《Son of the Dragon》 CHAPTER 1: Hostage of the Court From the Diary of Vlad Tepes III, Rightful Voivode of Wallachia: I write this from my home in P¨¦cs, as my few remains loyal soldiers mass to face the latest invasion of Mehmed II, Sultan of the Ottoman Empire. My children, I do not think my chances of victory are great, but it is my fervent wish that even if I go to join your mother in death, I can blunt the Ottoman spear enough that you can regain Wallachia in your own time. As usual, my luck is fucking me up the ass by surprise in the middle of the night. And after a childhood as a hostage in the Ottoman court, I know EXACTLY what that feels like! My halfwit brother Radu, on the other hand, grew to LIKE such attention...which explains why he is trying to depose me at the behest of his vile Ottoman masters. I¡¯d call him the ill-gotten spawn of a dog and a rat, but I don¡¯t want to insult my dead lovely mother, nor my strong father¡¯s memory. Still, it is hard to believe such a traitorous cur could be derived from the same blood as I. I have not told you much of what happened in that hell pit of a court, but this could be my last chance to do so. You need to understand WHY I know them to be the most vile spawn of devils, so that you can avoid their sweetened lies, and understand the true and total betrayal my brother is committing against our family. I still remember the time I spent there to this day, even though a lesser man would want nothing but to forget it¡­ In the Year of the Lords 1442 Radu and I travelled to Gallipoli in the Ottoman Empire, as father sought to secure a treaty which would prevent the constant attacks by his Ingram forces into our home of Wallachia, at the behest of out Voivode at the time, John Hunyadi. Our eldest brother Vladislav left behind to rule Wallachia in the extended absence of our father, that such a trip required. Despite his promises of safe passage and guest¡¯s rights, the three of us were imprisoned and our escorts killed, until father¡¯s release later that year. Radu and I were not so lucky, Mehmed II kept us in his court to insure our father¡¯s loyalty, and his continued payment to the court for our safety. To think my father the mighty warrior, the Dragon of Wallachia famed in courts and songs, would be reduced to the state of a beggar for his sons¡¯ safety. Safety that never materialized. Father wasn¡¯t gone one day before I woke up hearing Radu screaming in his room across the hall from mine, as my face was being pushed into the bed¡¯s cushions and my nightgown pulled up behind me. I was trying to learn the language of the court at the time, but my attacker used words that I had not figured out yet. Words so vile that I could comprehend their intent, if not their meaning. When he was done, and turning to the door as my backside felt like it was bleeding fire, I snatched the ornate stick that I was to use to clean my oil lamp, and lunged at his back. As he spun around trying to throw me from his shoulders, one hand slowly peeling away my fury-strong limb as I tried to choke him, I used my other to stab out his eye. With a bellow of pain and rage of his own, I was jerked from his back and thrown into a wall, my head smacking the stone with a more felt than heard. Satisfied at the start of my vengeance, the darkness consumed my mind, and I remembered no more for what I think was several days. I was barely 13 winters old. I should have been learning the sword from my father, not trapped and at the mercy of an abominable foreign court. *** When next I woke it was to a face full of dirt and the greasy feel of sweat on my naked skin. Coughing out a lungfull of the animal-tasting filth, I roll over, with the greatest headache I¡¯ve had since the last midwinter feast. It quickly becomes clear that my luck is as bad as it always is, since I seem to be in a dirty pit with a large gate on the other side, out which I can hear growling and scraping. ¡°He¡¯s awake,¡± a voice above me says, and I look up to see a rough-looking thin half-orc black man in a slave¡¯s welded collar, just before he steps back out of sight. Well, my luck could be WORSE, I guess, I think as I feel for my own throat, sighing my relief at its bare skin. I¡¯m distracting myself from my hunger and raging thirst by examining the pit¡¯s wall, round stones in fire-solid clay, and so unclimbable. Yet I am trying to find a way out, a flaw or protruding section that would permit handholds, when I hear footsteps above me. Looking up I see a few well-dressed Ingram priests and the vizier of the court, his eye covered in still-seeping cloth bandages. Ah, so THAT is the man I must kill. ¡°Enjoying your work, boy?,¡± he shouts down at me from an entire man¡¯s height above, secure in his safety so far out of my reach. ¡°It has been two days in the pit for you, waiting for you to wake to get my vengeance! I hear you infidels like dogs, well let us see how much dogs will like YOU!¡± Turning to a man I cannot see, as the priests laugh, he shouts, ¡°We only need ONE hostage to secure your father¡¯s loyalties, and your sweet brother is MUCH more biddable than YOU. Slave, release the wolves!¡± The gate across from me creaks as the rope behind the wall pulls it up into the wall, releasing three wolves into the torch light from above, their tender eyes adjusting from their dark dungeon as they whimper in both pain and hunger. Poor furballs, we treat even our war dogs better than these curs treat such majestic foes! As they adjust to the light I hunch over and walk towards the wolves, clicking my tongue, my friends, I am of the pack, can you still smell our own dogs on me from where our hound master was teaching me to them? One of the wolves extends his snout to me, sniffing the air, as I reach out and stroke the top of his muzzle, then scratching is bottom. His fellows taking his friendly whining as a signal that I was a friend, one nuzzling my thighs and the other climbing below my other arm for me to pet his back. ¡°WHAT IN THE HELLS IS THIS?!,¡± I hear the vizier scream in rage above me, before there is a grunt and scream of pain. ¡°You useless CUR, you swore to me these wolves are man-eaters!¡± I look up to see the vizier, his hand squeezing the slave¡¯s arm, as my own sneaks out to the gate where they cannot see. The slave pleads in a desperate tone, ¡°My lord, they are! They ate another prisoner just nine days ago!¡± Standing and watching the vizier I see that his blind eye is towards me, as his other hand clutches the slave¡¯s chin and brings him to his spit-flying face, while I stand up, ¡°So why is that¡­that¡­THING still AL-¡± He never finishes the word as with a all in the chamber can hear, the stone I had pried loose earlier hits him in the jaw and breaks it. With a muffled wail of agony he flings the slave towards the pit to shield himself from further attack, while collapsing backwards away from sight, the priests rushing over to aid him. The slave, along with two of the vizier¡¯s teeth I later find, falls into the pit and a resounds as he lands on his head and breaks his neck. With yips of joy the wolves fall upon him, tearing into his limbs before his body turns cold, and I sit back to listen to the cries of fear from above. Good, let them fear me. I will insure that, as much as they fear me, it will NEVER be enough! *** With the aid of the slave¡¯s meatless thigh bones, cracked open to points by my new wolf friends, I climb out of the pit after waking back up once more. The remains of the slave¡¯s rags around my waist, to protect the shreds of my remaining modesty, with a special present tied into them. I saw on waking that the torches had burned out, but my eyes could see with the faintest light coming from somewhere else, letting me find my new tools and other things. Now that I am out of the pit the light is stronger, and I can see that it is coming from the door less entryway into this¡­execution chamber. Stalking towards the light lets me see that it is coming from a high window in a hallway, one with several other doors that are still there, including one at the end that I can hear faint noises coming from and see the flickering of light under. It is easy to sneak to that door and listen in on what is on the other side, by pressing my ear to the bottom. I hear somebody muttering under their breath, their accent thick with a language I am unfamiliar with, even though I can tell that they are still attempting to speak in the local language I have only become passable in these past months. Even better, I hear the sound of a knife scraping across wood, slurping, and muffled chewing, He has FOOD! If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. With a new fire in me I lift the base of the door with one of the busted bones, levering it UP on its hinges so it doesn¡¯t squeal as I open it to slip inside. This is a guard room, and I see only ONE guard. Once he is dead with a thigh-bone in his neck, I let the corpse collapse from the back of the stool and take his place. He was only eating fat-baked bread and some boiled carrots, but after days without food it tastes better than the most succulent deer my father¡¯s cooks ever made...maybe it is he pepper? And the barrel of shaded water in the corner of the room slakes the fire in my throat that had been growing for days, the waterskin I find beside it only adding my my good fortune. Of course the guard¡¯s armor is too large for me to wear, but his under shirt makes a decent tunic with the sword belt cinched as tight as it would go around my waist. While the curve-hooked sword that hangs in it is not something I feel confident to wield with its strange balance and heft, the dagger he was using to cut the hard-baked bread into mouth-size pieces is another matter. I leave the sword behind, and take only the dagger in its sheath with me as I enter the Sultan¡¯s palace proper. I¡¯m coming brother, I will get you out of here, just wait while I clear us a path. *** I was in the dungeons of the place, which thankfully is not some place that is kept clean since the important people rarely come here. The few people I see are mostly just human, half-elf, and half-orc slaves ¨C all of whom ignore me as soon as they see that I am not wearing a collar and walking the place armed and with confidence. They must think me a guest of the sultan¡­HA! Guess father was right: if you act LIKE you belong in court, then you will be TREATED as if you belong. Not wanting to give away my real status as a prisoner, I avoid speaking with the slaves, and avoid even more the exits I see that have guards posted at them. As the place quiets for the night, I finally find an unguarded door that opens up into the royal section of the palace. The section where I was being held with my brother and, more importantly, where the vizier¡¯s quarters must be located. Looking around as I wander from shadow to shadow, hiding in the shades cast by potted plants and statues cast by the wan moonlight that enters from the tall wind-blowing windows of the connecting hallways, eventually I find one I recognize. Openning the door on one side of the hall I can see my little brother asleep in his bed, before shutting the door once again, Let him rest, he deserves it, and will need all his energy for when I return. It is only the next hallway that I find the vizier¡¯s door, recognizable by the guard leaning in the corner, his head nodding back and forth as he tries to keep himself awake in the pale moonlight from the window across from him. I manage to sneak up to the statue a couple paces away from him, moving only when I see his head falling down, and stopping with its panicked jerks upright. Once in place I wait until he is nodding again before throwing the metal hook hangar of the sword off my belt at the sill of the window, making a sound as it quickly falls from sight. In alarm the guard takes his own sword from his belt and rushes to the widnow, leaning out looking for the intruder that is not there. A couple of quiet steps later, followed by a dagger in a buttock, and with a pained cry and jerk to get away from the point, he is plummeting face-first into to stones below with a quickly-cut cry of alarm. I wait at the door for a few breaths, my ear to it, but all I hear is the faint steady breathing of a man asleep inside, I hope it is that cyclops bastard son of pigs, and that I didn¡¯t just kill some stranger¡¯s guard. Openning the door just enough to slip my thin frame inside, I can see in the pale moonlight coming in through the silk-covered windows of the room, that my guess was right¡­I am in the room with the first man I have ever HUNGERED to kill in my young life. Soft-padding across the carpets on the floor to his bedside, I almost back out as I break into a fearful sweat, and my ass twitches and clenches in my growing terror, NO! Only a COWARD lets their enemy live because they fear pain, and the Son of the Dragon KNOWS NO FEAR. With prideful determination I untie my gift from the rags I still wear under my tunic, take the dagger firmly in my good hand, and walk up to his bedside. With a knee on the bed as I lean over him, keeping me steady, I place the dagger just above his throat and my open palm in front of his remaining eye. A quick spit into his face and he splutters awake before falling still quickly at the cold sting of the dagger¡¯s edge drawing a thin line of blood from his throat, ¡°Wha-, huh, who¡± ¡°SHUT UP YOU WALKING GOLEM OF BIRD DROPPINGS!,¡± my rage lets itself out in my voice, as I see him waking fully and staring up into my face, recognition sparking horror at the realization of his position. I shake my open hand in front of his face to attract his attention to it, before tipping it over and dumping its contents onto his face, ¡°You left your teeth behind, so I thought I would return them.¡± As he clinches his eye shut to keep a tooth out of it, I lean INTO the dagger as I pull it ACROSS his throat, spraying his life¡¯s fluid all over me, some of it even falling into my savagely-grinning mouth before I spit out the metal-tasting fluid. Huh, the fear is gone. All I feel now is eager satisfaction¡­and maybe a bit of relief? Now I understand why father always talks about revenge being the best medicine a heart can have. But since I still had things to do that night, and limited time to do them, I peeled off the tunic and used the bedsheets to wipe the blade clean along with my face. Finding one of his own shirts thrown over the seat of a sitting couch, and cinching the fine silk in place of my former rough cloth, I quickly make my way back to Radu¡¯s room. Since his door and the hallway remained clear, I was able to slip inside and start shaking his shoulder, his small body practically lost in the immense bed, ¡°Radu brother, wake up, it is time we left this place.¡± Groggily he wakes up and stares at me in sleepy recognition, puzzlement evident in his eyes, ¡°Vlad? Are you a ghost? You must be, they told me you were killed by dogs.¡± ¡° No brother, they only WISH I was, and it was wolves. But the wolves are my friends, and helped me escape, so I could help us BOTH leave.¡± Radu climbs from the bed and puts on the only clothes he has, some tight-fitting silken outfit with slippers, while I use a blanket to wrap up all the valuables I can find in the room which look like they would not break, We will need coin to get back to Wallachia, and I find another dagger beneath his pillow. Vlad II, the Dragon of Wallachia, it seems even your youngest son has your fire in his blood! As I am holding my brother¡¯s dagger and grinning with sibling pride, I hear him open the door, ¡°Vlad, let us leav- ¡± With shock I quickly turn to the door, only to see it open further as the Sultan stands there, behind a guard that is holding my little brighter to his waist with a sword at his throat, ¡°It seems that you not only escaped the wolf pit, but ALSO killed my vizier and his guard¡­all in one night, little infidel.¡± ¡°No sultan,¡± I say while dropping into a crouch and taking a step towards him, ¡°your count is off, I ALSO killed the guard in your dungeons.¡± With a grunt from the sultan, Radu is jerked up onto his toes to escape the rising blade, ¡°That is far enough, unless you want your brother to be the pig at tomorrow¡¯s feast. It seems I must separate you two even further than this, if I am to keep you as hostages. Release your weapon and submit to my guards, they will keep watch over you this night while I decide where to send you. Unless, of course, you want your father to lose his two youngest, here and now.¡± As he talks more guards enter the room, surrounding me with sticks in hand instead of blades. Staring at my brother¡¯s eyes, and seeing his pleas in them, I sigh and thrust the dagger into the bedpost beside me, ¡°Very well, I surrend-¡± A sharp pain in the back of my head precedes my second trip into the dark. *** I wake up with a severely-beaten body in the back of a shaking wooden box, and the feel of several cracked bones, like that time two years ago when a branch knocked me from my horse. Since I can hear the sound of horses and rolling wheels, I could realize I was in a wagon on my way somewhere. Even with the agony from my beating being increased by my body shaking in its shackles, I could tell from being able to breathe deeply and my limbs moving as far as the chains allowed, that I had no BROKEN bones. Thank all the gods in the darkness and silence, they seem to still want to be entertained by my misery, instead of my death. My luck strikes home, once again. It is days later, being fed rough-baked bread and foul water, while having to sleep inside the box in my own filth, that we reach our destination. I later found out it was the fortress of E?rig?z, called Emit by the slave-soldiers that were trained there, and I was to join their number. After the first trainer¡¯s death when he thought my small stature meant I was weak enough to be used, I was beaten once more¡­but not killed as I had expected. I had already seen several trainees killed for MUCH less, and realized that they must have received orders to keep me alive from the Mehmed II. Even better, they took no blades to my flesh, so I knew I wasn¡¯t even to be maimed. My next trainer was the largest half-orc trainer in the fortress, and he had similar ideas. But he was clever enough to ambush me in the section of the stream that had been diverted through the fortress so we could bathe, likely to avoid my having a dagger at hand to stab in his ear like the last trainer. But even the mighty thews of a half-orc need air to keep their strength. Air that is hard to get when your legs are locked in my own, and your face is pressed into the bottom of the stream. When they drug me out of the bathhouse to be beat again, I had managed to snatch my former trainer¡¯s training ring and place it on my own hand. Thanks to its pain-giving enchantment, and a lack of fear of the feel of others¡¯ manhoods, I was able to kill TWO of the enforcers before they beat me to blackness once again. After that, the commander of the fortress seems to have decided on a different path towards training me, seeking to entreat my cooperation with fine foods and trainers who decided to vent their foul Ingram lusts on others instead of myself. Thus it was that I returned to the sultan¡¯s court with my training unit for his inspection over a year later, only to be pulled out of the ranks and told that my father had paid our ransom. But that we were not to be returned to him, since I was now part of the sultan¡¯s army, and Radu had become his court¡¯s favorite perfumed toy. I knew what he was doing, he was using this news to see if I had been broken at Emit like he wanted. He doesn¡¯t KNOW about the commander¡¯s change of heart!, I suddenly realized. But father raised me to RULE, and to do that, one must be CLEVER. So I bowed with a, ¡°Yes sultan, to hear is to obey,¡± and stayed there for untold breaths before he sighed and dismissed me back to the ranks. It was a year later that news reached me at Emit about my father and elder brother¡¯s death in a futile attempt to rescue his sons, alongside he army of the new governor of Hungary, John Hunyadi. Which is humorous, since I was mere days away from executing my OWN escape plan, but had to head back with the squad of loyal soldiers to the sultan¡¯s court. Once again, some god somewhere is having a deep belly-laugh at MY expense¡­I swear it. Thanks to a honeyed tongue I had practiced with the fortress¡¯ staff, and a few of the local girls, I was able to convince the sultan to send me to Wallachia at the head of the very slave-soldiers I had been training with¡­and PAY me to ¡°create a foothold in the area.¡± Of course, after deposing the traitorous Hunyadi, the obvious planner of my family¡¯s downfall for only a moon-struck simpleton would not see the common thread in his rise and our descent, I slayed the traitor and sent word of my reaching the throne back to Mehmed II. All I needed was for him to send me Radu, to ¡°secure the line in the eyes of the people¡± as he had promised, and I would be have FINALLY succeeded at getting us back home. But of course the traitorous fat bag of rats refused to do so. To say I was ¡°upset¡± at his latest betrayal would be to call a forest fire a candle, and I¡¯m afraid I took my anger out on the messengers he sent back. At least they got to return to him¡­with only one eye between them, as a reminder of what I could do. And so my entire lifetime¡¯s experience with the Ottomans began, and continued. It became obvious that there are only TWO things the Ingram peoples could be relied on for: betrayal, and atrocity. Statistics: Vlad at 15 NAME: Vlad Tepes III RACE: Human AGE: 15.2 years HIT DIE: 1(3/4) ECL: 3/4 XP TO NEXT LEVEL: 1,200 / 1,000 [level locked until age 16] SIZE: Medium SPEED: 30 ft. ERA: Renaissance-Era ABILITY SCORES: Cha 15, Wis 10, Int 12, Dex 10, Con 13, Str 14 FAST ACTION: 5% DURABILITY: 0 (due to Small size) Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website. SAVING THROWS: Fort +3 (0), Ref +1 (0), Will +2 (0) ATTACK: Base Attack Bonus +1, Melee +3, Ranged +1. SKILLS (+3 to Social skills and NPC Attitude checks, ¨C3 instead in enemy territory): * Charisma-Linked (+2) * * (Wildman) Handle Animal +8 (4) [+2 from Animal Affinity] * * (P) Intimidate +6 (4) * Wisdom-Linked (+0) * * (Stalker) Listen +5 (4) [+1 from Stalker] * * (P) Profession (manager) +3 (2) * * (P) Sense Motive +4* (4) [* +1 for verbal uses] * * (P) Spot +5 (4) [+1 from Stalker] * * (Wildman) Survival +4 (4) * Intelligence-Linked (+1) * * (Wildman) Knowledge (geography) +2 (1) * * (P) Knowledge (military & tactics) +5 (4) * * (Wildman) Knowledge (nature) +2 (1) * Dexterity-Linked (+0) * * (Stalker) Balance +1 (0) * * (Stalker) Hide +2 (2) * * (Stalker) Move Silently +2 (2) * * (P) Ride +2 (2) * Constitution-Linked (+1) * * (P) Concentration +1 (0) * * (P) Strong Heart +5 (4) * Strength-Linked (+2) * * (P) Climb +2 (0) * Linguistics +2 (2) * Wild Empathy +6 (<1>) [+2 from Animal Affinity] FEAT (Simple Weapon Proficiency, Martial Weapon Proficiency, Light Armor Proficiency, Medium Armor Proficiency, Heavy Armor Proficiency, Shield Proficiency): * HD 1: Animal Affinity * Human: Royal Blood * Birth: Born Under a Dark Star * Wildman 1: Track TRAITS (Tough Hero): * Favored: Wildman ¡Á1 * HD 1: Combat Bonuses ¡Á1 * HD 1: Stalker ¡Á1 * HD 1: Weapon Training ¡Á1 CHAPTER 2: A Dragon鈥檚 Fall To Sultan Mehmed II, from your loyal servant Basarab Laiot?: Today I avenged myself upon the usurper Vlad Tepes III, in honor of your compassionate greatness for giving me this opportunity after the madman traitor stole the justly-won throne of Wallachia from my the year prior. Delivered to your august court is the head of the madman, recovered following the battle, and kept in honey so that you may gaze upon the dead face of the man who so greatly disrespected you these past thirty years. It was my intention to deliver the entire corpse to your august presence, but after the horses finished the only part that was still whole was the head. Unfortunately, some of his loyalists managed to escape our ambush along with their dead, but we shall hunt them down and deliver those we capture as gelded slaves to your court, for your pleasure. In Your Grace, Your Servant, Basarab Laiot? I throw the turban into my camp chair, disgusted by the feel of it, while my second chastises me, ¡°My lord, you MUST stop doing this! Others can spy upon the enemy camp without the risk, we CANNOT lose you should any discover your true nature!¡± I am so tired by this SAME argument, EVERY time¡­it is like a dance whose steps have become so frequent that I wake doing them, ¡°Oh, is that true? You know of a man who speaks the Ottoman tongue like he was born to it? A warrior who can give an aura of command, one strong enough that none DARE question his presence in the camp? Who knows the organization of the enemy enough to blend into it, as if he came to this land WITH them? No? I thought not.¡± ¡°But¡­but¡­your grace, to disguise yourself as an OTTOMAN slave warrior is such a great disrespect to your august peerage!,¡± Jan?s wails. Ah, so it is THIS tune he wishes to dance to, tonight. I drop into my command-tents resting couch, to let my wearing and sore bones stretch and relax, ¡°Ah my good Jan?s, but that is what I am¡­or at least WAS. It took years of teaching them to fear me, before I was able to fool them into my freedom. So I beg your forbearance, if I find it a balm to my soul to use the very things I learned FROM them to now KILL them.¡± He is silent long enough to realize that, after the same argument we¡¯ve been having for years now, he is not going to defeat me in a war of words. ¡° While I enjoy being able to surprise them, since I know where they are moving and how best to foul their plans, I do NOT enjoy the days alone on horseback to do it.