Private Tales No Meal, No Deal

[Asunción]

One could not thrive on the blood of rats and seagulls.

Filthy blood. Weak blood. The essence of mindless animals and winged things. You could sustain yourself on the stuff indefinitely—he knew that much, from fragmented memories—but there could be no pleasure in squeezing the life out of a furry blood bag. And the birds? They were worse. There were feathers everywhere. Fragments in his nose and eyes, like irritating pollen. The wrecked ship’s hull was a bed of red-stained white fluff.

Asunción had made a habit of lounging away from the slaughterhouse within the ship, sleeping within a makeshift coffin of furniture and desiccated bedding scavenged from other parts of the massive, teetering vessel, forever entombed in the sandy banks of the isolated northern beach.

None came here. And as he woke—waiting until the moon hung high in the sky—his yellow eyes grew wide as they fell upon tracks in the sand, winding far in the distance.

“Food?” he murmured, voice rough. Yet as he descended from his perch on the wrecked ship to the moonlit sands below, his eyes grew thin. Something made these tracks, but they were not human. Not even humanoid.

Probably not food. “But something to pass the night?” he asked, aloud, to the empty sands.

 

[Aletheiar Alazar]

Bending low to the ground, Kassa Lia ran one hand lightly along the fresh print in the sand. Green eyes narrowed in thought and concentration as she followed the trail with keen eyes and careful caution, for the tracks were not that of a normal creature. They were crooked and deformed, but more, they were unevenly paced and of unequal depth, suggesting a limp or weakened stride. It was wounded, perhaps, though this did not necessarily mean easy prey. Wounds always made creatures furious.

Gathering her cloak about her, Kassa stood, her eyes scanning for a moment the dark horizon of the sea. The sound of waves beating against the shore and the whistle of ocean wind was calming, and the sliver of moon high up cast a silver sheen across the sand. It was quiet otherwise – serene, peaceful.

It was fine night for a hunt. She smiled, and began to follow the tracks. It was not long before spots of blood appeared along with the prints, growing in diameter and freshness. She inhaled deeply, catching the scent of the creature, identifying it as a very rare thing indeed. It was a Yacuruna.

They were hideous things, with deformed feet, hairy humanoid torsos and a reversed, monstrous head of snapping jaws and glowing eyes. They dwelt in the deep waters, surfacing only to kill. Now its wound had driven it to land. Kassa considered the cause. Most likely, a threatened fishing boat had managed to wound it with a fishing spear or other such weapon. Yes, that fit.

The prints led her to the edge of the beach, where a great throng of ferns and trees grew, preparing to form a wood. Among the greenery, she saw it – to glowing, yellow orbs, eyeing her warily. Angrily.

She smiled again and crouched low, her hand reaching down to finger the pommel of a long knife at her belt. “Oh, dear. You don’t look good, my love,” she observed softly.

The Yacuruna snarled.

 

[Asunción]

Frost clung to the damp sands this far north, crunching under his bare feat. A cold white berg, like some great whale's corpse, had drifted in from who knows where, and watched Asunción from the black horizon as he walked. The wind, the cold—neither bothered him, for he carried no warmth within him. Only when feeding did he feel alive again, for fleeting moments. It was a queer existence that he had known, once. Its familiarity would return again. Some day.

He was no master tracker but even a child could have followed the deep and uneven gait of this creature, dragging its limbs as if steadily depositing itself within the sands before it finally expired. Something had hurt it. Normally the scent of blood would have aroused his hunger, but this thing’s essence seemed acrid to him; entirely unappealing. It frustrated him.

“Crawled from those briny depths, stinking and pickled,” he growled, anger rising. “Tainted flesh, caustic blood, useless even as fertilizer.” He could feel his teeth grinding in his ears.

He came crashing through the underbrush like some crazed predator at the very top of the food chain—afraid of nothing, for all cowered beneath him. Consumed by this brashness, he did not see the creature until he was nearly on top of it.

