Then, Grand Vizier Hemila, we should reject the agreement. In doing so, we must abandon any notion that we, Vampires, are a civilised species. If you truly believe we are nothing more than warmongers who take bestial delight in needless slaughter, you have my permission to tear the treaty apart. The reason we fought the Dragonborn, last I checked, was for these ashes. Now we have the ashes, you still wish to fabricate reasons to continue fighting for the sake of fighting itself. Dare I say, Grand Vizier, you share more in common with these Dragonborn than you care to admit?”
Yússila didn’t need to remind the other Vampire Counts that this very throne hall was a testament to Slavan ingenuity. Those three large crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling are made out of etherium, a rare synthetic crystals that emits a purple light that is toxic to Living creatures (the Dragonborn were given magic bracelets to protect themselves). Why use a crystal so notorious to produce for decoration? Because they could.
And the tapestry on the walls were not made out of gold. Such ‘precious’ metals were valuable to mortal rulers, for the undead they used adome – an alloy made from adamantine and orichalcum. Even the mirrors dotted around the throne hall were not made out of silver, which is so impure that it couldn’t reflect the magnificent image of vampires, were instead made from an aluminium base which was an actual pure metal.
There was no point in appealing to notions such as the ugliness of war or the suffering of the mortal subjects under Slavania, she had to strike at the very heart of the Vampire Counts’ pride.
Her words were now met with silence. A tingling sensation swept on Yússila’s back, this was the most confrontational she has been with the Vampire Counts. They were stronger than her, and the worse part was that they knew it.
Instead of Count Hemila responding, he became mute. It was Count Aeilana who was more of the neutral faction.
“Such wise words is expected from our princess,” spoke Lord Rekila, a lcih who is also the general of the royal army. Even the Vampire Counts respect him for the valour he showed in battle. “I believe that I speak for everyone here in saying that we are no friends with the Dragonborn but I believe after seeing their gesture as an opportunity for us to be at least civil. Slavania is a beacon of light in this dark continent riddled with dim-witted mortal creatures. Now is the perfect time to show how our kind is enlightened. Warfare for the warfare’s sake is not in our nature.”
A couple of nods come from the other Vampire Counts.
“Yússila! Oh, I mean Princess Yússila! Since you know how to speak Draconia language and you’re a bard, how about a song to show my nobles of your many talents?” said Qonkor behind her.
She turned to face him, but there was a problem. All eyes were on her. If she were to respond back in Draconia, in front of her court members, she’ll be seen as debasing herself by speaking a mortal language. But Qonkor and his entourage might feel slighted if she were to respond back in Slavan, after all Qonkor must have told them that she could speak Draconia.
“Princess Yússlia is not much of a singer, your lordship, more academic if you ask me,” Lesrin was the one who responded to Qonkor in Draconia. “I believe her lute skills should suffice. I’m sure, your lordship, you wouldn’t mind a musical piece that’s been inspired by the musician of Draconia?”
“Of course not!” Qonkor smiled.
Lesrin turned and winked at Yússila. She definitely owed Lesrin a favour for getting her out of that sticky situation.
Yússila simply nodded at Qonkor and then rushed to her royal chambers, going pass the numerous portrait in the hallway that depict her ancestors who built this nation with their bare fangs.
While she still had a long way in proving to her court that she was worthy of the Crimson Crown, she was willing to put in the work in order to show that she wasn’t a failure, at least not a total one. She already failed from birth by not acquiring the daywalker ability but she wouldn’t be twice a failure and have her realm fall into disaster. That she was certain of.
She reached her royal chambers. There was a reason why she didn’t send a servant to fetch her lute, that being her lute was the last gift from her father before he went into battle. She couldn’t let anyone touch it, not even Lesrin. In order to access it, there was a secret passage behind the fireplace that only she knew of. By pricking her thumb and letting her blood flow into a hidden hole in the wall, the secret passage is revealed.
There inside the secret room lay her beautiful lute. In Yússila’s eyes, it was the finest craftsmanship produced in Slavania; the wood came from the legendary Massil tree, and the strings were made from the guts of Elder Dragons. A fact that she was sure not to mention to Qonkor.
Before she forgot, she placed a small vial of Jèkula’s ashes in the room. There were rumours that Jèkula’s ashes had the power to resurrect any undead creature so long that a piece of their body was available. She’ll have the best minds investigate this rumour, if only to be able to bring forth her father. Till then, she’ll rule Slavania the best she can.
BOOOM!
