The Sarafan hard broken through the doorway, coming through the corridors of the vampire stronghold in their hundreds, swarming down the corridors like a swarm, mutilating any vampire that got in their way. Females, trying to defend the smaller fledgling where the first to fall, the fledglings next, and final the old males were captured, and then slain for the General's amusement. Their leader however, the one they had come to collect was still holding out inside the tower that lance dup from the stronghold's courtyard. For three whole days, the Sarafan camped outside the tower, waiting for the vampire to grow hungry enough to venture down and attempt to feed on one of them. Eventually they declutched that he must have his own supply of fresh meat, so waiting for him was not working.
Calling forth the battering rams, they overpowered the doors and began tearing into the tower as they had the surrounding fort. Masses of vampires came forth to try and protect their master. They all fell under the Sarafan banner within moments, and within minutes the general himself advanced up into the tower's upper chamber. To face their master.
An elder, probably one of Audron's lesser spawn stood waiting for them at the apex. Clawed hands and feet ready to tear into soft flesh, sharp long fangs waiting to drain the blood of his adversaries. Lord Malek himself was leading the attack, this ancient was not with fates good graces. Within moments, he was lying half dead as Malek's feet.
Before the Sarafan leader struck the deadly blow however, he paused and turned to the solider next to him.
"This one wasn't much of a challenge, you finish it off for me." He said with a yawn, passing the Sarafan knight his pike. The knight accepted the weapon, hesitated for a moment, before walking over to the defeated ancient. He stared into it's eyes. Despite their yellow glow and silted feline like pupils, they were pleading with them for mercy. Without waiting, the solider drove the weapon directly down, impaling the immortal creature directly through the chest.
A ear shattering scream escaped it's lips.
Ewoden awoke with a loud yell, his face covered with sweat. His breathing was drawn out, was if the exhaled air was scrapping against his teeth. He found himself back in the place he'd gone to sleep, the lower barracks in the Sarafan stronghold. Moonlight from the white orb in the night sky outside was shinning in through the stained glass windows directly behind him. Others beds were lined up in a parallel series of rows, each one containing a sleeping Sarafan knight, their armour and weaponry lying next to a personal trunk at the end of each bed. Ewoden bent over, his stomach reeling. He reached for a chamber pot and vomited violently into it. He stayed in that position for a good few minutes, visibly shaking.
"Ah crap." He said to himself, placing the now full pot back down on the floor. That same nightmare again. One that had been haunting him for some time now. The vivid memory of his first official aid with the bulk of the Sarafan army on a vampire stronghold they'd discovered north of their own fort. He doubted that he'd developed the stomach for it, even now, one year after becoming an official member of the Sarafan order. During that year, the training had been tough. His trainers, Raziel, Dumah, Turel and Malek had pushed him and others hard, forcing them to develop the skills necessary to survive on the battlefield. His long bow, and several large steal arrows lay on the floor on the right hand side of his bed. A long sword, Axe and shield was placed carefully on the top of the chest at the end of his bed. Ewoden was no longer the skinny, starved slave Lord Meobius had plucked from the Wilendorf mines. He was well built, scars from his battles and from the earlier harsh training running along his arms. Two large scars had been stuck on the left hand side of his face, blemishing his handsome features. His red hair was always in a complete mess, jagged and unclean.
Sleep was usually impossible after that imprinted, soul shattering vision. So Ewoden pulled himself out from under the white covered, put on his brown pants and simply went for a walk. He knew that it was after curfew but he didn't much care. No one on knight patrol reported him, as they'd been talking midnight walks themselves no and then. Ewoden let his mind go limp as he travelled down the corridors, barley noticing the beautiful architecture and impressions on the stained glass that had stunned him only a year before.
Ever since the dreams started Ewoden realized that he simply wasn't cut out for all this. But he dared not say anything. No never left the Sarafan army, or where either executed for treason, cowardice or you died in battle. None of those options appealed to him.
"Third time this week." Said a voice and instantly Ewoden snapped to attention. Coming down the corridor was his superior, one of the elite Sarafan generals. Clad in orange and gold armour, a cruel looking blade attached to his left arm was Raziel. The man who had taught Ewoden his skills with a long blade, although since Malek was teaching archery Ewoden was considerably more skills at that.
"My lord!" Ewoden exclaimed, arms at his sides, standing perfectly still.
"At ease, your not on parade." Raziel said, gesturing toward him gently. Ewoden relaxed, but only slightly. "Nightmares I'm willing to wager." He added slyly, placing a hand upon his chin. Ewoden looked down at the ground and nodded once. "Ask lord Meobius for something to settle your mind, he may not be as good at apothecary as the Guardian of States, but he's supplied me with a nightmare remedy more than once." He tapped Ewoden on the shoulder, smiled, and then walked on past him. "But if I find your out of bed after curfew again, I will have to make an example of you." Ewoden swallowed hard, waiting till he was sure his superior officer was a good distance away before moving on.
