Campfire Tales (Vampire: Dark Ages)

[Imperial Overlord]

He had the strength of ten men because his heart was stained with corruption.

-Matt Stover, The Blade of Tyshall


Karpaty Konstantin pushed aside his cloak and the layer of dead leaves layered over it as he woke. The vampire pushed himself out from beneath the hollow worked into the roots of the dead oak. He was filthy and smeared with dirt. He had spent a half hour before sunrise deepening the hollow, making sure he could fit inside and then making sure his cover of dirt and debris was in place before letting sleep claim him.

It was dark, but his eyes could pierce the gloom easily enough. Where was his horse? Konstantin had left him by the tree. He would not wander, not with the bindings of blood and power laid upon him. Red light gleamed in his eyes as he searched for clues. He smelled blood. Hunger gnawed at his belly like ravening wolves. He growled as he closed.

There were signs of struggle, the foot prints of men as well as the shoes of his horse. Blood had been drawn, but his horse overcome. Stolen! What was his had been taken while he slept! He barred his fangs and hissed.

No darkness could obscure his vision and his sense of smell rivaled a dogs. The trail of a half dozen men and one horse was easy to follow, especially for one who had been a huntsman in his youth. He loped through the trees after the thieves. He did not have far to go.

He smelled the fire before he saw it. Six men sat in a semi-circle around a fire. They were almost as filthy as he was, but even more unsavory to look upon. One was missing most of his nose and another lacked an ear. A third man had no thumb on his left hand and a fourth had a huge scar on his face that crossed a milk white eye. The fifth had a fresh bandage on his right arm. Their clothes were in even worse condition than his battered hauberk and their stench was ferocious. Bandits.

Lips skinned back from his teeth in a feral grin. He could see his horse, tied and bound to a nearby tree. Konstantin circled the campsite, angling around to take them by surprise. His sword, good German steel that sadly had seen a lot of hard use, was in his left hand. He held his battle axe, a fearsome long handled single bladed weapon, in his right. He was almost salivating from hunger.

The bandits were talking to each other in German and cutting pieces off the hart on the spit. They didn't know he was there until he was upon them. He buried his axehead in the back of the closest bandit's skull. The second spun with remarkable speed. He took a sword in his left side. Konstantin twisted the blade, widening the wound. The bandit fell back, taking Konstantin's sword with him.

With a jerk he freed his axe. He knew what a site he must present. Well over six feet tall with a mane of wild, matted hair and a heavy boned face that was emaciated well past the point of gaunt. He presented a terrifying skull mask to the world from which two hell red eyes gazed out above a mouth set with snarling fangs. A tangled dirty mane of dark hair fell down the back of his head and he wore a hauberk of crow's mail over dirty and stained leathers. He looked every inch the monster he was.

Missing ear lunged at him with a spear. The point bit home, piercing mail and leathers to bruise flesh open a cut below his sternum. Blood leaked from the wound. Konstantin slashed the spear man in the right forearm. The blow was weak, but it was a weak blow from Konstantin's axe. Flesh parted and bone broke. Blood flowed from the wound and missing ear dropped the spear in howl of pain and staggered away.

Pain exploded on the left side of Konstantin's head and the vampire staggered back, raising his left arm. No nose had hit him with a staff. He struck again and Konstantin's arm went numb. The vampire snarled and swung his axe. No nose's staff caught it just below the blade. Konstantin had six inches and at least thirty pounds on the bandit, most of it muscle. The axe head hooked on the staff. Two arms against one.

Konstantin jerked the bandit forward and almost off his feet with inhuman strength. The vampire kicked the bandit into the fire. No nose's clothes caught. He flailed frantically as he tried to extract himself from the the tangled remnants of the spit and he howled in pain as the fire ravaged his body. It took the bandit a precious few moments to get free and he stumbled away and rolled into the bush.

The other two bandits circled warily. The vampire's attack had been sudden and violent and they had lost precious moments to surprise and then fumbling with their arms. Now they were two against one. Konstantin smiled and hefted the fallen spear. Both bandits ran.

Konstantin raised the spear and cast. He was a poor marksman with a thrown spear, but his strength lent his cast a certain authority. The caught one of the bandits in the shoulder. The spear bit deep. He staggered and continued to run.

Konstantin smiled and drew his sword from the fallen bandit's side. He moaned in pain. Konstantin stomped on his foot and the bandit shrieked as bones broke. Still life left in this one. He would keep.

