- [The Water Channels Below the Vampire Lord’s Castle] -
A murky glow seeps through the narrow cracks of the stone ceiling, casting an eerie pallor over the labyrinthine channels below the Vampire Lord's castle. The air is thick with a strange miasma — an almost tangible presence that clings to the skin and fills the lungs with an unsettling chill. Water drips languidly from unseen sources, each droplet echoing through the dimly lit tunnels with a rhythmic persistence that mirrors the nervous heartbeat of the two adventurers who spare a moment to share a wayward, nervous glance.
“What do you think?” asks a woman’s voice. The duo — a seasoned thief and her scholarly companion — move with cautious intent through the subterranean maze. The thief's every step is calculated, her senses attuned to the subtle shifts in the damp air, while the scholar follows closely, clutching a leather-bound tome filled with arcane symbols and ancient maps. Their goal is simple yet fraught with peril: to find the rumored treasure hidden within the castle's depths.
“What I think is that this place is cold as a golem’s ass,” replies the scholar, clutching a series of scrolls against himself to keep them dry. “What is this?” he asks. “Some kind of sewer?” The man looks around himself. “Why does a vampire need a sewer?”
The thief shrugs. “Indigestion?” she replies.
He rolls his eyes. “Maybe after he drinks your skanky blood,” quips the man before letting out a sharp cry as her hands shove him from the side. His scrolls fly out of his grip, and he fights to keep his balance, almost falling into the running water.
They found what looked like a secret entrance to a hidden area outside in the gardens. Following the water channels that run through the gardens to the castle, there was a large, black metal grate that swung open and led inside into a subterranean space.
Cold, stagnant water laps at their boots as they wade through the channels, the thief's sharp eyes scanning for any sign of passage or trap. The scholar, his brow furrowed in concentration, occasionally pauses to consult his book, the flickering torchlight casting dancing shadows over its yellowed pages. “It’s interesting,” he mutters, flipping a page as he shows her a crude drawing — like a map. “The notes from back then, the last time the castle was here, didn’t say anything about these water channels,” he explains, tapping the page of the tome that talks about the old Vampire Lord from back in the far past.
She shrugs, not sure if that’s relevant information or not, and says nothing to it.
The air is cool, almost biting, with a dampness that seems to seep into their bones. The stone walls are slick with algae, the subtle green film sticking to everything, including the smell of the air.
Hissing pipes run all around them, the black metal intermingling with old copper as they seem to be in a half state of exchange. Steam and water run through them, heading into the castle in all directions.
A sudden ripple disturbs the stillness of the running water, a whisper of movement beneath the surface that sends a jolt of fear through the thief. She halts, her heart racing as she exchanges a glance with her companion — his eyes wide, reflecting the dim glow of their flickering torch she’s holding. The air grows thicker, charged with tension.
The scholar shifts uneasily, his grip tightening around the tome. “Do you feel that?” he whispers, his voice trembling as he glances over his shoulder, the sound of dripping water echoing ominously in the silence.
Just as he speaks, a dark shape surges forth from the depths — a grotesque silhouette formed of shadows and scales. It strikes out with surprising speed, a blur of movement that sends a cascade of water splashing against the stone walls.
The thief reacts instinctively, pulling her companion back as they stumble away from the unseen threat. Panic surges within her, the adrenaline coursing through her veins as they sprint down the narrow channel, the water splashing around their legs.
“The hell was that?!” he screams, loose papers and pages flying out of his rucksack as they escape.
“Don’t know! Move!” she shouts, glancing back over her shoulder at the black shape that swims through the water channel at their side after them.
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The passage narrows, the walls closing in on them, but ahead, a wider expanse beckons — a vast underground lake glistening under the flickering light of their torch. The thief skids to a halt, her eyes wide with a blend of hope and dread. “We can hide there,” she suggests, her voice strained. The scholar nods, his face pale as they make their way toward the lake, its surface eerily calm despite the chaos that swirls through their minds.
This place is cold. There is a depth to the chill here that is unfathomable.
The air around them shifts, the temperature dropping as they approach the water's edge. A chill wraps around them, prickling at their skin and filling the atmosphere with a sense of foreboding. The lake reflects the dim light like a dark mirror. They pause at the shore, the thief scanning the surface for any sign of the shape that chased them.
