The Homunculus Knight

Chapter 9: Flies

“Oh, there are a dozen stories on where they come from. Some claim a Dragon and Succubus laid together and spawned the first brood; others say they were fleshcrafted by an ancient Magi or bored Sidhe. But honestly? It doesn’t matter; the Lamias are here, and by the stars, they are dangerous. They may look pretty from the waist up, but their nature and appetites speak the truth. The snakewomen have a taste for stupid young men thinking with their loins.” - Grettir of Jokulstead, Monster Hunter, and Werewolf.

:: Castle Tya, on the border between the Blood Duchies and Southern Marches ::

Castle Tya sat upon an island within a River Tya, marking the southern border of the Holy League and the Blood Duchies. First constructed by ancient hands and rebuilt by undead laborers, it was a true fortress and guarded the easiest path into the Duchies. Its venerable ramparts survived dozens of sieges and forced the Holy League to take other more treacherous paths into the Duchies whenever war came calling. No one could pass the fortress without paying a tithe of blood, either through battle or subservience.

So as the newest chapter of conflict between the League and Duchies was written, the Castle played its part, hosting lords of the dead and their corpse legions. It was here the war was planned by Duke Mika Gens Umbria of Roloyo and his subordinates, where a court of bone and steel was held for all the Nocturnal Nobility engaged in this grand blood-letting. Vampires and monsters representing the Duke’s vassals and allies filled the castle to its brim, all eager to feast upon their enemies.

Atop one of the tallest towers of Castle Tya stood one of these undead courtiers, a handsome man with curly dark hair and aquiline features. Unlike many vampires within the Castle, he wore no armor and carried only a simple dueling dagger. This was partly because the vampire knew where his strengths lay and partly because he had no intention of personally meeting the enemy in battle. The clash of steel and magic in close quarters was not how Lord Aloysius Wolfgang waged war.

Staring out at the midnight sky of the Southern Marches, Wolfgang adjusted his glasses, a seemingly pointless accessory for a vampire. Running a slender finger along the spectacles’ rim, Wolfgang focused the ten lenses built into each eye and tuned the sorcery infusing the glasses. Multi-faceted like an insect's eyes, the glasses were a magical relic of Wolfgang’s own creation and the origin of his epithet, the Black Fly.

Peering through the lenses, Wolfgang stared into the Aether as a Priest might and examined the efficacy of his project. A great swirling cloud of panic and pain roiled in the distance, a miasma cloud billowing off Vindabon like some occult forest fire. Of course, Vindabon was too far away to view normally, but the city’s torment polluted the Aether so badly half the continent would be able to sense it. The psychic shock of festival-turned-massacre was having the desired effect, feeding the spiritual stormfront Wolfgang planned.

Of course, the Priests of Vindabon were doing admirable work stopping a Caul from forming, but that wasn’t the purpose of the Aetheric contamination. Covering Vindabon and Norica in a shroud of suffering would curdle the Aether, bolstering the dark arts of undeath. The pestilence would spread every night and weaken the entire region, preparing it for whatever future plans the Archduke had in mind.

Sweeping his eyes across the dark plains, Wolfgang looked for the other two points of interest in the Aether. Harmas stood to the north, a great tree infested with weevils but too stubborn to realize it was already dead. To the west was the great host of Prince Franz of Vindabon, tens of thousands of souls flickering and dancing like the campfires they no doubt nested by. Cut off from Harmas, the League army was forced to stay near the Alidon River, using the mighty waterway to keep supplied. Thinking to the last flickers of a wyvern’s mind, Wolfgang doubted the river would be usable for long.

Finally, removing his spectacles and turning to leave the tower balcony, Wolfgang asked. “Do you need something, Cleanor?”

A melodic laugh escaped the shadowed rafters, and a serpentine shape slithered down to meet Wolfgang. At first glance, Cleanor appeared to be a fantastically beautiful woman with flowing brown hair, sculpted features, long lashes, and full breasts. Those who survived long enough to look past that initial assessment would notice other more important features like claws, fangs, and serpentine lower half. Below Cleanor’s lovely hips were not legs but a long snake tail covered in speckled brown scales.

