#katakan

“Sanguine”

Day 3 - Bat

Gwent: The Witcher Card Game | SaovineEvent 2022 | Avatars

Dandelion’s Story:

This wasn’t the first time in Dandelion’s life that he was thrown out of a party. It was the first time, however, that he was thrown out for his innocence. After all, if a poet is thrown out of a ball on his arse for singing a ballad in honour of one of the invited ladies, then why even invite poets? Well, perhaps Dandelion did not have to get physical when Valentine, the famous master of sculpture throughout the Toussaint Duchy, asked him whether he composed the ballad in an outhouse, because it was so shitty. Yes, pushing the sculptor on a figure of a Banshee made on Orianna’s special order may have been a slight exaggeration, but in defense of poetry, there are no holds barred. It’s just a pity about the sculpture because the ghostly figure that came out of Valentine was exceptionally shapely and alluring... Too bad, but since going back to the party at Orianna’s was out of the question, Dandelion had to find another way to pleasantly spend Saovine night. The festival of ghosts and wraiths always made him shudder with excitement. He left Orianna’s estate behind him and walked to Beauclair’s main square, thinking about the pleasures that today still awaited him. He didn’t get far when a terrible scream cut through the silence. The poet foolishly thought at first that it was the offended Banshee’s shattered plaster that heralded his death, but he sobered up in a flash because a few heartbeats later a second scream swept over the capital of Toussaint. It came from the direction of Orianna’s house and sounded absolutely human. As if someone was really dying.

Dandelion’s legs decided for him. He ran. His heart hammered and his lungs burned when he got to the street that led straight to the estate. He realized that the screams had stopped some time ago. He looked around and then knew why. A woman was lying motionless against the wall of one of the tenement houses. Her dress was black and gold… Dandelion groaned. This combination of colours was worn by Vivienne, the favourite lady-in-waiting to Duchess Anna Henrietta. The poet called her name, and when there was no answer, he knelt on the cobblestones beside her and lightly shook her shoulder. The girl was dead. Dandelion noticed up close that her sleeve was torn at the shoulder and on the street sparkled pearls from a broken necklace. With a tight throat, the poet brushed the hair from her face… and saw that it was not Vivienne. Before him was the owner of the same swan neck about which he had just composed a ballad at the party. On the delicate skin, there were two round marks, as if from fangs, and several bruises forming around them. The poet once read a book in which there was an engraving depicting something similar. The bite of a bruxa or a katakan.

‘Don’t think that you can outsmart me, scoundrel. We have orders not to let you back in.’ In his mind, the bard cursed the entire female line of the guard’s family back three generations, but he breathed deeply and tried once more to use the power of a logical argument. No effect. He was preparing to throw out a few choice words when suddenly, from behind the broad-shouldered brute, the voice of a witcher talking to someone came to his ears. ‘Geralt? Geralt! Thanks be to the gods, this thick head wouldn’t let me in. Quick, we need to go! Immediately!’ The witcher pushed past the guard. ‘Vampire, Geralt! Bruxa! Or a katakan! I found this body, that swan-necked noblewoman, she has bites… On the gods, maybe if I had run there faster... But... But I was late.’ Geralt cursed. ‘It’s not your fault.’ The witcher fell silent for a moment. ‘Lead.’ After a few moments, they arrived at the place. Geralt at once went about examining the corpse. He studied the body carefully and delicately, as if he did not want to cause the noblewoman even the slightest amount of pain, although for her it didn’t matter anymore. Finally, the witcher arose, took the deceased in his arms and with a movement of his head pointed towards the estate. They went. It was clear that Orianna’s guards were professionals because they took the body from the witcher and immediately proceeded to carry out the orders shouted out by the captain of the guard.‘So, Geralt, what do you think?’ Dandelion asked on his way to the ballroom. ‘I’m not sure yet.’

