1.10 Bad Moon Rising

[Madeline Merri]

The vision in his eyes was fogged, the curtain of death being pulled back in an agonizingly slow draw, though it never seemed to fully open. The woman holding him had the same touch, hands offering him water from which he sputteringly drank. It was a deception, an illusion, it had to be. Her face was so familiar, the way she lifted up a corner of her mouth in a small smirk, the same doe-eyed blink of her eyelashes, only instead they fluttered in front of unholy green eyes. 'How could someone who carried so much of her inside be such a vile creature of the profane and treachery?' he thought as he did his best to hold his composure from the pain and the rushing sensations of life flowing in him again. Their eyes never left one another - Odetta kept hers trained for any signs of another struggle to free himself, just as he watched for an inkling of an attack. In this stalemate, the young man, and technically young woman stayed like this for many minutes. After the skin was emptied, she laid his head down on her cloak which she piled into a comfortable roll, staying crouched on her haunches a few feet away as Anton wiped his mouth free from the water. On that mountain, there would be no chance for aid, none to hear their words for many miles in the dead of winter. He was at her mercy, knowing all that she had to do was keep him starved, and let the light of the breaking sun take care of his body. In the early morning, they were still both hidden behind the shadow of the Grey Mountains, but only a few hours would change that.

"What have you done to me?" Anton cracked through his weak lungs, but already knowing the answer.
"This is not something that happens often, especially with me.. Anton, isn't it? You certainly must have figured out why it is I have been following you for many, many months now." Odetta sat cross-legged to watch as Anton tried to sit up and see his mortal wound, continuing as his head dropped back down in exhaustion and a fit of coughs. "I am looking for my sister, I am going to bring her home. And you have a decision to make, Anton. Will you be the one to help me find her and bring her home, or will your decision mean that I should fill the graveyards she leaves behind in each city? I am getting desperate, Anton, she is still the young scamp that I could not find in the woods when we played as children. If such is case, I will have to burn the forest down to find her."
"You slaughtered the entire city of Siegfriedhof, all the women and children-"
"-And her lover Sebastian, as well as those staffing the Goldcone Tavern, even those gypsies that abandoned you to the mountains not more than five days ago."
"You are a monster..."
"And you do not understand how far beyond a monster I am willing to go. I never understood it when I was alive. In death, I have always felt that it was a chance to undo that which ruined you. The poets and musicians, writers of plays and theatrics, they all speak of love with such fire, and passion. They speak on how their hearts would shrivel and die without the touch of their beloved. Yet all they ever do is find the warmest tavern with the cheapest grog, and drown themselves with weak liquor and empty promises. This, Anton, is love, to do anything one must do to save one that is most cherished in the heart, not to write with the meek and timid heart of a roustabout.

Anton coughed as his lungs struggled to fill, his head lolling to either side, eyes closed for the swirling of the world around him. Odetta reached into her bag to bring out another small skin, topped with a cork. Taking the time to slowly squeak the plug from the neck of the skin, Anton's senses peaked as the coppery scent of blood wafted on the air to his nostrils. The mere presence of the liquid began to drive him onward, his body screaming in pain as he crawled, lunging weakly to Odetta. Readied for his advance, she hopped back and delivered a strong punch to his cheekbone, the man's head hitting the uncaring stone beneath them both, sending his head to swimming as his face rested on the cold rock.

"I have little faith in such men, that is why I say this is an uncharacteristic thing for me. You already know how far I am willing to go to be able to hold my sister in my arms again, I am wondering to what lengths you would go, and whether you have the strength inside of you to live again, and be with Madeline. I have learned much in my time, on both sides of the grave, to know that the most of men are weaker than they appear. I see you now, crawling like a babe towards a bottle. If you are to love my sister and be with her, you must begin to stand tall, and do what others would not."
"You would do so.. so freely - and what would you do to her? Turn her to the abomination you.. we both are?"
"I would not wish this on any that I care for. And you would not be alive except for its gift. I want her to feel the wind on her face and in her hair. She should be able to feast on the finest foods and purr at the most delectable flavours. There has not been a Sylvanian that has been able to do that in memory, before those of our blood came." Odetta's face wore a mild sheen of disgust as she thought back to the Count that had erased their hometown from the map.
"My father had wanted to bring a sense of pride back to our people, to take it away from the Counts after they were pushed into the darkness of their castles. He had a dream of being a united country, to be able to stand on our own feet without the aid of the Imperial Army, or to have our coffers filled with Imperial coin. When he died.. I was brought back to exist at the Count's side, a reminder to any who would stand against him. Pride was what made me seek out a darker force than even he could imagine. Pride was what stayed my hand for months, and it was Pride that bade me free those under his baleful eye, and let them live honest lives."
"Darker forces.. those nightmares.. summoned like the devils of the old stories.."
"Madeline knew the story as well, every child is taught it to keep us away from the dark and to huddle under the lanterns at night. With so much death and anguish, the soul cannot escape the fogs that sweep through the land. They are the spirits of madmen and murderers, black as pitch and fast like quicksilver. They hunger for blood as if it would bring them back from the dead, and they will continue to eat until I release them to the other life."
"And till then, they are the ruthless killers and hunters..."
"You would rather I send a man of flesh and bone to die, carelessly so? This is what happens in Imperial life, just as much as it happens in Kislev. How many throngs of scouts and horsemen leave into the swirling snows of the plains, and never return? I would assume that the number is far too many for what is gained. Let my army be the deepest fears, the nightmares that creep in the back of your skull, the paralyzing sense of what is just out of sight, and I would dare you to show a foe willing to muster and stand against it." She shook off the idea with a dismissive hand to kneel down to the man. "It is not about the army, it is not about what we must do to survive - what fact remains now, is that you and I both wish the same thing, for her safe return. And whether you choose to accept it or not, you will feed the very same as I do, learn to move in the shadows and under cloak - If you will help me, I will make sure you both will survive this ugliness."