The room shook so hard that it sent her face first to the floor. But she quickly recovered, as she was certain that the blast came from the throne hall. She got out of the secret room, leaving behind the vial inside rushed towards the throne hall. The hallyway was filled with black smoke, shattered glass lay everywhere on the floor and worse of all, her family potraits were all crumpled on the fall.
But to her surprise, Yússila witnessed something far worse. Outside, the palace gates were destroyed and a large mob was rushing towards the palace building. No, they were not a mob judging by their attires. They were all adventurers. Oddly, they were all human. It was odd because the royal capital was made out of 10% of humans. Most adventurers were non-Humans.
What shook Yússila to the bone was that these intruders were not met with any resistance. A skeleton army should have risen from the fields now. The stone golems surrounding the palace should be attacking the adventurers. What was going on? The defence mechanisms of the palace were not activating.
No matter, she rushed to the throne, but the closer she got, the concentration of silver powder in the air increased. She closed her eyes, but sensed no foreign entities.
She finally reached the main hall, only to be met with carnage. Blood everywhere. A sea of dismembered body parts greeted her. Pieces of intestines were on the ceiling. Dragonborn and Vampire bodies were all mixed together. From the looks of it, everyone was dead. The Vampire Counts and their spawns were also gone.
Surprisingly, Yússila’s chest began spasming. Sniff. The air was thick with silver powder.
In all of this, she remained calm. She didn’t flinch when she had to step over several charred heads or wince at an eyeball that was dislodged from someone’s skull. Her body was after all an animated corpse. Death was nothing to the undead.
But it was the sight of the urn, shattered into pieces and Jèkula’s ashes on the ground, mixed with debris and tainted blood, which made everything around her go black. She fell to her knees. Words failed to describe her current state.
That’s when she felt a familiar hand touch her arm.
"Princess, run away,” a voice said weakly. Yússila didn’t have the strength to respond.
The voice coughed violently, though desperate for air.
“Princess, please run away!”
Run away? But the ashes? Her family portraits? What was the point?
“Run away or else…. or else Slavania will come into ruin. And you’ll be at fault.”
Yússlia’s vision slowly returned. She turned to face this person, only to find Lesrin in a horrible state. Her head was removed from her body, and judging by her fading blue yes, Lesrin was not long for this world.
She had to run away. She could use a teleportation circle to transport her to the borders of the realm where she’ll be able to call forth her undead army to retake the city. Yússila got to her feet.
But what about Lesrin? She stared down at handmaiden’s head.
“Leave me, princess. Run! Long live, Queen Yú…” but Lesrin couldn’t finish her words in time as the blue in her eyes turned black.
Crying only attracts mosquitoes.
Yes, she had to remain strong. Besides, she still had some of Jèkula’s ashes in a vial in her room, so there was a chance of resurrected her later on.
There was no time to waste, Yússila bolted to the nearest teleportation room. Her vampiric abilities were hampered due to the silver in the air, so she had to run at a normal pace for a human. There were already adventurers around the palace and she avoided them at all cost.
Just as she was about to reach one of the nearest teleportation circles in the palace, an adventurer leaped from the shadows and swung a dagger at her. Yússila promptly dodged the attack and quickly struck the neck of the adventurer, careful not to kill him. Her tutors drilled in her that killing should only be done when necessary and no vampire must be wasteful.
She entered the room and activated the teleportation circle on the floor. It began to glow bright red. Yússila concentrated on the image of a fort at the border with the Draconian Kingdom since it was her destination.
Much to her chagrin, an adventurer entered the room followed by six others. She could feel her stomach drop. All of their auras were coloured gold with specks of white. It could only mean one thing, they all possessed the near mythical class in the world. They were Heroes.
One of them raised their hands up, “Heavenly Seal: Imprison All Evil!”
White light flowed from that magic caster and got directed towards Yússila. Just as the spell hit Yússila, the teleportation circle activated.
A blinding light flashed in front of her eyes.
She found herself in a strange forest. A dome like barrier then burst from Yússial’s chest and expanded for about 100 metres. A glowing triangle etched itself on her palm. She was hit, at least partially.
She was lucky to have survived that experience, teleportation magic is quite dangerous. Any interference could have easily lead to her death but somehow she managed through. Though she was certainly not in her designated position.
No matter, she was certain to break the barrier. She had her lute with her and could use it to amplify her magic. Maybe a couple of days at best or a month or two at worst.
For now, she had to build a temporary shelter to protect herself from the sun. Those human will pay for impudence soon enough.