Verona, wounded and panicked, screamed like a banshee as she struggled to stay afloat. Her blood was falling from the sky and on to the dusty streets of Cairo, and her howls echoed across the streets. Her flight was unstable, and remained so until she spotted her master's temporary stronghold. Shaking violently, she made a direct line for the roof of the tenement, but in her injured state, she crashed into the roof clumsily. All she could do for what seemed like an eternity in pain was groan. Her body shifted back to her humanoid shape, for it had taken too much from the werewolf's furious claws to maintain a demonic shape. Verona shifted between awareness and blessed unconsciousness rapidly as she lay in there in pain.
Marishka was the first to reach her sister, although her haste slowed considerably when she noticed that it was Verona who had tumbled into the roof. She sneered as she lifted her sister's head by her hair.
"Well Verona, welcome back. Tell me, what happened to you?" Marishka asked with the gleeful sadism she exhibited whenever her master wasn't present.
"Werewolf," Verona croaked weakly, "Tried feeding from a werewolf,"
"Oh my, aren't we the poor liar. Come now, you can tell your sister what really happened," Marishka said as she caressed the outlines of Verona's wounds.
"He looked like a vagrant, but then he became a werewolf," Verona replied, coughing up stolen blood which she promptly licked up frantically, much to the amusement of Marishka.
"Oh my sister, if only you could see yourself now," Marishka said with a laugh.
"Marishka!" Aleera hissed when she came upon the scene, to which Marishka rolled her eyes and bounded away from Verona with a laugh. Aleera than set to work tending to her sister. She had brought a severed arm, a limb that once belonged to a guest in the wine cellar, and put it before Verona, who quickly drained the appendage of any blood left in it. And as she drank, even the savage claw wounds began closing ever so slightly. Verona refused to allow herself to look upwards towards her sister however. She knew exactly why Aleera was rushing to her aid, namely that she wanted Verona's support against Marishka while their husband was gone. Verona, having been caught up in this twisted game of garnering and denying favor once centuries ago, would not allow herself to fall into the game again.
"There's more blood in the wine cellar," Aleera said in a mockery of a good willed tone. Or perhaps it sounded like a mockery only to her sisters.
"Really now Aleera, whatever happened to the law of the jungle, wherein only the strong survive?" Marishka said with a low growl, folding her arms together.
"And whatever happened to aiding our beloved husband in every way we could? Surely he needs Verona as much as he needs you or I, sister," Aleera shot back. Much to Verona's relief, Aleera's attention had fully shifted to Marishka. Her body seethed and twitched as she willed the wounds closed as her thirst for blood grew.
"If she would let the human herd wound her so and concoct a tale about a werewolf to cover up her weakness, our father would be better off without her," Marishka said, narrowing her eyes.
"I believe that is the Count's decision to make and not yours!" Aleera almost shouted. And so began another shouting match between Aleera and Marishka, with Verona moaning as her undead flesh knitted itself back together. The noise eventually grew so great that Vladislaus Dracula had to look up from his work towards the roof. His work at that moment consisted of a handful of files and notices stolen from the Cairo police department's storage. He sighed heavily when he overheard his brides arguing between themselves, yet again. He tried to continue perusing the files while ignoring the noise, desperate as ever to find out if there was a link between the murdered archeologist and the strange power that had awakened in this land. If he could not find this infernal creature, Dracula was convinced that his fate, centuries in the making, would be ultimate defeat and destruction. And at the hands of an Arab fiend no less.
Renfield walked in, carrying his master's sword, an old broadsword that had tasted the blood of many a Turk. Although every duty was considered an honor in Renfield's mind, being allowed to oil and polish the blade was particularly auspicious honor. Dracula had initially forbid his servant from even touching the weapon, but as time passed and Renfield worked as hard as he could, his master rewarded him with the privilege of maintaining his weapon. Renfield handed his master the sword timidly, and had it not been sheathed, it would have shined in the candlelight of Dracula's makeshift office. Dracula took the blade casually, leaning it against his seat. Renfield beamed happily.
"Renfield, before you attend to the wine cellar, I'd like to speak to you for a moment. Renfield seemed ecstatic at the chance to speak with Dracula.
"Tell me Renfield," Dracula continued, "do you think I made a mistake trusting that seer and coming to this accursed wasteland?"
"No, certainly not," Renfield said nervously, "It's well known that the ancient Egyptians possessed capabilities unlike those we have today. Surely there could be something here that, if not threatens you, could benefit you."
"Yes, indeed," the vampire said with a sigh, part of him starting to wish he had left more of Renfield's spirit intact. He casually motioned for the fawning servant to leave his presence, before steeling his resolve, and headed for the roof where he was surely needed.
When he arrived, the sight he beheld was that of Marishka and Aleera arguing yet again, causing Dracula to wish he had left a bit of humanity in his brides. They reminded him of children in their own way. The Count inwardly began worrying that perchance he lacked the ability to create a servant he didn't have to worry about.
