“Mistress, you have a visitor” Dyara scuttles into the room, averting her black eyes from the unseemly sight of her mistress.

“And who may that be?” She stops the torturing of Kariath and turns round to look at Dyara with boiling anger.

“A young vampiress” Dyara says before scuttling away in fear of what her Mistress would do.

True to that fear, she unleashes all her anger on Kariath, causing her to break his phylactery and kill him.

But she does not care and grabs a large hammer, pulverizing his remains till her anger abates somewhat.

Reining in her emotions, she lets herself reform; feeling her skin tighten and shape alluringly while her teeth shrunk to a fanged shape.

Sauntering out of the room, she buries her anger deep within her and walks up to the desk, to find a small child with crimson eyes and a slightly fanged mouth.

In other words: a child vampiress.

“And ou may you be?” She narrows her eyes suspiciously at the child, letting her accent roll off her tongue

“I’m…Lucille” as high pitched as her voice may be, it does not hold the naivety of a child as Mistress suspected, since vampire children could well be hundreds of years old.

“And vat are you doing asking for me?” She asks impatiently yet with a tone of respect. She wants to throttle the girl for causing this trouble but if she harms a child from the House of Dacul, her life would be forfeit.

“Well I heard you were taking care of a friend?” Although the child asks in a questioning manner, it in no way sounds like a question; rather a confirmation of thought.

“Your friend is gone” She can feel hot tears springing beneath her eyes, since it was a most precious pet she had lost

“Where did my friend go to?” The child asks, with a hint of anxiousness and curiousity.

“To the House of Skelor” She replies without thought.

She could have lied, but she owed Windshaw since he had warned her beforehand. It was her fault she lost her ‘pet’ this time.

With a slight bow, the child suddenly exits, leaving Mistress pierce her small back with unleashed hate.

Huffing, Mistress storms into her torture room, laid on her rack and cried. She cried for the loss of her pet,

cried for the killing of Kariath and cried for her powerlessness over a child who had walked in here, demanded answers and then just left.

….

Asking directions, Ankorr quickly makes it to a gigantic crumbling castle which resides in the center of a dead plain.

The plain is called dead due to the lack of grass, and any trees that dot around the area are withered and long rotted.

Walking up to the castle, he quickly notes skeletons hanging off the castle walls.

Shivering at some strange possibility, he stops moving and sits behind a tree, out of sight of those skeletons.

Letting his suddenly stressed body calm down, he once again continues walking towards the castle, but once again the feeling that the skeletons are watching him haunt his thoughts and crawl on his skin.

Trying his best to ignore the feeling, he continues on, till he reaches the broken down portcullis.

Hanging from the portcullis is another skeleton; arms drooped by its side and a rope hanging from its neck.

Taking a single step through causes a multitude of “INTRUDER” to emerge from the hanging skeleton’s mouth as it violently wiggles in the air.

Jumping to the sudden sound, he races inside choosing a mausoleum that resides inside and dives into it, muffling the almost alarm-like sound of “INTRUDER”.

Hiding behind a sarcophagus, he hears the alarm stop and his heart returns back to normal pace.

Until he hears the doors of the mausoleum creak open, accompanied by the sound of bone on stone.

“Hey, little vampire” A voice clacks roughly with a trying to be soothing tone, as if approaching a beast carefully.

Ankorr doesn’t move from his spot, wondering if the voice is just trying to trick him to move.

“I’m here to help you, since we have a common enemy” The voice continues as it creeps its way towards Ankorr

“Who?” Ankorr answers back as he jumps away from the sarcophagus, leading him into full view of a skeleton wearing a black cloak.

“An illithid princeling” The skeleton doesn’t flinch by the sudden appearance or response from Ankorr.

Lowering his guard somewhat, he motions for the skeleton to continue.

“The princeling has just recently come here, disguised as a vampire of Dacul. He told us he was sent to marry the princess of this House, which we believed. That is until I saw him change to his true form. I asked around to who he was and soon found out he was running away from the House of Dacul. But as a servant of the house, I cannot harm him in fear of retribution even if I were correct as the Illithid is still a princeling.” The skeleton speaks in a rough manner, bequeathing his servant status

Ankorr listens to the skeleton with a pinch of doubt. And the more the skeleton speaks, the more Ankorr is convinced by the situation and the doubtful convenience of his position. He suspects Windshaw may have something to do with all this help. Or it may just be coincidence, but he highly doubts that.

However his quest updates, so he takes that as a sign.

Feeling a bit like he is a piece in a game, he walks towards the skeleton.

“Show me where he is”

….

Iöïluthäör sits at a large desk, writing his daily events in his small black diary.

For him, today was just another boring day at this decrepit castle with its decrepit gardens and decrepit inhabitants. He misses the sweet sounds of torture in the background and the lavish garden of bodies that he had spent years playing in.

Though he knows he can return in just a few days, so he can handle the boredom a bit longer.

After writing a few dull sentences, his eyes droop from re-reading such a languid storyline of events that was his day.

Closing the book, he shuffles to his bed and lies down on the stale straw mattress.

Silently cursing his hosts for their lack of proper beds, he turns to his side, willing himself to sleep.