He picked stuck his weapons into the ground and grabbed the corpse by the scruff of his neck. The man was dead, but his blood was still warm and Konstantin was hungry, very hungry. He sank his fangs into the corpses neck and drank his still warm blood. In quantity it was a pittance compared to what a healthy man would give, but the quality was almost the same.

He opened up the corpse with his dagger, slicing open skin and muscle to reach blood rich areas. Konstantin sucked the blood from the dead man's heart and tossed the organ into the fire to join the other drained and discarded pieces of tissue. He was almost finished his gluttonous feast when he heard the noise. Someone was approaching. He dropped the dead man and drew his weapons.

His face, hands, and hauberk were stained with blood. "Who comes?" Konstantin called out in German. He was ready to face anything, anything save a Lupine or an elder.

"I who am lord of these woods," said a voice. A huge bearded man wearing a fur mantle over leather boots and breeches appeared from the undergrowth. His eyes glowed as red as Konstantin's own. He carried only a long knife with a hilt of carved antler horn.

"I meant no trespass," said Konstantin. "I was merely traveling through your domain and these kine robbed me. I hunted them and extracted vengeance as is my right."

"So you say," rumbled the man as he approached the clearing. He kept the fire between him and Konstantin. He was bold, but wary.

"So I say," said Konstantin.

"I am master of these woods and you, traveller, owe me homage to pass through."

"That is true," said Konstantin. "What is it you wish, prince of the forest?"

"I would know who walks through my lands," said the forest lord. "Tell me of your life and line traveller."

"Very well," said Konstantin. "I am Karpaty Konstantin, a knight with no home. Whom do I have the honour of addressing?"

"I am Bjorn Bjornsson and these woods have been mine since before the Christ god came. Speak to me of your name and heritage Karpaty Konstantin and if you are a vampire worthy of honour you will be welcome in my lands. If you lie to me or reveal yourself to be a nithling and I will take your blood and your life."

[Imperial Overlord]

Konstantin didn't much like what was being offered, but he liked the thought of fighting an elder even less. He sat back down, keeping the fire in between him and Bjorn. Fire was one of the few things that vampires feared and they did so with good reason. Even Bjorn, who could undoubtedly leap the flames if he wished to, would be reluctant to cross it. If he attacked, it would likely be by going around the fire and giving Konstantin time to react.

"Very well," Konstantin answered. He could still feel the hunger, only partially sated, gnawing at its insides. "My story will not be short." He reached out with his left arm, never taking his eyes off Bjorn, and grabbed the dying man's ankle. "This one will be cold and empty by then. Do you mind if I finish my meal?"

Bjorn grunted and inclined his head. Konstantin dragged the dying man over his lap, keeping his eyes on the other vampire. He lifted the human's head and sank his fangs into his neck. Sweet, delicious blood filled his mouth and poured down his throat. For too long he had subsisted primarily on weak and tepid animal blood. The hot gush of life was intoxicating and filled his body with power.

All too quickly it was over. Konstantin tossed the body away with his left hand wiped his lips. "I shall start with the beginning," he said. He had to be careful about what he told Bjorn. The old vampire might know if he lied, but it would be best to play to his prejudices and to hide the true strength of his blood. If the elder's blood was thinner, he might covet it and that could be the end of him. "My family is old. The blood of Romans, of Huns, of Dacians, and Thracians runs through the veins of the Basarabs. They were mighty and bowed only to the Tzimisce and in return they were granted the powers and the mysteries of the blood and grew mightier still. We were there governors and warlords and we were strong, stronger than any of the other families they granted their blood. Over generations the power lingered in our veins and it became as much a part of us as that of our ancestors. Then the Magyars and the Szekely came and we remained proud and unbowed. As had been done before, we mixed our blood with these new conquerors and became stronger still.

"My mother was of the Basarab family, my father was a Magyar noble and she brought his holdings under the sway of our voivode. The heritage of the Basarabs passed to her children and we were more than human, mightier in every way. We learned the sword and the lance, strategy and rulership. In our voivode's name we ruled and we dispensed mercy and punishment as appropriate. The Land Beyond the Forest was ours."

"Your voivode, who was he?" asked Bjorn.