¡± I roll onto my aching shoulder so I can look my most loyal of retainers in the eye where he kneels across the tent, ¡°Even the mightiest warrior cannot defeat the river of time, my friend. That is only the domain of the most foul sorcerers, and those who beseech the hideous blessings of the darkest gods¡­and I am FIGHTING them, not JOINING them. I think this is the final campaign that I will be able to pull this trick, so in the end¡­you have won our little ongoing argument.¡± ¡°So shall I throw out your chest of¡­special¡­clothes, my lord? I can have it burning within the hour!,¡± he says with the happiest smile I have seen on him since the birth of his son. ¡° No need for THAT Jan?s! There is still much of the enemy left to kill this war season, and I have OTHER clothes in there besides turbans and silks,¡± You never can tell when looking like a footman would be useful, after all. *** Of COURSE this would happen NOW!, I think while trying to fend off the lashing branches of the vine monster with Dragon¡¯s Fang, my father¡¯s flaming longsword. My steed already weakening from the vines wrapped around his bleeding legs. Poor thing, I don¡¯t think he¡¯s getting out of this alive. By the powers of hell, >>I<< might not! As another vine reaching down for me is severed, the smoking edge of the stump curling back up into the branches of the trees above me. Then I¡¯m pitched forward OFF the stallion¡¯s back, as one of the vines finally takes out one of his forelegs, and am pitched into the same undergrowth that is trapping him as well. Stunned as I lay there, the breath knocked from me while the shrubbery wraps around my body and limbs, I can¡¯t help but think, NOT the best camping site I ever chose. As life returns to my limbs with the breath I gasp desperately for, my wild gazes falls on my enemy. It is a cluster of leaves and vines, pulsing like some still-living heart ripped from a giant¡¯s chest, latched on to the BACK side of a tree beside the trail I was moving along. No surprise I failed to see it. I grip Dragon¡¯s Fang tight once more, igniting the flames on the blade which burn off the grasses that were wrapping around it, giving me the chance to lever my sword arm free. I hear my loyal mount collapse the rest of the way to the ground behind me, its failing life leaking out along with the blood drawn by this twisted creature¡¯s toothed vines. Gritting my teeth against the pain I manage to free myself by wailing abut with the flaming blade, cutting and burning both myself and the undergrowth its magics allowed it to bend to its will. Like a monster myself, with a savage cry to help propel my lunge, I bury my blade¡­into the tree bole besides it. I feel fresh vines lash out from it to wrap around my body, spines digging into my flesh wherever it finds a gap in my admittedly-cheap Ottoman armor. Grunting, I try to pull Dragon¡¯s Fang from the tree, but the vines pin me to the tree and I cannot get enough leverage to do so. Another vine lashes at my head, but I manage to release my grip on the blade in time to catch it, and feel its spines dig into my hand. The other end keeps flailing around, trying to reach my head, so I grab it as well and with savage anger I ignore the fresh pain to BITE the thing between two rows of spines! In a handful of tearing chomps, I manage to tear it off, its vile ichor making me grateful I had yet to eat that evening. After the creature whips the remaining vine from my hands, leaving my palms torn and bloody inside my shredded gloves, I can lean back far enough to shove a hand under my cuirass, and pull out one of the daggers I hid inside. Gripping a branch above me as tight as my rage-fueled muscles allow, I pull myself aside far enough to reach the thing, and start forcing it to impersonate Augustus Caesar. Once it is a shattered dripping mess, the vines loosen on me, and the grass returns to its normal non-violent state. I collapse to the ground panting as the vines around me release their grip, giving my head time to cool and think. These kinds of monsters have become ever-more frequent, after that Ottoman bastard Basarab Laiot? stole the Viovode of my homeland. Even after I ran him off, the foul taint of the Ingram¡¯s sorceries remain to haunt my homeland¡­yet ANOTHER reason to keep them off my people¡¯s backs! Once I can move my limbs after the exhaustion of such a brutal fight, I pull myself to my steed¡¯s body, it having died somewhere during the end of the battle. Poor creature, rest well, I am sorry that I could not save you. I rummage in my saddle bags for the bag that Jan?s always insists I take, grateful that I did and that this is the first time I needed it. Pulling out some of the clay vials I apply their contents to my bleeding hands, hissing with the sting of the flesh knitting back together until my hands are hale and strong once more. This lets me unbuckle and remove my armor and undershirt, so that I can then apply the contents of the flask inside to all my many cuts, seeping once more as the cloth peels off of them. The bleeding stops, as does the sharp burn of the wounds, thanks to the soothing power of the alchemist¡¯s concoction. Damnation, most of the emergency bag is gone, only three vials remain. So I slip them into my belt after putting on my bloody clothes and armor once more, No point carrying an entire bag for a handful of elixers. After condensing what I will need to make the two-day hike back to my men into one pair of saddle bags, I soak my stallion¡¯s body in oil before walking away and throwing a flask of alchemist¡¯s fire on it, letting it rest in dignity and also igniting the copse of trees I sought to use as a secret camp. It will insure that nothing of that creature remains in there to grow back, and eliminate my own blood¡¯s remains. I don¡¯t want the risk of it being discovered and used by some foul magus in the Ottoman¡¯s employ! With that I set myself to start my walk under the growing moonlight, pushing myself back to my men fast as may be, and setting up my camping pallet between two tall tree branches later that night to avoid dangers as I sleep. I come upon my men later in the morning a couple days after leaving them for my self-imposed spying mission, nearly having to fight my way past the guards until Jan?s shows up to inform them that I was a spy of theirs and NOT the enemy. I can see the satisfied smirk trying to escape to his face as he struggles not to point out how he was correct, and admit to him that it is too risky to keep doing these long-travel spying missions. So¡­I will just have to satisfy myself with interfering with them once our forces clash, instead! I¡¯m not a young warrior any more, my body cannot handle such pains even WITH all the medicines and blessings I can buy. *** ¡°Yes my lord, there was some commotion in the Ottoman column when they saw your¡­works. But whatever it was ended, and the force turned to march north into the mountains, instead of going on to Bucharest. But the back-most square instead turned and went back the way they came, I do not know why,¡± the scout reports while kneeling before my camp chair, helm in his arm. I knew that I could find a use for the Ottomans in that damn village! At the very least, their bodies added filler to the criminals I executed there, and putting them facing the oncoming army gave them the idea that ALL of them were Ottomans¡­I don¡¯t doubt that they risked outright mutiny once word of it spread down the column of march. Jan?s speaks up at that moment, ¡°My lord, I believe that they are seeking to return to Ottoman lands without further conflict, thinking to sneak through the mountains while we follow the smaller force.¡± ¡° Of COURSE they are Jan?s, probably with orders to ravage the countryside as they retreat, so that we think them the force entire instead of just a piece of it,¡± I groan out, dismissing the scout with a wave of my hand. ¡°Call my bodyguards and Lieutenants to the tent, we need to plan next steps.¡± ¡°What next steps?,¡± he asks puzzled, with a familiarity I allow only him as my must trusted advisor. ¡°The enemy is FLEEING the field of battle, and LEAVNG Wallachia¡­the season¡¯s war is over, is it not?¡± I turn to face him, standing so that he understands the FULL weight of my words, ¡°Was it over when I chased that pig-fucking bastard Basarab Laiot? out? No, he came BACK and ravaged HOW many Wallachian villages in his attempt to steal back my throne. Was it over when I took back the throne from the usurper installed by that rotten backstabbing traitor John Hunyadi? No, and how many innocent Wallachians died in THAT fight? What about when he installed Vladislav? Or in the ongoing Ottoman conflicts LAST year, when the Voivodes came to BEG me to retake my birthright?¡± Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation. I see the falling humor in his face, as his skin goes increasingly ashen with every question. Stepping towards him as men start to come into my command tent, I give him what comfort I can, ¡°YOU lost a brother in that last war, remember, my friend? Would you lose another to NEXT year¡¯s war? What about your son¡¯s life in the Ottoman war ten years from now?¡± I turn to the now-full tent, to address my most trusted followers, ¡°No my friends, we will NOT continue to live like this, under constant threat of the Ottoman lash! We should just LET these rats, who have spent weeks ravaging our homes and killing our people, just¡­leave? WE should be polite to THEM, to let them retreat and rebuild for NEXT year¡­forever? I say NO, by all the powers of hell and voices of grace, I say NO!¡± It starts with my bodyguards, voices raised in cheer drowned out only by their bare blades to clang against their shields, then spreads to my lieutenants, before I hear the voices of rage and defiance coming from without the tent as the army catches the battle-fury. After a couple minutes I move around to step outside the tent and address them, shouting loud enough to be heard from atop my hillock, ¡°SHUT UP YOU BASTARD SONS OF WHORES!,¡± before coughing and rubbing to soothe my aching throat as the word of my order spreads, and silence along with it. ¡°I KNOW THE FIRE IN YOUR HEARTS DEMANDS THE BLOOD OF THE OTTOMANS TO COOL IT, THAT YOU ALL HUNGER FOR VENGEANCE MORE THAN FOR FOOD OR WOMEN. I PROMISE YOU THIS, YOU WILL GET YOUR CHANCE, BUT ONLY IF YOU ARE QUIET ENOUGH FOR US TO PLAN IT!,¡± once I can see that they will keep their voices low, and their spirits are high from the whispered jokes and jackanapes, I head inside to live up to that promise. As my eyes are adjusting to the dim candle light inside my tent, I feel somebody push a water skin into my hand, before taking a deep draught from it to put out the fire and regain my voice. ¡°My lord, was ¡®bastard sons of whores¡¯ REALLY the phrase a Voivode should use to address his men on the eve of battle? It doesn¡¯t seem to have the right¡­gravitas. The men must look up to you as their pillar of certainty and strength, not think of you as just another foul-mouthed infantryman,¡± Ah, young Ferenczy again. I can hear the scribe in the corner scratching away at his desk, recording the day¡¯s events for his report to Rome, Shit, I forgot that Church spy would have come in with the lieutenants. I¡¯ve seen WIND more visible than that whisper-quiet grey-robed squirrel excuse for a man. I shake my head and address him in passing as I approach the map table, now that my throat feels like mine again and my night eyes have come in. With a mind on my words, knowing they will be repeated this autumn in the courts of Hungary as well as the Holy City, ¡°And yet, for years, I WAS a simple armsman, just like THEM¡­and they know this. Seeing that I still talk like one of them lets them know that I understand their problems, and gives them the confidence of a commander who will not throw away their lives for simple reputation. They did not climb over a thousand steps each to join me, and march out from Poenari Fortress all this way in defense of Bucharest, because I am the rightful Prince of Wallachia. They did it because I am a man they can understand, a voivode who DOESN¡¯T think his shit smells like roses, and who KNOWS the brutal life their families lead. You talk to me about gravitas and appearance? I say, let my works be my appearance, and the screams of Wallachia¡¯s dying enemies be my gravitas!¡± The tent is quite after that, and Ferenczy¡¯s face as blank as his eyes are wide, before Jan?s¡¯ cough breaks the silence to draw everybody¡¯s attention to the campaign map. I guess it is time to plan some of those actions I was just bragging about. *** ¡°I hate this my lord, why must I wear your armor and ride your steed, while you take my arms and WALK into these mountains?,¡± asks Fredrik from atop my favorite stallion as it turns to nuzzle my shoulder. I pat its nose and feed it an apple, ¡°Sorry my boy, but I¡¯m not riding you today.¡± ¡°Pardon lord? I would expect you to ¡®ride¡¯ me never! ,¡± Fredrik jokes, and I look up into his mustachioed face to glare at him. But a glare without any heat to it, just a joke shared between soldiers. ¡°Know you ANOTHER guard the same size as me, with as impressive a lip-cover, who could wear it in your place? If so then speak their name, and you can take your place digging shit-holes for the column.¡± He looks at me in confusion, ¡°Pardon lord? But I am your GUARD, not one of the army¡¯s forerunners,¡± then realization hits him like a falling star. ¡°Ah, you are just screwing with me.¡± I can¡¯t help but laugh, grateful to be able to enjoy this kind of rough camaraderie with my men, ¡°For somebody not wanting to be ¡®ridden¡¯, you probably shouldn¡¯t keep talking about me screwing with you.¡± ¡° I¡¯d slap you upside the back of the head for making fun of your commander on the march, would I be the ACTUAL commander and not just dressed in his clothes,¡± Fredrik gives an obviously fake sigh and overacts grabbing his eyes in weariness. I can¡¯t help but laugh, one which he soon joins in before returning to his inquiries, ¡°Yet you have not answered my concern, my lord. WHY do you not stand here at the head of the army, and instead walk beside it?¡± It takes me a bit to put my thoughts into words, but eventually I do so. Fredrik deserves to know, ¡°Because I am at the HEAD of the army, my friend. My task on the march is to be SEEN by the men behind me, to give them a PERSON to follow and not just a banner. Yet I must know what the rest of the army is enduring, so that I can solve any problems that might come about, BEFORE we camp for the night. It is hard to do that from the head of the column, and to be honest¡­one backside in gleaming armor is as recognizable as any other.¡± ¡°But what about the column¡¯s forerunners, my lord? Even if nobody can tell my arse from yours, THEY will see my face as the go by, and word will spread that you are not here! Would that not cast shadows in the army¡¯s hearts?,¡± bless his heart, Fredrik¡¯s only care is for the men, and their view of me. I really want to pat his leg in satisfaction at his loyalty, but hold back so as not to be seen as overly-familiar with the apparent-Prince, ¡°THAT is why it is YOU, with such a similar face as mine. At the distance the runners will be seeing you, they will just see a helm with a mustache ALMOST as long as my manhood, and think it me.¡± He can¡¯t help but chuckle at my joke, and reply with his own, ¡°ALMOST as long, my lord? I¡¯ve heard your Ilona¡¯s wails the night before we left Peonari¡­from the camp OUTSIDE the fortress! I¡¯m amazed she wasn¡¯t buried come dawn.¡± As much as I object to him making merry with my wife¡¯s name, I can¡¯t help but laugh at the truth of it, ¡° Very true, very true, but let us keep my third leg a secret, shall we? Not that it will be MUCH of one for long, since I must fall out of march to use the not-so-privy, before ¡®catching up¡¯ to my post here at the front.¡± He just looks aside at me, ¡° And let me guess, you will be talking about the woes and weariness of being a soldier on the march, all along your way back?¡± ¡° Now you get it! See you again come mid-day,¡± after which I walk to the side, to use one of the shit-holes marked with a flag that the forerunners have dug. Good that I am the first to use it, since otherwise the stench would be unbearable. And besides, this morning¡¯s breakfast is ALREADY trying to escape the gaol of my guts! After I tie my breeches back together and return to the back of the column, I find out the first complaint is about just that. The rear-most men detest having to endure the stink when voiding their own bowels, and fear it would put them off their midday meal. Easy enough a fix, just have the forerunners dig extra reliefs. Damnation, I will need to add MORE forerunners to do that¡­do we have enough spades? Of course there are the usual complaints as well. Such as the poor quality of the food, lack of campaign women to soothe them without their wives around, lack of the camp women being there to tempt them FROM their wives, and it goes on. THESE complaints can mostly be ignored as just soldiers grumbling that the sky is blue. And with that, I reach the front of the column just as we reach the forerunners who have been boiling stews to feed the marching column. I sit there eating my own bowl and collecting the juices with a hunk of bread, staring out at the approaching mountains, the fire in blood at the coming slaughter beginning. Outnumber us they might, but that means little when the BACK of your column is ravaged in unfamiliar territory. I expect our injuries to be significant, but overall light, and MAYBE a quarter of the Ottomans will escape¡­ *** I thrust Dragon¡¯s Fang over the Ottoman¡¯s shield and through his neck, careful not to ignite it, while holding up my breeches. Fredrik is a short distance away, atop my horse, shouting my name to draw me to him and the rest of my bodyguards, in the savage melee of that snake Basarab Laiot?¡¯s ambush. Damnation, I should have KNOWN that they might be planning on luring us into an ambush¡­but hitting the column while I am taking a shit HAS to be some god¡¯s bad idea of a joke! I managed to get my shield on my arm when I saw the wave of enemies emerge from the woods on the mountainside, having just begun scraping my shitbox with a handful of wet grass, but my quickly-knotted belt slipped when I was halfway to my banner. After pulling my pants up I saw the banner-bearer fall on the tip of an Ottoman lance, and then I was facing THIS bastard that had circled around the front of our column. It is good that Fredrik is shouting for me, otherwise I would not be able to find them in the chaos of all the horsemen fighting one another! I see a soldier curl up from some monstrous bush conjured by the Ottoman priests, his shield still on his back as he curls over and falls to one knee. Taking the opportunity, and with a silent apology to the dying man, I run up his back to leap INTO an Ottoman horseman¡¯s side. As I fly over the flailing branches of the creature, the Ottoman turns his head at my battle cry, and takes Dragon¡¯s Fang straight to the face. Unfortunately, my plan to get a steed of my own is foiled, as he falls sideways off the horse and takes ME with him! Once I catch my breath I stand up, yanking on Dragon¡¯s Fang to pull it from where it imbedded into the ground through his skull, and of COURSE at that very moment my breeches choose to fall AGAIN. Leaving one hand on my blade, an instinct long drilled into me by these very same Ottomans as a child, I crouch to yank UP my breeches. Looking up as I grab them I see Fredrik take a blade to the back of his neck just below my helmet, my armor already battered and bleeding from where he is surrounded by Ottomans. I stand up and drag my breeches to cover my manhood, shouting the loyal man¡¯s name, only to jerk and look down at my own chest. At the arm¡¯s length of lance emerging from it, just below my chest. So THIS is what it feels like, is my last thought as with a foot on my head and a brutal jerk, the lance is pulled from me. I try to clasp at the wound, falling to my knees, attempting to keep the life¡¯s juices inside my body. I fall to the ground, my vision failing, and the last thing I feel before the blackness takes me one final time is the rough grip of Dragon¡¯s Fang in my death-locked hand. NAME: Vlad Tepes III RACE: Human AGE: 45.2 years HIT DIE: 6 ECL: 6 XP TO NEXT LEVEL: 19,200 / 21,000 SIZE: Medium SPEED: 30 ft. ERA: Renaissance-Era ABILITY SCORES: Cha 16, Wis 10, Int 12, Dex 10, Con 13, Str 12* [* lost 2 from Decrepitude] FAST ACTION: 10% DURABILITY: 6 SAVING THROWS: Fort +13 (10), Ref +1 (0), Will +8* (6) [* Booster +1] [+1 vs. being disabled] ARMOR CLASS: 18 (+6 Brigandine, +2 Large Wooden Shield), flat-footed 18, touch 10 ATTACK: Base Attack Bonus +6, Melee +8, Ranged +6. * Dragon¡¯s Fang +9 melee (1d8+3 Slashing, 19-20/¡Á3, plus 1d6 Fire) [flaming longsword +2, Serrated, Lever Grip ¡Á3] SKILLS (+3 to Social skills and NPC Attitude checks, ¨C3 instead in enemy territory): * Charisma-Linked (+2) * * Bluff +5 (0) * * Diplomacy +6 (0) * * Gather Information +5 (0) * * (Wildman) Handle Animal +10 (4) [+2 from Animal Affinity] * * (P) Intimidate +12 (9) * Wisdom-Linked (+0) * * (Stalker) Listen +5 (4) [+1 from Stalker] * * (P) Profession (manager) +8 (7) * * (P) Sense Motive +9* (9) [* +1 for verbal uses] * * (P) Spot +5 (4) [+1 from Stalker] * * (Wildman) Survival +4 (4) +2 * Intelligence-Linked (+1) * * (Wildman) Knowledge (geography) +2 (1) * * (P) Knowledge (military & tactics) +10 (9) * * (Wildman) Knowledge (nature) +2 (1) +2 * * (Enduring) Knowledge (nobility & royalty) +? (?+4) +1 * Dexterity-Linked (+0) * * (Stalker) Balance +1 (0) * * (Stalker) Hide +2* (2) [* +2 in wilderness] * * (Stalker) Move Silently +2* (2) [* +2 in wilderness] * * (P) Ride +7 (7) * Constitution-Linked (+1) * * (P) Concentration +1 (0) * * (P) Strong Heart +11 (10) * Strength-Linked (+1) * * (P) Climb +1 (0) * Linguistics +2 (2) * Wild Empathy +8 (<3>) [+2 from Animal Affinity] FEAT (Simple Weapon Proficiency, Martial Weapon Proficiency, Light Armor Proficiency, Medium Armor Proficiency, Heavy Armor Proficiency, Shield Proficiency): * HD 1: Animal Affinity * HD 3: Leadership * HD 6: Iron Will * Human: Royal Blood * Birth: Born Under a Dark Star * Wildman 1: Track TRAITS (Tough Hero): * Favored: Wildman ¡Á1 * HD 1: Combat Bonuses ¡Á1 * HD 1: Stalker ¡Á1 * HD 1: Weapon Training ¡Á1 * HD 2: Combat Bonuses ¡Á2 * HD 2: Enduring ¡Á1 * HD 3: Combat Bonuses ¡Á3 * HD 3: Enduring ¡Á2 * HD 3: Wildman ¡Á2 * HD 4: Combat Bonuses ¡Á4 * HD 4: Enduring ¡Á3 * HD 5: Combat Bonuses ¡Á5 * HD 5: Enduring ¡Á4 * HD 5: Wildman ¡Á3 * HD 6: Combat Bonuses ¡Á6 * HD 6: Enduring ¡Á5 SPECIAL ABILITIES Leadership 7 [3 base from HD, +3 from Charisma, +1 from Intimidate] Fear-descriptor effects +2 DC CHAPTER 3: Mistaken Identities To His Holiness Gabriele Rangoni, Bishop of Eger: The monster is dead, this I can confirm, having seen his head separated from his shoulders by an Ottoman¡¯s blade with my own eyes. Despite his force¡¯s victory that day, so many died that I find it doubtful it could be counted a victory, and the Ottoman¡¯s managed to escape WITH his head. So it is with sorrow that I cannot present it to you upon my return. His body was not recovered after the battle either, his men burying all those who died in a mass grave, given that the volume of the dead was so great that there not enough remained alive and hale to dig individual graves. It is with regret, and begging your forgiveness, that I had to bless the grave in which the monster lay with his men. I could not in good conscience doom so many brave warriors to perdition, just to spite one demon in man¡¯s flesh. May he be cursed ever after for this, his last outrage. - Your loyal Servant Antonio Bonfini, Church Historian and Campaign Scribe, Twentieth of July, Year of the Lords Fourteen Hundred and Sixty Two I awoke later, amazed at my survival, perhaps one of the men had an elixir potent enough to save me despite my impalement? Then I notice several things which shock me. At first is that I cannot move, as if my entire body had great weights pushed against it from all directions, encasing and trapping me in a way that not even the Ottomans could do at their worst. Also that I cannot see, even after managing to open my eyes by sheer force of will¡­Everything is STILL black! Finally, when I try to gasp my shock, I find that there is no air to draw into my lungs. But despite this, and my panic at it, I find no feeling of breathlessness, like I need not breathe at all. So I am trapped, helpless, and so SO thirsty. It is like my very BONES are hollow and empty, from the need for water! Am I to stay here for eternity? I knew after some of the things I have had to do to protect my people, that I would be doomed to the hells for it, but I have accepted it as a price worth paying to keep my lands from the depredations of The Church¡¯s dogs or the Ottoman¡¯s savagery. Is THIS my punishment? I always thought that, come my time to pay the price, I would accept my punishment with quiet courage, infuriating my tormenters with my silence. But I believed there to BE demons to torture me, not this¡­NOTHINGNESS! So, consunmed with a familiary fury, I struggle against my bonds. I don¡¯t know long I fight them, but eventually I achieve a minor victory: I can curl my right hand into a fist! It is while celebrating this victory with silent whoops of joy, that I feel something oppressive press on my very soul. I thought it impossible, but