Slithering along the floor, hips swaying with her movement, the Lamia approached Wolfgang, forked tongue occasionally slipping out from between full red lips. “No, just keeping close to my charge. Can’t have someone gobbling you up when I’m not looking, can I?”

Folding his glasses and putting them in their case, Wolfgang added. “And ensuring reports of my every action return to the Voivoide?”

Cleanor shrugged, a gesture she somehow managed to make sensual. “Oh, don’t worry about that, Little Fly. I detest paperwork and will only write home to the master if it's truly necessary. Now, what do you have planned for the rest of this evening?”

Wolfgang moved towards the stairs and debated how much to share with his bodyguard. “I’m working on the gift from Mistress Takiya; I think the ritual she provided will be extremely useful in the coming months.”

The Lamia followed after Wolfgang, clearly disliking the long winding staircase, an apparent annoyance for those without feet. “So your bowing and scraping to that refugee has proved useful, hmm?”

Already pondering the runes and rites involved with the gift, Wolfgang remarked. “She’s a half-millennia-old Durugo from the Jade Lands and an extremely talented Necromancer. I’d consider her a little more than the usual ferals who come crawling to the court seeking refuge.”

An unamused snort escaped Cleanor. “I understand the Archduke's grand ideals of forming a nation of the night, but I wish we could be a bit more discriminatory about who joins us. My sisters and I spend much of our time handling ferals sniffing around the pedigree breeds.”

Not bothering to look at Cleanor, Wolfgang played Accusor’s advocate. “Some would say similar about Lamias.”

Wolfgang could practically feel the slitted snake eyes glaring at him. “My kind have been loyal servants of the Archduke and Voivode for centuries. I’d be more polite to the woman tasked with keeping you undead if I were you.”

Leaving the tower, the Vampire and Lamia headed for their shared quarters. As a lord, Wolfgang was entitled to reasonable accommodations within the castle but not much more. The simple set of rooms afforded was barely enough for Wolfgang, his three thralls, and Cleanor, something the Lamia often complained about. Of course, the lack of space wasn’t helped by Wolfgang using the main chamber as an impromptu laboratory. The room's rug, table, and most of its decorations were cast aside in favor of cold stone and old books.

Cleanor slithered between piles of text and notes, heading for the small corner she’d appropriated for herself. Coiling up next to the witch-fire hearth, Cleanor said. “You really should speak with someone; these pitiable rooms are an insult.”

Moving over to the ritual circle painted on the stone floor, Wolfgang examined the runes and skulls decorating the circle’s edge. “Castle Tya is hosting hundreds of nobles; as a lord, I’m middling in the hierarchy; this space reflects that but is still adequate.”

Enjoying the unnatural heat of the false flames, Cleanor scoffed. “If it was anyone else, I might agree with you. But you are the Black Fly, the Voivode’s upstart prodigy; others will want to remind you of your supposed place.”

Wolfgang hesitated; he’d considered the possibility but hadn’t given it much thought. Less than a century old, Wolfgang’s rise in vampire circles was meteoric; he’d gone from another of the Voivode’s spawn to a powerful member of his Sire’s court in record time. A fact that caused Wolfgang all manner of trouble; he might be intelligent and capable, but his comparable youth left him lacking in power when compared to his legal peers. Placing Wolfgang in an extremely tenuous position, especially this far away from the Voivode and his direct influence.

Kneeling down among the runes and checking the strange eastern glyphs added to the ritual, Wolfgang looked into the empty eyes of one of the skulls sitting on the circle’s edge. Cleanor might have a point; the subtle but ever-present game of politics took no break even in the face of invasion and calamity. Another person might find the squabbles over room allotment during war infuriating or bleakly amusing, but Wolfgang dismissed it as pointless. He’d been sent to the front to prove his worth to the wider Duchies, which he intended to do. Already an entire city titered on the brink of collapse thanks to Wolfgang’s efforts, with more to come as the pestilence spread far and wide. In the face of those accomplishments, a petty slight over nesting space seemed… lacking.