"Lovelies," he said sternly as he entered the roof, donning his black overcoat as he stepped towards the two vampires. As always, they ceased their clash and began doting over him as they always had. Verona, from her place in the shadows, knew the performance her sisters were putting on for their father.
"Where's Verona?" Dracula asked with a frown. The two vampires draping themselves over him suddenly went silent. When he felt a hand grabbing his ankle, he looked down to see his third bride. He immediately kneeled down to look over Verona.
"Verona, who did this to you?" Dracula asked almost frantically.
"A werewolf! I thought he was a vagrant, but he turned into a monster and attacked me!" Verona blubbered and wailed, and much like her sisters' argument, it struck Dracula as a child's reaction. Inwardly he chided himself for expecting women be as warriors, but as always, he had to cast these thoughts aside, and turn Verona's head upward, which she allowed him to do without thinking. He withdrew a letter opener he had absently carried up to the roof, and sliced his wrist open. His blood seeped into her mouth slowly, and that seemed to calm the panicked vampire down considerably. She sighed as though she were dreaming, as Dracula stood up to face his other two brides, his expression cross and nearly ready to boil over into fury.
"Why did you not tell me she had been attacked by a werewolf?" he growled at them. He looked between them, waiting for the two shaking vampires to respond.
"We," Marishka began fearfully, "a-assumed she was l-lying."
Dracula snarled and smacked both of them with one strike.
"What in the hell were you thinking? Her wounds are clearly unnatural! And if there's anything unusual in this land, you were directly told to let me know as soon as possible!" Dracula roared. He was seething with anger as his brides stumbled backwards. He willed his barbed demonic wings to sprout from his back before speaking again.
"You two will carry your sister to the wine cellar, and you will not emerge until her wounds have closed. I will tolerate no more squabbling between the three of you!" Dracula said as sternly as ever. Marishka and Aleera quickly lifted the wounded Verona and scrambled into the wine cellar, their eyes still widened from fright.
Once they were gone, Dracula sighed heavily. This lycanpthropic vagrant certainly couldn't be the newly awakened monster he had so feared. Werewolves simply didn't work like that; they were mortal, and none could hope to stay as strong as a vampire as the decades passed by. Still, their raw savagery and power made them dangerous opponents, but never for the long term struggle Dracula was anticipating with this strange new power. However, he decided that it would still be a wise choice to look into this matter himself. He retracted his wings and bounded from rooftop to close built rooftop with the silence of a thief in the night. Following the scent of Verona's blood, he began searching the area. By the time Dracula reached the scene of clash between Verona and this unknown werewolf, Dracula noticed a surge in traffic on formerly silent street. Although it was only a few people, the vampire could tell that the sun would be rising soon, sending him scrambling back to his lair.
Marishka was the first to reach her sister, although her haste slowed considerably when she noticed that it was Verona who had tumbled into the roof. She sneered as she lifted her sister's head by her hair.
"Well Verona, welcome back. Tell me, what happened to you?" Marishka asked with the gleeful sadism she exhibited whenever her master wasn't present.
"Werewolf," Verona croaked weakly, "Tried feeding from a werewolf,"
"Oh my, aren't we the poor liar. Come now, you can tell your sister what really happened," Marishka said as she caressed the outlines of Verona's wounds.
"He looked like a vagrant, but then he became a werewolf," Verona replied, coughing up stolen blood which she promptly licked up frantically, much to the amusement of Marishka.
"Oh my sister, if only you could see yourself now," Marishka said with a laugh.
"Marishka!" Aleera hissed when she came upon the scene, to which Marishka rolled her eyes and bounded away from Verona with a laugh. Aleera than set to work tending to her sister. She had brought a severed arm, a limb that once belonged to a guest in the wine cellar, and put it before Verona, who quickly drained the appendage of any blood left in it. And as she drank, even the savage claw wounds began closing ever so slightly. Verona refused to allow herself to look upwards towards her sister however. She knew exactly why Aleera was rushing to her aid, namely that she wanted Verona's support against Marishka while their husband was gone. Verona, having been caught up in this twisted game of garnering and denying favor once centuries ago, would not allow herself to fall into the game again.
"There's more blood in the wine cellar," Aleera said in a mockery of a good willed tone. Or perhaps it sounded like a mockery only to her sisters.
"Really now Aleera, whatever happened to the law of the jungle, wherein only the strong survive?" Marishka said with a low growl, folding her arms together.
"And whatever happened to aiding our beloved husband in every way we could? Surely he needs Verona as much as he needs you or I, sister," Aleera shot back. Much to Verona's relief, Aleera's attention had fully shifted to Marishka. Her body seethed and twitched as she willed the wounds closed as her thirst for blood grew.
"If she would let the human herd wound her so and concoct a tale about a werewolf to cover up her weakness, our father would be better off without her," Marishka said, narrowing her eyes.