my vision dims BEYOND pure black, and I feel unbearable weariness overwhelm me. It is impossible to muster the effort to fight against both this weariness AND my binding, so I soon find myself passing into the lands of sleep. I dream of horrors as I always do, eventually waking from the nightmares inside my own mind to once again realize my situation. I¡¯m damned, and without even the benefit of a torturer to tend me. My thirst is now greater, and I know that I cannot go more than a day or two longer until it kills me. But wait, if I am ALREADY dead, then can I die again? Ignoring this question, consigning it to the realm of useless philosophy like so much else, I return to fighting for my freedom. Yet the thirst makes it harder to think, as it keeps distrcting me, still I manage to make MORE progress, now able to lift my right forearm by maybe half a finger¡¯s length. It is as I am trying to lift the same shoulder, thinking that I can then use the arm¡¯s motion to dig myself out of this soft but heavy material I am bound in, that the same lethargy washes over me, NO! I am so CLOSE! I¡­must¡­nooootttt¡­ My dreams are of the time I found that village headman who had been shorting his taxes to the crown, and ordered him impaled in the town square. It was early in my first reign, and my men were still fresh and unsure of my seriousness, so I had to strip and impale him myself. Still, once they knew I was serious, they helped me lift him up until his buttocks rested on the pike¡¯s cross guard, and we buried the pike in a ground and then I held it in place while rocks were piled around it. He was still alive this whole time, his throat letting out only a hoarse whisper from having screamed his voice out, his legs bound together before him and his arms behind. As I waited there his blood and filth drizzled down, covering the pike¡¯s haft as well as my hands. All of this is as it happened, but instead of feeling the disgust I knew back then, I feel a lust to LICK that foul mix from my hands. A desperate NEED for that fluid to slake my thirst, one so powerful that it takes me a while to realize I am awake again¡­that same thirst having followed me into this waking hell. I can FEEL my mind starting to unravel, the thirst and dreams taking their toll on my ability to think in straight lines and maintain my focus. Yet still¡­I manage to continue the fight. Eventually, after days of this, the thirst takes my mind and I thankfully remember no more. *** This tastes so GOOD, I find myself thinking, my face buried into something warm while my arms are wrapped around it as it twitches and shudders. Pulling my face out of my meal, I see that¡­I¡¯m eating a damn DEAR?! No¡­I¡¯m DRINKING from its torn flesh, while it still lives, and it tastes GREAT! My thirst finally slaked for the first time in I don¡¯t know how long, I release my grip on the beast and let it fall to the ground, before I jerk its head to snap its neck so that it doesn¡¯t suffer from dying slowly of the open wound my¡­teeth¡­left in its flank. My teeth, there is something wrong with my TEETH, feeling around in my mouth with my fingers, I can tell that my eye teeth have somehow extended down from my upper jaw, until they are a thumb¡¯s width longer than my other remaining teeth. Wait, my ¡°remaining¡± teeth isn¡¯t right, I have ALL my teeth back too. And¡­isn¡¯t my jaw open further than normal? It was, since I could fit my entire balled-up fist inside my maw now, like a ghoul or some other night creature that was once human, after I feel my elongated teeth slide into my upper jaw until they are once again normal size. I¡­I think I¡¯m STILL damned, but just not fully dead. I think I have become some kind of night-walker, one with a thirst for blood it seems. But I can still think, at least now, so at least I am still ¡°me¡± and not some savage flesh-hungry monstrosity. Having calmed down with the realization that at least I am still walking the Earth, I look around and wonder why I can see so well in the dark. I can hear night birds twittering and hooting in the woods far away, so I KNOW it is night, but somehow it is bright as day to my eyes. Only the shading is poor, like the world has had all its color washed out from dyed cloth, leaving even the green of the tree leaves around me to us be some strange shade of grey. Well, except for red. For some reason I can still see the beast¡¯s blood as red, and even the dried blood on my hands shows itself to be red-tinged grey. Is it because my body now sees only blood as food, so my eyes are changed to help me find food? To test the idea, I lick the dried blood on my hand. It tingles a little bit, like my body is absorbing it, but the taste is NOT the thrilling tang that I had when drinking directly from the beast. Instead it is¡­If I am honest, it is kind of like tasting shit. I might be able to SURVIVE on dried blood, but I don¡¯t think I would LIKE it. Maybe it would be better if bottled, like wine? Well I have no bottle to test the idea with, and from the look of me I¡¯ve been crawling in the dirt and rolling an animal parts for hours¡­I need to clean up and find out WHERE the hell my SWORD is! When I was examining my location, I saw what looks like my own boot tracks further back up the game trail, so I set out to follow it. As I do I see several torn apart animals, birds squirrels, and even raccoons, all without any of the pale-red tinge of blood around them. Seems I was hungry AND walking-in-the-moonlight mad. Eventually, I find my¡­grave. Well THIS explains why I felt like I was trapped from all sides, it seems I was BURRIED! There are several stones thrown around the area, where evidently I threw them aside once I had crawled out of the thigh-deep hole I was evidently planted in. Guess I really DID die, didn¡¯t I? I find a branch about man-height that I can pull off from a tree, amazed at my newfound strength. Even more strength than I had in my prime. And it makes a good tool to break the earth so I can start digging down into it, Dragon¡¯s Fang has to have been buried WITH me. Whoever put me here obviously did so in secret, but was concerned enough with my wellbeing to actually bury me AND cover the grave in stones so I would not be dug up by scavengers¡­they WOULD have buried the blade with me. I have most of the grave excavated without luck, when I hear the morning birds start to twitter and voice the sun¡¯s arrival. For the first time since my awakening I notice lethargy coming over me, and look around as color starts to flow into the world with the false dawn¡¯s light. Then the light reaches my grave, and my hand, FUCKING FAGGOTRY WITH HORSES, THAT HURTS! Jerking my hand from the beam of light I see that my own flesh has started to blacken on the two fingers that it touched, like meat left overlong in the campfire. DAMNATION, I am a NIGHT-night creature¡­one that cannot bear the touch of day, instead of just slumbering while the sun is up. There was no place to hide in the area, no cave and no home to keep the daylight off me. No place, but my own grave. *** It was hard to stay awake long enough to pull down enough dirt to cover my body, but I did so with only a light wound delivered by the day, and once my face was covered I let the exhaustion brought on me by the daytime take me. My dreams that night were of my brother Radu, the last time I saw him in Mehmed¡¯s court, dressed in thin silks and wearing sweet perfumes, his face painted like a whore¡¯s. I thought him suffering in his own way, as I suffered in Mehmed¡¯s army, and never thought he would betray me. I never thought that he would ENJOY his life as a catamite, but he did¡­and he resented me my ¡°freedom¡±. I awake not only thirsty again, but also fueled with rage from the past. I struggle frantically against the earth over me, before realizing that I am NOT trapped, before calming down. At least this time I know how to slake my thirst. But while shaking the dirt from my loose shoulder-length hair, I see myself and realize that I have OTHER pressing needs. I am FILTHY¡­I need to clean myself. It is a brief walk down a game trail until I find both my needs fulfilled, a boar sleeping beneath a bush besides a small trickling stream of water. It wakes when I pounce on it, scared and its legs flailing as it thrashes around when I lift it from the ground. The night is broken by its shrill squeals as I dig my mouth into its thick neck, my eye teeth having elongated once again when my prey was in sight. It must be some reaction to needing to eat, like seeing a beautiful barmaid after weeks of being on campaign. Ahhhh¡­this is better than the best wine I have ever tasted¡­ My thirst slaked once more, with the boar laying on the ground unconscious but alive, I see that my hands have returned to normal. This realization lets me know that the blood¡¯s life is needed to restore my form, like everything alive is walking around with elixers of health in their veins. DAMNATION, but this means that as long as I can consume a creature¡¯s blood, will I be able to live forever?! After a bit of marveling at the implications, I pull myself back to the mission, I need to get this dirt and blood off me, before my people can SMELL me coming before I can be SEEN! Sitting down long enough to untie my boots and pull them off, I toss them into the little stream so that the water can soak and run off the caked-on mud and blood. Then I unstrap my thick leather armor, dropping it to the ground since with a gaping hole in each side it is essentially useless anyway. Then I can let loose my belt and remove my tunic, untying my pants from my body straps so they can be pulled off as well. Once naked except for the filth and grime, I crouch down to put my tunic in the water, only for my hands to feel like they are pushing into thick mud as I try to get them over the stream. Oh, joy of joys, this must be some other effect from my new night-creature nature. Its like water doesn¡¯t WANT me near it, well I am the LORD of this land, its waters included! With a snarl and savage PUSH I manage to submerge the tunic in the shallow stream, before a scream rips out of my lungs and I LUNGE backwards! Roling on the ground I pull my arms to my chest, my world just white-hot agony until it quickly fades. It was like I shoved my hands into molten metal¡­seems the waters of my home REALLY don¡¯t like me. Looking at them I see my hands are scorched black, the bones visible, with splatters of charred flesh up my forearms where the water splashed upon them. I can still flex the fingers, the ligaments beneath the skin still attached to my bones, They¡­they don¡¯t hurt anymore, even WHEN I move them. Am I no longer going to feel the aches and pains of my wounds? Pushing that into the bag with everything else I must take time to consider and explore, I pull myself to the still-panting body of the boar, and dig into it once more. After draining the last of its life¡¯s fluids my hands have returned to normal, and I return to my crouching, trying to figure a way around this dilemma. Very well, I must still clean my clothes and body, but I can no longer TOUCH the water. And I must be able to pass through this invisible resistance, otherwise I am trapped within the bounds of whatever streams form after the rain¡­NOT a tactically sound position.A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. A stick from the ground can penetrate over and into the water without difficulty, and remove my soaked tunic from where it was caught on my boots. Touching it with the tip of a finger shows that the water soaked into it is not harmful, even the water that falls from it as I squeeze the woolen fabric, It must be something to do with NATURALLY-flowing water, once removed from the stream it becomes safe for me. Good, I can work this. After soaking and wiping down my body with the tunic-stick combination, it is still filthy but my hide is as clean as I can make it. Then it takes an hour or more of soaking and wringing out my tunic and pants before they too are mostly clean. I hang them in a tree so that they may dry in the night, upending my boots on a couple branches to drip dry as well, and turn to face my OTHER challenge. This feeling of mud, how far does it go? Standing on the bank of the stream, one that is only as wide as a long stride, I push my arm into the air above it. The thick mud sensation quickly grows in hardness, until my hand stops at the midway mark as if fetching up against a stone wall. Stepping back, I throw a few pebbles and a stick across without issue¡­it is only my BODY that it seems to push away. If I am to test this, as stupidly as it seems, I am going to need an plan for if it fails. With this realization I spend some time stalking the stream, until I find a doe sleeping beside it, and fall upon her. Despite her desperate lowing, a quick fist upside the head knocks her stumbling, another insuring she will sleep until I need her. I am careful to place her near my clothes as they dry, No need to be cruel without cause, and steel myself for the pain I could be facing. I walk back up the game trail a good six paces until it turns, and turn around to face the stream with its small clearing on the other side. Leaning over I run fast as I can towards it, leaping at its edge for the other side, my arms stretched before me. I feel the impact of my arms at the midway point, collapsing them into my face just before it feels like my head has struck solid stone! I feel my body go upright as my legs rise, scaring me that I will fall into the stream and be consumed by it, before I seem to flip THORUGH the shattering barrier! Collapsing as I roll over the thick grass on the other side of the stream, I cannot help but laugh. Then the realization hits me, The parts of my body NOT in contact with the ground when they passed over the water were able to do so with ease. It must be some strange power connected to the ground, allowing me to pass through it if I am NOT pushing against the earth. Thinking of a way to test it, I repeat what I did but to get to the game trail instead. Only this time instead of jumping like I am trying to dive into a woman¡¯s legs in a hay loft, I pull myself into a ball a half-step back from the stream, and allow my running speed to carry me across. Nothing pushed me away, I think just before hitting the opposite shore, rolling across the ground to fetch up in a tree. After laughing at my new wounds, and my success, I nip some blood from the deer before dressing myself in my half-dried clothes. I need weapons, which means I need a town. I can follow the stream until it meets a river, then follow THAT to a village. With fresh hopes of sleeping under a roof come dawn, I head out to find out where in Wallachia I am. *** I have to perform my undignified umping ball trick a few times walking downstream that night, but eventually I come to a small farm ust after I start to feel the oppressive exhaustion that come when the sky lightens, JUST in time, maybe I can sleep beneath a hay pile? I see a young man in front of the farmhouse as I turn around it, obviously up before dawn to tend his fields, as he is carrying buckets of water from the river to a trough before his house. Seeing me in what must be very pale light for him he calls out, ¡°Grigori, is that you? Your wife has been worried since you went hunt-, OH! You are not Grigori!¡± ¡°No good man, but as you can see from my dress I have NOT been having a pleasant time in the woods! I am grateful to have found another man to talk to after wandering lost for so long, but I am tired beyond mentioning. May I impose upon you for a roof to sleep under, and a blanket to keep out the morning¡¯s chill?¡± He stares at me in shock, ¡°Your voice stranger, you talk like a nobleman. Of COURSE I would give hospitality to a lost noble, come in, come in!¡± Opening his home¡¯s door he calls out, ¡°Merta, we have a guest! Put more porridge in the pot for him.¡± I grasp his shoulder as I move inside behind him, barely escaping the creeping rays of the sun, ¡°No goodman, I will not impose upon your meagre food stores, especially since I have no coin to trade for it. A bed to lay upon and a blanket to sleep beneath will suffice, and I will leave to seek my meals once I awaken.¡± ¡°Oh, very well, but if you need anything please let us know,¡± he says with a tinge of disappointment in his voice. Then his wife comes into the room, moving slowly from her obviously being with child, and carrying a candle as she takes me to their bedroom. ¡°Here good sir, you may sleep in our bed until your energy returns, it isn¡¯t like WE will need it for the day! ¡± Looking around I see that this room has no windows in it, and the doorway is blocked off by a pair of tattered cloaks tacked above its lintel, ¡°Thank you goodwoman, this will do for me. Please do not distub my slumber, I have not had a bed for¡­well, I cannot SAY how long I have been trapped in the woods!¡± She looks over my clothes with the critical eye of a mother examining her child, ¡°From the look of your rough-worn clothes, I would call it TOO long. Throw them out of the door before you go to sleep, and I will patch them up best as I can.¡± With my thanks she leaves, and shortly afterwards I climb naked into the hay-filled bed on the packed-dirt floor, pulling the covers up to my chin as blackness takes me. It makes me glad that my people are so good natured. *** I dream I am back in the wagon, being taken to my training as one of Mehmed¡¯s janissaries. But despite the wagon¡¯s shaking, I am comfortably wrapped in warm cloths this time, and sitting atop several cushions, creating a comfortable nest I am loathe to leave. Eventually I wake up to the sounds of flesh being struck, and a woman crying. Is that Merta?, with that thought I throw aside the blanket, and leap up, the weariness that grips me letting me know that the sun has not QUITE set. Pain be damned, I will NOT let my kind hosts be mistreated! I throw aside the door coverings and run into the front room, to see an Ottoman soldier standing there laughing with his hand wrapped in Merta¡¯s hair, and my blood BOILS! Stifling back a scream so he does not see me coming, I run and throw myself feet-first into his chest, throwing him back on his ass as he releases her hair and she stumbles forward. The sun¡¯s failing light stings my skin and hurts my eyes like hot needles, but I am not burning yet, so I pick myself up as I hear somebody behind me shouting, ¡°Who be YOU?!¡± Turning around I see a second Ottoman soldier at the trough beside the door, holding who I assume to be my host¡¯s head under the water of the trough as his legs and arms feebly flail around, ¡°Your death!¡± I run towards him as he stands and draws his blade, letting go of his victim¡¯s head letting him weakly fall to the base of the trough and start gasping. The second soldier lunges at me with his blade, but his foot slips in some of the water splashed out of the trough, and he misses me. Not being the kind of man who would throw away good fortune, I grab his wrist as he stumbles past, and swing my other fist UP into his elbow, hearing it crack. The man screams as the blade drops from his paralyzed fingers, and he drops to his knees to grasp at his arm to whimper and cry. Behind me I hear the first soldier starting to stand, so grasping my kneeling prey by the back of his helm as well as his arm I spin around, hurling the two into one another to keep them both down. Kicking the fallen blade up by the guard, I grab its handle point down, and before the two can untangle themselves I plunge it with all my newfound strength THROUGH the chest of the man I just threw¡­pinning his corpse to the ground over his compatriot, thus trapping him there as well. ¡°Jinn!,¡± he screams in my face as I lean over, giving my body¡¯s weight to that of the corpse pinning him to the ground. I grin at him and watch his face pale in fear, as I reply to him in his native tongue, ¡°To you I am a Devil, and I can be one in truth if you do not obey me. So stay HERE, of you wish to keep your heart in your chest!¡± It is after standing up that I realize my fangs have extended, in response to my thirst and the heat of combat, Ah, now I understand his fear. Panting above him to push breath into my lungs that I do not need, the lust for blood fades and I feel with my tongue that my teeth have returned to normal, as I feel a shawl drape around my shoulders. While wondering why, my host speaks to me as his hands leave my shoulders, ¡°Thank you for saving us from these tax collectors my lord, I am sorry we thought you dead.¡± ¡°Dead?,¡± I ask as I turn around, ¡°Why would you think me dead?¡± Merta comes back from inside their home, my cleaned and repaired clothes in her arms, ¡°That was my fault lord, when I went to give you your clothes this evening I thought you not breathing, and panicked telling Herman about it. Our shouting must have attracted the attention of the headman¡¯s tax collectors, but at least they have only been busing us for a brief time before the noise woke YOU!¡± I look at them puzzled, ¡°The headman? Of what territory? And how does he keep OTTOMANS as tax men?¡± ¡°You must have been lost in the woods for longer and further than we thought, my lord,¡± the goodman says, Herman I now know, ¡°The headman of Targovi?te has used the Ottomans from his garrison to collect taxes since I was a child.¡± I look dumbfounded at the two of them, shocked as an uncomfortable realization hits me, How LONG was I REALLY buried in the earth?! ¡° I cannot blame either of you for this mistake, with how tired I was I could very well HAVE been dead! Might I impose on you for some assistance disposing of these two? I can see their horses tied to your barn fence, can I take from you a bucket and rag, as well as some rope?¡± ¡°Of course my lord! I will fetch those right away!,¡± Herman quickly puts deeds to words, leaving me alone with Merta and my prisoner. While I am pulling him out and flipping him over, holding his wrists together as I remove his arms, she works up her courage, ¡°Lord, might I have the pleasure of your name? My child will need one, and I doubt Herman would object to it bearing our savior¡¯s.¡± I feel a feathering in my chest, the burden of my dark thoughts lifting at such sentiment, ¡°Of course good woman, I am Vlad of house Dracul, called Impaler, once and future ruler of these lands and eternal foe of the Ottoman scourge.¡± ¡°But¡­but¡­he is DEAD! You CANNOT be him, his head is preserved as a trophy in the Ottoman court, EVRYBODY knows that!,¡± she proclaims in frustration, thinking I am lying to her. My pride piqued I lift my hostage¡¯s head by the hair, like he once held her, and give him a quick shake to loosen his tongue, ¡°He be a jinn, he walks again, VLAD HE IS!¡± After forcing his screaming face into the dirt to silence him, Merta and I do not speak of it again, remaining silent until Herman comes back with what I asked for. Despite their skittishness, the horses are calmed well enough to carry me and the Ottoman¡¯s corpse, his partner pulled running behind us by the rope bound around his arms, as we trot into the dark along the river towards Targovi?te ¡°city¡±, City? The damnable place was barely a market town last time I was there! *** Once we are off the farm and out of sight of its fields, I stop our little train and dismount, as my prisoner collapses on the ground to pant and gasp. Meanwhile I cut a length off the rope long enough to tie to the bucket¡¯s handle, and toss it into the river, pulling up about half an unspilled pail of the cold waters. Perfect, just what I will need, I think as I return and remove my clothes to place them on my mount. Going to the other horse I untie and remove the dead Ottoman¡¯s corpse, lifting up his body to remove the sword plugging up his body like a cork in a wine bottle, and drinking from him to finish the comparison. ¡°You are a devil, Vlad of the Dead Men, and now you PROVE it to my own eyes!,¡± my unwilling companion complains in Arabic. I can¡¯t help butch laugh at him, deep and powerfully, after my thirst has slaked, ¡°I never claimed OTHERWISE, and here you are¡­taunting me like a fool. Now, what is a devil to do to such a man.