Konstantin hesitated. "Timur Hearteater," he said, going with the truth. Transylvania was far from here, it was likely that Bjorn wouldn't know who he was. Unless, he was as Konstantin expected, Gangrel and word had travelled to him of the Gangrel revels. Still, that would not be enough to endanger him. Timur had told only his childer that he was a childe of the dreaded Noriz, Corrupter of Legions."

"Hmm," rumbled Bjorn. "He devoured flesh and expelled dry and cracked bones, which he used to mark his territory," said Bjorn. Konstantin froze. "He had a mighty war form, neither zulo nor bat monster, but something unique."

"Yes," answered Konstantin. The nightmare image of the Hearteater's warform, ten feet of armoured bipedal nightmare, his flesh covered in boney plates and blades of horn, roaring as it opened impossible large jaws filled with monstrous fangs. "We lead my lord's levies against the Tremere, but they were no match for their monsters and armsmen. My voivode withdrew and created many ghouls, feeding them his own vitae and reworking their flesh until they were mighty instruments of his will.

"The Tremere unleashed their hellbeasts and sorcery to counter our might. Our combined demands for blood were terrible. We both laid waste to the herds and still the walls of their citadel would not yield. He granted me, the strongest and most red handed of my brothers, the embrace to replace his lost warrior children. He took from me mortal weakness and buried me in the earth. I drew strength from the land and emerged as Tzimisce.

"My lord roared challenge to the Tremere and they responded by striking him down with lightning. He fell, injured or dead, and the Tremere unleashed their gargoyles. The fell upon us from above, no longer kept at bay by fear of the voivode's might. Five Usurpers advanced behind a screen of armsmen and drew out our lifeblood while flinging fire and drawing down lightning. Crossbow men fired upon us and our ranks broke. Gargoyles made off with my lord's body and we were broken.

"The Tremere's ghouls and gargoyles hunted us like dogs, striking at our homes and chasing us through the forest gloom. Other voivodes took as much as they could from my lord's holdings and I became a hunted man with no home. So I went west. Rumor says the Italian princes wish to bolster their strength against their rivals. There my sword might find a home."

"So," said Bjorn. "A once proud Fiend crosses my lands, beaten like a whipped dog by a newborn clan."

Konstantin growled. To show weakness, to appear to be prey, was suicidal. "I am still proud. I respect your territory, as I must, because my blood both mortal and immortal remembers the way of honor." He spat blood into the fire, where it sizzled momentarily.

Bjorn chuckled. "You have courage and you have not lied to me. Those have bought you a chance. If you make it across the river, I will pursue you no further." With that he rose to his feet and howled. "My pack comes. When they get here the hunt will begin. Run."

[Imperial Overlord]

Konstantin snatched his weapons and ran, not away from Bjorn but towards his horse. The vampire could see perfectly in the dark. A blow from his sword cut the ropes hobbling the horse's front legs and his axe cut the beast free from the tree it was tied to. He sheathed his sword and leapt onto the saddle, grabbing the pommel to adjust his landing. "Go," he cried and horse kicked free of his bonds and into the night.

Konstantin steadied himself in the saddle and tried to get his feet into the stirrups while guiding his horse through a forest at night. Branches whipped by overhead as he managed to spot a relatively clear path that might be a game trail. He could hear wolves howling on both sides and from behind. If the wolves were that close, then Bjorn would soon begin the chase. Konstantin had no confidence in his steed's ability to outrun an elder.

His left foot found the stirrup as he yanked on the reins, guiding his horse onto the game path. His right foot slipped in and he urged his horse on faster. His power and his blood in the beast's veins overcame its reluctance to go running full speed through the forest. At least there wasn't too much underbrush. Now what mattered was how far it was to the river.

He could see them now, grey shapes darting between the trees. They couldn't keep pace with him, but they weren't falling that far behind. The wolves howled to one another as they paced after him. And he could hear something else.

He could hear the sound of his horse breathing and the thunder of his hooves. The could hear the cries of the wolves and the impacts of their paws on the carpet of moist, dead leaves. He could hear small animals dash for the bush and bats taking to their wings. And he could hear Bjorn running behind him, impossibly swift and all too deadly on two legs as he caught up with the wolves and passed through their ranks.

Konstantin turned his head and saw Bjorn racing through the trees. By the old gods, he thought, he is so fast. He's going to catch me. Then it hit him. Sweet Christ, Konstantin thought, I can smell water. I can hear water flowing against its banks. I'm close!

