- [Vampire Lord Inkume] -
Magic pours from his hands.
Fog coils around the ancient gravestones, a thick veil that softens the edges of their weathered surfaces. The chill of the night bites through the air — a coldness that seeps into bones and lingers like an unwelcome guest staying twenty minutes past their desired time of departure. Shadows twist and writhe among the broken grave markers, their jagged forms resembling fangs clawing up through the muddied soil. The land itself seems to breathe, exhaling dark magic into the night like a bleak miasma.
There’s something special about this land, but hell if he knows what it is. However, there’s a reason the original Vampire Lord’s castle was made here and not anywhere else — some aspect of forgotten history that he isn’t privy to. But what matters to a pragmatist like him is the immediate effects of this fact, and that is that the very dirt here below the castle is innately tinged with dark magic. It makes it the perfect spot for the castle to appear — like a mushroom sprouting out from a grave. In a way, it’s like hallowed ground, but for, well, evil.
— Not that he’s evil, of course. But it’s just the gig.
Vampire Lord Inkume stands at the center of his creation, arms raised, fingers curled like the talons of some predatory beast. His gaze is fixed, unwavering, as he channels the dark magic that pulses through the graveyard.
The old bones beneath the dirt stir to his call, imbued with newfound strength and purpose. He requires more powerful servitors, creatures that can defend his domain with tooth and claw. Ever since his arrival here in this world, the ghouls and zombies have awoken to do his bidding. But they, like the hollow armors and skeletons, aren’t keeping up pace anymore in their original states.
The graveyard hums with energy, a low vibration that thrums through the very ground. Mausoleums rise from the mist like sentinels, their stone faces etched with runes that twist in arcane patterns. The air is heavy with the scent of damp rot and the faintest whiff of something metallic.
Inkume lowers his arms, the fresh magic settling into the already saturated ground like a beast finally laid to rest.
[Graveyard Upgraded] You have upgraded your castle’s graveyard!
• The number of graves has significantly increased, enhancing [Zombie] and [Ghoul] spawnrates by {50}%
• All lesser undead ranks enhanced from F → D
• [Mausoleum]s have been added to the graveyard.
◦ Each night, each mausoleum will spawn a random [Special Type Undead] entity based off of any previously killed adventurer.
• [The Crypt] sub-zone has been added below the graveyard.
[Zombies Enhanced] All [Zombie]-type entities now have access to [Poison]-type abilities, granting them extremely deadly bites.
[Ghouls Enhanced] All [Ghoul]-type monsters can now regenerate damaged body parts using nearby corpses. Sufficent reconstruction will cause the ghoul to evolve into a vampiric larval stage.
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- [The Vampire Lord's Cathedral] -
Glimmers of candlelight flicker against the cold stone walls, creating a dance of shadows that stretch and contract like living things — and some of them are — not that they would ever let anyone know, though. The air is thick with the scent of incense, a sweet yet cloying aroma that lingers, wrapping around the senses. The cathedral resonates with an ethereal hum as the surge of magic that has seeped in from the graveyard beyond the walls now makes its way inside.
New caskets and tombs line the walls, crafted with intricate designs that speak of ages past and heroes long forgotten.
[Cathedral Upgraded] The improved graveyard has brought alterations to the cathedral. Your respect for the dead has been transferred over here to the freshly reconstructed graves of the saints fallen on this soil.
Agnis stands at the center of the room, her armor glinting in the dim light, casting a stark contrast against the somber surroundings. Her brow is furrowed, a scowl etched across her face as she surveys the scene.
It wasn’t too long ago; she was dying to get out of this cathedral and face the Vampire Lord. Now she did that, and she’s back here again, only deeply confused instead.
Azalea’s presence is a calming force, though. It’s nice to see an actual priestess again, even if she’s untrained. Although Agnis can’t help but wonder if something isn’t off with her mind. She seems touched in the head at times when it comes to the Master of the castle — so much so that Agnis isn’t sure if there isn’t some spell washing over her.
The knight holds a hand over her own neck, wondering as she watches.
Azalea moves gracefully among the newly created burial caskets, her elven features illuminated by the soft glow. Her human younger brother Cvet trails behind her, eyes wide in confused wonder. He’s changed too.
The grim, serious boy who trailed after her to this castle to rescue his sister is now completely changed. He’s quiet, contemplative, and clingy.
Is it the poison in the bite? Does it change a person’s feelings? Agnis would be hard-pressed to deny that it wasn’t an intense emotional and physical experience during her defeat. But what happens after the bite? What happens to the victim’s mind days, weeks after being bitten by a master vampire once or even multiple times?
There is no recorded study on this matter, as far as she is aware. But if the worst that she fears is true, then it’s possible that these people — including herself — are under his spell already and that it is too late.
But she doesn’t know. She’s too confused. Her mind is a mess. Everything is so complicated. These people seem to cling to the vampire in ways that are unnatural to those she's seen prior who were emotionally bound by magic. They seem instead more like eager competitors for his attention than slaves to his dark will, and she certainly feels no supernatural urge to kill the innocent or what have you, so maybe there is no such magic in place at all.
Maybe they just like him. But why?