:: Tenth Temple of Vindabon ::

In a flat voice, Natalie said. “What?”

Grimacing, Isabelle shut her eyes and explained. “The methods used in creating this pestilence were stolen from my notes. I thought everything was destroyed in the fire, but clearly something survived.”

Natalie looked over the burning castle and tried to get more information. “How do you know?”

Isabelle shrugged. “I had a suspicion when you first described the symptoms, but after talking with Rihan, I’m pretty much certain. The method of connecting the plague to an Aetheric organism and using that to influence the infected is telling. Especially with the weakness to magical healing and burrows in the Aether. Someone has taken a few of my projects, sewn them together, and released this… paltry imitation on the world.”

Hearing this, understanding this, Natalie took a deep breath of ashy air; then she punched Isabelle in the face.

Isabelle was completely unprepared, as Natalie unleashed her full strength. The older vampire went flying, skidding along the ground and finally landing with a crash at the base of a castle wall. Isabelle quickly came to her feet, eyes glowing with rage, but Natalie was already on her. Sending a spinning kick toward Isabelle’s ribs, which her mentor caught on a reinforced arm. Not letting up the assault, Natalie grew long claws and went for Isabelle’s stomach. Pushing off the wall, Isabelle managed to escape Natalie’s talons.

With a little distance between them, Isabelle yelled. “What in the world’s name are you doing?”

Fangs extended in full predatory rage, Natalie hissed. “I watched someone mop up the remains of a child. Not collect, not recover, MOP UP! All because of your arrogant, god-complex goatshit! Fire-and-iron! Did you ever consider how much suffering you could cause by brewing up this sort of jagging evil?”

Adjusting her jaw, Isabelle spat out a tooth. “Listen to me; you puffed up fledgling! My work wasn’t meant to be used this crudely and idiotically. Now I’ll forgive you for this indiscretion on account of your poor emotional control; let's move on and fix this mess.”

Shaking her head, Natalie spat back. “You still don’t jagging get it, do you? It doesn’t matter what you intended! You created the tools some bastard is using to hurt all these people! All of this, all this stupid horrible shit, and someone as smart as you still don’t understand.!”

Isabelle snapped back. “If a smith invented a stronger type of steel, would you blame him for what carnage swords using that steel wrought?”

Spitting mad, Natalie hissed. “No! But I would blame an alchemist who created a terrible poison when that poison is dumped in the jagging village well!”

Grinding her jaw in frustration, Isabelle offered. “The time dilation of speaking between minds isn’t that massive; if we don’t end this soon, Rihan will notice. So can I continue to use my extreme expertise to help people, or will you waste more time yelling at me?”

Gnawing on her much-abused lip, Natalie sighed and spat. “Fine! But this isn’t over; when Cole resurrects, the three of us need to have a serious talk.”

Isabelle raised an eyebrow. “And how would we manage that? I can’t connect to him without great effort.”

Shaking her head in extreme annoyance, Natalie answered. “You aren’t the only one with a bag of tricks, Isabelle. Now go try and fix this jagging mess!”

The memory of the burning castle faded, and Natalie was again an observer within her own body. Isabelle blinked Natalie’s eyes rapidly, trying to find balance again. Rihan was looking at them with cool caution. “You went silent for a minute; what happened?”

Isabelle spoke using Natalie’s mouth. “I was checking my memory palace for more information; this pestilence is remarkably similar to a few I’ve heard of. This is good; if I can examine some of the Screamers, then I can get closer to finding the plague’s bane.”

Rihan weighed this momentarily before asking, “What about the Paladin?”