¡± Once again, he is shocked by my obvious mastery of his own language, which I enoy as I clean my flesh off from the splattering blood. Taking his own blade with its offset axe-like head to the woods, I find a couple small trees three men high, and cut them down, before returning to our horses to remove most of their branches and all of their bark. Cutting the very tips off I use one of their knives to cut new thicker points on each, before tying them to the same horse as the body. Then we are off again. After another hour or so of stumbling along the riverbank, my prisoner collapses, and I wind up having to pick him up and put him atop his companion to avoid leaving an easy-to-follow drag trail. No point returning Herman and Merta¡¯s kindness with Ottoman reprisals for what I am about to do. Eventually, maybe halfway through the night, I see the buildings of Targovi?te up ahead, Yeah, that is a ¡°city¡± now, or at least a small one. And move us off the riverbank to the road that leads into it. My strong seemingly painless hands make easy work of digging holes beside the road, and I hoist the corpse of the first declaration of war easily enough. The second wakes as I am pulling his hauberk¡¯s backside up, and obviously tries to resist, but compared to my damned-born strength (and a few kicks to the ribs) he is eventually screaming as his buttocks sit on the pair of branches I left in place. Facing his companion on his longer pole, with the tip poking out of his mouth, as a parting gift for him to die viewing. Invade MY lands, and manhandle MY people, and you think you will not face ME just because I am dead? I take a fancy to that thought, and decide to write it on the rag, before tying it to the base of the corpse¡¯s pole so that it does not get drenched in blood¡­since all his remaining blood is flowing now in MY veins. Of course, the only ink I have to write with is the OTHER man¡¯s blood, as an added insult. Then it is just a short walk with the horses and the Ottomans¡¯ arms back to the river, and I walk them into Targovi?te to do what I have always done: found my foes weaknesses in their own camp. *** NAME: Vlad Tepes III RACE: Vampire (Human) AGE: 45.2 years alive HIT DIE: 6 ECL: 6 XP TO NEXT LEVEL: 19,200 / 21,000 SIZE: Medium SPEED: 30 ft. ERA: Renaissance-Era ABILITY SCORES: Cha 16, Wis 10, Int 12, Dex 10, Con 13, Str 16 FAST ACTION: 10% DURABILITY: 6 TEMPORARY HIT POINTS: 23 SAVING THROWS: Fort +13 (10), Ref +1 (0), Will +8* (6) [* Booster +1] [+1 vs. being disabled] [Immunity (ability drain, age, Compulsion, disease, poison, Transformation from others, Fortitude save effects that don¡¯t apply to objects as well] ARMOR CLASS: 18 (+6 Brigandine, +2 Large Wooden Shield), flat-footed 18, touch 10 ATTACK: Base Attack Bonus +6, Melee +8, Ranged +6; +4 to Stunts. * Dragon¡¯s Fang +9 melee (1d8+3 Slashing, 19-20/¡Á3, plus 1d6 Fire) [flaming longsword +2, Serrated, Lever Grip ¡Á3] SKILLS (+3 to Social skills and NPC Attitude checks, ¨C3 instead in enemy territory): * Charisma-Linked (+2) * * Bluff +5 (0) * * Diplomacy +6 (0) * * Gather Information +5 (0) * * (Wildman) Handle Animal +5 (4) [+2 from Animal Affinity, ¨C5 from being a Vampire] * * (P) Intimidate +12 (9) * Wisdom-Linked (+0) * * (Stalker) Listen +7 (4) [+1 from Stalker, +2 from Alertness] * * (P) Profession (manager) +8 (7) * * (P) Sense Motive +9* (9) [* +1 for verbal uses] * * (P) Spot +7 (4) [+1 from Stalker, +2 from Alertness] * * (Wildman) Survival +6 (4) [+2 from Wildman] * Intelligence-Linked (+1) * * (Wildman) Knowledge (geography) +2 (1) * * (P) Knowledge (military & tactics) +10 (9) * * (Wildman) Knowledge (nature) +4 (1) [+2 from Wildman] * * (Enduring) Knowledge (nobility & royalty) +5* (4) [* Booster +1] * Dexterity-Linked (+0) * * (Stalker) Balance +1 (0) * * (Stalker) Hide +2* (2) [* +2 in wilderness] * * (Stalker) Move Silently +2* (2) [* +2 in wilderness] * * (P) Ride +7 (7) * Constitution-Linked (+1) * * (P) Concentration +1 (0) * * (P) Strong Heart +11 (10) [ranks converted to Temporary Hit Points] * Strength-Linked (+1) * * (P) Climb +1 (0) * Linguistics +2 (2) * Wild Empathy +8 (<3>) [+2 from Animal Affinity] FEAT (Simple Weapon Proficiency, Martial Weapon Proficiency, Light Armor Proficiency, Medium Armor Proficiency, Heavy Armor Proficiency, Shield Proficiency): * HD 1: Animal Affinity * HD 3: Leadership * HD 6: Iron Will * Human: Royal Blood * Vampire: Alertness * Vampire: Improved Grapple * Undead Con 12+: Toughness * Birth: Born Under a Dark Star * Wildman 1: Track TRAITS (Tough Hero): * Favored: Wildman ¡Á1 * HD 1: Combat Bonuses ¡Á1 * HD 1: Stalker ¡Á1 * HD 1: Weapon Training ¡Á1 * HD 2: Combat Bonuses ¡Á2 * HD 2: Enduring ¡Á1 * HD 3: Combat Bonuses ¡Á3 * HD 3: Enduring ¡Á2 * HD 3: Wildman ¡Á2 * HD 4: Combat Bonuses ¡Á4 * HD 4: Enduring ¡Á3 * HD 5: Combat Bonuses ¡Á5 * HD 5: Enduring ¡Á4 * HD 5: Wildman ¡Á3 * HD 6: Combat Bonuses ¡Á6 * HD 6: Enduring ¡Á5 SPECIAL ABILITIES Vampire Special Abilities * Blood Bite [Con damage from Bite attack counts as Feeding, can Bite in Grapple as a touch attack] * Darkvision 60 ft. * Inflict spells instead heal Strength, cure spells instead cause Strength damage * Feeding [Blood drank restores equal ability score damage, further from Human is less effective] * Human Blood [counts as Human for spell effects based on race] * Insanity Recovery [Feeding heals Insanity as if it was ability score damage] Vampire Weaknesses * Allergies [1d8 damage from contact with daylight or holy symbols and holy ground, unless consecrated to a deity of darkness, death, or evil] * Blood is Life [bleeding effects still apply to you] * Cursed Blood (Soil Bound) [Can only sleep if in your homeland, or near at least 1 Lb. of its earth] * Daytime Sleep [fatigued during daytime hours, Sinker ¨C1 to skill checks during the day, cannot sleep at night] * Hospitality [needs invitation into homes, cannot harm those they invite into theirs if they behave] * Hunger [stacking ¨C1 Intelligence penalty at dusk, which inly goes away a point at a time from Feeding] * Taint of Evil [alignment counts as Evil for spells and special effects, even if you are not] * Vulnerable Dismemberment [Slashing weapons can still deal critical damage] * Vulnerable Heart [Piercing wooden weapons can still deal critical damage] * Ward Away [cannot come within 10 ft. of a holy symbol or mirror strongly presented to them by a living being] * Water Allergy [1d6 damage from contact with naturally-running water, and cannot pass it under your own power] Leadership 7 [3 base from HD, +3 from Charisma, +1 from Intimidate] Fear-descriptor effects +2 DC CHAPTER 4: From Enemies to Allies From the Diary of Mircea Ciobanul, Prince of Wallachia: This morning was not a good morning, because my guards¡¯ captain was in an uproar. Two of his tax collectors had been impaled in the night, and posted like signs beside the main road into Targovi?te. Like those Habsburg dogs were not ENOUGH to put me off my breakfast! Now I have to manage a military of Ottoman mercenaries afeared by rumors of The Monster¡¯s return, and a city of peasant rabble HOPEFUL that the rumor be true. I just pray that the Sultan does not hear of this, and that we find who committed such a crime quickly, before he rouses the rabble to rebellion. Dead sheep produce no wool, after all. By banging at a comforthouse door, I was able to rouse its proprietor, and with coin from my prey I was able to secure lodgings for the day. I spun a tale of being a trader from Bucharest named Targosh whose cart of goods was washed away in the river on the trip, and had just managed to stumble into town in hopes of meeting my partners. An extra silver coin saw to it my clothes would be laundered, and another saw to it that I would be left alone to sleep off my weariness until the following nightfall. Despite my growing thirst I did not pay for a night¡¯s company, not wanting to put any miss out of her bed so late, nor frighten her with my apparently death-like state come dawn. I could have gone to an inn for the same services, but I a house that sold fairer flesh is more likely to be discrete about my presence, and I did NOT want to awaken in the burning sun¡¯s light because somebody came in and threw open the window to air out the room! Besides which, such houses of pleasure are much less likely to take notice of my¡­eccentricities. You pay for privacy, and it is often more secure than the confession of a priest, so long as you treat the staff with courtesy. Evidently grateful for the business, since it seems they are between the caravans that bring them most of their coin, I find myself soaking in a wooden tub of soapy water while it is being filled a pot at a time by the owner¡¯s daughter. A cute blond girl, fresh into her womanhood, whose scrubbing of the dirt and muck from my back stirs hungers in me that I had not felt since my days as a young soldier. Despite this, I harden my heart even as my manhood follows suit, and try to engage her in conversation rather than bed-play. ¡°So tell me, how is your life working in a house of comfort? Do the others find jealousy in your favor as the owner¡¯s daughter?,¡± I found in my life with my wives that getting a woman talking gossip about other women is a good way to lose interest in more carnal activities with them. ¡°No Targosh, I do not work here. Father just woke me to bathe you, normally this would be Marissa¡¯s task but it is too late to fetch her from her bed, and father seeks to marry me to a wealthy merchant so that I may be taken from this place.¡± Very well, that is a bit more¡­honest¡­than I am used to hearing from a woman. Suddenly with actual curiosity about her, and since the sun is still far below the horizon, I am a bit rude to ask, ¡°So what, he seeks to marry you to ME, a man who just wandered in from the street with only a full coin purse to his name? It seems to me that his standards are pretty low, what of YOUR pride as a woman?¡± Pouring a flask of water over my back, she continues, ¡°I¡¯ve had the occasional suitor since I first entered womanhood, living in a place like this certainly leaves no lack of prospective men, but they all found me too strange to marry. And it is not like I would be able to give you sons, after all, so I think father just wants rid of me.¡± Now I am MORE than curious, ¡°Strange how, do you have three teats? Maybe an extra limb beneath your skirts? Analisa, you are a BEAUTIFUL young woman, and even barren I doubt ANY man of means would reject taking you as his mistress.¡± ¡°I am NOT the barren one! It is YOU who can no longer sire children, Lord Tepes¡­oh.¡± I spin around, splashing soapy dirty water from the tub as I snatch her hand, and stare into her shocked face, ¡°How do you KNOW my name, woman! And what makes you think I am unable to sire children.¡± ¡°Please my Lord, I meant no offense, the spirits just TOLD me of you when I felt the dead at father¡¯s door! Young Merrick of your army, HE told me that we were safe with you, and the spirits do NOT deceive¡­do they?,¡± she asks me as fear starts to filter into her pale grey eyes. I release her wrist and face her, speaking seriously, ¡°No, at least THIS spirit of yours is being truthful. If he truly was a soldier in my army, then he knows how I treated those who¡­took advantage. But listen and be aware of my words Analisa, it is not ME that you have to fear. Tell NOBODY of what you know, let me remain Targosh of Bucharest, lest you AND your father be dragged into the dungeons and put to pain for answers you do not have. I doubt that the Ottomans would care about your innocence¡­being Ingram, the idea of torturing the innocent is something they enjoy, after all.¡± I lean back against the tub¡¯s side while she rushes out of the room, eventually returning with a new bucket of hot water to add before I break the uncomfortable silence, ¡°So¡­spirits. You are a witch, are you not? No wonder nobody wants you, men have to watch their reputations and having a wife OR mistress that is to be burned at the stake by the The Church OR The Ingram is not a good for that.¡± ¡°Yes my Lord¡­I mean, yes¡­Targosh,¡± she says with her eyes downcast, obviously upset at having disappointed me. And if I needed to care about such things anymore, I might not have said what I said next. ¡°As you said, I am NOT most men, maybe I am not even a man at all despite my¡­shape,¡± I turn to stare at her until she feels my eyes on her, and her head lifts to look me in the eyes, ¡°Darling girl, I am here for a PURPOSE, and so long as you help me with that¡­well, I died years ago, so it seems that I am open for marrying again. And a witch that can talk to spirits, and feel the presence of the dead? That seems like a good wife for me to have.¡± I see the light of hope in her eyes spark, and her smile becomes so radiant that it is as if the sun came out in the room, except that my flesh does not char, ¡°Yes my Lord¡­husband?¡± She kneels down beside my tub taking up my had to her lips, ¡°If my craft would serve you, then it is yours to use.¡± I pet her head and feel myself smiling benevolently, ¡°Are you sure of this, who knows how long I have been dead in the ground, it isn¡¯t like I have a crown or castle to share with you. This is likely to be a very one-sided marriage, Analisa. And I doubt the dead can be wed in any temple.¡± She just looks up to me, eyes wet with tears, ¡°It is the year of the Lords 1550, my husband, you have been dead some 80 years now, and your legend has only grown in these past generations. I care not what the temples say, do you think they would marry a WITCH in their walls any more than a DEAD man? I grew up praying for you to return to this land, to purge it of the Ottomans once again, and now¡­you are here, and seek ME as wife? ¡°I am yours, in all ways that matter, I am yours now and forever.¡± *** Having a loyal servant at my call, and keeping watch over me as I sleep, is a much greater relief than I thought it would be. Telling her father that I am willing to take her as my mistress, since it isn¡¯t like I can walk into a temple and marry her at midday, insures that she is at my service for the rest of my stay. I have to leave most of the gold in my purse with him as security for this, since it is so easy for travelers to make promises they have no intention of keeping, but it isn¡¯t like it is MY gold in the first place. Hmmm¡­mayhaps I should lighten the belts of MORE Ottoman soldiers tomorrow night, to restock my coffers, I think as I lay in my bed above the kitchen while the sun rises, and embrace my return to fitful sleep. Or at least that is the intention, yet rest never comes, and I am left feeling weary AND awake, unable to rest, with the bite of every bug and prick of every piece of straw. The thirst that grows with the dawning sun only makes my discomfort worse. I CAN¡¯T SLEEP! After an interminable time tossing and turning in the bed, I drag my weary bones out of my room, and look for Analisa. If I cannot rest, at least I can learn what I have missed these past generations. And I find her asleep in a small room beside the kitchen, next to the front room where I hear her father snoring away. Realizing in my fog-filled mind that it would be the height of rudeness of me to disturb my new bride-to-be, I close her door quietly, going to the common room to sit and think in the darkest corner by the fire far from the light around the entrance. I have difficulty thanks to my hunger, not the gnawing NEED that I once felt trapped in the ground, but annoying nonetheless. Combined with the feeling of my body AND mind trying to march through thick mud in the rain, and my contemplations are¡­difficult. I get the impression that I am thinking slowly, time itself appears to skip around me, with maids coming in to start preparations for midday meals that I must wave off. Then before I am aware of it, others come in for an early dinner, and I feel the press of the sun slowly creeping towards the horizon. At an unknown point in the day Analisa and her father started working once more, but I don¡¯t know when. The world around me is like shattered temple glass, its patterns only apparent when I focus on them with great effort. Effort it is impossible to maintain. So instead I push myself internally, with a desperation to find out WHY I am suddenly unable to slumber. What is different? I slumbered while trapped in my¡­grave¡­and when I was borrowing a room from Merta¡¯s family, why is this FAR more comfortable bed suddenly like trying to rest on broken pottery? I bathed before leaving the forest AND when I arrived here, so it cannot be my cleanliness. But¡­I am now known to a witch, and witches are well known for being tricksome and subtly insidious, could she be trying to bring me harm? NO, that is a thought UNWORTHY of me! If she DID wish me harm, better to LET me sleep so that she could molest my body unimpeded. Besides which, I am her only ally around here, other than her father...why would she throw away such a rare asset? Maybe it is the WARMTH of my new bed? My hole in the forest, and the farmhouse, were both doubtlessly far colder in the night than a room over the kitchen, with its stoked oven being heated for the morning¡¯s baking. No¡­that isn¡¯t right, I don¡¯t seem to truly FEEL the heat OR cold anymore, it is more just an AWARENESS of it. Unless I make an effort to know, I cannot tell. It is late in the day, maybe Analisa has some insight or can ask her spirits about this, Is what I was thinking as I stood to find her. Or I tried to stand, only to collapse back onto the table like my legs had been cut out from under me, catching myself loudly and collapsing back into my chair, as one of the two un-rented barmaids comes to inquire about my wellbeing. ¡°Are you well, good sir? You have not eaten or drank anything all day, mayhaps I can fetch you an ale or some stew?,¡± she asks with obvious concern. Probably a bad image for them if their customers see others passing out in the dining area. Frustrated with myself more than her, I just try to get her away from me, ¡° No fair woman, I am fine. My foot just fell asleep while I was awaiting Analisa, and I did not notice when I stood up. My apologies for making a commotion.¡± Her face brightens up and it seems I said too much, ¡°OH! You are Analisa¡¯s new man! Here, she is tending to one of the other girls right now, so how about I fetch you a free wine to keep you warm until she can see to you. We just got in a good batch!¡± Before I can object she is already walking back towards the counter window, with the kitchen AND the liquors on the other side, and I must admit that I am THIRSTY¡­just not for wine. A few moments later she is back with a deep red fluid in a peasant¡¯s poorly-made glass. She sets it down before me with a smile before running away to see to another customer, all before I can say anything. So there I sit, only aware my legs still exist because I can feel them with my hands, and this completely unappetizing fruit-smelling fluid on the table in front of me. Fruit? Yes, it smells of apples and strawberries, as well as the grape from which it was made¡­I think I even detect a faint hint of hickory? I take a careful sip, not having been particularly enamored of wine as anything other than a way to force myself to sleep and forget the day¡¯s worries. After swallowing it, my stomach knots and turns, the fluid rushing back up my neck like a runaway horse! I manage to catch it in my hands, muffling the noise, and am forced to smear the filth off on the leg of the table to go unnoticed. Damnation, it seems I do not drink wine, anymore. After some quiet panting, more for the remembered comfort it used to bring than the need for the breath I no longer crave, I set my fog-filled mind to figuring out how to regain the use of my legs. Using my left arm I pull my right foot across my lap, and then remove the boot to assure myself that my flesh is still there. Poking at it with my untrimmed fingernail, I can feel the pressure of it after a while, but there is no sensation of even the muted pain that I am able to feel now. So it seems that they are still part of me, but can why can I not MOVE them? Mustering up more effort than I have spent since drowning an old instructor with too-friendly hands, eventually even through the dreary press of daytime I manage the impossible¡­I move my toes. And then, after massaging the limb so that my blood flows through it now that my heart no longer beats, I manage to recover the use of my right leg. Yet massaging the left does not give me any sensation below my knee, no matter how long I do so. Placing my boot back on, and my right leg back on the floor, I turn in the chair to reach my lower left leg and begin massaging my calf as well. But even THAT returns no sense of touch to it. What is different between the two? Why was my right leg able to recover, yet me left cannot? I try to turn back to face the table, but now my RIGHT leg is not working either, and then I have a realization. IT IS THE GROUND! Feeling like a simpleton, I realize why my LEGS can sleep yet I cannot, and why my room upstairs is insufficient to give me rest. I was buried for generations in the land of my birth, the very Wallachia whose soil my ancestors sleep within, and is not death called ¡°eternal rest¡±? Some essence of my new night-creature nature NEEDS the embrace of the earth to be able to relax itself, so that I can sleep. And since I was on a pallet on the ground, and my feet are a good head¡¯s distance from that same soil, it would appear that I just need it within maybe elbow¡¯s distance. Probably I need it to be WALLACHIAN soil as well, since what I know of the mystic says that it is all about symbols and poetry. With this revelation I can¡¯t help but feel myself smile, then frown as my mind slowly finishes the reasoning out my situation. DAMNATION! I cannot just lay down on the taproom floor and ¡°die¡± with all these people around, nor play act at being a dead body in the kitchen, without sending everyone here screaming in alarm. And with the sun up, I cannot leave to find someplace to hide and sleep. Which sparks a dim but good idea. So I lift my legs to massage feeling into them once more, allowing me to stand and slowly shuffle my way to the room¡¯s kitchen window, ¡°Pardon miss, but would you happen to have a empty potato or other sack I can get off of you? I find myself in need of one.¡± Thankfully those who work here are used to strange requests, and I get a potato sack without even a sideways glance. So then I slip out the back door, the one that leads to the outhouses, since it is late in the day and they are on the east side of the building. Despite my precautions to stay out of the skin on my face stings viciously, and even its glancing light reflected off of distant structures feels like hot needles in my eyes, forcing me into a heavy squint. But I see my goal through the glare, thanks to shading my eyes with one hand, THERE is the woodshed! Stumbling to it as the glare robs me of the ability to see small things, like the water-filled bucket I tripped over and nearly fall on my face, I make my way there. Moving aside the man-high pile of wood to collect against the outside wall with my newfound strength, I fall to my knees to start sweeping handfuls of soil into the sack. My lower legs fall asleep, and my scooping hand soon follows as I lose control of it and my right forearm at the same time. Not that it is uncomfortable, quite the opposite, like the comforting coolness of silken sheets on a hot summer¡¯s night. The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. Once the sack is full I use my left arm to pull myself up, shaking my right arm and stomping my legs while hanging from the woodshed¡¯s room beam, until feeling returns. Then I move the woodpile back in place, and return to my room while holding the closed sack aside. There I curl up on my bed around it, pulling the covers over me, as the sting of my skin fades and my awareness with it. *** For all of maybe an hour. When the sun finally dips below the horizon and consciousness returns to me, I have two truths that appear in my mind. First is that I did not dream for the first time since I awakened. The second is that, while the weariness and skipping-time are gone, the fogginess in my mind remains¡­even if not so pronounced as when the sun was out. It seems that even the dead NEED sleep, to be capable. I am putting my boots on, after hiding the bag of dirt beneath the bed¡¯s frame, when there is a gentle tap on the door followed by a familiar voice. ¡°Targosh, are you awake? I have come to see to your needs for the night.¡± At Analisa¡¯s words the hunger I feel grips my stomach, and my throat feels parched as I notice my fangs extending, I doubt these are the ¡°needs¡± that she is referring to. ¡°Enter my darling, I am decent.¡± She comes in, a tray with a bowl, small loaf of bread, and mug of ale on her hip, ¡°I heard that you have not eaten all day, so I thought to bring you a meal.¡± Oh precious girl, I am hungry but NOT for mortal sustenance. Shaking my head as I nearly flop onto the bed, my weariness overtaking me, I focus on pushing my fangs back into my upper jaw so as not to scare the girl, ¡°No Analisa, while I am hungry I am afraid that my dead body cannot derive sustenance from such things.¡± At her confusion I have to continue, ¡°Blood girl, I must drink the life¡¯s fluid in another¡¯s veins to keep the hunger in control. And I am feeling that hunger now, so I am going to go satiate my appetite with the enemies of Wallachia.