Coughs, snorts, and weeping.
All to be heard within the palace's outer grounds, old buildings surrounding the entrance to a grand tower.
Black walls, tinted windows, the latter with engravings of the Lord of Darkness, Cerebes, Nathan called him. A flaming sword in one hand, a staff in the other, and a cloak resembling shadows drape round him, he wore a crown of stars atop his head. Three stars, sharp like swords round its edges, and eyes made of rubies.
"Father Willbress of the old church said he was the most powerful of the lords," Nathan explained as they passed by the windows. "Some say he was evil, but he never abandoned the kingdoms of men. Just his followers."
Not much of an opinion on the gods, he snorted.
Al raised a hand, the whimpers of starved people so loud, they could hear their whispers.
Many prayed to the gods, those lords who probably put them their in the first place. Others greeted someone, a shade drifting over the ground.
He and the Embers hid within an alley, himself tucked behind his shield.
It spoke in the old language, something of wisps and cackles. Like a silent storm howling, yet pauses every so often, and he believed it was impossible to learn such a way to speak.
From behind his shield he caught a glimpse of chained pale skinned prisoners. Livestock they were, bloody ankles and wrists, naked with brands on their shoulders. A mark of the three pointed star or the spiral. They were old and young, some no more than waist high, the latter being dragged by chains as the shade hissed.
'For the will of the old fire…', he understood its whispers.
Why he could understand the shade more he didn't care.
As he rose from behind his shield, Al tugged him down.
"Wait," she whispered, drawing her dagger. "Just a little longer."
"Any longer and those poor bastards are finished," he said, ripping his arm away from her.
She put the dagger to his throat
Though he knew she wouldn't, he listened to her plea.
"We went over this," she said, pressing the dagger into him. "I'm not saying we can save them all, but enough to disrupt their feeding. If we fail, it'll at least slow them down when we return."
"Or we kill them all," he suggested, "especially the First Sword, and that'll put and end to the feeding."
"He's on to something," Arthur agreed. "We don't know how many feeding pens they've got. A hundred, even a thousand won't make much difference. Besides, what are going to do with them anyway?"
Flustered, Al removed her dagger.
She ran a hand through her head, then cursed under her breath.
"Fine," she said, readying her bow. "Every, single, one."
Like one of the hounds, hellfire in the eyes, something fierce was in her.
More a warrior than golden heart, seeking what little good there was in the soulless world, she wanted blood. She nocked an arrow, turning the corner.
Nothing hissed through the air.
She froze, tears flowing down her cheeks.
He turned the corner first, looking at the chained corpses and few trembling prisoners. Children drained down to the bone, eyeballs halfway out sockets. Puddles of blood round older folk, then the younger were stiff as cloaked vampyres suckled their throats.
Eyes like the blood moon, they rose from having their fill, scowling he and Al.
She loosed, though it soared out the way.
Sword drawn, a curved bright blade, it raced towards them. He charged it head on, though it drifted round him faster than he could blink. Light beamed, and it hissed, Nathan's sword illuminating the alley. Arthur drove through its chest, staking it against a wall.
It wailed, crying bloody tears, turning to white smoke.
Within the roads, other vampyres removed their hoods, opening their cloaks.
Steel mail and dark plate legs, they all carried scimitars with gold hilts. Three pointed stars were atop the breast, and their fingers bore rings with dark sapphire.
Al loosed again. Every one of them soared away, two towards the party, the others into the shadows. Nathan's sword blinded them, and they hissed hovering above.
Arthur heaved his spear, landing within one's chest. Al brought down the other, arrows driving through its chest. Both collapsed to the ground, bursting into white flames.
Al hurried over to the few prisoners still alive. She held the hand of an elder woman, who couldn't mutter more than a handful of words.
"Praise our lord…praise…our lord…," the old woman whispered.
He broke the chains, at least for those still alive.
Al and the others gathered three, out of the fifteen prisoners brought forward for feeding. Others were piled in the old houses, what used to be the capital of all Marryvia. By the dozens, some numbering over a hundred, cramped so tight many slept while standing up. It reeked of blood and piss, and though Nathan tried forcing some out, none of them budged.
"Leave them," he suggested to the lad. "We'll not be doing them any favors dragging them out."
"Aye, but ya' can't really stand to see 'em this way can you?" Nathan asked.
"We'll get 'em to answer once the palace is clear," he said, putting a hand on Nathan's shoulder.
The lad nodded as winds gusted.
A gruff, familiar voice called from above. "They only answer to the gods of darkness."
Shadows covered the party.
Flail in hand, he was ready, but more so curious than cautious.
Wings spread on either side, orange and larger than all but one gargoyle, Armless landed before them.
The others readied their weapons, though he lowered his flail. Nathan wondered if he'd gone mad, approaching Armless with an extended arm
The brute gargoyle smiled. "A little blood sword told me you were hunting she of the First Sword. How goes it, brother?"
"You look'd better without these," he said, patting one of Armless' elbows.
Armless laughed, "The cold stone cure all! No matter how far gone a warrior of the night falls, one days sleep's all we need to recover."
Armless waved to the rest of the party, every one of them as puzzled and confused as one could be.
"Fuck're you doing?" He asked.
"No one kills you but me," Armless replied. "You've got more honor than most men, so I'll help you gut the blood sucking demoness, calling herself a child of the gods."