And the woman, he did not see at all—though he could smell her, suddenly, mixed in with this thing that regarded him. And a 'thing' it was. He had never seen so disgusting, so useless a creature; his mind spun as it turned from facing the woman to snarling and spitting at him, its yellow eyes matching his own. But it was cornered; it was frantic with fear.

Asunción rushed it with his bare, clawed hands, intent to rip it apart. It let out a roar—and fled, bounding into the woods. The vampire opened his fanged mouth with a frustrated howl. He nearly chased it, but remembered the woman's presence, turning to her. Living, breathing. Sentient.

Suddenly, he bared his fangs.

“You, you—!” he howled. “Give me—give it to me—!“

And lashed out with his claws, mindlessly.

 

[Aletheiar Alazar]

Reaching carefully into the folds of her cloak, Kassa studied the creature. It was weak now, perhaps near death, but at its full strength a Yacuruna was known to be a vicious foe, wielding even some amount of magic. In its current state capturing it would be no great feat and would require minimal effort. Yes, she decided, she would imprison it now and, once the pact was sealed in her favor, she would heal it and use its strength to bolster her own.

Finding its smooth surface, Kassa slowly drew out the summoning stone. Perfectly round, its deep red surface glittered in the moonlight. As if knowing its purpose and what she intended, the Yacuruna bared its teeth, drawing back just slightly. Long, curved claws flexed along with bloodied muscle. It was weak, but it would not go down easily.

That was fine. Kassa liked a fight.

She drew breath, and was just about to chant the incantation when something crashed through trees and ferns, something with the yellow eyes of a predator and the clawed hands of a killer. It howled after the Yacuruna, which promptly turned and fled. Even injured and with its deformed feet, it moved quickly, vanishing into the trees. Necessity and the instinctive urge to keep living – the mother of all great things.

Kassa whirled to face the monster that she now faced. She was irritated; the Yacuruna weren’t easy to come by.

“Give it to me-!”

She lunged backwards, narrowly avoiding the slash of savage claws. It caught against her cloak and ripped into the fine fabric, leaving tears that would be rather costly to fix. Oh, for the love of…

She quickly stepped back, moving away from the monster, whatever it was. Gripping the stone with her right, her left hand lifted high into the air, fingers splayed. She breathed in deeply, and her pleasant green eyes suddenly glowed with a brilliant light. Black as the midnight sky, tendrils burst into being, coursing around her arm and hand, hissing like ghostly serpents.

With a silent command they shot out outward, swirling about the new enemy, closing in, intending to bind it fast.

 

[Asunción]

The sound of ripping cloth did not sate the dread-knight’s bloodlust, for he would find no sustenance in fancy linens. Here was a young and comely humanoid, a woman, who had stumbled like an ignorant fly into his domain. He would have her blood. Naïve traveler, seasoned adventurer, it mattered naught: she would feed him better than that disgusting wretch he had followed to eviscerate. (And still planned to, once this encounter played out.)

Yet, she may have been more than she seemed.

Deftly evading the clumsy strikes of Asunción’s elongated claws, her eyes shined with magic—and for a split second he recognized the presence of dark magics. For the second time he found himself thwarted. Not by her magics—though they did their work, striking and holding him in place—but by the fact that like the beast, she would taste just as foul.

The black tendrils strained over his bulging grey muscles before several moments passed, and Asunción had calmed himself into a brooding dissatisfaction.

“Am I to dine in the dark on naught but rats and fowl for the rest of my existence?” he asked.

His voice was deep and strained by the squeezing of the tentacle-like magic, and it almost seemed that he had forgotten about the woman entirely—until his yellow eyes shot to her, and he bared his teeth once more.

“You are of no use to me,” he spat. “Your blood is foul; soured by the powers you call upon. Some of us drink only of virgins, of innocence, of those untouched by the burdens of existence. I am not so picky. But I know of none from the Old Days who would lower themselves to dining upon one touched by dark magic: one who lives a cursed existence, as we do.”

He glanced down indifferently at the magic that held him—even though he was not sure he could break through it, in his weakened state. The blood of vermin did not make for a quick resurrection.