He might as well try it, it was certainly better than confusing his uneasiness and being.expelled.from the Sarafan order. Lord Moebius' chambers were at the top of the fortress, despite him having another room devoted to his time streaming studies in the lower left wing. From observation, Ewoden knew that Moebius was close friends with the Sarafan elite. He was like a father to them of sorts, and they fought with a fanatical devotion in his name, none more so than Raziel. In truth, their devotion and blind faith in Moebius scared the soldiers a little. Climbing quickly up a large flight of stone stairs ton the upper floors, engaging in brief conversation with a guard standing outside the entrance to the tower's entry, Ewoden made his way up toward the large set of wooden doors that marked one of Moebius' many chambers within the tower itself. He knocked, and waited. No one answered. He knocked again, and still no reply. After another few moments, he pushed the door open and poked his head inside.
The chamber was different from the others inside the fortress. Red Sarafan banners hung on every wall. Tables, covered with various parts from the machines Moebius constructed in the lower rooms, stood around the outside walls. The ceiling ascended into one point directly in the middle and was titled, creating the affect of sloping scales. A large hourglass, sand still pouring downward sat on another table. It was one of Mobius' relics, one which he seemed extremely proud of, the glass containing the and was well polished and gleamed brightly in the candlelight. Moebius himself however was nowhere to be seen.
He went inside and for some very strange reason, felt extremely vulnerable. He was bare-chested, without weapons or armour, but something else was making him feel like this. Some alien force this room had was playing upon him. He'd never come up here before, and he suspected at as soon as he got what he wanted from Lord Moebius he would try not to come here again. Upon noticing a set of scrolling lying on a nearby table, Ewoden's curiosity got the better of him and he foolishly proceeded to pick one up and unroll it. Luckily for him, whatever was written on it was unreadable, some form of ancient language, long since passed away. Rummaging through the others, he discovered they were all written in the same text. Dismissing them was unreadable, he moved on. An open chest lay hidden behind a table, other scrolls, robes and others bits and pieces poking out of it. What drew Ewoden's attention however was a strange stone sitting on top of an open scroll.
Probably only about the size of a balled fist and rectangular, mint green in colour, like rocks from the bottom of the ocean. Something peeked his curiosity about it and he bent down and picked it up.
Instantly he was flung from this world, his senses whirled and spun. His stomach turned inside out, twisted and churning inside him. In his frenzy of pain and agony, he saw things, sensed things. Saw terrible visions. He saw three races all proud and grand, living together in paradise. But discord infected them all, seeded amongst them by some dark entity...a seething mass of tentacles and within moments, or a lifetime, the three races were at each other's throats.
He dropped the stone and it fell back into the chest, and he found himself standing alone in Moebius' chambers again. He stood there, paralysed by fear for a moment. Before he lost the strength in his legs and collapsed to a sitting position. He was still dreaming. He had to be still trapped in that nightmare. He let himself fell the cold stone beneath him, to verify that he was indeed awake. Moebius was a sorcerer, he reminded him, his chambers were bound to be filled with many enchanted items. He regained his composure by sheer willpower and quickly, but rather unsteadily got to his feet again.
"What are you doing in here?" Asked a sharp, elderly voice. Moebius had returned, coming in through the set of doors behind him. He did not look entirely pleased to find someone waiting for him. His thin bony fingers tightened around his serpent like staff, his dull greys eyes locked onto Ewoden with a piercing gaze. Ewoden hesitated several times before blurting out a stammering reply. Moebius pushed his lips together. "Nightmares." He grumbled something, before walking over to another table, opening a small bow and removing a small leather purse. "Take some of these with a drink of water, they should help you sleep peacefully." Ewoden inspected the bag once the old man passed to him. It contained a soft pink powder. "Now, if you excuse me, I have work to do." Ewoden let himself out, before found his curiosity was peeking again. He screamed at himself to just turn away and go back to the barracks, but found that he wasn't listening. He waited outside the door, listening to the old man grumble.
"I've got to be insane." He said to himself, realizing what he was doing. He was about to do, when Meobius began talking to himself.
"Master. my great Elder god. we continue our work to remove the heretic races, vampires and Hylden, who refused to worship you."
"Looks like I'm not the only one." He added, staring in confusion through the partly open door, his grip tightening around the leather purse in his hand. Moebius was one his knees, facing the window on the far side of the chamber, like he was praying. To Ewoden;s surprise, he raised the strange green stone in both hands, offering it forward to some point in front of him. His mouth dropped when the stone started to emit a soft green glow.
"The souls of the dead are mine to do with as I see fit, they provide me with sustenance.food. When the appointed time comes, when all rightfully worship me, I shall reward those who have remained loyal." Ewoden had heard enough. He silenced his curiousness and descended the rotating stone stairs and fast as he could, nearly falling down a trip step. Within moments he found his way into the barracks, grabbed some water from the barrel placed outside the door and downed the entire contents of the leather purse within it, before forcing himself into bed.
Terror pushed himself into sleep, one haunted by more nightmares. Not of vampires and death, but of a black sea of slithering, slimily tentacles.