The sound of rushing water grew louder and so did that of pursuit. Konstantin urged his horse forward. The river came into view as he passed over a ridge line, a slow moving flow of water maybe a score of yards across, glittering in the moonlight like a stream of stars. He forced his horse down the slope at break neck speed. His horse slipped.

Everything seemed to slow down as his horse fell. Konstantin kicked out his stirrups just in time not to be pinned under his falling horse. He hit the ground with bruising force, but he was a vampire, not a man. He half fell, half slid a half dozen yards, ending up near the base of the slope. He could hear Bjorn laughing. The elder was close, too close.

He got to his feet and sprinted for the crossing, drawing upon the power of his blood to fill his limbs with strength. The river was so close! It didn't matter if he couldn't ford it here, a vampire did not drown. With his strength he could swim the crossing or even walk across the bottom. He was almost there!

Jaws closed on his left leg and he fell at the river bank. A wolf had caught up to him and sunk her fangs into him. He kicked her with his right. He could hear the bones in her chest crunch as she was knocked free. Bjorn was racing towards him, seeming to glide over the ground. Another wolf was leaping from the right.

He struck the wolf with his axe, shattering its shoulder in a spray of blood and sending the animal crashing to the earth. He spun and leapt, inhuman strength propelling a third of the way across the river despite his burdens. The water was cold, but he was undead, no longer alive. His flesh could endure such punishment. He kicked water and performed a pair of clumsy strokes. The other bank was close. There was a huge splash behind him and an iron grip on his ankle. A strong yank and he was dragged under.

Bjorn smiled at him, fangs protruding from his lips. Konstantin kicked him in the face, to no avail. He tried to rake his axe blade across Bjorn's eyes, but the elder caught the blade in his hand. There was no blood. The elder stripped the weapon from Konstantin as if he was taking a toy from a child.

Bjorn dragged him down to an embrace, his mouth opening wide for a killing bite. There was no point in struggling against Bjorn's iron grip, but there was one trick left to Konstantin. He gripped Bjorn's head, not to attempt the impossible and hold him off, but to strike. He drove his thumbs into Bjorn's eyes with every ounce of force he could muster.

The elder was old and inhumanely tough. His skin was as tough as fine mail and his bones were the bones of the mountains. Heat and cold bothered him not at all and blows which would cause terrible agony barely registered. But his eyes were still eyes and Konstantin could break a strong man in half and tear the limbs from his body. Bjorn was not so old and tough that he did not feel pain.

The vampire instinctively recoiled, pushing Konstantin away from him. The younger vampire broke the surface and kicked away as his hands pushed water back. His feet touched the ground and he thrust forward with all of his might, rising up out of the water and landing in the shallows. Another step and he was clear.

He leapt again and was free, free if Bjorn decided to honor the rules of his game. He turned around and saw the elder, immersed to his waist in the river and soaking with water. Konstantin's axe was in his hand. Bjorn laughed. "You were good sport young one. You fought even when I had you. I grant you your life and I return your axe to you." He threw the blade at Konstantin's feet, causing the younger vampire to jump back. "I even will allow you to keep your horse. You were good sport, but you had best be more of a challenge if you come this way again."

[The Grim Squeaker]

Hmm, Vampires had more fun back in the day, huh? So, that was an Elder Gangrel, right? (I'm unfamiliar with dark ages or the retainer vampire families?)

[Imperial Overlord]

Yes, that was a Gangrel elder. The Tzimisce through the use of blood magic and the blood bond created families of humans with hereditary vampiric powers called revenants. Essentially they were born ghouls with extended lifespans and a limited ability to fuel their own supernatural powers. The Tzimisce would use them as them as sources for future agents, vassals, and childer.

[Imperial Overlord]

Konstantin rose from the bear's den and walked out of the cave toward his horse. The sky was bright and clear were it penetrated the screen of leaves above, revealing a waxing crescent moon shining down upon him. The vampire swung himself into the saddle and nudged his horse back towards the road.

It had been three days since he had drank down the bandits and he was beginning to feel hungry. Animal blood was a poor substitute for human vitae, but it would do in a pinch. He sniffed the air with heightened senses, hoping to catch wind of suitable prey. His nostrils twitched. Smoke. And where there was smoke there was probably men.

He urged his horse forward. The smell became stronger and was joined by the stench of unwashed humanity. If he had still been mortal, although he had never been merely human, his mouth would have watered. His fangs slid down as the campfire came into view.

