Chapter 109: 109
If audio player doesn't work, press Stop then Play button again
The burly shadow of a man doesn't bother to raise his head from his half finished pint of ale at my remark, an unsavoury grimace on his face, as though the taste was not quite to his satisfaction. From the look of utter dissatisfaction I might wager he has already realised that his quest for tonight was in vain, but whether he does or not is not a concern of mine. I am not here tonight on the business of hunting, rather I have a much more important matter to attend to.
His companion- Kal, picks at a plate of meat in the same half hearted manner, face paled to a sickly pallor, yet every so often his black eyes dart across the room to steal a glance at my companion, then swiftly return to his plate of disappointment as if nothing had ever happened. There is an unspoken tenseness in the air between the two, a quickening of pulsing hearts that could not be put down to merely circumstance. I have seen enough wearied hearts in my several hundred years of life to know something is amiss, that the faint twitch that resides in Kal's long black wings is not one of habit, but nervous inferiority.
The little white fox comes to plod close by to my heels, lingering, but never quite stilling, as though half expecting that he might have to run out of the room at any minute. He certainly is a curious little creature.
Fangorn doesn't care to address my statement.
"Old friend, I didn't expect to see you here on such unscheduled terms. What beckons you to this neck of the wood so late in the night? Surely you do not wish to merely stop by for a chat?"
My fingers rap against the wooden bench with a methodical thrum, the steady pulse echoing around the room jarringly. Fangorn takes another long sip from his glass, recoiling with a disgusted wince, before placing it back down down and wiping the foamy suds away from his lip with the back of his hand, as though the second sip was just as bad as the first. Briefly I wonder what on earth possesses him to continue sipping such a foul concoction, but his face offers me no answers, and nor do I search for them. I do not have the time nor the patience to look into whatever drives men to actions of such unfathomable idiocy.
"I rarely have time for such for liberties such as ample banter, you know this well. My palace is under lockdown, my conniving brother contained within its walls, and my Queen is under stasis dying of blood loss. I need your help, Fangorn, I cannot afford to let her die."
Fangorn turns to me, face a blank wall of stone, but something tugs in his heart, flickering briefly in the depths of his eyes- a foreign expression, a feeling, that had never quite expressed itself before.
"Something has happened to your Queen? What?"
For a moment I stare at him, trying in vain to place the emotion I had seen flutter past his face. Hundreds of years of studying people's expressions and flaunting my way with the fraudulent intent of manipulation round the courts of Sezeria in my earlier years had taught me enough to pick up a lie when I see one- big or small. Buried in that swallowed deadpan look of his face, something else lurks: some recognition or fact that I am not yet privy to. That, I decided decisively to myself, is about to change.
"Yes, she was attacked by a group of heathen vampires from my court, burdened by the jealousies and longings of the heart of which I am sure you know full well." I give him a pointed look. An unspoken name lingers in the air between us: Lilyana. The stiffening of Fangorn's jaw is clear enough to see, causing Kal to glance nervously between us both, the whites of his eyes showing a fraction more than what would be deemed comfortable. His fingers clench round his lean arm, muscles tensed, as though expecting a fight, or perhaps to fight.
Kal, as it happens, is rather like Fangorn's adopted son. Fangorn found the wandering little dragon several hundred years ago while scouting the perimeters of the end- of course, by then he was already an outcast, but the ancient vampire took him under his wing all the same. Kal had gone in to the end to die, abandoned by his fellow dragons for his idolisation of the mortals and his desperately hopeless attempts to associate with them- even to the extent of sharing his knowledge of the ancient magic.
Dragons have always been particularly proud and recluse creatures, bent solely on maintaining the wealth, riches and knowledge they possess within their own kind. Thus they did not take to kindly when the little dragon Kal made his first attempts to share such monumental treasures with the outside world.
And so they abandoned him.
But as it happened, fate had spared him from death that day, in the form of a lonely wanderer with a scar down his eye, and fangs of gleaming white and red. He flourished under Fangorn's care, learning to hunt, to survive, and many years later even successfully enhanced his magic enough to give himself a human form.
But Kal also has an adopted mother, Fangorn's beloved who he loves rather dearly: an angel by the name of Lilyana, whose mastery of potions is almost as great as her ability to kick ass. When I first met her, in my younger and sadly more rash years, she was a vivacious little sprite with a feisty spirit and a big heart. She loved Fangorn dearly- back then I could never understand such an attachment between mortal enemies. I ruined her -ruined them both- and I hardly doubt I will ever be forgiven for such an act of blatant spite and bitter loathing.
