Heroic Adventures of Junkers and Vailiant

Against the Fiery Inferno

Honourable reader!

As we have all known since the misty dawns of time, heroism is not often encountered in simple folk. But here there will be no mention of an ordinary man who stinks like a skunk, drinks and beats his life's companion, the mother of his brood. No, we shall continue here the saga of the shiny knights, Vailiant and Junker's, who, having proven their mettle in battles against human and other enemies, found themselves in danger larger than very, very large danger indeed. In fact, danger is not what makes this story unusual, as it is of somewhat dubious character. Rather, the interest lies in the story's participants, of utterly unusual life-stories, particularly the Florentine vampires who, as far as it is known, no longer exist in today's hurried age. Perhaps it is for the best. And perhaps not. Florentine vampires would probably agree with the latter.

This is how it went:

Noble Vailiant, after a longish time spent in peace at family hearth, desired action. He had married, settled down and lived peacefully like some Mediaeval mediocre commoner. His best friend and comrade in arms, Junker's, was buys managing the estate which Junker's wastrel of a father periodically brought to the edge of ruin, so this somewhat Sisyphean enterprise took up most of Junker's time. As he was Vailiant's only close neighbour, and a friend, our prince spent most of his time surrounded by humdrum tranquillity, and he was bored to tears. Of course, every now and then he'd get into a faraway inn with a tipsy maiden or else, pretending to go hunting, he would drop by Junker's quaint bordello but, those tiny adventures aside, he lived the life of a model husband, shining knight and, before everything else, a man of principles. All kinds of principles. The only stumbling block that marred the idyll by its questionable eruptivity, or uncertain sedimentarity, was the fact that our hero was incapable of telling his children apart, regardless of their age or gender. Thus, one day, holding his middle daughter in his lap, Vailiant gently said,

"My son, once I go to war, everything our noble ancestors gathered and worked hard to get is left to you. As the eldest, you will be responsible for your mother, the estate, and your brothers."

Tilting her pretty head crowned by a cloud of blond curls, the girl responded, "But, sir father, I am Hernia, your middle daughter."

She had inherited her father's lack of respect for authorities, which the noble knight considered a refined quality in himself, and sheer effrontery in his children.

"Well, which one is the eldest son?"

"Bauknecht, of course, the pale one. The one you say holds himself aloof and cold. He's into music and writes verse."

"That's my oldest son? The cold, consumptive fish?"

The little girl fidgeted in her father's lap. "Well, a fish is, for example, a zander, and everyone says he is..."

"Get away with you, boy!" said Vailiant angrily. "You won't teach me about fish."

"Girl."

"What? A girl-fish? Who cares whether fish is male or female?"

"I'm a girl, not a boy. I'm your daughter."

"Out!!!"

Vailiant was angrily staring at the tiny childish figure that disappeared behind the entrance gates, her head held high.

"Kids," muttered the prince disgruntled, feeling somewhat embarrassed, as well. He was sorry for the little boy.

Thus our hero squandered his time when, one apparently ordinary afternoon, his lazying about was cut short by the golden sound of a horn at the entrance of the castle. In fact, the sound was a little cracked, so it would have been more precise to call it crack-golden, but that, we must admit, sounds a little strange and inappropriate.