It was a relatively clear spot at the side of the road. Five monks were clustered around the fire. Konstantin had little use for them. Well, that wasn't quite honest. There was at least one service they could provide him. His hand crept down to the haft of his axe.

One of the monks stood. "Is there someone there? Come out and share our fire. We will do you no harm. So I swear by Almighty God."

Konstantin rode closer. The man had good hearing or sharp eyes to picked him out of the darkness. The monk was big, Konstantin's height or thereabouts and broad across the shoulders. He was clean shaven and somewhere between forty and sixty. It could be hard to tell sometimes. Hard lives left their own marks on men and this one was strong, very strong. He had been battered, but not broken.

"It's a cold night," said the monk. "Come and join us by our fire."

"Your hospitality to a stranger is most generous."

"We are all God's children," said another monk, a boy in his late teens.

"As you say," said Konstantin with a smile. He had just managed to retract his fangs. "I will avail myself of your hospitality." He swung off his saddle and approached the monks. The other three included an older, frail looking man, a thick set man in his late twenties, and a slender man in his thirties with an angular face and blazing eyes. "What brings men of God into the woods?"

"Duty," replied the slender monk. "And who are you, who travels at night?"

"A man who has a good horse and needs little sleep," said Konstantin. "Although I could use an iron arse." The fat monk and the boy laughed and all but the slender man smiled.

"Have you eaten?" asked the first monk.

"Yes, I have," Konstantin lied. "Thank you."

"Where do you hail from stranger?" asked the slender monk.

"The Transylvania, in the Kingdom of Hungary," replied Konstantin.

"You speak German very well," said the fat monk.

"I had a good teacher," replied Konstantin. "And there are Saxon towns in Transylvania. It's a language that gets used often."

"You've travelled quite the distance," said the first monk. "Our journey isn't quite so far. May I ask your destination?"

"Italy," said Konstantin. "The great cities of the north."

"Ahh," said the first monk, "the wealth and opportunities of the Italy. You are considering employment as a mercenary then? I hear that foreigners are fighting for some of the cities, in exchange for coin."

"If nothing else," said Konstantin.

"A younger son?" asked the first monk. "Problems with your older brother?"

"Something like that," the vampire replied. He had been the eldest, but it was his prowess that had brought him to the Heart Eater's attention, not his rank in the birth order. He could remember the night clearly. They had stood in the chill night wind as the voivode and his retainers arrived. Dogs the size of ponies had guarded the flanks of the Timlur's small column, monstrous beasts with fangs that were closer to tusks and distorted shapes with shaggy hides and shoulder humps like boars.

Timur himself had been a giant, well over seven feet tall with the face of an angel or a devil. His features were disturbingly flawless and nothing had escaped his gaze. He wore an overlarge coat of mail like a robe and had a massive sword sheathed on his saddle. Next to him was a woman taller than most men, blond, and beautiful and fierce like a warrior-maid from legend and a brute who looked like he had been through a thousand fights and whose face was more of an immobile mask of cartilage, cicatrices, and bone than an instrument of expression.

Timur dismounted from his steed, a huge and magnificent coal black beast. Konstantin's father trembled before the mighty Fiend. His mother, serenely beautiful as always, made a deep, sweeping bow and spoke. "Mighty voivode, we are honoured to receive you," she said in the tongue of the Vlachs. "This earth is your earth. We have done as you commanded."

"Bring him forth Claudia," commanded Timur.

She gracefully bowed and swept her arms back and forward, indicating Konstantin should step forward. He could feel the weight of the Tzimisce's gaze upon him and the strength left his body. "Here he is, my lord. My most capable child, as you command."

Somehow Konstantin managed to walk forward, drawing even with his mother and father and then another step passed them. "My lord," he said, bowing his head.

The Heart Eater stepped forward. "You are wise to be afraid boy," said Timur. The vampire stepped close to him. "Your heart beats fiercely but your breathing is even. Your body remains your own. Your fear does not own you. Good." The vampire touched him, tracing the line of his face and then lower down. "Hard muscle. His skills?"

"He is most excellent with the sword and the lance and he is good rider." Konstantin could hear the tremors in his father's voice.

"I have taught him many languages and the true lore of the night, so he may serve you more ably," said his mother. "He was a quick study at chess and understands the finer points of strategy and logistics as well as the danger and uses of treachery. He is very bright and the Basarab blood runs truly through his veins."

"That I can see," said Timur. "What is his name?"