Lady Orianna’s party was in full swing. Litres of wine were poured, and the servants kept bringing more bottles of Erveluce, Fiorano, Pomino and the famous Est Est to the hall. More and more masks from Saovine’s costumes fell on the floor and guests were more eager to get to know each other among the dim lights. Dandelion thought that in such circumstances, even the Unseen Elder himself, an ancient and powerful vampire, could join the celebration unrecognized. When they stood before Orianna, the vampire gestured for them to come to her. The poet preferred to stay a little further back. Geralt whispered something in Orianna’s ear for a moment. The peace on her face remained undisturbed, but Dandelion still shivered. When the witcher finished speaking, the ball’s hostess did not reply, but nodded her head and called a servant to her. A moment later, she rose from her chair and clapped her hands. The room became bright with additional torches and candles brought by the servants. The noise of the party died down. ‘My dears, forgive me for disturbing your Saovine, know that I do so with great reluctance. Unfortunately, I don’t have a choice. Geralt of Rivia, who honoured us with his presence today, gave me blood-chilling news: one of the people I had invited had been murdered today. The killer is in this room. Witcher? Who is your suspect?’ Geralt was silent for a moment and then began to speak.

Geralt’s Story:

Geralt cursed. The tight, gold embroidered doublet cut under his arms and the mask made it difficult to see. In addition, it was pointless—after all, just a glance at the hair and the sword slung across his back was enough to remove all doubt. However, he had no choice—the use of masks on Saovine was dictated by tradition, and sanctioned by the lady of this house and his present customer—Orianna. He glanced lazily around the room. The guests were in various stages of intoxication, already alcoholic, already amorous. The famous sculptor, a certain Valentine, a competitor of Dandelion in many ways, had a spectacular quarrel with his beloved, beautiful, swan-necked noblewoman. Geralt did not go into what they were arguing about. He was supposed to keep order—not morality. But he was betting on the active participation of Dandelion. The atmosphere of Toussaint worked on everyone. The witcher’s attention was drawn to the movement at the head of the table—a nobleman dressed from head to toe in black velvet, the one who all evening led the way among the revellers, now slumped gently from his chair, causing loud shouts among the feasters. Geralt didn’t move from his place. He didn’t have to. An empty bottle of Côte-de-Blessure dropped out of the black hand. And he himself snored loudly. ‘You didn’t even flinch,’ Orianna flew up to him like a ghost. ‘I do not pay you to stand, witcher.’ ‘You also don’t pay me to flinch.’ Geralt leaned against the wall. ‘He’s only in danger of a hangover. And a powerful one at that.’ Orianna measured him with her eye, smiling with tight lips. He knew such grimaces. Vampire smiles.

‘Geralt. Is that you?’ Vivienne de Tabris, the lady-in-waiting to Duchess Anna Henrietta and until recently half-oriole, slowly approached him. ‘No, it is not me. It’s someone who looks a hell of a lot like me. How are you, Vivienne?’ he threw her a professionally curious look. ‘Your feathers aren’t growing? You don’t have relapses?’ ‘No, no,’ the girl timidly looked around, completely unnecessarily. The ball has already reached its climax, just now some invisible prankster poured wine on one of the young noblewomen, probably the one with the beautiful neck, while Dandelion was spectacularly thrown out of the party. After something like that, no one would pay any more attention to the secrets of the ladies in waiting or pages. ‘Listen, I…’ Vivienne interrupted. He noticed that her nervous, furtive glances were directed in one particular direction—where Syanna stood alone caressing the stem of a goblet, in a mask that did not hide an evil smile. Hostility emanated from her. Syanna’s dislike of all those whom her sister, the enlightened Anna Henrietta, was sympathetic towards, was well known. The witcher shrugged his shoulders. Court intrigues did not concern him much. Besides, he did not envy Syanna—the vampires of Beauclair had hated her since Dettlaff’s death. If it were not for the intervention of the duchess, she probably would not have been invited to this ball, which is the event of the season. And the courtiers… the courtiers from Beauclair were worse than the vampires in their aversion to the duchess’s prodigal sister. ‘Geralt,’ Vivienne was clearly nervous. ‘I want to get out of here and…’ He was not able to hear the rest—everything was drowned out by a high, piercing scream. Geralt quickly reached for his sword, tore the mask from his face, and cast a searching glance around the place. Tense. Ready. A vampire ball... it couldn’t have ended any other way. ‘Who gives you the right?!’ spread through the hall. ‘Tell me, who gives you the right, my Julian... the Viscount!... is treated like this?!’ Geralt quickly put the sword away. And sighed deeply. He knew that voice. He knew that red, perfectly coiffed hair. Iron won’t be needed for a threat of this calibre. Neither silver. Duchess Anarietta, the ruler of Toussaint, lady of Beauclair, graced the evening. ‘I need a drink,’ grunted the witcher.