Though I often find myself disinclined to talk about her, for the shame of my past, it is undeniable that to talk about her in an evenly vaguely degrading manner would earn me two solid punches and then maybe a rare bout of cussing from the little dragon. But I am not here to start any fights today.
I continue on.
"The vampires are locked away in silver chains now, and shall rightly be getting what they deserve for the violation of the rules I have laid down- and for the violation of her. As for my scheming brother, hell knows what is going on with him. But that is not the point, I need you to help me keep her alive. I cannot let her die. I must not."
Beside me, the little fox whimpers softly at the forceful pleading of my words, pawing frantically at the ground as he pads up and down the length of the room, all at once rather distressed. His antennae glow with a peculiar, ethereal luminescence against the half gloom of the room, two toned eyes wide with panic. Though at the prospect of his mistress dying or something else, I cannot tell.
"I know after all I have done to you, to... to your lover, I have no right to plead help of you. I cannot take back my actions, and no amount of regret will change what I have unjustly ruined. If you choose not to help me, it will be of no fault but my own. But I must help her, she is the only good thing left in this world."
Fangorn places his palms flat against the table and blows a low breath. Kal remains tense in his seat, watching, waiting. At last, Fangorn speaks.
"I shall help her, old friend. The past is the past, I do not linger on my regrets, only remain hopeful for the future. Do not worry yourself over the extent of my loyalty to you, after all, I owe you a life debt- lest we forget you chose to keep me and Lilyana alive that day, and still do. There is good in you, Soren, and that is much more than I can say for the majority of our kind. Tell me, what is her condition?"
I pause, looking between Kal and Fangorn, between the avid stiffness of their faces that urge me to continue, as if by sheer force of will they could press the words out of me. The fox yips from his pacing on the floor, adding to the innumerable voices rebounding around the room.
"Her back has been torn open," I say at last, squeezing my eyes shut against the memory of it. Gore had never been something to phase me, after all, I had spent the first hundred years of my senseless youth practically bathing in it- tearing off the wings of angels and feasting on still warm flesh from the finest of nymphs who presented themselves too eagerly for my taking. Blood was a delicacy feasted on as often as the elves drink wine, and to come home late at night staggering with red stained lips was hardly a phenomenon that the palace was not used to seeing. Yet although those times of my life have long since passed, the fact still remains: gore never bothered me. But something about seeing Serena completely brutalised all at once made me question that fact.
"Most of the skin of her back has been torn off, scraped raw down to the flesh. She has lost a lot of blood, and many of her capillaries have been ruptured, maybe even a major artery. You know how a vampire's claws are, they can tear just about anything. She is in pain, a lot of pain, so I had to put her under stasis, freeze her body over until I could find a way to help her.. So I came to you- you are about my only hope for finding a way to help her."
Please report us if you find any errors so we can fix it asap!
The burly shadow of a man doesn't bother to raise his head from his half finished pint of ale at my remark, an unsavoury grimace on his face, as though the taste was not quite to his satisfaction. From the look of utter dissatisfaction I might wager he has already realised that his quest for tonight was in vain, but whether he does or not is not a concern of mine. I am not here tonight on the business of hunting, rather I have a much more important matter to attend to.
His companion- Kal, picks at a plate of meat in the same half hearted manner, face paled to a sickly pallor, yet every so often his black eyes dart across the room to steal a glance at my companion, then swiftly return to his plate of disappointment as if nothing had ever happened. There is an unspoken tenseness in the air between the two, a quickening of pulsing hearts that could not be put down to merely circumstance. I have seen enough wearied hearts in my several hundred years of life to know something is amiss, that the faint twitch that resides in Kal's long black wings is not one of habit, but nervous inferiority.
The little white fox comes to plod close by to my heels, lingering, but never quite stilling, as though half expecting that he might have to run out of the room at any minute. He certainly is a curious little creature.
Fangorn doesn't care to address my statement.
"Old friend, I didn't expect to see you here on such unscheduled terms. What beckons you to this neck of the wood so late in the night? Surely you do not wish to merely stop by for a chat?"