"I am Konstantin, voivode. All that I am is yours to command, for as long as you will it."

"Well said Konstantin. You shall enter directly into my service and I shall see if there is the making of a true dragon within you."

[Imperial Overlord]

"Are you alright?" asked the first monk.

"Yes, yes," replied Konstantin. "I was just remembering. Sometimes it seems a lifetime ago."

"Your family," asked the fat monk, "you were close? If my question is not impertinent?"

The vampire swung out of the saddle and lead his horse closer to the fire, but not too close. Just enough to feel the heat. "Yes, we were. Praise be to God, my mother gave me a younger sister and brother and lost no children in childbirth or early death."

"Thanks to God indeed," said the old monk. "And an older brother as well?"

"Yes," lied Konstantin. "An older brother as well. But we were never close."

"Unfortunate," said the first monk. "And your younger siblings?"

"Mostly we got along well enough," said Konstantin. "My brother was often underfoot, in the way small children often are, but my sister could be the Devil himself when the mood to make trouble struck her."

He remembered the smell of her hair as he pushed Margit onto the bed and nuzzled her face. She giggled and turned towards him, mouth opening to his. They kissed and he pushed her back onto his bed. Konstantin's hand slid up her blouse and cupped her breast. "God," he said hoarsely. His throat had gotten tight and dry.

Her hands found his clothes and went lower, opening his breaches and freeing him. He ached for her. Her hands touched him, her fingers caressing him. She giggled as he got on top of her and lifted her skirts. "I want-" he breathed.

"Yes," she said back. "Yes."

"By all the Gods," said a voice behind him, "you are fucking her!"

Konstantin turned his head to see Zsuzsanna standing in the doorway. "God's balls Zsuzsa!" He had closed the door. . . but hadn't thrown the bolt. He had been distracted and in far too much of a hurry.

"Actually," she replied with a smile on her face, "I have a better view of yours."

Konstantin jerked his breaches up. "If you weren't my sister I would beat you to an inch of your life."

Zsuzsanna smiled. She was seventeen, but didn't look it because of the Basarab blood they both shared. She seemed a beautiful dark haired girl, slim as a spear and just shy of puberty. She smiled like an imp of Satan. "But I am dear brother and you should know better than try and keep secrets from me. I know everything. Now, what would it be worth to you for me not to tell father than you've been fucking the pretty new maid? Or Roza?"

"Roza won't make trouble," said Konstantin as he approached the door. "And if she does make troube, she'll learn not to. As for father, do you really think he doesn't have some idea of what goes on under his roof? Or mother?" Zsuzsanna shivered at the mention of their mother.

"But there is one thing I will do," Konstantin said and slammed the door shut in her face. A moment later he threw the bolt.

"That's not fair," she cried. "Boys get all the fun."

"I have a younger sister myself," said the first monk. "She could be quite a handful when we were young. You have my sympathies."

"Thank you brother. You are all," he paused, "most kind to a passing stranger."

"Hospitality is ancient obligation," said the thin monk. "Even the pagans understood this. The Lord smote the sinful of Sodom for their sinful and wicked ways, including their attempt-,"

"Yes, yes, Brother Peter," said the first monk. "We all know what the Lord did to Sodom and Gamorrah. I have to say, that as much trouble as she could be did not stop me from loving her dearly." He paused. "You still haven't taken a seat."

"And I won't," said Konstantin. "Thank you for your offer of hospitality, but I must continue on."

"In the dark?" asked the first monk. "Are you mad?"

"No," said Konstantin. "I am not mad." He tapped his heels' to his horse's sides and urged him further down the road. "Sister, my sister. If you live, run far and hide well," he whispered in Magyar. The strength and cunning of a Basarab were greater than those of mere humans, but the Tremere were not human and neither were many of their servants.

[LadyTevar]

I like his sister

Maybe later, with help of certain allies, he might track her down.

[Imperial Overlord]

Konstantin pulled on the reigns, bringing his horse to a halt as he stared at the village. It reminded him of that one last year, at the foothills of the Carpathians, near the Tremere fortress of Ceoris. It seemed so long ago now.

Armies require supplies and armies of vampires and their blood bonded minions just as much as those of humans and horses. Both Tzimisce and Tremere turned their arts to creating soldiers, with the Tzimisce creating such Vicissitude spawned monsters as their szlatchka and vozhds while the Tremere created alchemically spawned horrors and gargoyles. To feed both vampire and minion both sides needed blood.