Vivienne disappeared somewhere. Geralt felt it was not his duty to settle the dispute between the apodictic ruler and the incognito higher vampire. He decided to take a walk. He exchanged pleasantries with the butler, who, bored as a porpoise, made sure no one got into the ball without an invitation. In the doorway, he collided with someone who pushed through the threshold. The man staggered and would have fallen had it not been for the witcher’s reflexes. Geralt heard a couple of dry thumps on the floor, something rolled across the floor. The supported reveller raised his head and looked Geralt in the face. And he was worried. Geralt was not surprised. He knew the impression his pupils made when viewed up close. He let go of the man’s arm—it was Valentine, Dandelion’s competitor. The sculptor quickly disappeared into the depth of the building. Geralt bent down to pick up from the floor what had fallen out as a result of the collision. And then he heard Dandelion scream. He raced out of the building. The poet was screaming like someone possessed and his teeth were chattering like castanets. Fortunately, one glance was enough to determine that he was alive and well. At least in his body. Dandelion babbled about prowling vampires, which in the given situation would have been quite amusing—Geralt was sure that despite Orianna’s solemn assurances that she was the only representative of the bloodsuckers at the ball that there were more of them there. He certainly captured the aura of a nosferat, or rather a katakan, who in an invisible form was sneaking among the guests. Yes, Geralt would have laughed uproariously had it not been for the fact that the poet’s words were accompanied by gestures as well. Dandelion very much wanted to show him something. Geralt immediately followed him. And he was worried. In a dark alley, just a few steps away from the party he was supposed to be protecting... the body of a girl. Face down. Geralt cursed. The deceased had a black and gold dress with a rose motif. The same one he just saw on Vivienne.

Geralt paid no attention to the feasters. Some man who was knocked over shouted at him from behind, but the witcher did not even turn around. He needed to speak to Orianna as soon as possible. The vampiress sat behind the table in a huge oak chair upholstered in a carmine velour, playing with an empty chalice and watching the guests carefully, like a ruler sweeping her kingdom with her eyes. This night, no one dared to approach her without being called. No one, apart from the witcher and the poet who followed him. They bowed slightly before her. She gestured for them to come closer. Geralt whispered something in her ear for a moment. Orianna’s unearthly beautiful face did not change expression for a moment. When the witcher finished speaking, the ball’s hostess did not reply, but nodded her head and called a servant to her. A moment later, she rose from her chair and clapped her hands. The room became bright with additional torches and candles brought by the servants. The noise of the party died down. ‘My dears, forgive me for disturbing your Saovine, know that I do so with great reluctance. Unfortunately, I don’t have a choice. Geralt of Rivia, who honoured us with his presence today, gave me blood-chilling news: one of the people I had invited had been murdered today. The killer is in this room. Witcher? Who is your suspect?’ Geralt was silent for a moment and then began to speak. 