It is at this point when he hears the quiet sounds of his window creaking open.

Jumping up, he sees the window slightly ajar, moaning wind passing through the small gap.

Quickly looking around the room, he doesn’t see any intruder putting his mind at ease.

Standing up, he goes to close the window, before returning to bed, lying uncomfortably once more.

…

Waking up in a sloth-like manner, Iöïluthäör stretches and yawns his tiredness away as best as his languid body can.

Making his way to the closet, he grabs the long flowing robe that is coloured a regal purple.

Donning it, he straightens out the spiky collar.

Grooming his tentacles, he takes a deep sigh before turning towards the door.

Opening it, he almost walks into a flamboyantly dressed skeleton

“Ah Dolan, I take it you are here to escort me?”

“Yes master princeling, you better hurry for your bride awaits” the skeleton, Dolan answers with a bow and gestures for him to follow

Quickly making their way across the castle, they enter through a large set of iron doors; which lead to a great hall of sorts.

This room is equally as decrepit, but there are signs of recent renovation in some places; for the occasion.

Walking up the aisle, he quickly notes the gathering crowd and their decently disapproving comments reach his ears easily.

He knows why they disapprove of him, and would laugh at them if not for the situation. To him, they are just jealous he can feel, touch, taste the flesh of both lovers and victims of torture.

But he is marrying a skeleton; as dry as a woman can get, completely unfuckable in every which way.

At least he has a friend back home who will help him with those needs.

Reaching the top of the aisle, Dolan leaves him there and disappears off into the crowd.

Closing his eyes, he tries to block out the world and bring back memories of a better wedding; the one he always dreamed of.

He doesn’t understand this annoying elaborateness of dressing up and giving the bride away; much like an overworld creature’s wedding.

Splitting a being in half, drenching the couple in blood and then locking them in a torture room till one dominates the other is the way to wed for him, not this fancy formal thing.

Too soon, he hears the crowds quiet down and the sound of archaic instruments blare out.

Opening his eyes, he sees his skeletal bride, covered in a thin white veil walk up the alleyway, supported by Skelor; a most imposing skeleton wearing a black suit, riddled with holes from age.

Reaching him, the skeleton gives him his daughter’s cold, bony hand, which he takes.

Turning to a skeleton standing behind a draped table, wearing a large white sash around his neck, he begins to listen to the droning of ‘happy couple’ and ‘may be blessed’ for a good while.

Seemingly finishing, the skeletal priest ties their hands together with a leather strip before continuing with ‘eternal bonds’ and other garble, which Iöïluthäör shuts out from his mind.

“ME” A voice shouts from close by, reeling Iöïluthäör away from his daydreaming.

Looking down, he spots a glint of steel, before it slices into his neck and out the other side.

The crowds start shouting in fury and terror at seeing a child vampiress burst out from underneath the draped table and kill the Illithid princeling.

Guards quickly converge on the child as well as Skelor himself in furious anger and fear for his daughter’s life, but she simply ducks back under the table disappearing from sight.

Skelor smashes the table out the way, only to find one of the many hidden passages that riddle this castle.

Ordering guards to pursue the vampiress, he turns back to the dead body, noticing the cries of shock from the crowds as they see his head had gone missing in the commotion.

Having the princeling killed was bad enough, but to not have a full body for burial was truly an insult to his House.

Mobilizing all his guards, he tries futilely to search for both the killer and the head.

Sadly, both have well and truly disappeared within seconds, leaving Skelor empty handed and in a most perilous situation.

At least his saving grace is his daughter’s faint happiness at not being married.

After a good hour of his guards searching fruitlessly, he orders them to stop and shouts for his scribe to come.

He must try repair the situation before war breaks out.

…

Two beings stand in a dense copse of trees. One, a skeleton in a long black cloak, holds the head of Iöïluthäör, while the other, a child vampiress stands cross armed, impatient.

“Give me the head and I can be on my way” Ankorr speaks impatiently, as he has had to wait for the skeleton for over an hour and the skeleton himself had only just arrived.

The skeleton passes the head over, before bowing thanks and leaving.

Ankorr, places the head in his inventory and starts to walk back to the inn

….

“Windshaw” Ankorr barges into the room and flings the head on the table, where it rolls and stops in the center.

Looking away from the window slowly, Windshaw chuckles lightly.

“So you went through with it, well done” He makes a clapping motion with his sleeves

“Where do I give it in for the bounty?”

“You’ve got to take it to the House of Lith, since they are the ones who put up the bounty in the first place” Windshaw answers with a wave of his sleeve, as if to tell him to get going.

“I see…I’ll be back with the reward” He grabs the head and marches out the door.

Windshaw chuckles softly and goes back to watching the window.

He soon opens the window, letting a small bat with a piece of parchment tied to its leg, come inside.

Reading the small letter, he starts to cackle deviously.

"It's time to start a fire"

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-Author's Corner: Sorry it's been a verrrry busy week and i feel this chapter's a litttle hectic with the time jumping.

ALSO i've got 91 followers! that's almost 100 :D(i gotta write better and more!!

SO don't forget to give me some love by following and you'll never miss out on the sneaky mid-week chapter(s)

-TRUE NORRRRRRRRRRRRRRRD