¡± ¡°But, my Lord husband, today the streets have been filled with Ottoman mercenaries trying to find who killed two of their own last night! If you harm them, they will NOT take mercy on you, and believe you to be the killer,¡± she pleads with me to stay, while setting the tray on the room¡¯s small table. ¡° Oh Analisa, I never knew a witch could be so innocent. If they were to place the blame for those dead dogs on ME, it would only be putting it where it belongs. And tonight I shall add to their funeral population, and EVERY night, until not a single Ottoman foot walks my homeland¡¯s soil,¡± she is staring at me in astonishment and shock when I am done, so I go to hold her to my chest to comfort her. ¡°Stay here and eat the food while I slip out of the building, and if anybody asks I was here WITH you all night. You so often prayed for my return to rid you of their rule, do not mourn your prayers being answered ,¡± with that laugh I release her to crack the door, and slip into the empty hallway. *** There are two things you need to fight ANY war, three if you count the will to fight. The other two are information about your enemy and your allies, and the second is cold hard currency. It is my good, and their BAD, fortune that my enemy is basing itself out of Castle Poenari just outside of Targovi?te. I have spent many a year in that castle waging my own wars against the Ottoman invaders, and I know its passages as well or even BETTER than the architect who made it, since I rebuilt it. Well enough to know that there is a secret escape route, designed to be as¡­inconvenient¡­as possible. And with enough coin I can buy secrets from the enemy themselves. The coin that is kept INSIDE Castle Poenari, from the purse of the enemy themselves. This will be the THIRD time I¡¯ve used the Ottomans¡¯ own funds to fight them ! It takes me well into the night to reach the side of Castle Poenari, just below the shaft that drops the privies into the creek which runs by, thanks to having to keep out of sight of both villagers and soldiers. Thankfully, my night-capable eyes let me see them well before they can see me, making avoiding notice ridiculously easy. Easy enough to steal a few burlap bags and some rope from a small barn on the way, the beasts sleeping soundly even as I take a woodcutting hatchet. I hope to need these soon, I will make it up to you my good farmer. Of course, the creek provides difficulties of its own, with the odd clay-like wall that it seems to produce when I push an arm over it, but thankfully I have already figured out a way past that. A rather undignified hop that releases the pressure confirms this. Now I just need to get ACROSS the creek to the wall of Castle Poenari, just pass the smaller fortress keep just below and on the other side of the creek. It is time to see if fate is on my side, or if I am going to be having the last bath of my life. With a running jump, I hurl myself across the creek into the side of the wall, gripping frantically at its stones. Despite this I start to slide down the wall, but the hook of the hatchet catches between two stones and halts my slide into the burning-cold water. Thank the gods, I do NOT want to know what BATHING in wild water would do to me, after seeing how it scoured my hand! Looking up towards the privy exit as it extends over the creek, I am at an angle where I can see something that is invisible from other angles. The small entryway on the inside of the reeking shit-passage, that leads further INTO Castle Poenari! To be exact, the secret exit for fleeing the castle should it fall, where I could then swim my way to freedom and eventual revenge. Only now it is my way INTO my old home, and after some stench-ridden climbing I make my way into it. Hunched over almost on all fours for a good couple of strides until I leave the width of the walls, to stand in a small lightless chamber at a wall with a length of iron-banded thick wood. The mechanism is not designed to be OPENED from this side, just SHUT, but my newfound strength is enough to pull the locking post out of the stone¡¯s grip, so that I can slide the wall out and open the passageway. The door INTO the treasury room of Castle Poenari. Sadly the heavy thick iron-bound doors on its other side is closed, and likely locked with a bar on its other side, so no way to get into the castle THAT way, A pity that, since it would be quick work to kill all others here if I could sneak in¡­and get past the guard¡¯s quarters on the other side, so best to stay on my plan. I see chests full of coins and even gems and jewelry, all the wealth stolen from my people over the years that has either not already been sent to the Ottoman throne, or is being kept from the Sultan¡¯s accounts by his greedy local factor. Unfortunately while I can SEE the coins and gems, they are merely grey shapes to my night-creature¡¯s sight. It takes a firestarter and a lantern to cast light into the room, so that I can separate the gold coins from the copper. I fill several of my burlap bags with mostly gold and some silver before tying them shut, and another with valuable-looking gems and jewelry, before ferrying them out into the secret exit. Originally the plan, when I put this passage in during the castle¡¯s restoration, was to empty the treasury into a waiting boat and leaving my conquerors with an empty prize. This time I take and throw the bags across the way into the grass on the other side of the creek, before returning the treasury. Instead of throwing the remaining wealth into the creek, and thus giving the castle¡¯s new inhabitants a clue about this secret way in, I pile as much as I can into the small room on the other side of the door before shutting it, Wealth NOT in their hands is almost as good as if it was in MINE! I still have to leave two chests of low-grade coins, and the larger objects of wealth, in the treasury, just because of the limits of space. The last thing I take, placing it near the exit to the creek in its oiled-leather wrapping, is Dragon¡¯s Fang¡­the blade too distinct to carry if I want to hide my robbery, but too valuable to my family to leave in the filthy hands of an Ingram swine. I am just thrilled that it was retrieved and brought here, after my death. Even more so that whoever did it HID it under a chest of low-grade coinage, I would have never found it if I had not moved that chest. So now I have to get BACK across the creek, but it seems that contact with Castle Poenari¡¯s stones causes the same pushing wall effect as touching the ground, making my original plan of grabbing the sod on the other side a poor one. But I have an idea, something I could do when my body was younger and my muscles more energetic. While gripping the bottom of the secret passage¡¯s entryway, my fingers cracking and bleeding from where I have them shoved into its stones, I hold myself up crouched AGAINST the wall as if it was the ground itself. If I can get enough strength into this, I can flip in the air and land on my feet, just like when I was training in the Janissaries. With a savage PUSH against the wall, pressing against the push-back of the creek¡¯s aura, I put ALL of my new body¡¯s power into the leap. Most of it is lost to the aura, until my feet leave the stones, and I find myself flying across the creek with what seems sufficient force to make the jump. But I must tell you that I was unable to complete my flip, despite my newfound strength. Maybe it was the loss of power from the creek, or just twenty years being without practice, but instead of landing on my feet and staying upright with my hands¡­I land face-first. Into a bag of hard coins, instead of soft sod. Thankfully none are here to see my embarrassment! I spend the rest of the night taking and burying the bags in the woods outside of Targovi?te, keeping only a full purse of silver and a few gold (I think, since it was a handful of coins each from a mostly-silver and mostly-gold bag), leaving a couple coins on the farmer¡¯s chopping stump to pay back my theft. With the feel of the sun¡¯s gaze coming closer to the horizon, I slip into my bed with Analisa, the bag of dirt under the thin mattress embracing me in its cool comfort. Holding her I feel the drowsiness of the day start to take me as she mumbles and pushes herself into me, making me wish that I had the energy to take her as a man should, when the dark takes me once more. *** The next night sees me in the comforthouse¡¯s main room, spending coin like it was water to quench the thirst of the other patrons. I have found that I am able to keep down a few sips of ale, so long as I space them out, and thanks to Analisa¡¯s help ¡°refilling¡± my already-full mug none seem to notice that I am not nearly as drunk as I pretend to be. But it is thanks to their inebriation that my own questions gain answers, and I get an impression of the current political atmosphere. The current Ottoman-installed ¡°Prince¡± is Mircea Ciobanul, who has increased taxes to ruinous rates, and maintains a force of Ottoman mercenaries to serve as his princely military and tax collectors. A man with no noble claim to his name, put in his position due only to his loyalty to the Ingram, he has been funding mercenary forces to keep the Habsburgs of Wallachia from pushing into Wallachia¡¯s borders. Ah, so it seems I stole his payroll¡­SUCH a pity . Most trade in Targovi?te is made up of war goods to the mercenary forces, and mercenaries from all over the Ottoman Empire and even Moldavia, seeking employment. Those from Moldavia are accepted by the locals, being from a similar culture, despite the usual problems of housing warriors of such ill repute as mercenaries. But the same cannot be said of the Ingram-worshipping Ottomans, who treat the people of Targovi?te as little better than cattle. So it seems there is a conflict here I can take advantage of, maybe pitting the two trends of mercenaries against one another. Or even treating with the Habsburgs to push out the Ottomans¡­better temporary Habsburg rule than a lifetime under an Ingram boot, or served as a meal to their vile gods! As the night wears on, a few discrete inquiries with the growing crowd coming for the free libations, leads me to a man looking to sell his home. A small manor house near the edge of the forest by the creek, outside of the town¡¯s wall, so it has its own short palisade to defend it. Since it sounds perfect, and would be close to the comforthouse, we make drunken arrangements to look it over and maybe change over the deed tomorrow after nightfall. He is obviously curious why I want to do it so late, since we will need lamps to see it (or at least HE will), and I explain, ¡°Good sir, after TONIGHT, do you honestly think EITHER of us are going to be able to stand unaided before then?¡± With a drunken laugh and a sloppy collision of our mugs, he agrees and praises my foresight. So it is the next day just before dusk that I am groggily woken by Analisa¡¯s shaking me, so that I can get cleaned up and dressed well enough to give the impression that I have been awake much of the day. With a borrowed lamp from the comforthouse, I follow my business partner to the house, and he proudly invites me in after unlocking the gate door. It is another key to get in from the enclosed yard, into the house itself. A short while later I have to admit¡­it really IS perfect. Two stories tall with only courtyard windows on the bottom story, as well as a third story circular tower attached to the house that can be used as a solid stone fallback point should the courtyard AND the house fall to an attack. The house has a half-full wine cellar, which I am told will be part of the sale, and the flagstones of it look loose enough that I can pry them up for a secure bolt-hole to sleep the day away. The outer walls of the house are made from fired bricks, as well as the wall surrounding the courtyard, and the gate itself is a double set of doors with a lock on the outer door and a two-story gatehouse complete with murder holes. In essence¡­it is a small FORTRESS, built long ago before Targovi?te became so populous. I agree to meet him at the comforthouse he next evening, with a public witness of his choice, to exchange a not unreasonable sum with him in exchange for the keys and deed. My own witness will be Varovich, Analisa¡¯s father. After parting ways I return the lamp to the comforthouse then sneak out on my own through the back door, and make my way into the woods. A couple hours later I am back with the mostly-gold bag, counting coins on my room¡¯s side table under faint lamplight so that I can tell their denominations, when there is a faint tapping at my door, ¡°Targosh? It is Analisa, may I enter beloved?¡± Beloved¡­it has been long since I heard that said with such sincerity, ¡°Of course my darling, you need never ask. Do, please, enter.¡± She comes in and starts with, ¡°Do you need any-,¡± before her voice stops and her eyes widen in shock at the sheer WEALTH atop the table. ¡° Come in Analise, and shut the door. If you are going to be my woman, it is best that you get comfortable with this ¡®wealthy merchant¡¯ and his wealth, don¡¯t you think?¡± *** Thanks to Analisa fetching a flat case to hold the coins from a cabinet maker the next day, that night I exchange a box full of sorted coin for the signatures needed to take possession of my new home. Varovich almost cuts his head I half with the width of his joyously proud smile, and returns the purse he held in collateral to me as I take his daughter into my new house. Moving the bag of soil in her trunk of clothes, of course. As she sets up the master bedroom with her fresh sheets, I tell her I have to leave for a bit to feed my growing hunger, only for her to grab my arm as I turn. ¡°No love, it is our first night in our home¡­spend it with your wife? If it is blood you need, I have plenty to slake your thirst.¡± ¡°Darling love,¡± I say as I grip her shoulders, ¡°I appreciate your offer, but I would not want to pain you. A woman¡¯s burden and joy is to bear her man¡¯s children and tend to their comfy home, NOT to slake his unholy hungers!¡± Her hand comes up to touch my face under my mustachios, stroking my cheek and enflaming my hungers in several ways I had not expected, ¡°I shall never experience the pains of childbirth from your bed, my unliving husband¡­let ME decide what pains I can bear for you. It cannot be worse than the loss of my maidenhood! ¡°And THAT I would give you now, as well.¡± I never thought to feel this since rising from my own grave, the hunger that any man knows for a willing and beautiful woman. Between the two needs, and the succor of comfort I have not known since my first wife¡¯s kindness, I¡­lose myself. We pass much of the night in passion and blood, like a fire was lit inside of me and only Analisa¡¯s touch could keep me from burning. As the moonlight comes in from the room¡¯s doors of glass panes, she screams in pained bliss, even as my fangs dig into her collar bone. During our brief respites while the passions build once more, she uses her witchery to seal the wounds, turning them into nearly-imperceptible scars that only accentuate her ivory beauty. I find them strangely attractive, as she leans her neck over my face, resulting in yet more rolling through the bedsheets. Eventually our passions wane, as does her vigor, and she falls asleep kissing my chest; our bodies covered in her blood-streaked sweat. My fire now only cold smoldering embers, I stroke her hair to soothe her to sleep, and find myself lost in her scent. It is as the moon goes across the sky, its pale light gifting her glowing skin color through the misty glass squares, that I realize something. I truly LOVE this woman. I was going to just run the Ottomans from Wallachia, but now I want to TAKE its crown, to share it with her. But sadly, needs must be tended to, and all too soon I feel her deep breathing as she is lost in exhausted slumber. Slipping from under her I make sure the blankets and cushions are wrapped around her to keep her warm in the night¡¯s chill I no longer feel, and go to the wine racks in the cellar. With my newfound strength moving the racks around to open a section of the floor in the corner is easy enough, although I must retrieve a fireplace poker to pry up enough of the flagstones to fit myself inside. It takes until the sun is starting to crest the horizon for me to dig up and dispose of enough soil to fit myself under the floor, and sculpt a wooden platform over the hole. The platform would be strong enough to support the flagstones even if somebody stands atop them, which I test by jumping up and down on them. The last task I do before climbing into my improvised tomb is to leave a note for Analisa, telling her that I will return after nightfall, and instructing her to take the remainder of the funds from my purchase to secure servants and guards. As I climb in to sleep, before the sun sends my soul back into the dark, I chuckle to myself. Odd that I would find a WITCH to be as trustworthy as my former bodyguards. *** NAME: Vlad Tepes III RACE: Vampire (Human) AGE: 45.2 years alive, Dead under 1 year HIT DIE: 6 ECL: 6 XP TO NEXT LEVEL: 20,200 / 21,000 SIZE: Medium SPEED: 30 ft. ERA: Renaissance-Era ABILITY SCORES: Cha 16, Wis 10, Int 12, Dex 10, Con 13, Str 16 FAST ACTION: 10% DURABILITY: 6 TEMPORARY HIT POINTS: 23 SAVING THROWS: Fort +13 (10), Ref +1 (0), Will +8* (6) [* Booster +1] [+1 vs. being disabled] [Immunity (ability drain, age, Compulsion, disease, poison, Transformation from others, Fortitude save effects that don¡¯t apply to objects as well] ARMOR CLASS: 10 (+0 Dex), flat-footed 10, touch 10 ATTACK: Base Attack Bonus +6, Melee +8, Ranged +6; +4 to Stunts. * Bite +8 [+8/+3 or +3] melee (1d4+1 Piercing, counts as Feeding) * Slam +8 [+8/+3] melee (1d6+3 Blunt) SKILLS (+3 to Social skills and NPC Attitude checks, ¨C3 instead in enemy territory): * Charisma-Linked (+2) * * Bluff +5 (0) * * Diplomacy +6 (0) * * Gather Information +5 (0) * * (Wildman) Handle Animal +5 (4) [+2 from Animal Affinity, ¨C5 from being a Vampire] * * (P) Intimidate +12 (9) * Wisdom-Linked (+0) * * (Stalker) Listen +7 (4) [+1 from Stalker, +2 from Alertness] * * (P) Profession (manager) +8 (7) * * (P) Sense Motive +9* (9) [* +1 for verbal uses] * * (P) Spot +7 (4) [+1 from Stalker, +2 from Alertness] * * (Wildman) Survival +6 (4) [+2 from Wildman] * Intelligence-Linked (+1) * * (Wildman) Knowledge (geography) +2 (1) * * (P) Knowledge (military & tactics) +10 (9) * * (Wildman) Knowledge (nature) +4 (1) [+2 from Wildman] * * (Enduring) Knowledge (nobility & royalty) +5* (4) [* Booster +1] * Dexterity-Linked (+0) * * (Stalker) Balance +1 (0) * * (Stalker) Hide +2* (2) [* +2 in wilderness] * * (Stalker) Move Silently +2* (2) [* +2 in wilderness] * * (P) Ride +7 (7) * Constitution-Linked (+1) * * (P) Concentration +1 (0) * * (P) Strong Heart +11 (10) [ranks converted to Temporary Hit Points] * Strength-Linked (+1) * * (P) Climb +1 (0) * Linguistics +2 (2) * Wild Empathy +8 (<3>) [+2 from Animal Affinity] FEAT (Simple Weapon Proficiency, Martial Weapon Proficiency, Light Armor Proficiency, Medium Armor Proficiency, Heavy Armor Proficiency, Shield Proficiency): * HD 1: Animal Affinity * HD 3: Leadership * HD 6: Iron Will * Human: Royal Blood * Vampire: Alertness * Vampire: Improved Grapple * Undead Con 12+: Toughness * Birth: Born Under a Dark Star * Wildman 1: Track TRAITS (Tough Hero): * Favored: Wildman ¡Á1 * HD 1: Combat Bonuses ¡Á1 * HD 1: Stalker ¡Á1 * HD 1: Weapon Training ¡Á1 * HD 2: Combat Bonuses ¡Á2 * HD 2: Enduring ¡Á1 * HD 3: Combat Bonuses ¡Á3 * HD 3: Enduring ¡Á2 * HD 3: Wildman ¡Á2 * HD 4: Combat Bonuses ¡Á4 * HD 4: Enduring ¡Á3 * HD 5: Combat Bonuses ¡Á5 * HD 5: Enduring ¡Á4 * HD 5: Wildman ¡Á3 * HD 6: Combat Bonuses ¡Á6 * HD 6: Enduring ¡Á5 SPECIAL ABILITIES Vampire Special Abilities * Blood Bite [Con damage from Bite attack counts as Feeding, can Bite in Grapple as a touch attack] * Darkvision 60 ft. * Inflict spells instead heal Strength, cure spells instead cause Strength damage * Feeding [Blood drank restores equal ability score damage, further from Human is less effective] * Human Blood [counts as Human for spell effects based on race] * Insanity Recovery [Feeding heals Insanity as if it was ability score damage] Vampire Weaknesses * Allergies [1d8 damage from contact with daylight or holy symbols and holy ground, unless consecrated to a deity of darkness, death, or evil] * Blood is Life [bleeding effects still apply to you] * Cursed Blood (Soil Bound) [Can only sleep if in your homeland, or near at least 1 Lb. of its earth] * Daytime Sleep [fatigued during daytime hours, Sinker ¨C1 to skill checks during the day, cannot sleep at night] * Hospitality [needs invitation into homes, cannot harm those they invite into theirs if they behave] * Hunger [stacking ¨C1 Intelligence penalty at dusk, which only goes away a point at a time from Feeding] * Taint of Evil [alignment counts as Evil for spells and special effects, even if you are not] * Vulnerable Dismemberment [Slashing weapons can still deal critical damage] * Vulnerable Heart [Piercing wooden weapons can still deal critical damage] * Ward Away [cannot come within 10 ft. of a holy symbol or mirror strongly presented to them by a living being] * Water Allergy [1d6 damage from contact with naturally-running water, and cannot pass it under your own power] Leadership 7 [3 base from HD, +3 from Charisma, +1 from Intimidate] Fear-descriptor effects +2 DC CHAPTER 5: The Avalanche鈥檚 Warning Diary of Saddam Anatoli, Governor of Targovi?te: By all the blessed devils of hell, and princes of the Abyss, where did all my wealth vanish to! I was supposed to have great wealth taken from the infidel slaves and dhimmi merchants of this city, to fund our mercenaries¡¯ efforts to the north. My reward for doing so was to keep the riches that remained after paying them, Prince Ciobanul told me such when he showed me the riches of the castle¡¯s vault just a day ago. Yet in ONE NIGHT it has all but vanished into the air, gone like promises of peace to the lesser-blooded! I cannot let Prince Ciobanul know of this, for fear he replaces me in my position here. I must figure a way to keep up the APPEARANCE of a full treasury, while I refill it, and keep funds going to the north. Which means I must bring my OWN wealth up from Adrianople, so the Prince does not catch word of any increase in taxes. I shall find who is responsible for this theft, and their punishment ALONE shall earn me my entrance into the Protean Pits! The next few weeks are a whirlwind of domestic bliss. Thanks to Analisa hiring the less desirable of society as our servants, they gratefully ignore our idiosyncrasies in exchange for stable employment. They know that they will not have NEARLY as good a life if they make an issue of their master sleeping all day and their mistress talking to ghosts. Despite this the scaly Kobolds that make up easily half the household as a result are just¡­DISTRURBING to me, but I try not to show it. I often had to punish entire tribes of their thieving cousins, and now I find them the most RELIABLE servants I ever had¡­life is truly strange at times. I spend much of my early nights carousing at the various taverns that serve the travelling merchants or mercenary forces, trading coin for drinks to get the rumors which will form the base of my attack on the Ottoman invaders. The later evenings I spend either savaging the more brutal Ottomans, leaving them impaled in sight of Poenari Castle, or enjoying the company of my new wife. Once the governor of Targovi?te tried to ambush me, but I could easily see them in the dark, and that night I left TWO handfuls of his soldiers impaled come the dawn. But what I find oddest is that my hunger is somehow¡­lesser. Maybe it is because my body is getting used to it, like becoming immune to a poison over time like that king of old, or maybe it is from the regular drinking of witch¡¯s blood. My skin even seems harder to penetrate, Could Analisa¡¯s spirits be trying to aid me, since she is so happy with me? Because of my actions, often the governor sends criers into the town to decry me abstractly, and offer rewards for my capture. At least that is what the servants report, and I have no reason to think them liars, especially since I often hear of it in the taverns as well. Odd that I can swallow more than a mere sip now, but it just makes the hurling of it afterwards more annoying. Thankfully nobody knows I am responsible for the dead Ottomans, other than Analisa. However this does not keep others from being captured and blamed, which is a sad occurrence. I make it a point to be particularly brutal with my victims after each such public execution. At least now the governor is releasing his prisoners after a couple days, when it is obvious that I am not the one in his cells. And as winter comes closer, the nights grow longer, and my time to act increases. *** ¡°No, no, NO! You have to PUSH your breath OUT, while PULLING your soul INSIDE,¡± says my spectral teacher, as they keep trying to explain how to get the spell to work. With the recent attempt to ambush me, Analisa¡¯s heart nearly gave out from her worry. A couple nights later, after she spent some time at the graveyard, and now I have a magic instructor attempting to teach me his old skills. She found an assassin with an interest in the mystic arts, who used them to assist taking his prey, and thought that such a man¡¯s skills would assist me in my nightly endeavors. Sad to say that since he can only remain in the world for a short conversation at a time, the progress is¡­well¡­NOT progressing. ¡°You speak nonsense, who can say a walking DEAD man even HAS a soul!,¡± I spit back, my own frustrations at the repeated failures getting the best of me. ¡°That is horse shit and you KNOW it! Can you think? Well maybe NOT, but I know you CAN love. And only a soul ca-,¡± at which time he seems to be sucked into a point in his navel, vanishing like water from a holed bucket. While grinning to myself in petty satisfaction, I hear the most beautiful voice in the world, ¡°I don¡¯t think you actually WON that argument, love.¡± I take the perfumed soap-soaked towel she hands me, and use it to wipe the light bloody sweat from my naked body, as I stand up from my cross-legged position in the cellar. Handing it back to her as I get dressed once more, I have to ask, ¡°So you are not here to bring him back so that we might finish our argument?¡± Her face lights up, ¡° No husband, I am here to tell you that I received a letter. The woodswoman says she will accept you at her home come midnight tonight!¡± She hugs and kisses me, before taking my shirt and adjusting the fancy frills around the neck. Gods how I detest playing the merchant, give me the comforting hug of armor straps over this. ¡°So an hour from now?