Looking at Coles's corpse, Isabelle touched his forehead and muttered an incantation. Information doused Natalie as the spell did its work; the whirl of facts was too much too quickly; Natalie couldn’t digest it, but Isabelle could. “My darling let the plague fester for too long; his body is taking its time repairing the damage; he’ll take at least two hours to finish healing.”

Accepting that, Rihan gestured to the door, “I can take you to where we are keeping the Screamers; I don’t know if they will let you see them, but we can try.”

Natalie was torn; she didn’t want to leave Cole, but the plague would cost lives every second Isabelle wasn’t working. As furious as she was with Isabelle, Natalie would admit if anyone in the city had a chance to cure the accursed plague, it would be her mentor. So against her better judgment, Natalie stayed quiet as Rihan and Isabelle left the laboratory. With Rihan’s permission, Isabelle set a small locking spell on the door to hopefully keep Cole safe while they were gone. Natalie felt distinctly uncomfortable thinking about the naked corpse they left behind, but the memory of a shredded child was enough to harden her resolve.

“Tell me more about cleansing the infected?” asked Isabelle, clearly wanting more information from the corpse tender.

Rihan took a moment to select her words. “It’s not magically intensive but mentally draining. It requires steady manipulation of power, like… like you are washing something and trying to cover every centimeter. Except something is… attached to the infected, hiding inside them; whatever it is, it moves about and doesn’t like holy power. If done correctly, the cleansing corners the parasite and quashes it easily, flooding its burrows and destroying it.”

Clicking her fangs together, Isabelle nodded. “They traded metaphors; the version I’m familiar with planted spores; this digs burrows. But the basic mechanic is the same, if less predictable and, by extension, less controllable.”

They left the mortuary complex of the temple and headed for its prison. The Tenth Temple held a small but well-built series of cells designed to hold criminals and heretics. Natalie knew about the prison but intentionally avoided it; she knew if events had unfolded slightly differently, she might be staying in these cells.

Two heavily armored templars guarded the entrance to the prison, one called out. “What business do you have here, Priestess Rihan, especially with the Paladin’s… guest with you?”

Rihan reached back behind her head and gripped onto a flap of her robe, pulling it up like a cowl and revealing the beaked mask of the plague warden. The hood and mask were quickly buckled into place, and Rihan was ready to face the Screamers. “The vampire and I are here to do examinations of the infected.”

The templar glanced at his colleague. “I don’t know if that's a good idea. It’s been a gorey-guts mess getting them locked up; poking them seems like asking for trouble.”

Natalie fed her memory of fighting the Screamers to Isabelle, pointing out how easily she’d knocked them out. Getting the message, Isabelle said. “They are weak to my powers; I can incapacitate them without issue. Which is why I need to examine them; if I can have that sort of influence, I fear what other more hostile vampires might do.”

Both templars exchanged looks, and the talkative one said. “I should clear this with a Hierophant.”

Another memory was given, and Isabelle stretched the truth slightly. “I’ve spoken with Keeper Glynn; he’s given me permission to use my powers to help however I can. Besides, he and the other Keepers are busy keeping a caul from forming, or at least they were when I visited the Fane.”

The silent templar shrugged and opened the door for them. Isabelle, Natalie, and Rihan entered the prison and were greeted with a horrific stench. Protected by her mask, Rihan didn’t notice, but Isabelle and, by extension, Natalie quailed at the mixing foulness. Vomit, feces, dried blood, stale sweat, and necrosis filled the prison. Recovering slightly, Isabelle did something to suppress her sense of smell and addressed her student.

+ That is one part of having flesh I did not miss. So much reeking filth… +

+ How did you stop the smell? +

+ You can feed blood to a body part to enhance it, or you can starve it and weaken it. A niche use of our powers but one worth learning. +

Following Rihan, the two vampires reached a thick-barred cell with four Screamers tied up within it. They were awake and reacted to Rihan’s presence, a low bubbling shriek starting in their worn throats. With an effort of will, Isabelle stopped the scream and made the four infected stand up, an impressive feat considering their bound arms. Staring off into space, dribbling pink-stained drool, the Screamers looked like fresh ghouls, something not helped by the filth they were coated in. The Screamers weren’t spared any symptoms of the plague, and their aggression made caring for them near-impossible. Leaving to the horrific husks now dominated by Isabelle’s will.

