#jael-internment

Fat on blood and glory, the vampire army marched toward its next target: the walled city of Draumverg. The walls had been erected relatively recently in defense from the demons that now plagued every corner of Nosgoth. As the army approached under cover of the new moon, they found Draumverg’s wall alight with torch fire and studded with surly men in heavy plate. This time they had been expected.

Draumverg might have had a numerical advantage, but numbers meant little against an army of the damned. Even a young vampire could easily overpower three humans at once. Undeterred, the army advanced on the walls. 

Suddenly the gates began to creak. Chains rattled and gears turned, raising the  porticullis. The army momentarily halted. Was this surrender? 

Fruedenberg had disappeared. A small army of vampires, a menace long considered extinct, overwhelmed the isolated hamlet in a single night, massacring the guard and rounding the civilians into cages. No other town or city in Nosgoth yet knew of Fruedenberg’s fate. Like light from a dead star, news traveled slowly. 

Vorador awoke sluggishly, lured by the music of human misery. Birthing new vampires from the residents of Fruedenberg took its toll, making him feel as weak and blood starved as the ravenous fledglings lurking in the chapel undercroft, but his purpose was sustained by rage. 

Inside the chapel sat rows of humans fresh from the cages, wrists and ankles bound, mouths stuffed with dirty cloth. Gleefully he slit their throats, squeezing and draining them like oranges while the rest looked on with teary eyes of horror, their faces screaming, Why? Why!? Vorador did not reply. Having sated his thirst, he grabbed a human by the bindings of her wrists and dragged her down the stairs to the undercroft to be food for his new children. 

There were three. All had been raised from the pitiful cemetery behind the chapel, for the bodies in the undercroft belonged to the priesthood. Those who had been poor in life made better, more malleable recruits than self-righteous holy men. 

However, one of his children seemed to be missing. When he interrogated the first two they explained that the third recruit, a woman, had been acting strange and violent, so they chased her deeper into the undercroft. Vorador huffed as he tossed them their food. 

This sort of behavior was not unusual for fledglings. When left alone it was only natural for them to try attacking each other, but they quickly learned the blood of other vampires did little to sate their gnawing thirst. At least the situation seemed to have sorted itself out. 

It’s been a few weeks since Maybelle’s dark rebirth, learning more of the remains of Kain’s army and what dark fates they all carried. Everything that transpired felt like a horrid, surreal dream. In her life - or supposed past, mortal life - she was only told that vampires were but a dying disease, many mortals could now live a lifetime without even witnessing their whereabouts. At least what her countrymen shared. The sheltered ignorance was clear upon her death, how cut off from the world her family and neighbors were.

A lifestyle like that impacted Mae negatively. Anxiety induced in each passing day, fearing of being criticized of her lack of intelligence or sense of the world. It was not a life she desired, and yet she was raised into it. Fear of humiliation, the fledgling kept to herself in the dark tunnels and awaited any sort of orders from Vorador or even Velasco. She trusted only them for now. 

Mental arguments raged within, curled into a hungry, frustrated ball. How she attempted to reason with herself. She couldn’t hide for so long anymore; she had to eventually feed once again and interact with her other siblings. If she starved herself, only weakness would infest within and wither away - ultimately dreading to be left behind like a runt, all alone. Just the thought brought uncontrolled tears.

Enough. No more misery and self-pity. It was time to go out.

Aches made Mae’s movements sluggish, feeling the affects of nearing blood-starvation. She pulled her husk to the central mines - where old, dilapidated mining equipment and structures housed. The elevator felt of a death trap, until one of her brothers began improving it the best of his ability. Embarrassingly enough, she held no memory of his name. The same vampire even spotted her passing and gave a small wave - a friendly fellow she heard. Guilt weighed heavy for not remembering his name - what kind of sister was she to forget?

Mae stopped at her tracks, weary golden eyes growing in a gnawing panic. Several tunnels laid before her, unable to determine which lead to their blood rations.

A break. I need a break. Mae chanted to herself, sitting on a big earthen slab to collect herself.