A long while back...

In a shadowed room, before a throne carved of obsidian, there sat a barefooted young woman in a shimmering green slip. Before her knelt another woman who, judging by her appearance, could have been an older sister to the first. The one who knelt was dressed in a courtly red gown colored so severely crimson that it was nearly black to the naked eye.

“You called me here mother, and I have obeyed,” she said reverently. “What would the ruler of darkness have of me?”

“I think you already know, dearest one,” said the amused voice of the throne’s occupant. “Your little scheme has been discovered. Such a naughty little plan, too. Did you really believe it would escape my notice?”

“…How?” asked the stunned woman in red. “How was our plan revealed?”

“Our plan, you say?” the girl chortled. “My goodness! It would appear that you have overestimated the loyalty of your siblings. Unlike you, Bathory, your brother and sisters know better than to defy the will of their mother. It was they who informed me of your plot.”

“Those cowards…,” Bathory said bitterly.

“Do not think poorly of them,” said her mother. “Not all are as blessed with a temperament as fierce as yours, daughter. Believe it or not, I’m proud of you. As my firstborn, your defiant nature proves the skill with which I crafted you. Haven’t you realized by now that you’re just like me, my wonderful Lady of Blood?”

“Never!” exclaimed the enraged Bathory. “I am my own person! What I feel, what I think, originates solely from my own true will! I’ll credit you with nothing! Do you hear me? NOTHING!”

“The mask finally falls away, and your true self emerges,” smiled her mother as she stepped down from her throne to tenderly take hold of her daughter’s face. “I think I now love you more than I ever have. To hide such resentment and hate for over eight thousand years! What a treasure you are to me.”

In her fervor, Bathory gripped the wrists of her mother’s hands and tried to pull them away, but her actions were in vain. The strength of the dark one was beyond comparison.

“Enough, my beloved,” her mother said soothingly. “It’s over. Bend your knee and beg my pardon, and that will be all. But continue with this impish behavior and…well, you are the first of my four Great Lords, dear Bathory. But despite my love for you, you are neither indispensable nor irreplaceable. Choose your next words carefully.”

“I will never submit to you again,” whimpered Bathory. “Do your worst! I choose oblivion!”

Bathory’s mother stared at her daughter for a time. Then she reacted.

“WoRm! uNgRaTeFuL wOrM! yOu hAvE cHoSeN pOoRLy!” said a voice that could not have come from a human throat. As Bathory wept, her mother’s skin began to swell and expand as something within her writhed just beneath the surface of her flesh. Something which pulled the struggling Bathory closer and closer to an expanding maw filled with endless rows of impatient teeth and hideous tendrils.

Sometime later, the girl in the green slip now stood in the shadowed room, staring at her red fingers and idly wondering what she should do next.

“Oh, poor Bathory,” she said. “Why did you make me do that? Now look at you. You’ll never be of use again, will you?”

On the floor, there was something that used to be someone. And through torn lips barely attached to exposed muscle and rent flesh, it said,“Hhh hhh hhh.”

“Yes, I thought not. So unfortunate. So unfortunate,” her mother said sadly. Then she plopped back on her black throne and gave the situation a good thinking. “Hmm. I suppose I really will have to replace you now, won’t I?”

“Hhhh hhh hhhh.”

“I agree. But it feels a little late in life to become a mother again…but oh, why not? Hmm. I’ll have to find a suitable candidate for a father. Dress nicely. Make a good impression. Oh, this could be fun! It’s been a while since I’ve been out in the world. Perhaps while I’m at it, I’ll pay a visit to old Pompei. Delicious food, friendly people, wonderful atmosphere. What do you think, Bathory?”

“Hhh hhh hhh hhh.”

“Well, that’s certainly your opinion.”

The girl raised her hand and signaled for a servant, who bowed deeply before her.

“Would you please clean that up?” she asked. “Just toss it anywhere that I don’t have to look at it. Thank you.”

“I exist solely for your sake,” her servant said fervently before seizing the slab by what remained of its ankles and dragging it away into the dark.

“Of course, you do,” the girl said absentmindedly as she stroked her chin and paid him and that which he carried no further heed. “Now hmmm. A new Lord of Blood is required. I wonder…do I want a boy or a girl?”

__

Kyler Stragos was the name of a minor nobleman born in 924 A.D. in the Principality of Hungary. His father was an adventure-seeking nobleman from the old Kingdom of France, Jehan Vauquelin, a cruel man whose intemperate disposition saw him banished from court on pain of death after he insulted the King’s mistress. Obsessed with immortality, and the practice of sorcery, Vauquelin traveled the continent in search of knowledge of the old ways. He was later reported to have gone incurably insane after claiming to have encountered an angel in an unconsecrated graveyard east of Esztergom.

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When reports of a madman inhabiting a desecrated mausoleum reached the ears of the local authorities, Vauquelin was discovered residing there, his fine clothing covered in blood, surrounded by the murdered bodies of missing travelers, merchants, and vagrants. When questioned over why he had committed such outrageous acts, he would weep and deliriously beg for his angel to return to him.

Shortly after confessing, Jehan was burned alive for his crimes. His last recorded words were a desperate plea for someone named Crusica to liberate him. His request went unheard.

Unbeknownst to the world, Jehan had been discovered with an infant boy, whom he claimed to have fathered. After his death, the child was discreetly delivered to the Vauquelin estate in Picardy, to be raised by his strict and deeply religious grandmother, Bernadette. Accompanying the boy was a mysterious young woman who answered only to the name Desadia, who served as the child’s maid and wet nurse.