Just as they think they’ve escaped, the water begins to roil, churning violently as a monstrous figure erupts from the depths. Fangs glint in the torchlight, and scales shimmer ominously.
It lunges with a deafening roar, the sound reverberating through the underground passages.
In that moment, time stretches. The thief's instincts scream at her to move, to escape. Her world view narrows in to nothing but the primal urge to survive, and she is left with only one option.
She shoves her colleague toward the shape and bolts away by herself, ignoring the wretched screaming that chases after her like a ghost.
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- [Vampire Lord Inkume] -
An adventurer has been defeated in your castle! The following items have been added to your treasury: • 2 [Obols]
“Oh, strawberry!” notes the Vampire Lord, cheerfully delighted and surprised. It’s not what he expected.
“I’m glad you like it!” says the witch, sitting down across from him on some cushions on the floor seating arrangement they’re at.
She stares at him blankly for a second and then gets up again, only a moment after having sat and walks back to the hearth.
The air carries a sweet, intoxicating fragrance — a blend of sharp petals and warm soil, wafting through the windows of the small hut from the garden where rare bloodflowers have begun to bloom. Their crimson hues stand out against the dark soil, vibrant yet ominous, thriving in the aftermath of countless fallen adventurers. All of the spilled blood out in the gardens has begun to have an effect on the plants, such an appearance of these. They’re an object of personal pride for the gardener.
[Bloodflower] An ominously dark crimson flower, Bloodflowers are plants that have specialised in the digestion of iron-rich blood, giving them a vibrantly ruby hue. Given the obvious warning signal they represent, bloodflowers are seen as danger markers for travelers and adventurers who will go far out of their way to avoid any patches — and whatever else has created them.
The Vampire Lord reclines in an old wooden chair, its surface weathered yet dignified, while sipping a delicate cup of tea brewed from the very blossoms that surround him. He’s come over to meet the witch who has entered his employ.
She seems like another enigma, given that she speaks a language from his old world. Maybe ‘travelers’ aren’t so rare here in this world, like himself or Fi-F and now her. Or maybe they are, and his position as Vampire Lord just happens to be a magnet for them for whatever reason.
He’s not sure.
Across from him, Hwa-Young, the witch, sits back down, cross-legged on a cushion woven from strands of midnight silk, and sets down a freshly made teacup next to her already existing two others. She keeps getting up and making herself new ones. Perplexed, she stares at the full cups for a moment and then watches the Vampire Lord with amused curiosity, the edges of her lips curling slightly as she takes a sip from her own cup — her tea infused with herbs from the deepest parts of the garden. The moon filters through the windows, casting dappled shadows that dance over their faces.
The Vampire Lord studies Hwa-Young, intrigued by her enigmatic aura and the power she possesses. He senses a depth to her, a collection of secrets that she guards closely. He leans forward, setting the cup down on a small table adorned with intricate carvings.
“So what brings you to my domain?” he asks, taking another sip. The tea doesn’t give experience points like real blood does, likely because the plant has already processed whatever 'magic’ is innate to the blood. But it tastes nice, so that’s something.
Hwa-Young blinks slowly, her gaze confused as she processes for a second, and then lights up. “I have come to make a school to pass on my teachings!” she explains. “It is very dangerous to be a witch. The art is reviled, and trying to pass on my craft outside of a safe place would be the death of me.” She gestures towards the blooming flowers, their petals glistening with night dew. “I would become like them.”
The Vampire Lord nods. “Are you evil or something?” he asks.
Hwa-young stares blankly, her teacup freezing at her lips. Nothing happens. She just sits there, the red liquid splashing against her face.
Then, after a second, she sets her cup down next to the other two and gets up, going to the pot to make a new cup again. But this time the pot is empty after already filling four cups. “Huh…?” she ponders, confused, scratching her head.
Inkume tilts his head, watching her. She seems exceptionally forgetful. “There’s still tea here,” he notes, looking at her several cups by her spot.
She looks back, staring at them for a second. “Oh!” says the witch, and then she returns, sitting back down.