“Why are you trespassing in these lands?”

 

[Aletheiar Alazar]

All this creature’s talk of blood and drinking made it clear what it was, and confirmed Kassa’s suspicions. Vampire. Her lips curled in distaste, for she had encountered the leeches and their bloodthirsty nature before. They thought themselves awfully mighty, but in the end they were slaves to unnatural hunger and a death everyone thought quite timely. The only thing that kept Kassa from giving the creature such a death of its own was its question, spoken clearly and calmly.

Lowering her hand, Kassa Lia regarded the creature with contempt. “You, my dear, are in no position to ask questions,” she drawled. She glanced around her and shrugged in a mocking display. “Why, I had no idea this land belonged to anyone.” Again she looked at the creature, one eyebrow raised and a smirk playing about her mouth. “But those unable to protect their land don’t deserve it, don’t you think?”

With slow, deliberate steps she came close to the creature. She was not foolish, but she was certain by now that the creature could not break through its bonds. If it did… well, she had plans for that. She looked up into the leech’s face. “Hmmm… you’re old, are you not?” She lifted as hand and touched the creature’s face, tracing her finger down its cheek, over its chin and finally down its neck. “Tired of dining on… what was it? Rats and fowl?” She smiled.

“I could kill you,” she said suddenly. “but I have learned not to be so… hasty. Listen, my vicious, thirsty darling, how would a pact sound to you? One that would not only set you free from this…” she tapped the body of one of the dark tendrils, “but also grant you some delectable food suited to your taste?

“Or,” she turned around and walked a few steps away, “I could just leave you here. For you to die in the sun or of your thirst, whichever proves fatal first. What will it be, love?”

 

[Asunción]

Asunción’s eyes thinned as her surprise (and what he had thought had been inklings of fear) soured into outright cheekiness at their reversal of power. Any mercy lingering behind the vampire’s dire façade had quickly evaporated by the time of her final offer—an offer without substance, merit, or worthiness. Did she think him to be a canine? Persuaded with naught but promises of ‘treats’?

He almost snapped at her hand as she touched his face.

“I am no dear, darling, or love of yours,” he answered, lowly. “I am Asunción. You will call me as such, or I will use the last of my strength to break this spell and rip out your throat—no matter how foul your blood may taste.”

A cold wind howled through the trees, thick with the smell of sea salt. It was hard to concentrate. Not because of the tightness of the spell that confined him, but because of the curiosity that had suddenly taken hold of his senses. She had offered him food. She knew what he was, probably knew what he wanted. No foul Pact would hold sway over him; leave those foolish contracts for ghouls, ghosts, and lesser evils. But fresh blood was so hard to come by up here—and so vital for his continued resurrection—that he could just not let the offer slide!

“In the dark hull of that ship,” he began, moving his yellow eyes away from hers, “I have eaten a dozen rats in only this past fortnight, and twice that number of seagulls. I have died and been dead, I do not fear you or your spells—but, I am starving. No people come here anymore. No sailors, no trade wagons. The gypsies who served my lineage avoid this place as though it were cursed. Perhaps it is. But hunger bores its way through my insides like a smoldering iron ball swallowed with boiling water. You are the first I have spoken to since I came back.”

He flexed his claws, extended and hanging at his side—the claws of a starving monster. His eyes slid to the woman’s once more.

“Where are there people? Where may I finally… sate my unending thirst?”

 

[Aletheiar Alazar]

Mild, green eyes met those yellow, predatory eyes, and the edges of Kassa’s lips curled up in a slow smirk. Turning to face him once more, she tilted her head to one side – and laughed. It was a cold, dry, husky sound, filled with amused malice. It would tell this leech – this Asunción – all he needed to know. She was not prey, perhaps not even one to be considered human. Cursed or not, her existence was something to be feared.

The coils around Asunción tightened in warning, so very slightly. In a repeat of the past Kassa sauntered over to him once more and touched his face. Only this time, it was not a gentle caress but a harsh grip that pressed his flesh together, enough to crack the bone of any lesser being as she forced his chin upward.