Nodding her head, Isabelle said. “That confirms it; taking control of them was pitiably easy. I knew knocking them out was simple, but if dominating them is such a trivial matter… Any vampire worth their blood could take control of Screamers and use them like enslaved undead.”

As both Rihan and Natalie absorbed these worrying facts, Isabelle continued her musing. “This pestilence is disturbingly multifaceted. It spreads rapidly and requires intensive magical care to blunt, let alone treat. Then any who slip through the cracks become dangerous monsters and potential puppets. I wouldn’t be surprised if any Screamers who die are primed to rise as easy-to-control ghouls. Yes, this is an excellent weapon designed to cripple entire nations and raise up armies of fresh corpses.”

+ Whoever cobbled this together from my notes is rather talented; I’ll give them that. They combined three different projects with some other components to create a truly deadly pestilence. +

+ Are… are you proud of what you created? +

+ Yes, I guess I am. But I’m also furious that this upstart usurper dared take my research and use it in such an ugly blunt way! +

+ What was it supposed to be used for, then? +

Instead of answering, Isabelle called one of the Screamers to the edge of the cell and reached out into the Aether, examining the infected person. Natalie got flashes of information, greasy chains, puckered flesh, scurrying rats, barbed metal, and a dozen more nasty metaphors for what was happening in the Aether. Isabelle started shaping this information, giving it context and form. Witnessing this, Natalie noted the similarity to her experience with psychic magic and finding context inside minds. Slowly, feeling the local Aether, Isabelle gave an image to the immaterial thing she sensed. A festering lump of cancerous flesh attached to a bruised soul by hooked tendrils of vermin.

Looking at the thing hiding in the Aether, Isabelle let out a low, tired sigh. “How is your Aether sight, Rihan?”

In answer, Rihan’s eyes glowed, and she lurched back slightly. “That… that is unpleasant to look at.”

Isabelle prodded for clarification, “Malformed tissue? Rats and torture implements? Vaguely like a sea jelly?”

Rihan nodded, and Isabelle remarked. “I wanted to check to see if my approximation was accurate. Not all of us have a god’s influence to cheat when gazing into the Aether.”

Head cocked in morbid fascination, Rihan asked. “What is it? Some kind of pain spirit?”

In answer, Isabelle summoned up some memories, flashes of her in a laboratory, and the surge of unbridled glee coming with new discoveries. Natalie tasted the near maniacal energy in the memory and watched as Isabelle fed it through a tendril of will to the parasite. Like some gelatinous ocean predator, the parasite snapped out and took the offered emotions. It bit onto the tendril of soul eager for more, but Isabelle batted it away with a flourish of contempt.

Pulling away from the rebuked parasite, Isabelle pursed her lips. “No, it's not a spirit or at least a traditional one.”

+ And that means? +

Ignoring Natalie, Isabelle reached out to the spirit again and again, offering it different emotions each time. As she did this, Isabelle gently prodded at the parasite, brushing her mind along its different parts, gaining a better understanding of them.

Turning to Rihan, who was watching this with interest, Isabelle commanded. “Get the keys; I need better access.”

Worryingly, Rihan didn’t object, quickly finding the keys and opening the cell containing the four possessed plague victims. Isabelle ordered three to stand in one corner while the one she examined was commanded to lie on the ground. Stabbing Natalie’s wrist with a sharpened claw, Isabelle drew out a long rope of black blood. Wincing in pain, Natalie watched as her blood wormed through the air, similar to what she saw Isabelle do at the hillock.