The witch looks back at him. “Do you like it?” she asks him for the third time as he takes a sip of his tea.
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
“Yes, thank you,” replies Inkume. There’s clearly something damaged in her mind; her forgetfulness reminds him of his past life’s experience of interacting with an early-stage alzheimer’s patient. “Why are you here?”
Hwa-Young blinks slowly, her gaze confused as she processes for a second, and then lights up. “I have come to make a school to pass on my teachings!” she explains. “It is very dangerous to be a witch. The art is reviled, and trying to pass on my craft outside of a safe place would be the death of me.” She gestures towards the blooming flowers, their petals glistening with night dew. “I would become like them.”
“Why?” he asks. “What’s different about witches?”
She shakes her head. “We are unliked and dangerous.”
“Mood.” The Vampire Lord holds his teacup. “…Is it wise to make more of you, then?” he asks.
She leans forward toward him, smiling. “Yes! Very wise! There are no possible repercussions!” assures the witch eagerly, nodding her head. “I can make the Master many potions and brews!” explains the witch with a sudden feverish excitement. “ — If I have students, we can produce enough for all of your monsters!”
She turns around, quickly crawling a few steps across the room on all fours toward a bag that she starts rummaging through and pulls out a glass vial that she carries sideways in her mouth like a dog with a bone before coming back, spitting it out and eagerly holding it out to him. “I made this tonight as a test from mushrooms I found in the basement!” she explains eagerly, despite informing him that he has mold in his castle. “The lab is very beautiful!”
[{Potion} Berserker Potion]
Upon drinking or application, it causes the user to be filled with a violent cascade of hormones and a severe drop in serotonin, resulting in a numbing of the prefrontal cortex and the rapid onset of extremely mindless, violent agression.
All pain is numbed out, and damage is increased significantly.
This affect applies to both living and corporeal undead entities.
Volume: 200mL Value: 30 Obols
“…Should you be putting that in your mouth?” asks Inkume quietly.
She points at the bottle with one hand, her eyes coming to life as she lightly swirls it around with the other. “If we put this on a zombie, it will turn into a violently rabid ghoul!” explains the witch, happily. “They will be very deadly!” she says with keen interest as she nods her head, crawling forward closer toward him, her eyes alight. “It will be horrific!” she exclaims, as if she were excited about a holiday season to come.
Inkume, leaning back a little as she proudly holds the bottle out toward him as if it were a personal treasure, nods and then takes it from her with the tips of his fingers.
It’s a constant arms race, keeping the base line undead strong enough to repel the adventurers. The black metal from the mine forged into weapons and armor has helped a lot, but more is needed. The adventurers are already starting to adapt their tactics and combat styles to deal with this new situation.
“...I see,” he replies, awkwardly taking a sip from his tea as she beams his way, still hovering deeply within his personal space.
Her face falls blank, and she stays there, just hanging where she is like a statue for a moment as her eyes glaze over.
Confused, he sets the potion down and grabs her shoulder, lightly shaking her awake. The witch Hwa-Young’s eyes light up again, and she looks at him, quiet for a second.
“OH!” she shouts. “The Master!”
Immediately the witch jumps up to her feet, grabbing the edge of her dress as she curtsies toward him. “I am the Witch of the White-Fog, Hwa-Young. Please, let me get you some tea!” she exclaims as if she were just seeing him for the first time ever, despite them having been sitting here for half an hour already.
She quickly spins around, stumbling over the collection of tea cups by her cushion, and falls over, glass cups kicked across the floor and a puddle of ruby-colored tea splashing in all directions.
Before she hits the ground, Inkume catches her, using his extremely specific ability. The potion, however, flies out of his hands and out the window, splashing into the soil where it seeps deeply into the roots of the plants outside.
“Are you okay?” he asks, holding her; her hat lands back down from the air, flopping over the front of her skyward-looking face.
Lying there, the witch makes a strange pinching gesture with her index finger and thumb his way that he realises after a confusing second looks like a small heart. “Oh! The Master can understand me?” asks the witch, surprised and happy, despite them having been talking for all of this time. “Then I must work even harder!” she explains, lifting the lid of the hat off of her face. “So that I can talk to someone again. It has been a long time!”
