As Alistaira’s escapades in Ars-Saihar were going on, there was another development taking place on the border between Darksol and Arbiana. The Sultanate had sent yet more parties of spies into the ‘Dark Empire’ with the intent to gather information that would aid them in any decisions made regarding what to do with their new neighbor. This was not exactly going so well for them, as ever since the first party had been ‘eliminated’ from the equation Alexis had arranged for patrolling colonies of Fel Bats to make perfectly sure that no one could slip by without missing a few limbs.
At this point, it was a bit of a running gag that the Sultanate would sent some gutter-trash ‘agents’ to scout for a way into Darksol, only for them to travel not even a mile in and be swarmed by tens of Fel Bats and reduced to shredded meat and viscera, only for the Sultanate to do the exact same thing a few hours later. In fact, the numbers of people sent past the fog-wall made it seem that either the Sultan had a limitless supply of bodies to throw at the problem or that they were just using condemned criminals as a tool. Either way, the Sultanate was unable to pass through that particular border, which led to Alexis lowering her guard and expecting that the ‘stupid mortals’ would be unable to come up with any other plans.
This, of course, was a mistake on her part and a result of the trademark arrogance that was prevalent in all of her kind. For, you see, while the Sultanate was sending people into the meat grinder in one place, they were sending much more valuable people across the sea to another. They were headed to the place that used to be one of the only areas with any desire, no matter how miniscule, to even associate with them. This place was, unbeknownst to the agents of the Sultanate, now ruled by five surviving Houses formed from their Primogenitor’s ‘gift’. It was a nation that was whole, yet also split into pieces. They wanted to meet with their sympathizers in what once was the Siempre Dorado Kingdom. What they would find would not be ‘Forever Golden’, but instead a young nation of born of and drowned in blood.
They would arrive expecting The Kingdom, but what they would find would be The Sanguinocracy.
…
The Sultanate agents docked their ship in a cave that their sympathizers had prepared decades in advance. Their arrival should have been met with fanfare by those who were supposed to be secretly staffing the dock, yet all that awaited the agents was a deathly silence so great that they could practically hear the beating of their comrades’ hearts. Even the waves that lapped on the stone and wood seemed to be attempting to be as quiet as possible, as if they feared the presence of some unspeakable horror that had taken up refuge in this place.
The agents were not fools; they realized that things were about to go sideways, but aboard their ships were great weapons that spat fire and death and each of them carried such weapons as well, although the handheld versions were much smaller and less powerful. Still, with such tools even the strongest of foes would be torn to shreds with a single volley, but even with these weapons at their disposal, the feeling of dread only grew ever stronger the longer they dallied in the seaside cavern.
“We need to move.” Said the captain of the ship that had been docked in the ever more haunting cavern. He had been in his job long enough to know when it was a very, very good idea to cut one’s losses and run, but he did not have the final say in this matter.
“Wait until we have finished unloading our assets, captain. We are moving as fast as we can; none of us want to be in this place any longer than we have to. We all feel that whatever caused this formerly safe haven to become this deathly quiet may still have a presence here and, almost certainly, has an eye on us. But we all have our jobs, so make ready to leave as fast as possible. We may not get much time to do so, should worse come to worse…”
Stolen novel; please report.
“Aye, I’ll have my crew make ready. Can’t wait to get out of this place…”
“Good evening, gentlemen.”
“What the-?!” “Who?!”
The seductive voice of a maiden fairer than any that the two men had ever heard echoed out from behind their post upon the top deck of the ship. Shocked, confused and also quite aroused, the two men, the captain and the spymaster, wheeled around and beheld a woman whose skin seemed the color of the moon itself, whose hair seemed to billow in the still air and whose sensuous form drew their eyes from one place to the next in an endless mobius loop of ocular groping.
“As flattered as I am that you find my body so agreeable, my eyes are up here. Do look deeply into them, and tell me what it is that you see, will you?”
The two men blushed in embarrassment as they forcefully moved their eyes to lock with hers, which was one of the worst mistakes they could have made. The moment their eyes found those of the mysterious woman, their own eyes went nearly vacant, as if they were lost in a waking dream.
“So… pretty…”
“Like… rubies in… a sea of… moonlight…”
The two men, the one leading the attempt to spy on the mainland and the captain of the ship that took them to their destination, were lost in the hypnotic gaze of the Founder of House Carmilla, and they would never escape. Elileth Carmilla drew closer to the men, the smell of blood filling her nostrils and whetting her appetite. The two fools had no idea that as they were lost in their waking dreamland that their men were being drained and devoured by a mixture of House Moreau vampires and those hideous mockeries of true vampiric greatness. She was appalled by how House Moreau had managed to coexist with those filthy bugs, but at least both of the more grotesque of the Primogenitor’s kin were being put to good use and hidden from the eyes of others.
She placed a single finger under the captain’s chin, lifting his jaw up and exposing his neck as the soon-to-be meal giggled and mumbled something about some woman he was no doubt fantasizing about. Elileth’s tongue extended like something out of a horror movie and slowly moved across the captain’s neck, the small barbs on it drawing blood to the surface just before the House Founder’s jaw unhinged and her serrated, shack-like teeth sunk into the captain’s neck. She enjoyed her foreign food for a while, slowly draining the life essence from her prey as the captain’s dream faded and his nightmare began. The morsel struggled just a bit before falling limp, but there was still more to consume.
Partially lost in her own meal, Elileth felt a spray of warm liquid hit her from the direction of the other mortal. Her eyes slipped out of the depths of extasy and noticed that the other meal was hanging like a limp doll in the air, impaled upon the talons of Grathe Moreau.
“Grz’kr nvrha krultz kvjrehnka.” Grathe growled in his House’s unique and practically untranslatable language.
“Oh? It broke free and was going to attack me?” Elileth replied. Only a vampire could understand the guttural speak of House Moreau, and Elileth was not just some random vampiress.
“Nrz kdsa mrmjiqy’na.”
“Oh, yes. Go right ahead. The taste of foreign food is a bit too much for me right now, and I couldn’t dream of drinking something you put your claws on. Go ahead, I’ll see myself out.”
Grathe huffed and used his free claw to pop off the head of the spymaster before guzzling the fountain of blood that came from the man’s neck like a college freshman trying to impress his fraternity by drinking indirectly from a beer-hose. Elileth and Grathe parted ways after that, but either they were unaware of or simply didn’t care that a few (un)lucky souls had managed to escape the slaughter.
Said men and women were now trapped in enemy territory with a mission to complete but no supplies or contacts to use to complete it. They had no assistance from home or from their current position and they would almost certainly be hunted both at night and during the day, but they knew they had to learn as much about the Darksol Empire as possible. Failure was not an option, and from that point on it was do or die.