¡± ¡°Yes, plenty of time for you to get there,¡± she pats off imaginary dust on my clothes, ¡°I am going to go sleep until your arrival. Wake me when you return, and I shall see to your¡­appetites. ¡± A horse would have taken a third of the time, but despite my new home having a few horses stabled for use around town, none will let me ride them. Something about my new nature makes them skittish, and while I can soothe them enough to pet and give them apples, they either lock up in fear or go wild if I try to mount them. So it is that I spend an hour hustling through woodland in the dark, lighting my oil lantern as I approach the old woman¡¯s home in the thickets. ¡°Come in dead man, I have been waiting for you,¡± an old cracking voice reaches me on the wind shortly after I see her home. It seems there is no reason to try and hide my nature, after all. After blowing out the lamp, I set it down on a convenient old fallen tree, and walk through the door that creeks open as I approach. Inside there is an old grandmotherly woman sitting under a shawl in a chair before a low-burning fire, occasionally poking at it with a poker. The ceiling hangs with bags and bunches of strange odors, above the tables filled with bizarre looking items. ¡°Come, sit,¡± a flick of her wrist moves a stool from the wall to near the fire pit, ¡°I know you do not feel the efforts of your walk here, but I do not desire a crick in my neck from looking at you standing there.¡± Well, it IS her home, ¡°How did you know I wasn¡¯t a breathing man?,¡± I ask as I sit, my intended questions lost to curiosity. She starts with a humorous chuckle which quickly ends in a cackle, wiping a tear from her eye as her joviality ends. ¡°The lass who came to ask for me for this meeting, who shares a bed with you, is a witch¡­and you think an OLDER one would not be able to tell?¡± She reaches over to pat my arm before continuing, ¡°But that is not what you WANTED to talk to me about, and a dead man¡¯s coin spends as well as any other. So ask your questions.¡± ¡°What AM I?,¡± I hastily say, just as she finishes speaking, it being the most needed question I had. ¡°Ah, one must know themselves to succeed in their endeavors, and it would seem you do as well. You are Strigoi, my friend. One would think the night-living and blood-drinking would have told you as much¡­surely you know the legends.¡± I just shake my head, ¡°That cannot be. Those same legends say Strigoi have magic powers, such as commanding the creatures of the night and controlling the weather. I cannot even make MIST, much to my teacher¡¯s frustrations!¡± She turns in her chair to stare at me full in the face, suddenly serious, ¡°So what do you FEAR you are, then?¡± Her serious is shared by my own, her insight into my fears that I had not even acknowledged myself pulling it out of me, ¡°A¡­I¡­when I was a janissary, I heard legends of the Ghoul. A night-walking dead man that consumes the flesh and blood of the living, often those they care for. Savage beasts in a man¡¯s shape, and I don¡¯t know if I am to lose myself and BECOME one.¡± ¡° No good man, THAT is a fate I can insure you won¡¯t have. Your lady-love is safe from you, in that regard at least,¡± she turns back to poking at the fire. ¡°Your teacher is, let me guess, the ghost of some dead mystic?¡± ¡° Yes, and I assume you intuited that, rather than Analisa telling you?,¡± I say with unintended informality, the relief of her reassurance stronger on my heart than I thought it would be. ¡°No, it was just obvious. The problem isn¡¯t that you lack the capacity for a Strigoi¡¯s magic, it is that you are not being TAUGHT to use it. Your instructor would be good enough to teach the living with similar gifts, but YOUR touch of magic comes from the same source that lets you walk the night¡­NOT the secrets and mind-twisting of the mystics.¡± I lean forward to ask my next question, Money well spent so far, ¡°So how DO I use my magic?¡± She just grins sideways at me, leaning over to whisper conspiratorially, ¡°It is your WILL that lets you walk the night, your stubborn refusal to give in, augmented by the cursed forces that motivate your limbs. Think on THAT, think about moving your arm but don¡¯t LET it move, and speak what you wish into the world. You will be able to open the books of your Strigoi magics this way, and once you read that first page the rest shall be open to you. But much like a book they will all share a common theme in their contents, and it will take effort and time to open new ones.¡± ¡°I¡­I don¡¯t really understand, books and limbs? Am I to find a spellbook, and somebody to show me how to utilize its contents?,¡± I am befuddled, Is she speaking poetically or literally? Is this a riddle of some sort? ¡° Of course it would not be so easy,¡± I hear her mutter to herself before she once again turns to face me, ¡°WHAT have you been TRYING to learn so far?¡± ¡°I once knew a magus that could fill the battlefield with fog, to hide the soldiers from prying eyes. I thought it would be a skill I could learn, but I could not¡­which being so BASIC a spell, made me think I was NOT Strigoi,¡± my confession comes out, my inability to do something I set my mind to a fresh wound to my pride. ¡°Ah, I understand now. Yes such a thing IS easy for Strigoi to learn, but like ALL magics it MUST be LEARNED. You just have¡­access¡­to a realm of magic even us witches cannot use. This is one of what I was trying to talk about, the Strigoi ability to control weather by UNDERSTANDING it, and then moving their curse to MAKE it. Once you open up this ability, like a book you will have the capacity to use spells that touch upon it,¡± now she leans forward and her voice becomes firm, ¡°However be WARNED. Once you do so, other powers of the Strigoi will become HARDER to discover. Think of your cursed life as a rope with a knot at one end, the knot you grasp to move it. Each magic puts another knot in the rope, giving you another place from which to move your unliving power. ¡°But the rope is only SO long, and after each knot there is just LESS rope to make another. You will have to practice and explore your Strigoi nature to GROW that rope, so that new knots can be added. Now, I can start you on this path, tell you the not-really-secret secret that lets you make that first knot and every one thereafter¡­but is the power to control the weather the one you want to discover NOW?¡± I sit up straight to think while she goes back to her fire, a flick of the wrist throwing on another piece of kindling. It is only a few minutes for me to decide, ¡°What OTHER kinds of Strigoi powers can I command instead? Twisting the wills of others? Commanding night creatures?¡± ¡° And so much MUCH more. You can even ¡®gift¡¯ your curse in lesser form to others, giving you power over them as long as you both walk the night. Or kill the last of your humanity in exchange for clarity of mind and resistance to spells cast upon you. Any power you can think of that the walking dead possess, you can figure out how to unleash.¡± ¡°I will have to think on the others, but for NOW the ability to control weather will let me best pursue my goals. So¡­what is this not-so-secret thing you would tell me?¡± She just chuckles for a while, before revealing my idiocy, ¡°It was your DESIRE to move and escape your grave that moved your limbs to do so, and it is that same will that moves you every time the sun sets. If you know HOW mist forms, you just have to DESIRE it to exist and push your will into that desire¡­as if you were climbing from your grave hat first time.¡± I¡¯m shocked, ¡°Is it THAT simple, just ¡®wish¡¯ to have mist, and I have it?¡± ¡°Not quite,¡± she shakes her head, ¡°You must UNDERSTAND the mist first, but then? Yes, it IS that simple. Why not step outside and try it?¡± *** After creating the mist my first time, and feeling the slight drain on my motivation that it causes, I leave the pouch of coin for my erstwhile instructor and leave with shame at myself. It is really so EASY, I should have figured it out on my own long ago! But I was so used to seeing priests and mystics with their arcane chants and prayers, I never THOUGHT to utilize the same dark power which moves me to summon the same magics. I guess Justina was right, at times I can be an idiot. On the walk back I practice, seeing how far I can stretch my newfound connection with the weather of the world. A blast of wind that can blow leaves off a tree is easy enough to understand, having felt them before on the battlefield. With some effort, in a clearing by the trail, I am even able to pull a bolt of lightning from the cloudy sky, although I feel my eyes unfocused and a bit dizzy from how much I have been moving my ¡°curse¡± at that point. I can ALMOST feel the ability to keep the blasting wind blowing, by pushing it to a wider area and pulling on the power so it is not all unleashed at once, but it ever QUITE comes together. I must not understand what moves the wind enough. And the cloudy sky? Not possible at this time, I must learn MUCH more about them first. So it is that I reach home after midnight, the gate guard letting me in without question, before finally retiring to his bed. I don¡¯t bother waiting for my butler or his assistant to get the door, Let them sleep. Instead I climb into my bed with Analisa, the north-facing glass doors covered in heavy cloths comforting me in the knowledge that I will not burn in the sun. She mumbles in her sleep and moves further into my body, while I kiss her hair and¡­just hold her. I know she wanted me to waken her, but my hunger is still sated from yesterday and she is sleeping so contentedly. No, as much as even my dead body rises to meet her passion, I do not want to disturb such restful slumber. I fall into restful darkness before she wakes. As time goes on over the following weeks, I start using my mist-casting to sneak through the watchers of the Ottoman mercenary camps around Targovi?te. Before I was unable to do this, there being fires to keep the night watch warm whose light would reveal me, but given that it is winter and the snows are starting to fall nobody pays attention to a bank of fog moving across the field at night. My original intent was to capture or kill the mercenary leaders, and drag them to Poenari to put on pikes. Unfortunately I find myself simply unable to enter their tents, my feet refusing to lift when I try to step into them. Thinking that it is something like the invisible soft wall over water, I take a running leap at one¡­only my feet refuse to lift from the ground and I wind up face-down in the dirt. Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there. Sadly, the same is true of the tents they use to house their warriors. However the tents they have over their cooking fires and supplies ARE easy to enter, It must be something to do with my curse. Didn¡¯t the stories of Strigoi say they must be invited INTO a home to enter? I would think a tent was NOT a ¡®home¡¯, but it appears like any structure in which somebody sleeps counts¡­damn. Does this mean that the only reason I could enter Poenari was because I once OWNED it? So I take my frustrations out on the cooking gear and supplies, smearing night soil from the camp¡¯s latrines into their cauldrons, and mixing weapon-oil into the cooking lard. Let them try to march and make trouble when they are shitting themselves to death! Another mist casting lets me sneak out after my work is done, and I find a patrol near Targovi?te to take my frustrations out on. Doing this for several weeks quickly changes the winter behavior of the Ottoman forces. Gone are their night-time patrols, and the cooks are not sleeping IN the kitchen tents to guard them¡­coincidentally keeping me out. So come nightfall the streets of Targovi?te become clear of Ottomans, and strangely these bodies at night make them MORE active as the townsfolk become confident that the strange killer waging a war on the Ottomans is only doing so on the OTTOMANS. And they are completely correct. So in the early evenings Analisa and myself go out to the town¡¯s bustling market, purchasing household goods to be taken back by our servants, or just to enjoy the life that has returned to her home for the first time in her memory. For myself, I am just happy to see her smile and laugh so much, often even buying small treats to hand out to children with her. These people now feel so safe that they let their children run around town alone at night. I dread winter¡¯s ending, for it will bring fresh mercenaries here to abuse them¡­I must figure out a way to dispose of ALL these damn Ingram bastards! Maybe the ongoing war with Transylvania can be aggravated, letting me dispose of Anatoli and eventually Mircea¡­but how to rule during the DAY, and how can I keep the Ottomans OUT? The winter nights are long enough to get me to Sibiu in Transylvania, if I can find a way across the Sibin river¡­it is too wide for me to risk leaping it! Then there is the mountains¡­I would be starving by the time I got through them, and who knows what would happen then. DAMNATION, I guess I am stuck here! Then I hear Analisa laugh with some children, as she pulls the string on some wheeled toy and they chase it around, and I forget my morose thoughts. No, I get to STAY here, with HER. I am blessed more in death than I have been in life, it seems. It is while looking at her that I see with my night-eyes that there is a small child across the street, staring at them all from the darkness of an alley. I can even make out that they are crying, and when they remove their threadbare hat to wipe their eyes I can see the horns rising from their skull. A devil-blood child?! HERE? Then as it puts the hat back atop its ragamuffin head, I see the slits in its wide eyes and the pale white scales on the back of its wrists, and I adjust my assessment, NOT devil-blood, but DRAGON-blood, if I am right. And from the looks of it, its ancestor was a snowbound dragon, which explains why it is not shivering in the cold while wearing such thin rags. Giving a handful of coins from my purse to Analisa, with word that I have to go do something but will return quickly, I leave her with the laughing children and the half-orc manservant. Casually walking around the larger building across the street, I slowly and quietly walk down the alley to behind the child, ¡°You know you CAN go play with them, if you are so lonely.¡± It jumps before spinning to face me, eyes wide in fright that quickly turns to hunger when I hold out the meat-baked bread I bought on the way. As I thought, it is either an orphan or so poor that steady meals are a rarity, ¡°Here take it if you want, I bought more than I could eat.¡± ¡°Fangk hoo,¡± it (no HE) mumbles in a boy¡¯s young voice with his mouth stuffed by half the entire roll. The thick and sharp eye teeth grinding into the bread inside his surprisingly-wide jaw. I can¡¯t help but laugh, the child¡¯s attempt at good manners obviously ruined by talking with his mouth so full it swells his CHEEKS. Once I calm down, as his face reddens from embarrassment sets me off again, I manage to get out, ¡°Go child, play with your friends, no need to fear your rags will insult us.¡± I give him a gentle push to the mouth of the alley, where he stumbles to a stop and confesses, ¡°I¡­can¡¯t, sir. They don¡¯t want to play with a poor kid whose parents were killed. They fear being around me will make the governor suspect THEIR parents, so they throw things and curse at me.¡± ¡°How old are you, boy?,¡± he holds up seven fingers, tipped with thick sharp dark nails, after I ask. Dearest gods, he looks no older than SIX¡­how long has he been living on his own?! So I kneel down in front of him as an idea forms in my mind, ¡°Me and my wife cannot have children of our own. Would you like to come be our son?¡± Sudden terror fills his eyes, ¡°Are you going to put ME on a stick too, mister dead man?¡± By all that is holy, HOW are is night-time nature so easily told by so many! ¡°What makes you ask that, boy?¡± ¡°I¡­I saw you a couple moons ago, holding up that patrol soldier I was hiding from, and drink from him like a wine skin. Then the next day I saw him on a stick up at the castle, when I was looking in the morning¡¯s kitchen garbage for something to eat.,¡± he stands upright, fire in his eyes as his anger stiffens his spine, ¡°I am a child, but I am not STUPID!¡± I can¡¯t help but reach out to gently the small back-facing horn that is peeking out from under his cap, ¡° No child, you are safe from me and mine. I only kill the bad people that hurt the good people of Targovi?te.¡± ¡°Like the soldiers that killed mom and dad?,¡± he askes with sudden hope in his voice. ¡°Yes boy, JUST like them. And I will be your NEW dad, but you have to keep what I am and do at night secret, understand?¡± Tearing up he lunges forward, arms wrapped around my neck, ¡°Yes!¡± *** We returned home shortly thereafter, and find the boy a room that the maids set up for him. And his name is VLAD?! I feel the hands of fate in this. To avoid confusion we just call him ¡°little Vlad¡±, but since even our more trusted servants know me as ¡°Targosh¡± it only is useful for Analisa. And Analisa is EXTATIC over having a child, having secretly been mourning her fate without one by me. My walking up to her to introduce our new son made her so radiant with happiness, that I briefly thought I was a risk of the sun. The two of them spend the entirety of the next day, and all of the spare coin we had, out shopping for him the next day. I find this out when I rise from bed at sunset, and visiting him in his room see him nearly DROWING in a sea of toys, and arguing with my old spectral teacher, ¡°I KNOW I can do it, but I don¡¯t WANT to!¡± ¡°I have little time young man. You WILL learn this spell if it-,¡± and once again he is swept into the realms of the dead through an unseen hole in his midsection. ¡°So I see your mother is tending to your education, little Vlad. What was he trying to teach you?¡± His newly-cleaned fangs glinting in the lamplight, he smiles and moves his hands in a gripping motion while chanting in poor latin. ¡°THIS!,¡± he says as one of his toys between us rolls towards him before lifting into the air. Gently stepping around the rest, I poke it as it hangs in the air, before going to grip his shoulder in happiness, ¡°Good, son! And you learned this in just ONE day?¡± ¡°Uh uh, I learned it after sunset, but mister ghost is MEAN and wanted me to KEEP doing it!,¡± he says in a huff before setting the toy on his bed, ¡°But I wanna practice SWORDS, not SPELLS. I wanna HELP you get rid of the bad soldiers!¡± Gripping the child¡¯s shoulder I comfort him, ¡°I will talk with your mother about this. Maybe we can get you training to use a blade, and grow to be a strong warrior.¡± Turns out Analisa isn¡¯t happy about ¡°her little boy¡± risking his life on the battlefield. However I convince her to let him train in the blade, since I have no intention of letting him be at the mercy of some Ingram cockroach just because he cannot wield weapons¡­and we are BOTH familiar with how the Ingram treat those of even a little non-human blood. We can hide him from the eyes of the Ottoman soldiers during the night, since I have put fear of it in their hearts, but during the DAY? No, it is best for HIM that he learn to defend himself. And after his time on the streets, he is tougher than his small size would indicate. So I get one of the house¡¯s guards to train him from noon until nightfall, his mornings spent in study with the ghosts that Analisa can find who can teach him sorceries. Come sunset, I spend an hour candle teaching him what I know from my time on the battlefield, both with wooden blades and troop management. The chances of him leading an army are slim, but not nonexistent¡­and he enjoys playing with the wooden soldiers I commissioned for this. So it is that the winter passes, and I turn t sleeping in my grave in the wine cellar after waking to the smell of my own flesh smoking from the strong sunlight having penetrated into our upstairs room. It seems that even INDIRECT daylight can burn me, given enough time. As spring goes on, my evening sessions with little Vlad have to end, so that I have enough time at night to terrorize the Ottomans while still spending time with Analisa. I would think he was sad about it, but my lovely wife tells me that he has taken to teaching war games to the children of our servants, and playing with the little half-elf and kobold children before bed. I am just glad he has finally found children to play with. Then one night I awaken to the faint sound of swordplay coming through the stones, Did little Vlad finally get good enough to practice with live steel? Pushing up the entrance as I uncurl to stand, the sweet smell of fresh blood hits me, and instincts both old and new take over. Leaping over the ale kegs that hide this corner as the entrance falls back into place, I run up the stairs to the ground floor, flinging open the door. Before me I see a kobold maid gripping a tall candelabra in both scaled hands like a spear, facing down the hallway to defend the door, her tail stiffly pointing up behind her back in fear. ¡°What is happening?,¡± I ask, the thought of WHY she is defending the wine cellar lost as I hear a fresh batch of ringing metal. ¡°We are under attack master, they TOOK the mistress!¡± My unbeating heart alights in flames, everything becoming red in my sight, as the world seems to move slowly. *** The entryway at the end of the hall leads into the foyer, and there I see a mass of turban-wearing warriors attempting to press the house¡¯s guards up the stairs. The candelabra is in my hands, a faint memory of a startled ¡°eep!¡± reassuring me that I did nothing to attain it. As one of the Ottoman mercenaries slowly turns to face me, his hands raising to bring his sword and shield around to face me, his face shatters and the bloody turban goes flying, as my weapon flies through the air to imbed itself in his skull. As I lunge forward to grab a hooked blade from the dead fingers of a mercenary, I hear the voice of Vlad¡¯s teacher on the stairs above me, ¡°Master is here!¡± Then the screaming starts. The blade is not dragon¡¯s fang, but I spent years using these, and the old reflexes remain. Much to the ill luck of these invaders! The first one loses his shield-arm at the elbow, before falling to the ground as I take his knee out on the backswing, his blood drenching his fellows and me as well. Before they can redress their line to face me, the ones closest to the doors reacting fastest, I sweep the blade through BOTH ankles of the man halfway up the staircase, from the backside so that the strike avoids his armored shins. This not only causes him to lose focus on fighting my servants, but causes him to collapse onto the others on the stairs. With savage screams the kobolds wielding whatever they could grab as spears sweep around the guards, and start furiously stabbing into the mass below them. It does little damage against their armored bodies, but manages to keep the group from regaining their feet, and thus keeps them off of me. ¡°ANALISA!,¡± I find myself screaming as I dully feel a sword blow hacking into my ribs, before caving in the shield and then the SKULL of the man who struck me. ¡°WHERE IS ANALISA!¡± Another blow hits my sword arm at the shoulder, stopped by the bone, as one of the men at the base of the stairs drops his shield to deliver a powerful two-handed blow. ¡°MY ANALISA!,¡± I yell as I grip the man¡¯s face, pulling his head to the side as I bury my fangs into his throat, tearing it out. The room falls silent, except for the occasional clang and grunt of a kobold striking absentmindedly at somebody. Meanwhile I drink my fill of the struggling man¡¯s blood in a handful of breaths before his heart slows and stops, dropping the mostly-empty man to the ground to stare at the wide-eyed fearful soldiery. In a quiet but forceful voice filled with obvious fury, ¡°You took my wife, invade my home, kill my servants, and threaten the safety of my child. You DESERVE to wander forever in the mists of death,¡± with a spread hand waved through the air I unleash my mist-making spell, filling the foyer with thick nearly-impenetrable fog. Afterwards it only takes a brief time to slaughter the remaining soldiers, the ones who were not close enough to the exit to find it and flee at least. After finding no more prey I let the mists settle, and stare up at the faces of my servants atop the stairs, even the scaled faces of the kobolds pale from terror. ¡°You have nothing to fear from me, just tell me where is Analisa?,¡± I say even as I stand there covered in shredded finery drenched in blood. A small voice from the hallway speaks up, the maid that was guarding my rest, ¡°They took her earlier today, in town, when we were shopping for food. Her last words to me were to protect the wine cellar¡­I didn¡¯t know you were SLEEPING in it, master.¡± Stomping towards her I kneel down to catch her yes, pushing my words out with barely-constrained panicked force, ¡°Tell me what happened.¡± While shaking in fear she manages to squeak out the story. Evidently she had gone with one of the half-elves to get supplies for the kitchen, since it was getting low, and Analisa went along to not only pay for it but also to get a blade for little Vlad¡¯s upcoming birthday. On the trip an Ottoman patrol had come barging down the street on horseback, and the servant was unable to escape in time thanks to the bags of flour he was carrying. After he had been trampled, Analisa being the kind selfless soul she was, she used her witchery to heal him before he bled out on the flagstones of Targovi?te. And everybody SAW it. Not only that, but the horses had been clearing a path for a mounted patrol, and THEY saw it as well. While the people of Targovi?te MIGHT have been convinced to leave her be, the Ingram faith is not nearly so benevolent. They ran her down to drag her to Poenari for judgement, and she bade the maid to go guard the cellar. Then the assault came an hour later, and they managed to hold them at the gates for hours, but eventually they were battered down and the gatehouse burned, killing the guards within. It took them only a brief period after that to hack through the doors and gain entry into the house, calling for the arrest of ME, and I came in shortly afterwards. Analisa is at Poenari, in the hands of that bastard-born Anatoli¡­and that is NOT ACCEPTABLE! Calling for the head butler, he shakily walks down the staircase to me, little Vlad following behind him while gripping his waistcoat in fear, ¡°Take the household funds, ALL OF THEM, and go with guards to the Varovich¡¯s comforthouse, he is Analisa¡¯s father and will aid you for her sake. Hire ALL the mercenaries you can find that are NOT Ingram, and bring them here to guard this place until my return. I intend to protect little Vlad and all those sworn to my service, no matter what it might cost, as best I can.