+ Circles are powerful things, creating clear limits in the mind and Aether. They can even act as primitive wards or magical amplifiers if made properly. Especially when a magically reactive substance is used, like blood or, even better, vampire blood. +

The circle of animated blood slithered around the Screamer, marking out the space he lay in as a place of magic. Gesturing to Rihan, Isabelle said. “Step into the circle with me and call up some of your power; I want to see how the parasite reacts.”

Wordlessly, Rihan obliged her own curiosity clearly at work. As the cold light of Master Time crept toward the parasite, it started to twitch and pull away, its tendrils spasming within the infected soul. As the Screamer’s soul started to burst and leak, Isabelle gestured for Rihan to stop. She did, and the parasite ended its spasming, returning to its original state.

Fingers tapping rhythmically, Isabelle muttered to herself, a stream of information flowing through her mind and buffeting Natalie. After maybe two minutes of this, Isabelle gestured to Rihan. “I need you to go and examine the other Screamers, check the condition of their souls, and match them against suspected infection time.”

Again, Rihan obliged, leaving the cell and going to gather the data Isabelle needed. Holding her hands out, Isabelle started whatever ritual she was planning. As she set the spell into motion, Isabelle spoke to her student. + This Screamer is severely ill; necrosis has taken hold, and some of his organs are nonfunctional. His odds of survival are slim even with round-the-clock care. +

+ But he’s not been infected for that long! +

+ With the parasite untreated, the disease will progress much faster and more horrifically for these Screamers. Combine that with poor medical care and hyper-aggression; his body is falling apart. +

Stepping back into the circle, Isabelle called up tendrils of black; they slithered from her eyes, nose, mouth, and nail beds, a nest of oily serpents that reached out and wrapped around the limp Screamer. Lying on the ground, the infected man didn’t resist as the tendrils split and melted, covering his body in a dark shroud. Red runes started to boil off the blood ring surrounding them, little pictograms floating up and then fading away. Watching this through her possessed eyes, Natalie felt suddenly uneasy. She’d seen a garden snake swallow a mouse once, and this felt unnaturally similar.

+ What are you doing, Isabelle? +

+ Something you and Cole wouldn’t approve of but needs to be done. +

Squeezing Natalie’s hand into a fist, Isabelle ripped the parasite into the mundane. The dark shroud bulged and thrashed as a mass pulled itself free from the infected. A horrible muffled scream came from the man wrapped in Isabelle’s power, and Natalie lunged for control.

+ STOP! +

+ If I stop now, his death is guaranteed.+

+ WHAT THE HELLS ARE YOU DOING? STOP! +

+ Curing him, now be quiet! He’s dead if I fail, and he’s dead if I do nothing. So shut up and let me work! +

Torn between desires, Natalie hesitated, and Isabelle worked her dark magic. The shroud suddenly split, and a horrible insectoid creature exploded out of the infected. It was a mess of glistening iridescent chitin, shiny wings, and wet fur about the size of a hen. A pair of glowing antennae and long tufted ears stuck out of its head as it wriggled free from the Screamer. As it shook itself free, Natalie recognized its features; the creature was a fly and rabbit mixture. With soft fur sticking out between chitin plates, a twitching hare nose above mandibles, and six sets of insectoid limbs capped by rabbit feet.

Isabelle reached out with her other hand, and a shadow surged forward from her and gripped the fly-rabbit, lifting it from the Screamer and suspending it mid-air as it thrashed and buzzed. The shroud of darkness melted off the Screamer, slithered over to Isabelle, and rejoined with her being. Just then, Rihan returned, surprise and undisguised fascination clear on her face.

Facing the Priestess, Isabelle gestured to the Screamer and said. “Try and keep him alive if you can.”

The Screamer looked horrible; his body was withered and shrunken, like a man starved for weeks. His hair was now white, and tufts of it fell out as he spasmed. His shirt was ripped open, and his chest was covered in countless tiny punctures. Running to him, Rihan kneeled down and started calling up her power. The punctures healed quickly, but the man was still teetering on the edge of life.