The herds of humans had become a target during the war and Timur Heart Eater was as ruthless as any who fought the war. He had been among the first to put villages near the Tremere to the torch, to cripple their vampires and their blood magic. Konstantin had not approved, wishing instead to transport as many of the cattle to Timur's demense, but the Heart Eater had not been interested in playing the long game. Devouring them all in a blood feast had been simpler and easier.

He remembered sitting at the long table hastily assembled by Timur's ghouls from the local timber. Vessels had been hung from the trees and their throats slit to spill their vitae into great bowls. Timur pulled the living hearts out of others and feasted upon their flesh. The great voivode had sat at the end of the table upon a throne shaped from human bone.

The feast had been . . . .strange. They had mixed their vitae with that of their lord in the great bowl and added to it the blood of their victims. The spirits of the earth and trees and sky had been invoked to give their blessings upon the vampires. The mixture had been heady, like drinking strong wine back in his breathing days.

Konstantin had laughed and joked, clanking his goblet with Sanyi on his right and Andras on his left. Jozef had flexed his muscles and bragged of his prowess, spilling blood and getting into a wrestling contest with the lean and powerful Sara, Timur's eldest childe. They had laughed and joked and wept together and shared their blood with ghouls and revenants. Slick with the blood of the slain Konstantin and Sara had coupled in the manner of both human and vampire, writhing under the stars and tasting each other's blood.When the Tremere's servants had come for them they had been full of the blood of the Tremere's own herds and scattered them from the wind. The Heart Eater himself had taken to the sky in the form of a great bat and torn down one of the fleeing gargoyles.

During that night they had been invincible, but more than that, they had been family. The bonds of childe and sire were still there, but they had been one. Rivalries and anger had been small things and to wound one was to face the wrath of them all. They had truly been the sons and daughters of the Dragon.

All that was gone now. The ties of blood and spirit that marked many of the Tzimisce were not a thing that most other clans practiced, or so he had heard. His brothers and sisters were scattered, if any of them lived. He was alone in the world.

But perhaps not forever. If he succeeded, if he found the power and allies and resources he needed in Genoa, he could build a new family. New sons, new lovers, new strong warriors and clever advisors. He was Basarab, to be voivode was not beyond his reach.

A pair of riders were coming nearer to them. He could smell blood reek on their clothes and their auras held the pale colours of a vampires. One was garbed in the manner of a knight for war. The other wore a hooded cloak.

The knight spoke. He was taller than Konstantin, although not as broad. "My master wishes to speak with you foreigner. These are his lands and from all he demands an accounting."

"I am a traveller," replied Konstantin. "I am merely passing through."

"A Tzimisce dog might say that."

"There are no dogs of Tzimisce blood. Only dragons."

The knight drew his sword. "Well then you have no need to speak with my master, do you dog?"

Konstantin snarled, showing his fangs. "If you are so eager to spill your blood upon the earth, I shall not deny you."

The vampire charged.

[LadyTevar]

That was one of the best scenes I've think you've done.

[Karrick]

IO, I think I've enjoyed every story I've seen you post here. That said, I think this one is hands down the best. I think it might be the nostalgia factor, as my introduction to VTM was the old pc game Redemption. I'm looking forward to more of this.

[LadyTevar]

IO, I think I've enjoyed every story I've seen you post here. That said, I think this one is hands down the best. I think it might be the nostalgia factor, as my introduction to VTM was the old pc game Redemption. I'm looking forward to more of this.

Unfortunately, Konstantin does not survive reaching Genoa.
Which is a damn shame, as there was a Brujah was was quite interested in learning his secrets.

[Imperial Overlord]

Konstantin urged his horse forward to meet the vampire knight. The beast lunged forward, breaking into a charge with strength and power no mortal steed could match. Konstantin raised his axe, the power of the blood flowing into his body. The heavy weapon seemed as light as a willow switch. Time crawled as the two vampires rushed to meet each other.

Konstantin's axe shivered the Ventrue's shield and broke the arm behind it. The Ventrue's blade cut through Konstantin's mail and lodged between his upper ribs before their combined momentum tore it free. The Tzimisce's arm almost went limp as too many of the supporting muscles had been cut for it to have much strength, but such was the power of Konstantin's blood that the wound healed almost immediately. The son of the Dragon wheeled his horse to confront the Ventrue again. The other vampire had drawn a hammer and was closing from the side. Konstantin had to finish this quickly.