She stood there, holding the skin towards the man as he laid prone on the ground. Many thoughts rolled through his head, his brain on fire as the primal nature of being born again mixed with his desire to be with the woman he loved. There was little debate, and with every muscle in his body crying out, he steeled himself, bracing his hand on a knee to rise, unsteady yet determined. Standing upright, he was able to look down on the woman, who still held that fragrant offer in her hand. A wave of sickness overtook his senses as he grabbed the skin, and hesitantly brought it to his lips, his cheeks swelling and emptying as he began to drink deep from some poor soul's blood that had been drained out. The nauseating side effects of his conscience dimmed as the rush of blood in his body began to fill him with a heat. He could feel the ache and the oppression of pain begin to fade, the lace curtain that covered his sight was torn away, revealing a world far too bright and vivid to take in without squinting at the sheer marvel of what lay before him.

Odetta tucked the empty skin back into her pack, and rummaged some more. She pulled out a worn, hooded riding coat, bearing the symbol of an Imperial Envoy. It was made of the heaviest black velvet, the bottom fringe already work to threads as it slung down at a length to drag at the ground. She wrapped it around his shoulders, helping his arms into the sleeves, fastening the brooch at the neck and slinging the hood up. Unsteadily he found his first steps fall, and she guided him towards the fissure in the rocks where she emerged from. Anton's hand rested on her shoulder continually, a bracing support as they made their way down the pass. By the time they reached the bottom of the pass, the sun was already streaming in pillars through the cloud cover that flew overhead with the urgent speed of an oncoming storm. Underneath the cloak, the sun struggled to find the tiniest path inward - all the same, for the two vampires, the discomfort of travelling in day was enough to have them head towards the fringe of the Loren Forest. They kept a good distance from ritualistic stones scattered among the treeline, and continued to skirt the forest southward, deeper into the heart of the darker section of Bretonnia, obscured underneath the shadow of the truly massive trees of the elven forest. She kept up a pace like a stalking tiger, her eyes moving constantly towards the black depths of the forest, seeking for any threat. He found it hard to keep up, despite his long stride, and many times he would have to jog a few steps just to catch her heels. There was a determination in this woman that was unsettling - how close had she ever gotten after that night in Siegfriedhof? Was she ever able to catch sight of them? He continued to ask himself these questions, losing track of the distance and the time, but her voice snapped him free of the dulldrums.

"I understand that this is an experience, but it would help the travel go quickly if you would speak."
"Sorry.."
"Tell me what you know of where she was headed."
"She was headed westward.. I think.. Andrei spoke of the coast of Estalia."
"Andrei.. the old one.. tell me of him."
"I know little.. The men regard him as some sort of leader, he is Sylvanian, can read signs in blood and bone."
The mention of his craft stuttered Odetta's footsteps for a moment, Anton continued to clarify, "He reads fortunes as a way to earn cash. Who knows exactly what he does, or how true it is. I was never one to believe in any of it." Anton gave a few dry chuckles, shaking his head at the memory of it.
"Do not make light of such things. You will never know how true they are until you fully understand it."

Odetta stopped flat in her tracks, watching to the rolling hills as they grew out from the forest edge. In the distance, she caught sight of movement. On horseback were three mounted men, each of them wearing light plate, their hair caught in the wind as they rode. They sat crouched like that for many moments. In his head, Anton could hear a droning, a soft hum that surrounded him as he watched the young men drift along the grasses. As they approached, he noticed that it was not a random sound, his ears were tingling at the faint sound of a voice, more than a hundred yards off. They spoke in a strange language that flowed poetic - he could not make sense of a single word. Odetta stood up plainly as they trotted in, lifting Anton up to stand beside her.