Azalea kneels before one of the new tombs, tracing her fingers along its smooth surface. “Agnis, look,” she urges, her voice steady yet inviting. “I’ve never seen him come in here, but he’s constantly fixing the cathedral up,” explains the priestess.
Agnis shifts, crossing her arms defensively. “You want me to believe he’s not a monster? These graves — ” She gestures at the elaborately carved caskets, confusion bubbling beneath her words. “They’re not here for good reasons. Graves tend to be filled with corpses, you see.”
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Azalea straightens, meeting her gaze with a fierce determination. “He’s not what you think.” Her eyes shine with conviction. “Lord Inkume is a great man. He’s done nothing but save my life, and for it, his own life and home have come under siege,” she notes, turning a cold glare toward her brother, who crosses his arms.
Agnis rolls her eyes, muttering. “‘A great man’ doesn’t exactly fit what I’ve read about Vampire Lords.”
Azalea looks at Cvet, her voice soothing. “Just because something is dark doesn’t mean it’s evil.” She rises, glancing back at Agnis, who seems caught between her instincts and her words. “If he’s evil, why the cathedral?” asks Azalea. “Why spare the lives of everyone who dies here when they would not do the same for him?” She shakes her head and points at Agnis. “You’re not a prisoner either. You can leave whenever you want. Would something wicked allow that?”
Agnis runs a hand over her helmet. “And if he turns on us? What if this is a ruse?” asks the knight, stepping forward and towering over the much smaller framed priestess. “What if he’s playing nice while he’s still weak and vulnerable, but is just biding his time until he’s too strong to stop?” She looks at Cvet, her hand reaching over to pull lightly on the fabric over Azalea’s neck. “We could be being placated, used as pretty little playthings and shields against the living,” she pulls down, revealing the old bite marks. Azalea hits her hand again, covering the spot back up again. “But when the right day comes, we’ll be eaten like all the rest.”
Outside, the clocktower rings midnight, the heavy chime shaking the castle.
A heavy silence envelops them, punctuated only by the occasional crackle of the candles. The cathedral feels alive, a pulse thrumming beneath their feet, a reminder of the magic that binds them.
Azalea steps forward, her resolve unwavering. “Then we’ll face him together,” promises the priestess. “I serve Heaven. But we can’t turn our backs now, not when a man’s soul is at stake. You need to trust me; trust that there’s more to him than what you’ve seen.” She looks at Cvet. “Please, just listen to me for once.”
Cvet looks at Agnis and then at her, his arms never having uncrossed. “I agree with Agnis that your mind is unwell, Azalea.”
“Cvet!” protests the elf.
“Something’s changed in you,” says the boy. “Father and Mother wouldn’t approve, so neither do I,” he explains plainly as her face contorts. He lifts a few fingers from his arm. “But I’ll listen.” He glances over to Agnis. “For now.”
“I just found a man I like, Cvet,” explains the priestess plainly.
Her younger brother lifts a hand, blocking her face from his view. “That’s disgusting, and I’ll hear nothing more of it.”
“Cvet!” she snaps, yanking on his arm. The boy snarls at her, and the two of them start fighting.
Agnis exhales sharply, the tension in her body slowly easing. “Fine,” she concedes, though doubt lingers in her voice as the two of them claw at each other like fighting alleycats. “But if this goes south, I’m holding you both accountable when I take you back to the Holy Church as testimony of what happened here.”
The knight holds her head, smoke rising from the weihrauch burning on a small bottle on her hip as she stares at a statue in the center of the cathedral as, outside of the stained glass windows, the castle continues to grow across the mountainside. “ …God help us if it ever comes to that.”
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- [Outside, Around the Vampire Lord’s Castle] -
The air crackles with raw energy, thick and electric, as the castle expands and contorts against the backdrop of the looming mountains. Power continues to grow. Bodies continue to fall. Blood oozes through the halls of the Vampire Lord’s castle like a tide, and the brickwork feeds on it.
All along the mountainside, great stone walls rise up, jutting out like the claws of a slumbering beast, while towers spiral into the sky, defying gravity and logic. Some of them stretch horizontally, hanging precariously over the chasms below — an architectural marvel defying the laws of nature — and defeating the purpose of a tower as they stretch out like spikes.
Then, from the heights of these newly formed structures, the first valkyries emerge, their wings beating rhythmically as they circle the cathedral. They’re drawn by the ever-increasing amount of holy magic seeping from the castle, as well as the constant battle and bloodshed. Clad in armor that glints in the fractured moonlight, they glide gracefully alongside the towers, circling the cathedral as they then spread out throughout the castle to observe the fights between the living and the dead.
~ [Valkyrie] ~
A Valkyrie
Valkyries are exceptionally rare and powerful undead-type angelic monsters. Fueled by a need to protect the world from the end of days, valykries circle above the battlefields of the living with their powerful wings in search of warriors they deem worthy.
Exceptionally dangerous fighters themselves, valkyrie will engage in battle using reckless melee tactics as individual fighters but also in swarms. Acting as fearless opponents, they are ruthless to their enemies. However, they are contrastingly well-endowed healers who will restore the bodies and spirits of those who fought bravely to the end.