"I believe that is the Count's decision to make and not yours!" Aleera almost shouted. And so began another shouting match between Aleera and Marishka, with Verona moaning as her undead flesh knitted itself back together. The noise eventually grew so great that Vladislaus Dracula had to look up from his work towards the roof. His work at that moment consisted of a handful of files and notices stolen from the Cairo police department's storage. He sighed heavily when he overheard his brides arguing between themselves, yet again. He tried to continue perusing the files while ignoring the noise, desperate as ever to find out if there was a link between the murdered archeologist and the strange power that had awakened in this land. If he could not find this infernal creature, Dracula was convinced that his fate, centuries in the making, would be ultimate defeat and destruction. And at the hands of an Arab fiend no less.
Renfield walked in, carrying his master's sword, an old broadsword that had tasted the blood of many a Turk. Although every duty was considered an honor in Renfield's mind, being allowed to oil and polish the blade was particularly auspicious honor. Dracula had initially forbid his servant from even touching the weapon, but as time passed and Renfield worked as hard as he could, his master rewarded him with the privilege of maintaining his weapon. Renfield handed his master the sword timidly, and had it not been sheathed, it would have shined in the candlelight of Dracula's makeshift office. Dracula took the blade casually, leaning it against his seat. Renfield beamed happily.
"Renfield, before you attend to the wine cellar, I'd like to speak to you for a moment. Renfield seemed ecstatic at the chance to speak with Dracula.
"Tell me Renfield," Dracula continued, "do you think I made a mistake trusting that seer and coming to this accursed wasteland?"
"No, certainly not," Renfield said nervously, "It's well known that the ancient Egyptians possessed capabilities unlike those we have today. Surely there could be something here that, if not threatens you, could benefit you."
"Yes, indeed," the vampire said with a sigh, part of him starting to wish he had left more of Renfield's spirit intact. He casually motioned for the fawning servant to leave his presence, before steeling his resolve, and headed for the roof where he was surely needed.
When he arrived, the sight he beheld was that of Marishka and Aleera arguing yet again, causing Dracula to wish he had left a bit of humanity in his brides. They reminded him of children in their own way. The Count inwardly began worrying that perchance he lacked the ability to create a servant he didn't have to worry about.
"Lovelies," he said sternly as he entered the roof, donning his black overcoat as he stepped towards the two vampires. As always, they ceased their clash and began doting over him as they always had. Verona, from her place in the shadows, knew the performance her sisters were putting on for their father.
"Where's Verona?" Dracula asked with a frown. The two vampires draping themselves over him suddenly went silent. When he felt a hand grabbing his ankle, he looked down to see his third bride. He immediately kneeled down to look over Verona.
"Verona, who did this to you?" Dracula asked almost frantically.
"A werewolf! I thought he was a vagrant, but he turned into a monster and attacked me!" Verona blubbered and wailed, and much like her sisters' argument, it struck Dracula as a child's reaction. Inwardly he chided himself for expecting women be as warriors, but as always, he had to cast these thoughts aside, and turn Verona's head upward, which she allowed him to do without thinking. He withdrew a letter opener he had absently carried up to the roof, and sliced his wrist open. His blood seeped into her mouth slowly, and that seemed to calm the panicked vampire down considerably. She sighed as though she were dreaming, as Dracula stood up to face his other two brides, his expression cross and nearly ready to boil over into fury.
"Why did you not tell me she had been attacked by a werewolf?" he growled at them. He looked between them, waiting for the two shaking vampires to respond.
"We," Marishka began fearfully, "a-assumed she was l-lying."
Dracula snarled and smacked both of them with one strike.
"What in the hell were you thinking? Her wounds are clearly unnatural! And if there's anything unusual in this land, you were directly told to let me know as soon as possible!" Dracula roared. He was seething with anger as his brides stumbled backwards. He willed his barbed demonic wings to sprout from his back before speaking again.
"You two will carry your sister to the wine cellar, and you will not emerge until her wounds have closed. I will tolerate no more squabbling between the three of you!" Dracula said as sternly as ever. Marishka and Aleera quickly lifted the wounded Verona and scrambled into the wine cellar, their eyes still widened from fright.
Once they were gone, Dracula sighed heavily. This lycanpthropic vagrant certainly couldn't be the newly awakened monster he had so feared. Werewolves simply didn't work like that; they were mortal, and none could hope to stay as strong as a vampire as the decades passed by. Still, their raw savagery and power made them dangerous opponents, but never for the long term struggle Dracula was anticipating with this strange new power. However, he decided that it would still be a wise choice to look into this matter himself. He retracted his wings and bounded from rooftop to close built rooftop with the silence of a thief in the night. Following the scent of Verona's blood, he began searching the area. By the time Dracula reached the scene of clash between Verona and this unknown werewolf, Dracula noticed a surge in traffic on formerly silent street. Although it was only a few people, the vampire could tell that the sun would be rising soon, sending him scrambling back to his lair.