My fingers rap against the wooden bench with a methodical thrum, the steady pulse echoing around the room jarringly. Fangorn takes another long sip from his glass, recoiling with a disgusted wince, before placing it back down down and wiping the foamy suds away from his lip with the back of his hand, as though the second sip was just as bad as the first. Briefly I wonder what on earth possesses him to continue sipping such a foul concoction, but his face offers me no answers, and nor do I search for them. I do not have the time nor the patience to look into whatever drives men to actions of such unfathomable idiocy.
"I rarely have time for such for liberties such as ample banter, you know this well. My palace is under lockdown, my conniving brother contained within its walls, and my Queen is under stasis dying of blood loss. I need your help, Fangorn, I cannot afford to let her die."
Fangorn turns to me, face a blank wall of stone, but something tugs in his heart, flickering briefly in the depths of his eyes- a foreign expression, a feeling, that had never quite expressed itself before.
"Something has happened to your Queen? What?"
For a moment I stare at him, trying in vain to place the emotion I had seen flutter past his face. Hundreds of years of studying people's expressions and flaunting my way with the fraudulent intent of manipulation round the courts of Sezeria in my earlier years had taught me enough to pick up a lie when I see one- big or small. Buried in that swallowed deadpan look of his face, something else lurks: some recognition or fact that I am not yet privy to. That, I decided decisively to myself, is about to change.
"Yes, she was attacked by a group of heathen vampires from my court, burdened by the jealousies and longings of the heart of which I am sure you know full well." I give him a pointed look. An unspoken name lingers in the air between us: Lilyana. The stiffening of Fangorn's jaw is clear enough to see, causing Kal to glance nervously between us both, the whites of his eyes showing a fraction more than what would be deemed comfortable. His fingers clench round his lean arm, muscles tensed, as though expecting a fight, or perhaps to fight.
Kal, as it happens, is rather like Fangorn's adopted son. Fangorn found the wandering little dragon several hundred years ago while scouting the perimeters of the end- of course, by then he was already an outcast, but the ancient vampire took him under his wing all the same. Kal had gone in to the end to die, abandoned by his fellow dragons for his idolisation of the mortals and his desperately hopeless attempts to associate with them- even to the extent of sharing his knowledge of the ancient magic.
Dragons have always been particularly proud and recluse creatures, bent solely on maintaining the wealth, riches and knowledge they possess within their own kind. Thus they did not take to kindly when the little dragon Kal made his first attempts to share such monumental treasures with the outside world.
And so they abandoned him.
But as it happened, fate had spared him from death that day, in the form of a lonely wanderer with a scar down his eye, and fangs of gleaming white and red. He flourished under Fangorn's care, learning to hunt, to survive, and many years later even successfully enhanced his magic enough to give himself a human form.
But Kal also has an adopted mother, Fangorn's beloved who he loves rather dearly: an angel by the name of Lilyana, whose mastery of potions is almost as great as her ability to kick ass. When I first met her, in my younger and sadly more rash years, she was a vivacious little sprite with a feisty spirit and a big heart. She loved Fangorn dearly- back then I could never understand such an attachment between mortal enemies. I ruined her -ruined them both- and I hardly doubt I will ever be forgiven for such an act of blatant spite and bitter loathing.
Though I often find myself disinclined to talk about her, for the shame of my past, it is undeniable that to talk about her in an evenly vaguely degrading manner would earn me two solid punches and then maybe a rare bout of cussing from the little dragon. But I am not here to start any fights today.
I continue on.
"The vampires are locked away in silver chains now, and shall rightly be getting what they deserve for the violation of the rules I have laid down- and for the violation of her. As for my scheming brother, hell knows what is going on with him. But that is not the point, I need you to help me keep her alive. I cannot let her die. I must not."
Beside me, the little fox whimpers softly at the forceful pleading of my words, pawing frantically at the ground as he pads up and down the length of the room, all at once rather distressed. His antennae glow with a peculiar, ethereal luminescence against the half gloom of the room, two toned eyes wide with panic. Though at the prospect of his mistress dying or something else, I cannot tell.
"I know after all I have done to you, to... to your lover, I have no right to plead help of you. I cannot take back my actions, and no amount of regret will change what I have unjustly ruined. If you choose not to help me, it will be of no fault but my own. But I must help her, she is the only good thing left in this world."
Fangorn places his palms flat against the table and blows a low breath. Kal remains tense in his seat, watching, waiting. At last, Fangorn speaks.