Outside of the hut, a group of snooping adventurers scream as an otherwise gentle flower turns particularly violent in the flash of a second.
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It is later that same night.
What a busy life.
A serene quiet envelops the bathing chamber high within the castle's spires, where the air is warm and scented with faint traces of lavender and chamomile. The light is dim, softened by the glow of flickering candles set into ornate sconces, casting gentle reflections across the surface of the water. The Vampire Lord steps inside, his footsteps silent on the cool stone floor, his gaze sweeping the room with a practiced caution that comes from past mishaps and unwelcome surprises.
His mistake last time was to just enter the bath without checking if it was occupied first. First Snatch, then Bark. But this time, he’s learned his lesson.
It looks clear.
The bath — a grand pool of marble and onyx — lies undisturbed, its calm, bubbling surface smooth and inviting. He approaches with the grace of a predator, pausing at the edge to ensure the room remains empty, save for the comforting presence of steam rising from the water. Satisfied that no mischievous spirits or intruding servants lurk within, he allows himself a rare moment of relaxation.
Inkume sheds his robes, the fabric whispering against his skin as it falls away, revealing the alabaster perfection of his God-chiseled form. The perfect Vampire Lord steps into the bath, the warm water embracing him like a familiar lover, soothing the tension from his muscles as he sinks beneath the surface. He lets out a quick hiss that then turns into a long sigh.
Being the Vampire Lord is very stressful. If the adventurers, dark prophecies, and great heroes of the world don’t get you, then the hypertension sure will.
The heat seeps into his bones, a balm against the chill of his eternal existence, and he closes his eyes, surrendering to the tranquility that envelops him.
The chamber is alive with the gentle sounds of water lapping against the sides of the pool and the occasional drip of condensation falling from the vaulted ceiling. The Vampire Lord breathes in deeply, savoring the mingled scents of herbs and minerals, allowing his thoughts to wander freely in the solitude.
With each breath, the tension of the night dissipates, leaving in its wake a sense of calm. The water cradles him, buoyant and forgiving, and he lets himself drift in the quiet.
Finally, a moment just to himself.
He’s finished reading his book. He’d better return it to the library soon; his deadline is coming up, and it doesn’t look like the librarian plays around. Maybe he’ll get a new one next?
Actually, he should talk to Fi-Fi about Enfangled. She seems to have read the first ones; maybe they can make an exchange of some kind?
There’s still the matter of that weird knight; she’s still inside the mirror dimension, fighting like a champion to his surprise.
Then there’s the doll. He hasn’t seen or heard a word from her since Snatch realigned her joints.
At least he’s handled the issue of Azalea’s brother, which solves one of his problems.
A good master’s work is never done, is it?
— But that can all wait until tomorrow.
Inkume leans back, a wooden duck floating past him in the water as he closes his eyes and finally starts to relax.
Then the door to the bath slams open.
“I’m telling you! There’s a bath here, look!” calls a girl’s eager voice.
Inkume dives beneath the precipice of the bath’s edge, his eyes going wide as he hears a collection of people — adventurers. “Oooh~!” calls another one, sounding amazed. She has the deeper camber of a dark elf. “This must be a safe room!”
“It’s so beautiful!” cries another adventurer from their party. “Can we stop here? Just for a little while? I haven’t had a real bath since we left the city,” she pleads.
The Vampire Lord, his face half submerged in the water to hide, stares blankly at the eyes of the wooden duck that mockingly stares back his way.
Why does he even bother?
“Wait. It might be a trap,” says one nervously.
Inkume nods to himself. That’s right. It might be. Go away.
They talk amongst themselves, caution growing in their discussion. But then one of them opens a window displaying the room’s information and reads over the listed text in the status. Interestingly, it’s similar to what he is shown about the room but is missing some additional context that is relevant to him as the master of the castle. “‘Safe room’,” reads one of them. “We’re okay.”
Damn it.
“Last one in has to sort the loot!” shouts one of them, the others starting to protest as leather and fabric hit the floor, the pattering of running feet and bodies evident against the stonework. A second later, water splashes everywhere as a collection of people jump into the bath, laughing and splashing amongst themselves.