“Don’t talk back to me, Asunción,” she whispered, her sweet voice mocking his name. “Be polite and use your manners. Like this; my name is Kassa Lia. Pleased to meet you,” she finished with a curtsy. Again she laughed, adding a light slap to one cheek as she released of his face. “Well. That explains why you were left alone. You are very rude.”

She crossed her arms, leaning back on one foot. “There are… certain denizens near here that were similarly rude. Very inhospitable to me, refusing me shelter, food, things any traveler would have liked and might request. Yet they seemed to sense my power, and, as you said… called me quite foul. Such beastly folk,” she sighed. “But you’ll not find them soon without me, Asunción. What’s more, you’ll not get free without my help either.”

One hand raised, and clenched suddenly into a tight fist. Asunción’s bindings suddenly shuddered, and it seemed as if they were made of hot iron, meant entirely to send a shock of hot, blinding pain throughout their victim.

“I want a pact, see, my little leech? Let’s see you beg for my mercy,” Kassa purred.

 

[Asunción]

A vile sweetness flavored the woman’s words like the coating of a poisoned apple. A treat for an innocent. But Asunción carried no innocence in his heart, just as no blood flowed through his veins. As she touched his face, he crushed her skull in his mind’s eye with such ferocity that her veridian orbs shot from their sockets, bounding comically into the distance.

A pact, a pact! Blood, blood! No matter how much anger boiled in his chest, were they not alike in their single-mindedness?

He did not feel the sting of her spell until she mentioned it—but even then, it was a far-off thing, like his violent fantasies. A faint light in the dark. Perhaps a side-effect of his incomplete resurrection, of having been in limbo so long, pain seemed now as alien to him as life under the sun, or a good, filling meal. That is to say: torture was a futile thing.

Still, he was not completely humorless.

“Oh, please, Kassa Lia. Please oh please. Set me free,” he pleaded, deadpan. “The pain. So… painful.”

Asunción’s eyes suddenly hardened. She had said there were people nearby. He could not travel far without a guarantee of food and shelter from sunlight. That was what had trapped him here. But, if this foul woman were to guide him… for a small price…

“I will not form the Pact you seek,” he promised. “For I can guess the extent of the favors you wish of me. But for a small service, a minor boon—”

The vampire could not get the idea of not one, but multiple mortal men and women nearby, out of his mind. For this information, if truthful, he would be willing to complete a small Pact—one that guaranteed each other’s honesty. He would not attack her, and she would let him go and provide more details.

“Name what you wish of me.” He paused, thinking with his eyes on the ground, before letting them rise to meet hers again. “I remember little of the Old Rites,” he admitted, “but a month’s service seems a fair exchange—and a promise, that I would never hunt you down and squeeze your skull until your eyes shot out like birds set free from their cage.”

Just, you know—as a common courtesy.

 

[Aletheiar Alazar]

No real expression showed on Kassa’s face at Asunción’s reaction to the pain. That is, the lack thereof. To be honest, she was a little put out, a tad surprised that her spell failed to garner his… appreciation, but those sorts of feelings could not be shown. Her nose wrinkled just slightly, and that was all. She raised an eyebrow as he swore never to form the Pact, and said he could guess what she wished.

Could he really? Kassa rolled her eyes. Vampires, always thinking they knew so, so much. She decided he was of no use. Asunción might be an interesting sort, but he was proving to be such a hassle, and if he would not work with her, she would simply dispatch him. In no uncertain manner. The Yacuruna, after all, still needed hunting, and time was of the essence. With a flourish, she stored the red gem she clutched back in her cloak. Her mind was made up.

“Name what you wish of me.”

“Oh, my.” Kassa’s eyebrows lifted. Her smile, which had since faded, returned. “Do you really mean it?” She put a finger to her lips in thought. “As it happens, I agree. A month of service,” she clarified. Her emerald eyes took hold of his. “Lucky for you, I do know some rites. Close that filthy mouth of yours for a moment, hmmm?