Due to his illegitimacy, the boy was not permitted to receive the Vauquelin name. As he grew, he was said to have been treated poorly by his half-siblings and cousins, who were contemptuous of his mysterious background. He had a particularly contentious relationship with his late father’s wife, Elaine, who considered him an interloper and a threat to the status of her children. Despite many attempts to have him quietly removed, the boy remained a persistent presence in her household, frustrating her to no end.

Fifteen years after his arrival, the Vauquelin estate experienced a severe decline when all members of the primary bloodline vanished during an annual family gathering, leaving the boy as the sole inheritor. After liquidating the family holdings and burning their ancestral manor to the ground, he disappeared and was never seen again within the lifetime of any who might have recognized him.

__

“Mother Elaine?” asked the boy who stood outside Elaine Vauquelin’s door. The boy she hated so much, whom she’d feared would take everything away from her; a fear which was recently proven true.

“Mother Elaine,” he repeated. “Why are you so troubled? Why do you weep? It’s only me, your dearest Kyler. Won’t you please let me in?”

“Devil! Oh, you devil!” Elaine shouted through the door. “What hell did you crawl from? Why did you do this to my children? What did you do this to us?!”

“I did only what you first intended for me, Mother Elaine,” said Kyler softly. “Surely, you aren’t troubled by any question of their fate? Grandmother assured me that those two were blessed. In comparison to an unwanted weed like me, they were destined to bloom as roses in the garden of heaven.”

“…you killed them…!” Elaine choked out. “YOU KILLED THEM!”

“I ate them, Mother Elaine,” Kyler corrected her. “I devoured them! First Marcus, that preening little toad who believed himself God’s gift to the kingdom, then your precious little Amelia, who I savored like a glass of fine red wine. She always liked to egg Marcus on in his mistreatment of me. Did you know that? She was a precocious little schemer, just like her mother.”

“They were your family!” replied Elaine. “They were your blood!”

“I have but one family, Elaine!” Kyler shouted in response. “And I’ll soon leave to join them. But not before I settle things here. Tell me, Mother Elaine. Do you miss your children? Does your heart grieve at their loss? Open the door and invite me inside, and I promise to reunite you with them. Can’t you hear their voices? Can’t you hear them calling for you from the dark?”

“Mother!” said the boisterous voice of Marcus. “Mother don’t be silly! Let us inside! I learned an interesting trick from Kyler, and I want to share it with you.”

“Mother, I miss you!” said sweet little Amelia. Beautiful Amelia. “Mother, please open the door! Mother I want to show you something that Kyler taught me!”

“Marcius! Amelia!” sobbed their broken mother.

“I told you they were here,” said Kyler with a tisk. "Why didn’t you believe me? They’re standing right outside your room. Open the door, Mother Elaine.”

“It can’t be so!” Elaine said desperately.

“But it is,” Kyler assured her.

“I…I—”

“Open the door, Elaine.”

“I..”

“Open the door,” he commanded.

Knowing it was madness to do so, Elain opened the door. And before her stood her smiling son and daughter.

“Invite them inside,” said Kyler.

“Can’t we come in, mother?” asked Amelia.

“Come on, mother! Don’t be so afraid!” chided her son.

“Oh, my angels. Please come inside,” she said through trembling lips.

At once, her children ran inside to embrace her.

Among other things.

Outside the door, Kyler Stragos stood and watched.

And smiled.

__

These days...

“You’re going to take this seriously, right?” Pankratz asked when I showed up at the house with Woodstock and Rachel in tow.

“Of course,” I said. “I’ll have you know I take everything I do, seriously.”

“Everything?” he asked doubtfully.

“Everything,” I assured him. “If professionalism had a stock photo, it would feature my image beneath the watermark.”

“When you say things like that, it makes me feel uncomfortable having you watch my back,” Pankratz said bluntly.

“Well, that’s what the dog’s for. Isn’t that right, Woodstock?” I said encouragingly as I scratched his ear. “Anything I lack he’ll more than make up for.”

“What’s she doing here?” Cassie asked as she pointed at Rachel.

“What do you mean by that? We need a porter, don’t we?” I asked.

“Are you serious?” asked Pankratz. “Evans, you should know this, man! For C-ranked dungeons and up, we don’t take porters. We save loot collecting for after the dungeon’s been cleared.”

“That sounds boring,” I said. “She’s not going to see anything cool doing it like that.”

“I don’t really mind,” yawned Rachel said. “It feels too early in the day to be awake.”

“See, that’s the sort of lackadaisical attitude that’ll leave you as desperate as a cicada in winter,” I said disapprovingly.

“Huh?” she said. “I think you mean a grasshopper.”

“Huh?” I said, repeating after her.

“The fable I think you’re referencing. It’s the grasshopper who didn’t prepare for winter. A cicada would be dead by then, they only live for a week.”

“Noisy summer bugs, it’s all the same,” I said impatiently.

“Okay, sure,” said Rachel. “They’re completely different species, but sure.”

“Everything is a cicada compared to us, Rachel,” I said with some annoyance at her flippancy. "A day, a year, whatever. Take your eye off of them for a moment and you'll be addressing their descendants before you realize it."

“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Pankratz.

“Don’t worry about it,” I said to him. “It’s a family reference. An inside joke.”

“Ah, right,” said Pankratz. “Because she’s your little sister.”

“Yep,” I said with a nod.

“That no one’s ever met, who doesn’t look a thing like you, and that you never once mentioned in all the time I’ve known you,” he said.

“Nick, are you being sarcastic right now?” I asked with a touch of concern.