Inkume dives beneath the soap and foam-obscured water, dodging out of the way of a mess of kicking and swimming legs as he sinks to the bottom of the bath like a rock.
[I Can Do This Forever!] Passive Ability
• In order to impress people with your significant physical abilities, you can hold your breath underwater forever!
Great.
The Vampire Lord sits there below the water and stares around himself, thinking of what to do now as muffled voices and chatter come from above. He watches them swim around for a moment before looking away before he sees too much — he’s a man of honor, after all.
His eyes catch a drain, and he gets his escape plan.
A moment later, he turns into a black, water-logged rat that swims toward the pipe and is sucked in through the grates.
Surrounded by rushing water, he collides around a long, dark pipe, hurtling against the walls, and bends as the surge carries him downward far, far through the bowels of the castle. He weaves through a hundred intersections, gravity and water pressure choosing his path for him as he drops into the abyss below the castle.
Moments later, a bleak, glowing light emerges and he’s spit out from an opening. The rat Vampire Lord spirals through the air, squeaking in protest as it splashes into a lake of icy cold, frigid water.
He transforms back, spluttering water out of his mouth, his wet hair draped over his face as he swims to the surface and treads his way out of the underground lake.
Inkume looks around himself. “Where am I?” mutters the Vampire Lord, his hands on his hips as he stares at the place he’s never been before.
[Underground Castle Cistern]
{Ice, Rock, and Demon Spawning Zone}
Nestled deep below the crushing weight of the Vampire Lord’s castle is an old passage of water channels and reservoirs, full of enchanted water rich with magical power from years of dripping residue collecting here below the horrific source of dark power above. The magic-infused runoff water has seeped into the soil, into the bedrock, and created a unique, pseudo-natural environment that is rich in magic.
This area is active. Monsters are spawning here. Treasure: Unplundered
“Snatch,” says Inkume.
A second passes, and then the ghost pops up next to him. “Yes, M- Ma… Mas…” She stops, clutching the sides of her head as she starts to wheeze. “Am I supposed to be naked too?”
He looks at her melting face. “…My clothes are back up in the bath,” explains the Vampire Lord. “Please get them.”
She stares. “Yes, Master,” replies Snatch let down, but then never goes anywhere, quietly laughing as she melts.
Inkume’s finger taps on his thigh as he waits. “...Now?” he adds for clarification.
“Oh! Right!” Snatch pops away and then vanishes a second later.
Inkume looks around the area. There is an odd presence in the air — magic, but it’s different than the magic from his castle. It feels older and more forgotten — cold.
This must be where the water from all the castle collects, like he saw back below the forge the other night.
Snatch reappears, holding out a bundle of clothes, almost dissapointed.
“Snatch,” says Inkume dryly, taking the fabric from her hands. He unfurls it, letting it fall down in front of him. “This is a dress,” he notes, showing her the long gown covered in the marks of battle and exploration.
She took the clothes of one of the adventurers.
Snatch clutches her hands together. “Everything suits you, Ma-Master,” she pants, her mouth dripping. “I think you could wear it well!” she encourages.
He lifts an eyebrow. “Snatch.”
“— Right!” she agrees and pops away again, taking the dress back with her. A moment later, she returns, holding his things. “Can I dress you, Master?” she asks, gasping for air.
Inkume takes his things. “Thank you, Snatch. I think I’ll manage,” he says. The Vampire Lord buttons himself back up. “Where are we?”
“Below the castle, Master. This is a bad place to be,” she explains, holding herself as if she could feel the cold in the air.
“Let me guess, because it’s haunted?” he asks.
Snatch looks at him. “That’s silly, Master,” she replies, shaking her head. The Vampire Lord looks at her in exasperation. “It’s not haunted,” explains Snatch, flying closer toward him and then latching on to his shoulder as she hides behind him, clinging to his back. “It’s possessed. Demons,” she finishes.
“Demons?” asks Inkume. Snatch nods, sticking to him like a clingy film.
Damp paper covers the ground all around them, but the ink is smeared and illegible. It looks like someone was here recently.
Something surges through the water behind them — a black silhouette. But neither of them see it.