The Ventrue knight let his shattered arm dangle and struck at the Tzimisce's horse. The destrier stepped forward, into the attack and Konstantin's sword rose in his other hand to parry the Ventrue's blade. The western vampire's blade slid away. He could not match the Tzimisce's strength.

Konstantin's axe came down on the Ventrue's breast bone and carved through mail and bone as if it were soft cheese. The impact knocked the Ventrue off his horse and the momentum dragged Konstantin to the side, but he had spent far too much time in the saddle for it to unhorse him. His horse kicked the downed knight in the head with a viciousness the Tzimisce approved off. He turned to face the other.

Wielding a big hammer on horse back is awkward at the best of times and this vampire was no knight, trained since childhood to fight in the saddle. He wielded the blacksmith sledge one handed and clumsily, but clearly his strength was great. The blow caught Konstantin on the left shoulder and shattered the bone. The Tzimisce fell from his horse and landed in the road. The overbalanced vampire almost did the same.

If Konstantin had been alone he might have died, but he was not. He horse lunged and bit the vampire in the face, crushing his jaw and dragging him from his horse. It then dropped the flailing vampire and reared. It's front hooves came down with bone crushing force as Konstantin regained his feet.

The knight was struggling up. Both of his wounds were incompletely healed. Konstantin flexed his left shoulder and raised his sword. He had expended not inconsiderable reserves of blood to heal himself and enhance his speed and strength, but the well of his blood was not yet low. He charged, moving faster than a mortal man possibly could.

The knight did not possess the Tzimisce gift of enhanced perceptions nor was his brain of the finest quality. It took a moment for him to comprehend what was happening before him. He did not have a moment to waste.

Konstantin's axe nearly severed his right arm at the shoulder. The Tzimisce yanked brutally on the embedded weapon and pulled the vampire half turned away an onto his knees. He struck the downed knight upon the helm with his sword, denting the steel. Then again. The Ventrue lolled. Konstantin rammed his sword through the Ventrue's throat, the tip of the blade punching through mail, bone, and mail again. Blood splattered upon the mud.

Konstantin jerked the blade side to side in the wound, widening it further. He pulled both sword and axe from the downed vampire and then his axe came down. The Ventrue's head rolled in the mud.

Konstantin walked back to his horse. The other vampire had been trampled to a pulp. He patted his steed affectionately on the side. "Good boy." He robbed them both, but they had little worth taking. He sated his thirst on hot and tangy horse blood. It was poor fair compared to human vitae, but it would serve.

He swung back into the saddle. He had a great distance to travel. Whoever held these dog's leashes would not be pleased to learn of their loss. Konstantin patted his steed's flank again and urged the animal forward. He needed to cover a lot of ground tonight.

[LadyTevar]

This is why a trained warhorse is deadly... and why a GHOULED trained warhorse is a ton of sheer Badass.

[Karrick]

Do the benefits a ghoul receives from its vampire blood depend on clan and/or the age of the creator vampire?

[Imperial Overlord]

Do the benefits a ghoul receives from its vampire blood depend on clan and/or the age of the creator vampire?

Ghouls find it easier to develop the clan disciplines of their domitor than other powers. Age is irrelevant, but the lower the Generation the more powerful the blood.

[Imperial Overlord]

Konstantin looked down from the mountainside, over the rolling hills and onto the city crouched by the edge of the sea. Genoa, one of Italy's great maritime powers and far, far from the feuds of Eastern Europe and the unchallenged domains of the Ventrue and the Tremere. A Tzimisce would not be seen as an enemy here and his strength would be valued by a wise ruler.

How wise was the prince of Genoa? That he did not know. Still, he was Konstantin, childe of Timur Heart Eater and scion of the Basarab bloodline. Fine words and the steel to back them up where no strangers to him.

His thoughts drifted back, to his parents and siblings and fellow children of the Dragon. I shall return, he vowed silently. When I have gained enough strength and gathered enough followers I shall return to the Land Beyond the Forest and I shall join with those of you that still live and I shall take terrible vengeance for the fallen. Our enemies will know why we are called Fiends before they die and those deaths will not be swift.

But that was the future. The present awaited. Konstantin urged his horse back down the mountain road to see what Italy had in store for him.

[LadyTevar]

Are you going to finish his Night in Genoa?

[Imperial Overlord]

The story is done.