Conclusion:

‘The victim is a young girl. The injuries on her body show that she was strangled. She left the party wearing a gown borrowed from Lady Vivienne. Both ladies have similar figures and hair colour. It would not be hard to confuse them in a dark alley. Therefore, I believe that the real target was Vivienne. We all know that the lovingly reigning Anna Henrietta has a special regard for her. Jealousy is a powerful force, so my main suspect is the duchess’s sister, Syanna, whose place at the side of her majesty Anna Henrietta was today taken by Vivienne!’ A murmur of voices ran through the crowd of guests. One of them stood out above the others. ‘How dare you accuse our sister, witcher!’ the duchess tore off the mask from her face and started to press through the crowd, dragging a woman with her, whose entire face was concealed by a cat mask that resembled somewhat a helmet. ‘You’re as much a detective as Viscount Julian is a tournament knight!’ Dandelion tried to protest, but Anarietta didn’t give him a chance to speak. Red with anger, she removed the cat mask from her companion’s head. Several exclamations of surprise could be heard. Syanna looked at the witcher mockingly. Anna Henrietta put her arm around her. ‘Syanna was here today as our protection and didn’t leave our side all evening. What an affront! Scandal!’ Orianna’s guards moved away from the door to let the sisters pass. Suddenly, the sculptor Valentine jumped out of the crowd like a weasel. He slipped past the surprised guards. With impressive efficiency he avoided any hands trying to capture him and disappeared into the darkness of the night. ‘What are you looking at? After him!’ yelled Dandelion, but the guards obviously did not listen to him, staring at Orianna and waiting for her signal. She shook her head discreetly. ‘Forgive this inconvenience, my dears,’ she addressed the assembled group. ‘Go back to celebrating Saovine. After all, you’ve been waiting for this night all year! Have fun!’ Something in her voice made the guests actually start to return to the abandoned entertainment. The musicians took up the previously interrupted melody, and some of the lights were again extinguished. Orianna turned to Geralt. ‘The game has been flushed from its hole. What do you say to a little hunting, witcher?’

‘I have reason to believe that the girl fell victim to a katakan. I know that the creature somehow made its way onto the grounds of the estate and stayed among us in its invisible form, choosing its prey from among the crowd. The deceased was doused with wine by the creature, with which he probably wanted to flush her away from the ballroom. When later, admittedly for another reason, the lady actually left the party, he attacked and killed her.’ The guests murmured in panic. A shadow of a grimace ran across Orianna’s face. ‘Let’s talk in private.’ In the chamber they entered, there was a soft twilight. Geralt’s medallion trembled. ‘Show yourself,’ Orianna commanded. The air in the corner rippled as if on a hot day and the eyes of those gathered saw a grotesque mascaron with a bat-like snout and claws as long as crossbow bolts. ‘Save me your comments, witcher,’ Orianna warned Geralt, who was getting ready to say something. ‘Yes, I allowed Tegan to attend the party. Provided that he touches no living being.’ The katakan chuckled. ‘I kept the agreement. I have not touched a LIVING being.’ ‘You lie like a dog,’ said the witcher, ready to form his hand into an Igni. ‘Not necessarily,’ Orianna replied thoughtfully. ‘Tegan likes all sorts of malice but he has never lied to me. Come here, I need to check something.’ At first, Dandelion wasn’t sure if it was a play of shadows, or Orianna’s features had really sharpened like a bird of prey, her eyes flashed red, and the fingers that grabbed the katakana’s head and tilted it towards her ended in sharp claws. She sniffed for a long time, and the sound made the bard feel cold. Sometimes he forgot who he was really dealing with. Orianna released the vampire. Once again, she was beautiful and peaceful as the surface of a lake on a windless night. ‘He reeks of stale blood. He drank from the carcass.’ The doors to the chamber opened with a bang, and a breathless servant rushed in. Bent in half, he did not even pay attention to the monster almost reaching the ceiling. The katakan quickly took an invisible form. ‘My lady! The sculptor Valentine broke the window, jumped out onto the patio and fled before anyone managed to stop him. Her Grace, what do you order?’ ‘I will deal with it myself. You can leave.’ The witcher felt a tingling on his neck. The katakan’s ears perked up at the same moment. ‘The accusation was misplaced,’ Orianna said, ‘but at least it drove the animal out of its hiding place. What do you say to a little hunt?’ She smiled, and bared fangs protruded from between her lips.

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