"I shall help her, old friend. The past is the past, I do not linger on my regrets, only remain hopeful for the future. Do not worry yourself over the extent of my loyalty to you, after all, I owe you a life debt- lest we forget you chose to keep me and Lilyana alive that day, and still do. There is good in you, Soren, and that is much more than I can say for the majority of our kind. Tell me, what is her condition?"
I pause, looking between Kal and Fangorn, between the avid stiffness of their faces that urge me to continue, as if by sheer force of will they could press the words out of me. The fox yips from his pacing on the floor, adding to the innumerable voices rebounding around the room.
"Her back has been torn open," I say at last, squeezing my eyes shut against the memory of it. Gore had never been something to phase me, after all, I had spent the first hundred years of my senseless youth practically bathing in it- tearing off the wings of angels and feasting on still warm flesh from the finest of nymphs who presented themselves too eagerly for my taking. Blood was a delicacy feasted on as often as the elves drink wine, and to come home late at night staggering with red stained lips was hardly a phenomenon that the palace was not used to seeing. Yet although those times of my life have long since passed, the fact still remains: gore never bothered me. But something about seeing Serena completely brutalised all at once made me question that fact.
"Most of the skin of her back has been torn off, scraped raw down to the flesh. She has lost a lot of blood, and many of her capillaries have been ruptured, maybe even a major artery. You know how a vampire's claws are, they can tear just about anything. She is in pain, a lot of pain, so I had to put her under stasis, freeze her body over until I could find a way to help her.. So I came to you- you are about my only hope for finding a way to help her."
The burly shadow of a man doesn't bother to raise his head from his half finished pint of ale at my remark, an unsavoury grimace on his face, as though the taste was not quite to his satisfaction. From the look of utter dissatisfaction I might wager he has already realised that his quest for tonight was in vain, but whether he does or not is not a concern of mine. I am not here tonight on the business of hunting, rather I have a much more important matter to attend to.His companion- Kal, picks at a plate of meat in the same half hearted manner, face paled to a sickly pallor, yet every so often his black eyes dart across the room to steal a glance at my companion, then swiftly return to his plate of disappointment as if nothing had ever happened. There is an unspoken tenseness in the air between the two, a quickening of pulsing hearts that could not be put down to merely circumstance. I have seen enough wearied hearts in my several hundred years of life to know something is amiss, that the faint twitch that resides in Kal's long black wings is not one of habit, but nervous inferiority. The little white fox comes to plod close by to my heels, lingering, but never quite stilling, as though half expecting that he might have to run out of the room at any minute. He certainly is a curious little creature.Fangorn doesn't care to address my statement."Old friend, I didn't expect to see you here on such unscheduled terms. What beckons you to this neck of the wood so late in the night? Surely you do not wish to merely stop by for a chat?"My fingers rap against the wooden bench with a methodical thrum, the steady pulse echoing around the room jarringly. Fangorn takes another long sip from his glass, recoiling with a disgusted wince, before placing it back down down and wiping the foamy suds away from his lip with the back of his hand, as though the second sip was just as bad as the first. Briefly I wonder what on earth possesses him to continue sipping such a foul concoction, but his face offers me no answers, and nor do I search for them. I do not have the time nor the patience to look into whatever drives men to actions of such unfathomable idiocy."I rarely have time for such for liberties such as ample banter, you know this well. My palace is under lockdown, my conniving brother contained within its walls, and my Queen is under stasis dying of blood loss. I need your help, Fangorn, I cannot afford to let her die."Fangorn turns to me, face a blank wall of stone, but something tugs in his heart, flickering briefly in the depths of his eyes- a foreign expression, a feeling, that had never quite expressed itself before."Something has happened to your Queen? What?"For a moment I stare at him, trying in vain to place the emotion I had seen flutter past his face. Hundreds of years of studying people's expressions and flaunting my way with the fraudulent intent of manipulation round the courts of Sezeria in my earlier years had taught me enough to pick up a lie when I see one- big or small. Buried in that swallowed deadpan look of his face, something else lurks: some recognition or fact that I am not yet privy to. That, I decided decisively to myself, is about to change."Yes, she was attacked by a group of heathen vampires from my court, burdened by the jealousies and longings of the heart of which I am sure you know full well." I give him a pointed look. An unspoken name lingers in the air between us: Lilyana. The stiffening of Fangorn's jaw is