¡± Then I tear off my filthy finery and start collecting the more intact pieces of armor of the dead, until I have a single intact suit of half-plate and its leather underlayer. Still drenched in blood, it will ruin the leather if I wear it, but I don¡¯t care as I tie and strap it onto myself. Everybody follows me outside after I grab the pokers from the foyer fireplace, and go to the workshed to fetch rope, collecting just in front of the doors. The head butler is back by the time I have the pokers bent and a rope tied around their joining, forming a poor grappling hook. Looking at them all while tying sackcloth bags around the bent tines, I then catch all their attention before my butler can leave, ¡°Saddam Anatoli dies tonight, and I will return with Analisa. No more hiding.¡± *** NAME: Vlad Tepes III RACE: Vampire (Human) AGE: 45.2 years alive, Dead under 1 year HIT DIE: 7 ECL: 7 XP TO NEXT LEVEL: 27,050 / 28,000 SIZE: Medium SPEED: 30 ft. [20 ft. in armor] ERA: Renaissance-Era ABILITY SCORES: Cha 16, Wis 10, Int 12, Dex 10, Con 13, Str 16 FAST ACTION: 10% DAMAGE REDUCTION: 1/magical silver ENERGY RESISTANCES: Cold 5 DURABILITY: 6 TEMPORARY HIT POINTS: 23 SAVING THROWS: Fort +13 (10), Ref +1 (0), Will +9* (7) [* Booster +1] [+1 vs. being disabled] [Immunity (ability drain, age, Compulsion, disease, poison, Transformation from others, Fortitude save effects that don¡¯t apply to objects as well] ARMOR CLASS: 18 (+8 Half-Plate), flat-footed 18, touch 10 ATTACK: Base Attack Bonus +6, Melee +8, Ranged +6; +4 to Stunts. * Bite +8 [+8/+3 or +3] melee (1d4+1 Piercing, counts as Feeding) * Ottoman Longsword +6 [+6/+1] melee (1d12+3 or 1d6+1d8+3 in two-hands Slashing, 19-20/¡Á2) [Crescent Blade ¡Á2, Longhand] * Slam +8 [+8/+3] melee (1d6+3 Blunt) SKILLS (+3 to Social skills and NPC Attitude checks, ¨C3 instead in enemy territory): * Charisma-Linked (+3) * * Bluff +5 (0) [+2 from Sense Motive] * * (P) Concentration {Undead} +3 (0) * * Diplomacy +6 (0) [+2 from Sense Motive] * * Gather Information +5 (0) [+2 from Sense Motive] * * Handle Animal +4 (4) [+2 from Animal Affinity, ¨C5 from being a Vampire] * * (P) Intimidate +13 (10) * Wisdom-Linked (+0) * * (Stalker) Listen +9 (4) [+2 from Stalker, +2 from Alertness, +1 from Aged Master] * * (P) Profession (manager) +9 (8) * * (P) Sense Motive +9* (9) [* +1 for verbal uses] * * (P) Spot +9 (4) [+2 from Stalker, +2 from Alertness, +1 from Aged Master] * * Survival +6 (4) [+2 from Wildman] * Intelligence-Linked (+1) * * Knowledge (geography) +2 (1) * * (P) Knowledge (military & tactics) +11 (10) * * Knowledge (nature) +5 (1) [+2 from Wildman, +1 from Aged Master] * * Knowledge (nobility & royalty) +5* (4) [* Booster +1] * * (Aged Master) Spellcraft +5 (4) * Dexterity-Linked (+0) * * (Stalker) Balance +1 (0) * * (Stalker) Hide +3* (2) [* +2 in wilderness] [+1 from Aged Master] * * (Stalker) Move Silently +3* (2) [* +2 in wilderness] [+1 from Aged Master] * * (P) Ride +7 (7) * Constitution-Linked (NA) * * (P) Concentration +NA (0) * * (P) Strong Heart +NA (10) [ranks converted to Temporary Hit Points] * Strength-Linked (+1) * * (P) Climb +2 (1) * Linguistics +2 (2) * Wild Empathy +8 (<3>) [+2 from Animal Affinity] FEAT (Simple Weapon Proficiency, Martial Weapon Proficiency, Light Armor Proficiency, Medium Armor Proficiency, Heavy Armor Proficiency, Shield Proficiency): * HD 1: Animal Affinity * HD 3: Leadership * HD 6: Iron Will * Human: Royal Blood * Vampire: Alertness * Vampire: Improved Grapple * Undead Con 12+: Toughness * Birth: Born Under a Dark Star * Wildman 1: Track TRAITS (Tough Hero): * Favored: Wildman ¡Á1 * HD 1: Combat Bonuses ¡Á1 * HD 1: Stalker ¡Á1 * HD 1: Weapon Training ¡Á1 * HD 2: Combat Bonuses ¡Á2 * HD 2: Enduring ¡Á1 * HD 3: Combat Bonuses ¡Á3 * HD 3: Enduring ¡Á2 * HD 3: Wildman ¡Á2 * HD 4: Combat Bonuses ¡Á4 * HD 4: Enduring ¡Á3 * HD 5: Combat Bonuses ¡Á5 * HD 5: Enduring ¡Á4 * HD 5: Wildman ¡Á3 * HD 6: Combat Bonuses ¡Á6 * HD 6: Enduring ¡Á5 * HD 7: Aged Master ¡Á1 * HD 7: Mastered Power (Weather Mastery) ¡Á1 * HD 7: Stalker ¡Á2 SPECIAL ABILITIES Vampire Special Abilities * Blood Bite [Con damage from Bite attack counts as Feeding, can Bite in Grapple as a touch attack] * Darkvision 60 ft. * Inflict spells instead heal Strength, cure spells instead cause Strength damage * Feeding [Blood drank restores equal ability score damage, further from Human is less effective] * Human Blood [counts as Human for spell effects based on race] * Insanity Recovery [Feeding heals Insanity as if it was ability score damage] Vampire Weaknesses * Allergies [1d8 damage from contact with daylight or holy symbols and holy ground, unless consecrated to a deity of darkness, death, or evil] * Blood is Life [bleeding effects still apply to you] * Cursed Blood (Soil Bound) [Can only sleep if in your homeland, or near at least 1 Lb. of its earth] * Daytime Sleep [fatigued during daytime hours, Sinker ¨C1 to skill checks during the day, cannot sleep at night] * Hospitality [needs invitation into homes, cannot harm those they invite into theirs if they behave] * Hunger [stacking ¨C1 Intelligence penalty at dusk, which inly goes away a point at a time from Feeding] * Taint of Evil [alignment counts as Evil for spells and special effects, even if you are not] * Vulnerable Dismemberment [Slashing weapons can still deal critical damage] * Vulnerable Heart [Piercing wooden weapons can still deal critical damage] * Ward Away [cannot come within 10 ft. of a holy symbol or mirror strongly presented to them by a living being] * Water Allergy [1d6 damage from contact with naturally-running water, and cannot pass it under your own power] Leadership 7 [3 base from HD, +3 from Charisma, +1 from Intimidate] Fear-descriptor effects +2 DC SPELLCASTING * Mastered Power (Charisma-based, CL 7, Maximum SL 3rd, Spells Per Day 4) * * 0th ¨C none. * * 1st ¨C obscuring mist. * * 2nd ¨C gust of wind. * * 3rd ¨C call lightning. CHAPTER 6: The Backhand of Fate My Dear Father: I am writing you this letter tonight, to apologize for defying your wishes when I went to join the Sultan¡¯s army on reaching my manhood. I have ignored you and your wise council, and after leaving the Sultan¡¯s service I went on to join the forces to loot Wallachia, wanting to win treasure and gloriously spread the will of the Ingram. My hope was that in doing so my afterlife would be assured, with the souls of many infidels as my servants. And what does the peaceful words of a shepherd have to offer compared to that? After what I have seen tonight, I know that I should have remained there and taken over the flocks. We went to arrest a wealthy infidel merchant whose wife was found to be a witch, his complicity in her actions confirmed by his household full of nonhuman meat. The meat people fought well for such inferiors, but we pushed through into the house. Then the master of the manor came out, and without arms or armor he TORE APART many of my men! Despite several fatal sword strikes, he DRANK a man like he was a flagon of cool water on a hot day, and then shrouded the area in the fog of death. I would be dead as assuredly as all my men are, except that I was near the door and could feel my way to flee. I am now in hiding in a tavern, writing this with all haste, to send to you fast as I can. Please forgive my stupidity father, forgive my harsh words and disrespect, and know that even after all these years I remember your words. And now I respect them, even though it is too late. I have SEEN a Devil in the flesh, and they are NOT the welcoming beings that protect us in death, which the Ingram claim them to be. And soon, one will come to tear out MY soul as well. ¨C Your Son, Jaffa For the first night since winter began, the streets are quiet when I reach Targovi?te itself, from my house on the hillside overlooking it. I can see people moving, or stumbling rather, through the shadows in their attempts to avoid me. Maybe it is the scent of danger and thundering rage rolling off me, or the appearance of my obviously Ottoman armor after seeing Anatoli¡¯s soldiers running through the place in fear. Probably some animal-like sense, like the one that sees the forest grow quiet long before the storm hits. Despite this in many places, through wooden shutters, I see the occasional eye staring at me where its owner thinks it would not be seen due to darkness. I am too angry to do more than note it in passing, as I climb up onto the chopping block in the town square. This used to be where musicians would play, before the Ingram-worshipping Ottomans outlawed music on pain of death¡­ No more hiding, my love. I am coming to retrieve you, and let EVERYBODY know WHO comes! It takes some pulling and stretching inside myself, and I feel resistance that suddenly breaks with a headache-causing snap, but I manage to alter the wind-blasting spell within my curse to blow my voice to the city as a whole¡­including Poenari castle, ¡°I am Vlad Tepes III, son of Vlad Dracul, called the Dragon. You in Poenari have taken my wife today, invaded our home, killed my servants, all after decades of raping my lands and its people. That ends TONIGHT with your LIFE, Saddam Anatoli! You called me beast and monster when I lived, but NOW this monster comes FOR YOU! And if any of your soldiers live, release Analisa, and I will give you your lives so long as you take them far and fast from the lands of Wallachia.¡± While pinching my pained eyes I hear doors start to open around the square, and shuffling footsteps strike the ground nearby. First one set, then two more, then too many to count by the time I can open my squinting eyes as the pain fades, finding myself surrounded by peasants with varying tools held as weapons. Before I can do more than grip my fist tighter around the cloth-wrapped pokers, the bravest of them in the front calls out in his shaking old man¡¯s voice, ¡°Is¡­are you REALLY my lord the Impaler?¡± I sense something but cannot place what it is, some strange quality in the air, ¡°Yes old grandfather, I am. Who else do you know could have impaled all the Ottomans these past months?¡± I hear some people, particularly in the back, muttering to themselves as the old man thinks then replies, ¡°I was a young child when you died, too young to join the fight against the Ottomans in your service, Lord Tepes. ¡°Let me die knowing I have made up for that mistake,¡± he says before going to one knee before me, holding himself up by the walking stick he carried himself out with. A ragged cheer rises from the back of the crowd, along with everything from woodcutting axes and pitchforks, as first those closest to the bloodstained platform kneel followed by those behind them. Then the square falls silent, and I realize that there are FAR more people around me than those who dwelled in the surrounding buildings¡­a crowd having filtered in from the surrounding streets. I look back over my improvised army, and raise my voice to be heard, not wanting to risk the headache or failure of my magical attempt again, ¡°My people! They called me a monster, the church struck my name from the gates of the celestial realms when I died, and do not think that I did NOT die! Even NOW I am not alive, but the hells themselves feared me too much to keep me trapped there! Now, follow me to Poenari, and let us ALL remind these invaders WHY THEY FEAR THE IMPALER!¡± I don¡¯t know what was louder, the thumping of the weapons on the ground, or the furious voices of the people, as they get picked up and pass from throat to throat around the city. By all the gods of that forsaken Church, I think I have just started a peasant¡¯s rebellion! *** I set about quickly ordering my force, not wanting to waste more night than minimally possible. The old man who first spoke to me I put in charge of the rest of those too old or infirm to follow me to Poenari immediately, with orders to collect food and drink to volunteered send up to the forces around the castles. The women are to go to each home to pass the word, see if any can come to our aid, and gather yet more weapons. Those too young to fight are to burn off the vigor of youth running these things to the fighters who follow me. And with that we head off to Poenari, but must first stop at the Castle Arges just below it. A pile of rocks I am now regretting having rebuilt to defend Poenari by splitting its attacker, since I am that very attacker! But if we could all see the future as clearly as the past, we would die from fear¡­or embarrassment. By the time we reach Arges I have thought of a plan, and have all the torches collected by half my forces. They are to light two each and stand there shouting ad making as much noise as possible outside of Arges, but far enough away to stay out of sight. Meanwhile the rest are to take their weapons and hide in the dark and scrub next to the path between them and Arges, under the command of a simpleton with a loud voice. He has but one order, to yell ¡°charge¡± when he sees horses hallway between the castle and the torches, and is too dull-witted to mess it up or betray. Since this is all going on in sight of Poenari, their forces will be distracted awaiting the outcome, hoping that the larger garrison at Arges will defeat me. Let Anatoli feel comforted thinking I am sieging Arges, and he can sally forth to slay me come dawn. He shall not live to see middle night! Meanwhile I send a priest from the local Church temple, the only one that had not been burned or befouled by the Ingram, go ahead to Poenari before I initiated my plan. No point giving him the chance to betray it by intent or torture. He is to secure Analisa¡¯s release by middle night, but I know she will not be, it is just another distraction. No, Anatoli will want to keep her in his hands, as a hostage on my good behavior¡­just like I was with my brother, for FATHER¡¯S forced fealty. So it is that I move fast as the night will carry me to the creek that runs between the two castles, to the same place that I once jumped across it so many months ago. With a mighty throw of my arm, keeping ahold of the end of the rope I spent the walk into Targovi?te knotting, even my newly-sharp ears barely hear the of the muffled metal as it impacts the stone shelf between the shit-chute and the castle wall. After pulling it tight to make sure it is secure, I easily swing across the creek after a backwards jump away from it, letting my body weight carry me up UNDER the chute¡¯s base so I can catch the entryway in my off hand. Pulling myself and the rope in, that way I can get Analisa out of Poenari after I retrieve her, I climb inside. It is a short work to wrap the rope¡¯s end around a chest¡¯s handle, and then I replace my Ottoman sword with Dragon¡¯s Fang, feeling like a warrior of the Dracul once again with it on my hip. Now to do something I haven¡¯t done in decades. The door into the treasure opens inwards, so it can be barricaded during my escape should Poenaris fall, but the other side of the thick iron-bound door has a lock whose key I left in trust with my seneschal when I went to fight the Ottomans for the last of my breathing days. A lock that is fixed into the side of the door in the wall, where it prevents a heavy wooden bar from being lifted out of slots that keep it in the cradle on its front side, to prevent any from sneaking off with my land¡¯s wealth. Also, as it works now, serving as a very effective bar to prevent ME from getting IN to the rest of my old home even WITH my newfound strength. But that is not what kept me out so many months ago. No, THAT was the room full of guards at the top of the stairs on its other side, who would hear and SEE a flaming Dragon¡¯s Fang hack through the door near the hinges and the bar on their side of it. Guards that will be too busy either guarding against that pathetic excuse for a holy man, watching the torches over in front of Arges, or preparing for the sally come dawn. Father always said I was too clever at times. It is short order for me to burn and hack my way through the door after I soak it in the oil from the room¡¯s lamps, knowing that the entirely-stone room will serve as an oven to increase the burn and I do not need to fear the smoke, while hacking into the increasingly-fragile wood. A task that would have taken an hour at the least takes not even a fifth of that time, and I am through and running up the steps, securing Dragon¡¯s Fang back on my hip. The servants attracted by the smell of the smoke ignore me since I am still dressed like an Ottoman, while I fake running to alert the threat of fire as I make my way across the grand hall to the passages which lead to the dungeons. I can disguise Analisa as a servant I am ¡°escorting¡± to help put out the ¡°fire¡±, then swing us both to safety and return to kill Anatoli after she is safely secured back at our home¡­home¡­ My thoughts echo, and my heart beats once painfully before resting quite again, as I see something in the courtyard through the hall¡¯s main doors. I wander over, as my helm hits the flagstones, so that I may better confirm the scent in the air. I only notice the priest¡¯s headless body long enough to step over it, the rope falling from my numbed fingers, as I wander out. Out to the freshly-charred shriveled body in the courtyard, slumped loose from the chains against the still-burning wooden post. From the smell of it the body had been there since before sunset, and under that I can smell something faint, so faint that I would not have noticed, had I not been smelling it for months now. The smell of Analisa¡¯s blood, only spoiled lifeless and charred. *** I don¡¯t know how long I am standing there, locked in place by equal measures of soul-shattering sorrow and blood-boiling not rage, but something as far BEYOND rage as a banged toe is to a broken leg. Then a man grabs my arm to spin me around, breaking my eyes off of Analisa¡¯s corpse, and before the Ottoman sergeant can give me the order that he obviously was upset I ignored, my fist is grips his face¡­and I SQUEEZE. I only know I am screaming when his wails stop in a sick crunch, but my own voice continues tearing out of me. Several nearby soldiers drop what they are carrying and come over to aid the man, but arrive only in time to avenge them. I just notice them when one of their blades pierces my armor under the side plate, the other glancing a blow off the same side¡¯s shoulder pauldron. Old skills take over and Dragon¡¯s Fang is suddenly in my hand, its blade alight and travelling through the neck of the soldier whose blade is trapped by my own flesh. I feel it with some fragment of my shattered sanity as the suddenly-loosed blade is pushed from my side while it heals, and my mind clears somewhat. Not enough to halt my rage, if anything the NEED within me for the death of everybody in this place only grows, but I am able to start doing more than acting on that basic beast-like drive. His partner sweeps his blade across at chest-height, and I desire to dodge back, but I know that that will not win me this fight just delay long enough for others to reach his side. So instead I step INTO it and use Dragon¡¯s Fang to push the enemy¡¯s blade up and over my own helmet-free head, while I grasp the back of HIS and bury my fanged maw in his cheek. As he drops to the ground screaming from the pain of such a violation, I catch him from behind with my sword-arm around his shoulders, and drink from him as my mouth severs his spine. My ears hear shouts and the sounds of thundering feet behind me, and I spin with my victim¡¯s vitality still filling my hunger, to see several Ottomans in breastplates rushing towards me with their polearms held ready. Wall guards, is all my broken mind can recall as I drop him and run TOWARDS the guards at full speed, swinging my blazing sword before my head. While they form up quickly, a testament to the whip-fueled discipline of the Ottomans, and set their weapons so as to impale my face and chest upon them just like I was trained to do in their Janissaries. But I know that, and long ago thought of a trick to get around it¡­and unfortunately for them I can now think well enough to use it, if barely. Throwing both feet before me and dropping onto my back just before I would hit their blades, I slide across the courtyard¡¯s stones into their feet on my sparking armor¡¯s back, Dragon¡¯s Fang lashing out to take the legs out from beneath the guard to the side of the two I already knocked over. And my mind clears a little more. I scramble to me widespread feet and unarmed hand behind their line as I roll over my involuntary wrestling partners, snarling, looking more creature than man even to myself. But with enough wits regained for my battle sense to reemerge, and I realize something strange is going on. That is twice now that I felt refreshed after delivering a blow with Dragon¡¯s Fang¡­but it has never had such an enchantment. I sweep the blades falling at me to the side, but some strike hard enough to find or make flaws in my armor and reach my skin. The dulled pain registers as I lunge forward, standing atop one as my blade severs the haft of a pole and ends in the blood-spurting forearm of the man beside him. But no flash of vitality comes with his wound. Maybe it is not deep enough? As I kick the man below me in the face while he tries to push me off, the rest move back and draw their swords, forming a ragged ring around me. Snarling at them over the unconscious man below me, I reverse Dragon Fang¡¯s grip, and drop to one knee as I drive it into his neck just above his breast plate nearly decapitating him. Ahhh, THERE it is, the blow must me more than a glancing strike for it to come. My wits restored, with only my red-tinged fury left to me but calmed into the white-hot coals of a furnace rather than the previous house-threatening inferno, I stand up and stare at those surrounding me, ¡°I gave you a chance to live, but you had already killed it.¡± *** My boots as I walk into the castle hall once more, having filled the courtyard first with the bodies of the wall guards, then the garrison, and finally the servants that came at me with a maddened look in their eyes. I¡¯m leaving bloody footprints behind me as I tear off the few remaining pieces of my armor, then tear off he blood-sodden undershirt, leaving my wet chest hairs to dry in the air. Even drinking my foes when I could, I would have been brought down were it not for Dragon Fang¡¯s sudden ability to restore my strength. Once through the inner hall doors, past the wide area between the two gates where invaders were to be trapped while boiling oil was poured onto them, I turn around and close them. Then I guide the bar to fall into its holding arms, from where it stands tied to the side, and sever the rope that would allow it to be lifted off once more. Once I have it coiled I toss it into the brazier besides the court¡¯s throne to burn, Now it is just me and Anatoli in here, and unless he can fly he is NOT escaping me. At first I go through the hallway to the vault, insuring that the secret exit is still closed, before collecting the door¡¯s ashes in a bread sack from the guard room atop its stairs. Once I leave the passage, having checked the supply rooms off of it, I scatter the ashes on the ground where it meets the main hall. In this way I am able to check and secure he kitchens and all other areas on the ground floor around the hall, able to see before I head up the stairs that there was none who passed through an area while I was checking the others. By the time I am finished I can feel the sun creeping slowly towards the horizon, not enough to be visible yet but enough that I can FEEL it, I must finish this while my strength remains. ¡°You cannot be here Ghoul, this is MY home and you have no invitation!,¡± I hear somebody say as I reach the top of the stairs, dropping the remaining ashes down behind me as I draw my blade and look around. ¡°You cannot be here Ghoul, this is MY home and you have no invitation!¡± I hear the voice coming from the floor below me, and looking down at the straw-covered wood I see what appears to be a man¡¯s bearded mouth painted below the dried grasses my foot kicked onto it. ¡°You cannot be here Ghoul, this is MY home-!,¡± it starts again as the image of the mouth moves, just before I score it out with the tip of Dragon¡¯s Fang. ¡°No, invader, this is and has ALWAYS been MY HOME! And soon you are to learn what I do to thieves in MY lands,¡± I shout down the hallway. Thankfully the room besides the stairs is still used to store chairs, the tables for grand dinners in a room downstairs beside the kitchens, and I haul them out to fill the stairs down. Now he will be unable to escape, I think before turning face-first into a blast of lighting that throws me into the chairs I just stacked, my skin stinging and smelling burnt chest hair. ¡°HA! To the conqueror goes all the conquered possess, THIS CASTLE AS WELL, Vlad the Monster¡­now STAY in your grave!,¡± I hear him rant as I regain use of my stunned limbs. Standing up to charge him at the end of the hall I see the man, as old as I was when I breathed, standing there in his leather armor with a satchel at his side, ¡°Impossible¡­you should be DEAD, or at least unable to move!