It is said that those combatants who have earned a valkyrie's favor receive a mark on their souls that burns brightly upon death, granting them recognition within the [Well of Souls] as a spirit destined to be reborn as a great champion or hero.
Type: Undead {Angelic} Rank: A Common Drop: Valkyrie Feather Rare Drop: Heaven-Forged-Spear
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- [The Attic of the Vampire Lord's Castle] -
Dust hangs heavy in the air of the attic, swirling in the dim beams of moonlight that filter through cracked wooden beams. Cobwebs stretch across the rafters, delicate and intricate — works of art crafted by the spidergirls with care and devotion. Beneath these silken threads, chaos unfolds. The spidergirls, their eyes gleaming with fury, face off against the mothgirls, whose wings flutter with nervous energy.
An argument erupts, voices clashing. A spidergirl, her silken hair cascading down her shoulders, gestures at a pile of gnawed fabric. “You’ve eaten everything we’ve made! Those were gifts for the Master!”
“I made him five hundred socks!” cries one of them in the background, another one patting her back consolingly. “They’re all gone!”
One of the mothgirls flutters closer, antennae twitching defensively. “We didn’t mean to! They just smelled so good.” Her voice is petulant yet tinged with genuine regret.
— Her argument would mean more if there wasn’t half of a scarf sticking out of her mouth, though.
A spidergirl, her eight legs tapping impatiently on the wooden floor, glares at the intruders. She and her sisters have spent countless nights spinning their webs into garments, hoping to win the favor of the Vampire Lord.
The mothgirl hangs above overhead, chewing quietly.
“Get them!” yells the spider abruptly, chaos filling the attic as hundreds of giant spiders skitter around in anger, hissing and spitting venom as moths swoop in overhead, scooping up armfuls of clothes as they fly into the darkness and escape with a shaking of fists chasing them off.
“It’s okay, we’ll make him more socks,” says one of them, stroking her friend's back as anarchy takes reign all around them.
“But- but what if he runs out and needs more now?!” asks her sniffling friend, her eyes soaked with tears. She grabs her friend's shoulders, looking her in the eyes as others collect around them. “What if the Master runs out of socks?!” she yells, crystal tears falling from her face as her eyes land on her friend’s shoulder. A hand pats her back.
“It’ll be okay,” she promises.
“I… I just love him so much, you know?” asks the crying spidergirl. “— The Master.”
“There, there,” consoles her friend as around them others pick up half-eaten underwear and suits. “We all do.” She rests her head against hers and smiles. “We all do.”
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- [Vampire Lord Inkume] -
“What the fuck am I supposed to do with all of these socks?” asks the Vampire Lord.
“I don’t know, Master!” yells Snatch desperately, squished against the wall of the castle treasury that is full of the finest silk garments. “We have more socks than gold,” says the ghost, compressed between a mountain of silk socks and the wall. She is trying to pry herself free from the results of a very smooth and silky avalanche.
Inkume rubs his hair, vexed, the magic that makes him perfect immediately refluffing and styling his strands the moments his fingers leave them to stop him from getting frizz. Can’t have a frizzy-haired Vampire Lord, after all.
The castle treasury was reported as being full, which he could not believe until he got here.
A ghostly hand-filled sockpuppet reaches out toward him from the heap. “Master~” growls the sockpuppet. “You should kill the living and spend eternity in darkness together with Snatch, Maaaster~” says the sock puppet.
Inkume stares dryly at the sloppy, damp sock with two holes in it for eyes and then turns his head toward Snatch, who is still squished between the wall.
“Feed her.” The sockpuppet whispers in his ear. “Scratch Snatch’s head. Take long baths with Snatch. Marry and love Snatch forever. Touch her and hug her eight times a day, and hold hands with Snatch and call her pretty.”
Snatch lets out a horrified scream from the wall.
He raises an eyebrow. “…Cute, and surprisingly bold for you, which I want to acknowledge. But it’s not helpful right now,” says the Vampire Lord, reaching into the pile of socks and grabbing the ghost, yanking her free, and holding her in his hand by the back of her neck like a mother cat holding its kitten.
“B-but Master!” starts the dripping ghost.
Inkume turns around, cutting her off. “- Come on. I think we need to peddle these off to the adventurers before all of this fabric attracts silverfish or something,” he says, walking off with the ghost in his hand.
“But… but I…!” Snatch looks at him in awkward desperation and then back over his shoulder toward the treasury. A single sockpuppet peeks out of the pile in the treasury they left, watching them as they go. It winks at her and then vanishes back into the heap. She snarls, her eyes opening wider than usual. “Master!” barks the sharp-toothed ghost, desperate. “It wasn’t me! It was a living object!” she argues as he throws her over his shoulder, holding a hand on her back as her legs kick in protest. “I’m being set up! The sock was alive!”
“Yeah, yeah,” says the Vampire Lord, hauling her off. “Next thing you’ll tell me the castle is alive too,” he sighs.
“It is!” argues Snatch, watching the walls breathe in and out as he carries her off into the darkness.
This might also be true, but it also does not help resolve the sock problem.