clear enough to see, causing Kal to glance nervously between us both, the whites of his eyes showing a fraction more than what would be deemed comfortable. His fingers clench round his lean arm, muscles tensed, as though expecting a fight, or perhaps to fight.Kal, as it happens, is rather like Fangorn's adopted son. Fangorn found the wandering little dragon several hundred years ago while scouting the perimeters of the end- of course, by then he was already an outcast, but the ancient vampire took him under his wing all the same. Kal had gone in to the end to die, abandoned by his fellow dragons for his idolisation of the mortals and his desperately hopeless attempts to associate with them- even to the extent of sharing his knowledge of the ancient magic. Dragons have always been particularly proud and recluse creatures, bent solely on maintaining the wealth, riches and knowledge they possess within their own kind. Thus they did not take to kindly when the little dragon Kal made his first attempts to share such monumental treasures with the outside world.And so they abandoned him.But as it happened, fate had spared him from death that day, in the form of a lonely wanderer with a scar down his eye, and fangs of gleaming white and red. He flourished under Fangorn's care, learning to hunt, to survive, and many years later even successfully enhanced his magic enough to give himself a human form. But Kal also has an adopted mother, Fangorn's beloved who he loves rather dearly: an angel by the name of Lilyana, whose mastery of potions is almost as great as her ability to kick ass. When I first met her, in my younger and sadly more rash years, she was a vivacious little sprite with a feisty spirit and a big heart. She loved Fangorn dearly- back then I could never understand such an attachment between mortal enemies. I ruined her -ruined them both- and I hardly doubt I will ever be forgiven for such an act of blatant spite and bitter loathing. Though I often find myself disinclined to talk about her, for the shame of my past, it is undeniable that to talk about her in an evenly vaguely degrading manner would earn me two solid punches and then maybe a rare bout of cussing from the little dragon. But I am not here to start any fights today. I continue on. "The vampires are locked away in silver chains now, and shall rightly be getting what they deserve for the violation of the rules I have laid down- and for the violation of her. As for my scheming brother, hell knows what is going on with him. But that is not the point, I need you to help me keep her alive. I cannot let her die. I must not."Beside me, the little fox whimpers softly at the forceful pleading of my words, pawing frantically at the ground as he pads up and down the length of the room, all at once rather distressed. His antennae glow with a peculiar, ethereal luminescence against the half gloom of the room, two toned eyes wide with panic. Though at the prospect of his mistress dying or something else, I cannot tell. "I know after all I have done to you, to... to your lover, I have no right to plead help of you. I cannot take back my actions, and no amount of regret will change what I have unjustly ruined. If you choose not to help me, it will be of no fault but my own. But I must help her, she is the only good thing left in this world."Fangorn places his palms flat against the table and blows a low breath. Kal remains tense in his seat, watching, waiting. At last, Fangorn speaks."I shall help her, old friend. The past is the past, I do not linger on my regrets, only remain hopeful for the future. Do not worry yourself over the extent of my loyalty to you, after all, I owe you a life debt- lest we forget you chose to keep me and Lilyana alive that day, and still do. There is good in you, Soren, and that is much more than I can say for the majority of our kind. Tell me, what is her condition?"I pause, looking between Kal and Fangorn, between the avid stiffness of their faces that urge me to continue, as if by sheer force of will they could press the words out of me. The fox yips from his pacing on the floor, adding to the innumerable voices rebounding around the room."Her back has been torn open," I say at last, squeezing my eyes shut against the memory of it. Gore had never been something to phase me, after all, I had spent the first hundred years of my senseless youth practically bathing in it- tearing off the wings of angels and feasting on still warm flesh from the finest of nymphs who presented themselves too eagerly for my taking. Blood was a delicacy feasted on as often as the elves drink wine, and to come home late at night staggering with red stained lips was hardly a phenomenon that the palace was not used to seeing. Yet although those times of my life have long since passed, the fact still remains: gore never bothered me. But something about seeing Serena completely brutalised all at once made me question that fact."Most of the skin of her back has been torn off, scraped raw down to the flesh. She has lost a lot of blood, and many of her capillaries have been ruptured, maybe even a major artery. You know how a vampire's claws are, they can tear just about anything. She is in pain, a lot of pain, so I had to put her under stasis, freeze her body over until I could find a way to help her.. So I came to you- you are about my only hope for finding a way to help her."