Looking at Natalie’s body and the other vampire possessing it, Rihan practically yelled. “He’s in shock, and half his jagging organs are ruined! What did you do?”

Isabelle shrugged. “I pulled the plague out of him; it was messy.”

With a gesture, Isabelle knocked out the other three infected and then telekinetically brought the fly-rabbit closer. “Hmmm, I would have expected flea and rat, but I guess it was forced to make do when manifesting.”

The fly-rabbit hissed and snapped at Isabelle, its mandibles and nose contorting with animal panic. Isabelle gently floated it towards the iron bars of the jail cell, and it started to fight harder against the vampire’s grip. It was useless; the creature might as well have tried to resist gravity.

As the creature’s strange body drifted closer to the iron bars, Isabelle spoke to her student. + I apologize for taking liberties earlier. But these circumstances prevented me from spend time negotiating, desperate times, and all that. +

Natalie started to spit her retort when the fly-rabbit touched the iron bars. Its flesh started to sizzle and smoke while a horrible trilling wail escaped it. Stunned and horrified, Natalie asked. + Is… is that a…? +

+ Yes, that is a Faerie. The parasite in the Aether was its larval form; I forced it into adulthood. That was the easiest way to remove it and also cure the Screamer. The Faerie would need matter to constitute a body, and I ensured only the infected tissue was available. +

Speaking to Rihan, who was desperately trying to keep the husk of a Screamer alive, Isabelle pulled the fly-rabbit back from the iron and said. “This is a fae creature I removed from the infected. Pulling it out of that man was not easy, but it will give us more insights into the pestilence. I need to speak with someone about containing this creature and then check on Cole. I’ll have additional medical aid sent; join me in your laboratory when you can.”

Floating the fae creature along, Isabelle left Rihan with her damaged test subject. She’d barely stepped from the cell when three plague wardens appeared, summoned by the noise. They looked at Isabelle and her ‘trophy,’ caution oozing from their posture. Nodding to them, Isabelle said. “Ah, perfect; Priestess Rihan requires aid, and I must deliver this little monster to the Hierophants.”

Before anyone could question or stop her, Isabelle moved past, using the burned but vicious fae to part the plague wardens. The fae thrashed and snapped whenever it drew close to a human, eager to attack living flesh. Reaching the doors to the prison, Isabelle knocked on them, and after delay, they opened. Revealing the two templars and a very discombobulated-looking Yara.

“I need to see my mistress! They said she was headed this way!”

Isabelle clicked her tongue and said, “I’m sorry if she’s been giving you any trouble.”

The templars looked at Isabelle and then the furious fly-rabbit bobbing behind her. They both drew their weapons with trained speed, and Isabelle held up a reassuring hand. “It’s a nasty specimen of the plague, but I have it under control. Please let me pass so I can speak to the Hierophants about this.”

The talkative templar squinted at the feral creature and asked, “What is that?”

Conversationally, Isabelle answered. “A faerie, so I suggest you let me handle it.”

Both templars made warding gestures and backed away; Yara did as well, eyes locked on the fae beast. Stepping past the guards, making sure her prisoner didn’t attack them, Isabelle left the prison and gestured for Yara to come with her. Tentatively the thrall followed Isabelle, standing behind the vampire but well away from the faerie.

After maybe a minute of walking, Yara asked. “Is there anything you need from me, mistress?”

Isabelle turned to look at Yara. “Nothing currently, but you will know when that-”

Stopping midword and midstride, Isabelle looked at the thrall and, more importantly, the subdued faerie. Maybe a meter away from Yara, it hung in the air limply, having lost all its spiteful energy. Frowning, Isabelle floated her specimen past Yara and towards her.

+ Is it damaged? +

+ I don’t think so…? +

Reaching out, Isabelle made as if to tap the creature’s head. It shied away, recoiling from Isabelle and shaking with fear. Floating it back towards Yara, Isabelle watched as it didn’t react to the thrall. Pursing her lips, the old vampire muttered, “This… this requires some tests.”