"Qu'affaires avez-vous ici ?" The oldest of the young errants spoke, regarding the two of them, hidden beneath their hoods. Odetta looked up towards him, taking care to keep her face in the shadow.
"Ne parlez pas Bretonni." She shook her head, hoping the young man would find a common ground.
"Imperial?" He leaned down on his horse, to see if he could catch a glimpse of the woman's face.
"Sylvanian." The mention of the word this close to Quenelles woke the men to sit straight in their saddles, the martial prowess of the untrained men having them fumble for a hilt of a blade as quickly as possible. Anton stepped back, his natural reaction to any situation involving warfare was to avoid it when at all possible. Odetta stepped between two of the horses, using a knife to slice the saddles from the horse's back, sending two of the young men toppling to the soft grass with a clatter. The other dismounted, tugging and pulling his blade free from the sheath. The man lunged forward, with a swift stab. Odetta did not even move, letting the blade slide deep into her stomach with a disgusting gurgle. A curse escaped the young knight's lips, too late as he reaized they were face to face. Blood trickling from her mouth, she leaned in, fangs baring out as she tore into his neck, ripping a chunk from his neck. She spat it out to turn to the other two, who had recovered from their tumble. Her tongue curled in ancient Sylvanian, the hard consonants sending a spatter of blood onto the earth.

Her eyes brightened to near-white as she continued what almost seemed like a ranting in the old tongue, stalking towards the two men as they readied their blades. The first swing came in heavy, the two-handed blade stopped dead as Odetta's hand curled around the blade, her palm trickling red as she reached towards the hilt with the other hand, snapping the blade in half with a metallic ringing. Anton approached the other from behind, wrapping his hands around the young man's neck. The speed at which he moved was surprising even to himself - even more as he saw his hands visibly crunching the man's neck, turning it into the slender width of a wine bottle's neck. Anton's victim slumped to the ground, choking and struggling to breathe, his body thrashing uncontrollably with panic. His eyes looked up to Odetta, she was crouched over her poor foe, holding the bare piece of blade in her hand, slamming it repeatedly down onto the man's face - luckily obscured from his view. He could smell the blood all around him, each breath drawing more of it's intoxication into his body. He began to stagger, coughing and struggling to find some way to get out of the scent, going upwind from the scene. He dropped to the ground on hands and knees, his stomach still remembering how to wretch at the sight of gore and death.

Odetta was laying on the ground, her breaths heavy as she looked down to the hilt still standing tall from her stomach. She beckoned the young man over to help her. Anton gained his footing again and walked over to the woman. She was still spitting blood from her mouth, wiping it from her cheeks with an equally bloody hand. He stood like this for a moment before reaching for the hilt. He pulled the blade free from Odetta with a vicious motion, holding the sword aloft, the well-kept blade feeling as light as kindling in his hands. His own blue eyes looked down to the wounded and prone woman, glowing faintly as many scenarios passed through his mind. Before he could come to terms with any of them, she stood up, and took the blade from him, tossing it away towards the three corpses.

"We must keep moving. We do not want to encounter more of these men with a death wish."

They walked along the forest until they hit a highway that began to meander westward. They encountered several travelling musicians and actors as they had set up a performance stand in a field, surrounded by many flags and banners. Anton feared for the people in the deepest part of his soul, wondering when it would be that Odetta turned on them, and tore them asunder. She never did - her head still kept down as they walked passed the larger of the stages, a musician strumming out a tune, looking up to the rain clouds that threatened the performance as they began to gather in thunderheads above them.

I see the bad moon arising.
I see trouble on the way.
I see earthquakes and lightnin'.
I see bad times today.

Don't go around tonight
Well it's bound to take your life
There's a bad moon on the rise.

I hear hurricanes ablowing.
I know the end is coming soon.
I fear rivers over flowing.
I hear the voice of rage and ruin.

Don't go around tonight
Well it's bound to take your life
There's a bad moon on the rise.
All right!

Hope you got your things together.
Hope you are quite prepared to die.
Looks like we're in for nasty weather.
One eye is taken for an eye.

Don't go around tonight,
Well, it's bound to take your life,
There's a bad moon on the rise.

Don't go around tonight,
Well, it's bound to take your life,
There's a bad moon on the rise.

[Bloodcrusader]

Nice, very nice. I read this before looking at your other entries in the forum, which look like they're all a part of the same story, so I'll try to read through the others tomorrow. Are they all just ordered as dated? This entry on its own though is awesome - beginning was vague until I finished it (probably because Anton's slowly regaining consciousness?), but I love how you can tell such a dramatic story, setting and all, within a relatively short dialogue. It practically doesn't need anything else, just an ending I'm looking forward to.
Thanks, and nice read.

[Madeline Merri]

Thank you, Blood! Yeah - it's all part of the same string of things. I've been working on writing a television pilot/series, so my mind has been stuck in this episodic element. I'm sure I could have taken my time and honestly written it all out in a structured format - but I find this works because I can keep going on it and change it more organically. And yep - they're all ordered as date, though I will go back and have some flashback 'episodes'.

And yeah - at this point, I'm going to be focusing more on Anton and Odetta for the time being. So I'm really looking forward to writing about what it means to die, come back from there, and realize that the world has changed little except for you. Are you a drop of water in the ocean, or poison in the well? Lots to come - I might come back and write the next bit tonight if I recover from training.

-Maddo