Her eyes narrowed to slits. A moment of crushing silence crowded about them. Then, in a voice that echoed and boomed throughout the trees, she chanted.

“Behold thy moon

A cycle true.

Favors shall flow

Like blood from the pot

That boils a crow

Black as blood and bone.

By thy death of angels

And thy oath through gods.

Speak no lies, commit no fraud.

In the name of Blackest Fog,

Be bound, then, in shadowed sun!

Till the moon turns through its final run!”
​

The coils binding Asunción dissipated like rising smoke. He might feel different. A little sick? Or he might not. Who could say? Kassa considered this before shrugging. It didn’t really matter. She didn’t care.

“Come, Asunción,” she said briskly as she turned. “It’s a bit of a walk, but not too far.”

 

[Asunción]

As the woman’s spell washed over him like cold ocean spray, Asunción barked out in repetition the final line of the poetic rite—as was custom.

“Till the moon turns its final run!”

His words echoed over the wind, louder and more aggressively than hers, as though volume alone might dissolve the Pact. But he knew at once the strength of her words. As the tendrils lowered, he made a grab at her neck. Nothing. The Geas held him. Only an errant twitch in his right clawed hand betrayed this attempt at decapitation.

He stood still for many moments, trying to break the Rite with sheer willpower. Finally giving up (for now), her orders were met with a frustrated growl.

“I shall not follow you anywhere,” he answered, heavy footsteps coming up behind her.

There was a moment where they were close—and he glared down at her diminutive form as he passed, like a predator sizing up a meal (or a boot, above an ant). But he only moved to pass her—his heavy black cloak, smelling deeply of salt and carrying many wayward white feathers, licking her side as he lumbered past. Beneath the sad cloak, he wore only a simple fashioned loincloth. No shoes, no shirt—and up until now—no servitude.

The smell of blood hung thick in the air, even dispersed by the wind. Ignoring any footprints or broken branches, Asunción followed his nose. He could move very quickly and quietly when he cared to.

“I will tear that fetid thing’s backwards head from its sloping shoulders and toss it back into the ocean, whence it came,” the vampire extrapolated, mostly to himself (not at entertaining the possibility of Kassa needing it alive). “It is less tasty than rats; less palatable than even you are. It is a useless interloper, capable only of sating my wish to rip something apart.”

Asunción glanced over his shoulder, staring at the woman with an unmistakably violent longing.

 

[Aletheiar Alazar]

His attempt at giving her an untimely death did not escape her notice. Nor did his efforts at trying to break the Binding. It might have worried another, perhaps someone less powerful and even more uncertain of their own abilities and the magic they called upon. But Kassa held herself in high regard, for good reason. She was confident in the power she held, and trusted it as it trusted her to use it in the manner it should be used.

Yes, magic had a mind, and it had its desires.

As such, Kassa merely smiled and laughed as Asunción brushed past her. It was a delightful, tinkling sound; innocent, girlish. One could almost believe she truly was of a pure spirit. The thought was amusing, almost as humorous as having this mighty vampire under her command. He might hold some control over his movements, and his mind was yet to be claimed, but this… this was enough, for now.

Kassa did not have the nose Asunción had, but she could follow tracks and hidden paths as well as any hunter could. Better. She was not surprised when, after a most lengthy walk, the woods suddenly opened up into a clearing rimmed by the trunks of cut trees, with a log cabin situated at one end. It was a neat little thing, small but elegantly built with skilled hands, boasting even a window with a stained glass cross.

The door was open, revealing two figures; an old woman held by a younger man – her son, perhaps. Farther ahead, within the clearing itself there was an older man, the father, bearing a large axe, facing none other than the Yacuruna. The twisted head snarled and snapped at the older man, then turned to hiss at Kassa and Asunción. Apparently, Asunción was not the only one who desired food.

“Demons and witches!” the elderly man cried, voice filled with fear and hate. “Gods take you! Burn in hell!”