¡± ¡°I cannot die while I see a cockroach needing my boot,¡± I get out as I start the run down the hall. Only to come face-first into the spray of liquid cast by the beaker he breaks before me, forcing me back in agony as I flee through a nearby open doorway to escape the burning. Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon. ¡°Your whore told me of you, before begging for her death, Vlad. Whatever twisted joke lets a Ghoul like you walk these halls, a Ghoul you REMAIN, and I have plenty of other enchantments to kill you rom THIS side of the holy water!¡± Now that my eyes can see reliably, the bloody tears having stopped, I see I am in the seneschal¡¯s bedchamber. My face feels off, and my fingers show part of my nose missing as well as several holes in the flesh of my forehead from where the droplets struck. Looking down I can see the holes in my chest, some large enough for a finger, and realize there is a REASON why I suddenly feel no stronger than when I was alive¡­I am too damaged to retain my curse-driven might. Another couple strikes like that, and I will be too weak to lift my blade. I have to be¡­tactical. My broken face breaks into an even wider grin, as I grab up the rumpled and stained bedding, suddenly grateful my nose is no longer working correctly, ¡°Come out dead man, and I will correct the gods¡¯ mistake.¡± Ignoring his taunting I hold the wadded cloth to the flames of Dragon¡¯s Fang, and then toss the lit rags into the hallway. The fire quickly spreads across the straw, and I hear coughing and feet fleeing, letting me leave to follow them before the hallway¡¯s wooden floor burns through. But instead of running after the noises, now knowing Anatoli has some stockpile of magical tricks, I pause to listen at the intersection of the halls and stairs at the back of the castle¡¯s keep. I hear his feet stomping quickly down the mirror hallway on the other side, the one that ends in the master¡¯s rooms, but it is a dead end so I have time to prepare and sure. Then over the approaching crackle of burning timbers I hear it, the sniff of a nose filled with smoke coming from the tower stairs, and I run up them fast as possible. Only to be suddenly stopped halfway up the stone stairs, by an invisible wall above a pair of wet stones. While poking at it in astonishment I hear Anatoli curse and flee further upwards, evidently having been waiting on the armory¡¯s landing for me to pass below. He must have used more of that holy water on the stairs, in case I ran here instead of following his faked footsteps, and now I cannot pass it. But I could before, AFTER the flames reached it¡­is it THAT simple?, my mind wanders as I manage to put my blade through the wall as if it was not there, evidently forming a barrier only against my body. Lighting it aflame I scrape it gently over the surface of the stones, carving into the wall as the water dries out in the sudden heat. Yes, it IS that simple¡­ After a brief time the stones are clear, and I run up the stones to the landing, but stop. Not letting him get that trick to work the second time, I think as I open the armory door. Looking around at the racks and stacks of bundled arrows from the doorway, with no place to hide, I shut the door. Evidently he only had ONE false footsteps in his quiver. The next floor up is the archer¡¯s floor, a wide open circle surrounded by arrow slits with a balcony to my right that looks over the courtyard¡­and no Anatoli in evidence. Yet the balcony door swings open in the pre-dawn¡¯s wind, and I realize he is trying to ESCAPE! Running to the balcony I look over the edge of the balustrade towards the castle¡¯s peaked roof to one side, and the courtyard to the other. Yet in my night¡¯s vision I see nothing but a blade sliding slowly down the inner side of the peaked roof, as if somebody threw it town to slide into the courtyard. Ah, I realize in a flash, somebody DID throw that blade into the dark, to LURE me down there to the sound of somebody slipping away¡­ I reach up to grab the lip of the roof, and pull myself up, seeing Anatoli with a length of rope near the peak of the roof. ¡°Clever trick with the blade, I will give you that,¡± I say as I pull myself up onto the roof while he is securing the rope to the poles which form the roof¡¯s peak. Only to be stopped suddenly as I try to walk up to him, and looking down I see that the roof all around me looks darker in my colorless night vision under the faint moonlight coming through the clouds. Then he laughs and speaks, ¡°Did you think I would not keep a few flasks of holy water in reserve, should it come to this?¡± Slapping his satchel as he gloats while my mind races, ¡°The sun is rises any time now Ghoul, and I have enough wealth and tricks here in my magical bag to get to safety while you are trapped away from its rays. Then I will return, and insure that you join your wife, serving me in the afterlife in HELL!¡± While he is sneering at me I smile, my ghastly holy-water-defiled face making it look ghastly, unfortunately for which he is unable to see in the poor light. ¡°No Anatoli, you won¡¯t be going ANYWHERE but my stomach,¡± I say raising a pointing finger to the sky, pushing out my curse towards the clouds, and calling down a bolt of lightning once the connection is made. It strikes him on the peak of the roof, burning through the rope as his body jerks and he collapses, his spasming hand grasping the smoking poles of the roof. ¡°Whaa-at we-e-e-esh,¡± he manages to get out as his body shakes, then the second bolt strikes and he goes rigid, his body sliding down the peak TOWARDS me by his own thrashing limbs. I catch him as he flops into my legs, sweeping us both off the roof onto the balcony, my back striking the balustrade with a as I hear the breath knocked from him. Pulling myself to his side with my arms, my legs no longer working, I pull his face to mine before he can stop twitching. Staring him in the eyes, mine doubtlessly dark pits of nothing with the sky lightening behind me, I growl to him, ¡°You took my love, tormented her, and abused my people. But now you serve ME in death.¡± Once I am done feasting on him my legs work once more, my flesh whole and hearty, and strength returned. But the light stings me as the sun rests just below the horizon, so I hurl him to the courtyard and stagger inside to escape it. The floor below the tower is afire, and I am without the soil I need to rest. But at least I can get out of the sun. As quick as I can I move inside and down the stairs, the smoke flowing from the staircase of no consequence to me since I need to inhale only to speak. Finding the door to the armory, a windowless room to prevent flaming oil sabotaging the stored arms, I stumble inside as the sun crests and I am overwhelmed with exhaustion. Curiling up in a corner furthest from the door as darkness takes me, I spend the day in near-sleep, aware of my motionless corpse while flooded with nightmares. Nightmares of all the happiness Analisa gave me, of her warm touch and tender care, kind smile and politeness to all that made her loved by the servants. All of these memories flood me in no notable sequence, seeming to only be bound by themes. It is the most savage and terrifying of nightmares that I have ever had alive OR dead, my time in the Sultan¡¯s court included. Because I am aware enough the entire time to know that all I have of her is these memories¡­and eventually even they too shall fade. *** The nightmares come to an end, and I can move once more, as soon as the sun falls below the peaks of the mountains to the far west. Standing I stumble to the floor above, the roof part-burned thanks to the lightning strikes but the thick stonework of the tower served to separate it enough from the rest to protect it from being engulfed. Attracted to the balcony I look over the edge, seeing that the courtyard is filled with people cleaning up the parts of the soldiers I left behind. I am there for a few minutes before somebody notices me and cries out to the rest, pointing up at me, ¡°The Prince has returned! He SURVIVED!¡± A cheer of adulation rises up from the people below, starting ragged but as more people enter from the wide open wall gates and the inside of the court¡¯s gates below me, it rises in savage pitch with the growing size. Eventually a single unified cheer rises up, becoming understandable as those who held other sentiments join the largest sentiment. ¡°Prince Vlad! Prince Vlad! Prince Vlad!,¡± it goes on as I raise my hands for silence. After a few breaths the cries die down, everybody waiting to hear from me. ¡°My people, I lost much tonight, but I stand before you as the victor against Anatoli. That fatherless fetid shit in the form of a man,¡± before I get further the cheers rise up once more, but this time shouting insults against the former ruler of Targovi?te. My raised hands once again quiet them so that I can continue, ¡°But the dead CANNOT rule the living, for you live in the day while I may only walk in the night. Choose among you one wise enough to rule you, and I shall guide him and avenge you, the best that I can. My life and rule are in the past, and that is where it MUST remain.¡± The crowd grumbles to itself, eventually somebody below shouting up, ¡°My lord, we don¡¯t WANT another ruler! Your plan at Arges worked, and now the Ingram have fled Targovi?te because of YOU!¡± The cheers of ¡°Prince Vlad!¡± resume, and this time it takes much longer to stop them so that I can be heard, likely because of the fading dusk¡¯s light, ¡°Very well my friends, I will lead you for NOW, until I can find and train my successor.¡± It is full dark by the time the cheering stops, torches having been pulled out to light the courtyard, and eventually I can speak once more. ¡°Now, can one of you PLEASE throw a rope up to your prince, so that he might get DOWN from this damn balcony?¡± *** Only a hundred or so mercenaries could be found by my butler, but they protected my home from the Ottomans¡¯ forces as they fled the city. More by their presence than by arms, but a fight you need not face is a fight you have won. Especially since it keeps Little Vlad safe, him being the last thing I have to love in this world. The casket that my rescuers from the Arges siege provided for Analisa¡¯s remains is not ornate, being hastily assembled when they discovered her in the morning, but it serves well enough to bring her home. Which is why a groggy part-dragon child is sniffling and clutching to me in my borrowed overcoat after I woke him near midnight, crying his heart out as the best mother he has ever known is buried in the hastily-dug grave below the apple tree she so loved. No priest is there to say words of blessing to whisk her to eternal peace in the Celestial realm, but her father Varovich is, and I make sure that her collection of small grave stones is buried with her. Hopefully her spirits can guide her, since without her nobody can call them back to this world. They were her only friends for so much of her life, it is only fitting that they be her friends even in death. With the wealth of gold and platinum packed into satchel Anatoli kept on him, a magical bag able to hold three times what it appears without growing in weight, I contract the more disciplined mercenary companies to serve me as my household guard. My own having been nearly wiped out when the Ottomans attacked my home, and the need for one being so much greater now that all in Targovi?te know that this is where the new ruler resides¡­including the Ingram spies that are no doubt still there. After a few aborted attempts to attack the home by small forces of Ottoman soldiers looking for loot and revenge, I put Varovich in charge of collecting architects and masons to rebuild the burned out floors of Poenari¡­I cannot keep Little Vlad safe in the frontier home for sure. Thanks to my own ability to hunt down and slay invaders under the cover of darkness, even as the daylight grows with the spring and summer, I am able to keep the area around Targovi?te safe from Ingram terror mostly with my own might. Andon the nights when I cannot find even an enemy scout to feed my bloodlust, the veins of the horses in my stables keep hunger at bay. As Poenari is being rebuilt, eventually travelling priests from the Church come to press for my destruction, only to be beaten and thrown from the area by the people themselves. I do not know of this until one battered group seeks shelter in the frontier home later that night, after being driven from the inn rooms they tried to proselytize my destruction from. It is while sitting with them for dinner, my body now able to ingest small amounts of food and drink in relative comfort, despite their ashen flavor, that I discover what has been happening out of my sight. They are shocked to hear that their kind host is the very monster they came to destroy, but it is thanks to the suddenly half-drawn blades of my guards that none dare raise a hand against me. In return for their self-restraint, I make a proposal, ¡°The people of Targovi?te have not had any spiritual guidance for quite a while, since the Ingram faith is anything BUT a path towards a moral and just life. If you can find in your members one who would not risk his life by speaking against mine, I will insure that he has a temple from which to serve.¡± And with that, Targovi?te itself gains stability and peace it has not known since my death. Not to imply that it was a paradise, thieves and other criminals appear like weeds in the garden. Only my pulling them places them on display for all to see their pained and terrified face, so after the first few incidents the frequency of such malbehavior drops to near nothing. And then it is that in Poenari, with Varovich serving as my daytime voice, Little Vlad grows to manhood. His tutelage under my care, and education with the best minds I can lure to Targovi?te, shape him into a very capable ruler. It is during this time that I realize my greatest frustration, that despite my best efforts I CANNOT free the rest of Wallachia from Ottoman oppression. While a nigh-unstoppable monster in the night can terrify and force entire divisions of soldiers to retreat, through sabotage and slaughter if nothing else, I can only be at ONE place. Rather than subject the surrounding towns to repeated raids by the Ottomans as they reclaim them when I am off freeing another, I am forced back to protecting only Targovi?te itself. My only hope is that Little Vlad can lead the forces needed to protect Wallachia. It is odd, my father was of the Order of the Dragon, CALLED ¡°the Dragon¡±, where I was the ¡°Son of the Dragon¡±¡­but it is Little Vlad who IS dragon-blooded!, I think while watching the confident young man getting ready to march in the morning. ¡°Fret not father, you are not some mother hen to complain her eggs being stolen!,¡± he tells me with a grin while checking over the buckles of his breastplate once more. I sigh from a long-forgotten reflex I thought to no longer have before replying, ¡°I would have no NEED to be so worrisome if you would carry Dragon¡¯s Fang with you, my boy!¡± ¡° No father, we know from all the dead pigs that it does nothing to heal me in my hands. I may carry the name Tepes now, but I am not BORN a Tepes. The witch said that only one with Tepes blood may draw out that power now that it shares some of your nonliving essence, so it is best YOU keep it to help defend Targovi?te while I am on campaign.¡± It is after this that he quickly moves to hug me, the only one after all these years to be comfortable in showing me such affection. I am going to miss this feeling of brief humanity, while he is gone. I embrace him back before pulling us apart, ¡°Enough of that soft womanly stuff, lest you grow tits! ¡± After sharing a laugh with me he goes to change into his night clothes, and I move to leave. But he interrupts me from behind his screen, ¡°Father can you¡­help me sleep again? I am nervous about the morning.¡± I smile, A man he may be, but he is unblooded, and nervous of his performance in his first battle. Ah, I remember that, ¡°Yes son, climb into bed and I will sooth you to sleep.¡± After he is curled under the covers, for comfort instead of the warmth his dragon heritage means he doesn¡¯t need, I sit on the stool beside the bed to grip his shoulder. Humming softly to him while doing so, I push out the faintest touch of my curse, covering his mind in a blanket of darkness that slowly takes him into the realm of dreams. *** He should not have been worried. When the campaign is over, our territory having grown in greatly with the forces now defending all the nearby towns and hamlets, he returns the to a triumph of cheering crowds and even old women coming out to kiss his feet as he rides by. The news of his victories and deeds having travelled to us as he moved on to each following battle, reuniting many families who have been suffering under the Ottoman yoke for a decade while the locals enjoy prosperity. Now, all these people can enjoy our protection, no wonder they are so enthusiastic. And it has earned him a new name, ¡°Valorous Vlad¡± of all things. To think, the same children who once ridiculed him are now CHEERING him as adults, I could be no prouder of him if he WAS my own blood! I think I shall call him ¡°Val¡± from now on, so he need never forget this joy OR how he EARNED it. His victories giving him a newfound confidence, one that the women of Targovi?te find particularly attractive, ¡°Val¡± as he come to be known by all soon takes over my duties as ruler of the burgeoning kingdom. Then he takes a wife and they have beautiful children, two sons and a daughter he names Analisa. His children do not inherit his dragon¡¯s blood, which is often known to skip generations or even vanish entirely from a bloodline, but the same legacy leaves him hale enough to train his eldest to replace him as the new Viovode of our ever-growing Wallachian kingdom. Without a need for me to defend the town anymore, or even to rule it, I find myself going to Ottoman strongholds and resources to cause trouble. Not just those near our borders, that would be predictable, but also those further into the enemy¡¯s territories. In this way I can distract their armies from the border to come defend their ¡°secure¡± places, or even kill important leaders and priests to break their warfighting ability. It is while on such a task that I hear word in the town¡¯s taverns of Val¡¯s death. At the hands of the Hashishim, when one of them managed to infiltrate the kitchens of Poenari and stabbed him with a poisoned blade while he was at his wife¡¯s deathbed. The soldiers in the tavern were laughing about it, telling tales and making jokes of his face when he was slain. By the time I was done, nobody in the tavern was left alive, although they were all erect on their new homes in the field outside. It takes me over a month to make my way back to Targovi?te, to my son, but I am not idle on the trip. Every Ottoman soldier I see I slay, every priest I tear apart with conjured wolves and leave their chewed remains to be discovered. Every temple to their fetid deities I burn, after barricading the doors with worshippers inside if possible¡­and I care not at all if the town burns along with it. I carve a wound of bloody-drenched fear behind me on my way back to Wallachia, my anger never abating for a single step. In a mere month I think I killed as many people as I did while I was still alive. *** NAME: Vlad Tepes III RACE: Vampire (Human) AGE: 45.2 years alive, Dead 55 years ALIGNMENT: Lawful Neutral HIT DIE: 9 ECL: 9 XP TO NEXT LEVEL: 40,877 / 45,000 SIZE: Medium SPEED: 30 ft. [20 ft. in armor] ERA: Renaissance-Era ABILITY SCORES: Cha 16[17], Wis 10[11], Int 12, Dex 10, Con 13, Str 16[19] FAST ACTION: 15% DAMAGE REDUCTION: 3/magical silver ENERGY RESISTANCES: Acid 0*, Cold 5*, Electric 0*, Fire 0* [* +4 Brigandine] DURABILITY: 7 TEMPORARY HIT POINTS: 24 SAVING THROWS: Fort +15 (11), Ref +2 (1), Will +11* (9) [* Booster +1] [+1 vs. being disabled] [Immunity (ability drain, age, Compulsion, disease, poison, Transformation from others, Fortitude save effects that don¡¯t apply to objects as well] [Fast Healing 1] ARMOR CLASS: 17 (+6* MW Brigandine, +1 natural), flat-footed 17, touch 10 [* Masterwork Brigandine has Undervest ¡Á2] ATTACK: Base Attack Bonus +7, Melee +10, Ranged +7; +4 to Stunts. * Bite +10 [+10/+5 or +5] melee (1d4+1 Piercing, counts as Feeding) * Dragon¡¯s Fang +11 [+11/+6] melee (1d8+6 Slashing, 19-20/¡Á3, plus 1d6 Fire) [flaming longsword +2, Serrated, Lever Grip ¡Á3; lesser artifact: casts lesser restoration on the wielder if he strikes a living creature with a critical threat using it, and is of the blood of the Tepes family] * Slam +10 [+10/+5] melee (1d6+4 Blunt) SKILLS (+3 to Social skills and NPC Attitude checks, ¨C3 instead in enemy territory): * Charisma-Linked (+3) * * Bluff +7 (0) [+4 from Sense Motive] * * (P) Concentration {Undead} +4 (1) * * Diplomacy +7 (0) [+4 from Sense Motive] * * Gather Information +7 (0) [+4 from Sense Motive] * * Handle Animal +4 (4) [+2 from Animal Affinity, ¨C5 from being a Vampire] * * (P) Intimidate +15 (12) * Wisdom-Linked (+0) * * Listen +11 (4) [+2 from Stalker, +2 from Alertness, +3 from Aged Master] * * (P) Profession (manager) +9 (8) * * (P) Sense Motive +13* (10) [* +1 for verbal uses] [+3 from Aged Maser] * * (P) Spot +11 (4) [+2 from Stalker, +2 from Alertness, +3 from Aged Master] * * Survival +6 (4) [+2 from Wildman] * Intelligence-Linked (+1) * * Knowledge (geography) +2 (1) * * (P) Knowledge (military & tactics) +13 (12) * * Knowledge (nature) +7 (1) [+2 from Wildman, +3 from Aged Master] * * Knowledge (nobility & royalty) +5* (4) [* Booster +1] * * (Aged Master) Spellcraft +9 (8) * Dexterity-Linked (+0) * * Balance +1 (0) * * Hide +5* (2) [* +2 in wilderness] [+3 from Aged Master] * * Move Silently +5* (2) [* +2 in wilderness] [+3 from Aged Master] * * (P) Ride +7 (7) * Constitution-Linked (NA) * * (P) Concentration +NA (0) * * (P) Strong Heart +NA (10) [ranks converted to Temporary Hit Points] * Strength-Linked (+4) * * (P) Climb +5 (1) * Linguistics +2 (2) * Wild Empathy +8 (<3>) [+2 from Animal Affinity] FEATS (Simple Weapon Proficiency, Martial Weapon Proficiency, Light Armor Proficiency, Medium Armor Proficiency, Heavy Armor Proficiency, Shield Proficiency): * HD 1: Animal Affinity * HD 3: Leadership * HD 6: Iron Will * HD 9: Lord of the Night * Human: Royal Blood * Vampire: Alertness * Vampire: Improved Grapple * Undead Con 12+: Toughness * Birth: Born Under a Dark Star * Wildman 1: Track TRAITS (Tough Hero): * Favored: Wildman ¡Á1 * HD 1: Combat Bonuses ¡Á1 * HD 1: Stalker ¡Á1 * HD 1: Weapon Training ¡Á1 * HD 2: Combat Bonuses ¡Á2 * HD 2: Enduring ¡Á1 * HD 3: Combat Bonuses ¡Á3 * HD 3: Enduring ¡Á2 * HD 3: Wildman ¡Á2 * HD 4: Combat Bonuses ¡Á4 * HD 4: Enduring ¡Á3 * HD 5: Combat Bonuses ¡Á5 * HD 5: Enduring ¡Á4 * HD 5: Wildman ¡Á3 * HD 6: Combat Bonuses ¡Á6 * HD 6: Enduring ¡Á5 * HD 7: Aged Master ¡Á1 * HD 7: Mastered Power (Weather Mastery) ¡Á1 * HD 7: Stalker ¡Á2 * HD 8: Aged Master ¡Á2 * HD 8: Mastered Power (Mind Games) ¡Á2 * HD 9: Aged Master ¡Á3 * HD 9: Mastered Power (Children of the Night) ¡Á3 * HD 9: Combat Bonuses ¡Á7 SPECIAL ABILITIES Vampire Special Abilities * Blood Bite [Con damage from Bite attack counts as Feeding, can Bite in Grapple as a touch attack] * Darkvision 60 ft. * Inflict spells instead heal Strength, cure spells instead cause Strength damage * Feeding [Blood drank restores equal ability score damage, further from Human is less effective] * Human Blood [counts as Human for spell effects based on race] * Insanity Recovery [Feeding heals Insanity as if it was ability score damage] Vampire Weaknesses * Allergies [1d8¨C1 damage from contact with daylight or holy symbols and holy ground, unless consecrated to a deity of darkness, death, or evil] * Blood is Life [bleeding effects still apply to you] * Cursed Blood (Soil Bound) [Can only sleep if in your homeland, or near at least 1 Lb. of its earth] * Daytime Sleep [fatigued during daytime hours, Sinker ¨C1 to skill checks during the day, cannot sleep at night] * Hospitality [needs invitation into homes, cannot harm those they invite into theirs if they behave] * Hunger [stacking ¨C1 Intelligence penalty at dusk, which only goes away a point at a time from Feeding] * Taint of Evil [alignment counts as Evil for spells and special effects, even if you are not] * Vulnerable Dismemberment [Slashing weapons can still deal critical damage] * Vulnerable Heart [Piercing wooden weapons can still deal critical damage] * Ward Away [cannot come within 10 ft. of a holy symbol or mirror strongly presented to them by a living being] * Water Allergy [1d6¨C1 damage from contact with naturally-running water, and cannot pass it under your own power] Leadership 8 [4 base from HD, +3 from Charisma, +1 from Intimidate] Fear-descriptor effects +2 DC SPELLCASTING * Mastered Power (Charisma-based, CL 9, Maximum SL 4th, Spells Per Day 6*) [+1 save DCs, +3 DCs vs. Animals and Vermin] [* +1 daily use for summon nature¡¯s ally I only] * * 0th ¨C daze (free action). * * 1st ¨C obscuring mist, summon nature¡¯s ally I (only 1d3+2 Swarm:Bats, 1d3+2 Swarm:Rats, or 2d3+2 Wolves; can command as if using summon monster) * * 2nd ¨C daze (no HD limit), detect thoughts (free action), gust of wind. * * 3rd ¨C call lightning, daze monster. * * 4th ¨C control winds, daze monster (free action).