The Vampyre's Tale

Vitaly walked toward the castle, a small kernel of joy burning in his heart. As a light snow fell on his shoulders, he savored the joy of this moment. I have spent years of my life for this, yet they are well spent, he thought. As he drew closer to the castle, his rough traveling clothes grew damp, but he did not care. The bright moon in the cloudless sky softly illuminated the man, walking down a street at evening. An occasional carriage passed, as did a few travelers, Vitaly's focus did not waver, even when a carriage passed him, splashing a little mud on his clothes. He considered his plan one last time, and felt pride in it. A rather ingenious plan, if he did say so himself. Years spent learning of the vampyre. Its weaknesses, strengths and habits. A few times testing himself against others of its species, and now, his ultimate goal.

Vitaly's face unconsciously twisted into anger. The...thing...that had cruelly killed his little sister. He remembered holding her drained, shockingly pale body in his arms. In their home! A place with so many happy memories: playing together as children, laughing at their grandfather's stories at the table. His 19th birthday, (Has it been only 3 years, he thought to himself) when Elena gave him a salt shaker she had carved out of an elk's antlers. The very same shaker he now held in his hand, as he was lost in memory. And Arkady, whom she had been set to marry soon, beheaded outside the house. All his joy, desecrated by the foul creature with its brutality and unconcern for anything human or good. Well, this night, his vengeance would be sated by the vampyre's death. And after? He knew not for sure. Although, a nobleman's servant he had spoken to in a tavern here as he had prepared for this night had spoken a fantastic tale of some strange wolf creature they had seen on their travels in France. Perhaps he would look into that story, though he doubted it could be true; but vengeance first.

In which cause, he walked up to the front steps of the castle. As he approached the footman at the gate, his demeanor changed. He hunched his body, changed his gait to a shuffling limp, and twisted his face. The liveried footman looked at Vitaly, his countenance showing a disdainful sneer. "Away with you, beggar!" he barked in Russian. Vitaly cringed away and whimpered, "Please sir. Just a few coins for bread!" The footman approached him, raising a hand as though he were going to strike Vitaly. "Away!" he snarled again, and Vitaly smoothly stepped around behind the footman, wrapping his arms around the footman's neck, choking him. The footman quickly went unconscious, only having time to raise his hands to Vitaly's arms and attempt to pry them away from his neck.

Vitaly opened the gate, then quickly dragged the footman's body inside. He looked around, and saw what appeared to be a storehouse, perhaps for grain and such. He got the footman inside, and closed the door. The place was indeed a store house, but for horse tackle. There were rows of various kinds of tackle, and the room smelled pleasantly of leather with a faint hint of horse. Vitaly looked down at the footman, taking measure of the man's size. He judged them close enough in size, and stripped off the footman's livery. He quickly exchanged his rough traveler's clothes for the footman's livery, put Elena's salt shaker in a pocket, and then looked down at himself. The yellow sun on the red and white checkered background felt wrong to see on his chest; a symbol of the callous lords who for so many years had feasted, never lifting a hand to aid when hard years came and Vitaly and many like him had starved through a hard winter. "Unavoidable," he muttered, and checked the footman. He was unconscious, and breathing well. Vitaly thought a moment, then said to the footman "I am sorry, friend, but this is all in service of a just cause." He quickly tied the footman to a post in the room with some rope he found, gagged him with some burlap torn from a sack, then left the building.

The footman would be expelled from his service after this night, and possibly beaten for his lapse, but Vitaly needed a way in. He felt a little better about such an outcome because the man seemed rather cruel to someone who appeared to be nothing more than a beggar, but Vitaly still would have avoided such measures if possible. The leech, however, enjoyed moving amongst nobility. Was there some actual preference for the taste of noble blood? He neither knew nor cared; he focused instead on the task at hand. He heard a carriage approaching, and readied himself by hurrying to the footman's post in front of the gate. This next part of the charade required some patience. Pretending to be another obsequious toady until he had a chance to exchange clothes with a suitable nobleman, as he had the footman. But he was patient. Long had this night been in the making, and he would not spoil it by a moment of impatience. The carriage stopped in front of him, and he was in luck. Only one occupant, a young nobleman of similar size. Already somewhat drunk by the unfocused look in his eyes. Vitaly opened the door, bowing slightly, a false smile on his face. "My lord," he said...