Chapter 24

Ewoden

-

The cell was dank and dark. A spider's web hung across one corner and the only light in the dismal room came from a flaming torch from beyond the bars, nailed to the wall just above a table and set of chairs. A guard was there, his feet up on the table as he flipped through a deck of cards. He was of average height and dressed in leather armour, a steal long sword at his side and the keys around his belt. His jagged brown hair hanging over a piece of dirty clothe wrapped around his head. The man was young, probably no older than 20.

He'd been here when Ewoden first awoke and when they'd dragged him back to the cell. Sarafan knights garbed in full armour escorted him to the interrogators when they were informed he was awake. The interrogators were high ranking members of the Order and Ewoden instantly suspected, of the Eye of God cult Vorador had warned him about.

They asked questions, many questions; questions like, who are the Cabal spies? Do the Cabal and Kain have an alliance? Where is Vorador and his vampires and how did they escape? That at least, gave Ewoden a little cause for hope. Despite the attack on the mansion, the Cabal had been able to escape the Sarafan and their strange allies; those creatures seemingly made of the shadows themselves. Had Sally been amongst their numbers though, there was still doubt there that nagged at him.

When he couldn't, wouldn't or gave an unsatisfactory answer; the torture began. The Order in his time had been ruthless, but this third generation was even more efficient at causing pain. Centuries of practise had given them entire chambers full of equipment designed specifically to prolong suffering and Ewoden found himself subject to about three; one after the other. White hot brandings, on his arms and back came first; the letters VC printed in scars. Vampire Collaborator he was told it would mean, so all would know that he associated with them. Then the lashings, ten at a time. The whip was a cat-o-nine tails and by the time they were finished it seemed like his entire back was bathed in blood.

That apparently was just to soften him up for the final and more inventive torture session to begin. Mages were called in, two of them grabbed in ceremonial robes and hoods to hide their faces. The knights present forced Ewoden in front of them and then they magic castors evoked a spell of fire and cast it around the former knight. He felt the pain of the flames lashing mercilessly at his skin but no physical harm came to him. The suffering was all in his mind. A relentless burning that seemed to make every sense of being he had bleed. This continued for half an hour, before they stopped and he collapsed to the floor.

They weren't done with him quite yet through. They dragged him over to a pit and made him watch as another two prisoners, a human and a vampire he guessed were strapped onto a metal plate before being lowered down. They were screaming in pain and pleading for mercy, but their cries were quickly silenced as they were cut to ribbons by intricate machinery, blades lancing out from holes in the sides of the pits. Thick rivers of blood ran off the plate and was drained away by pipes to be collected in small bottles. These would be used to keep their other vampires prisoners alive, until it was there turn to die on the machine.

A knight hissed sadistically in his ear; "Unless you tell us what we want to know the next time they ask you, you'll be next, scum." At that point they kicked him around a few times before he was put back in his cell. He didn't fight them, he was to weak. Both physically and mentally. Someone or something had placed a warding around this fortress to ensure that magic, at least that attempted by the prisoners, did not work in his place. So attempts for him to teleport out, or even bring up a magical shield proved useless. Also, it cut off the Whisper. The presence of Sally in his mind which he had enjoyed was gone. Oh, he tried to get through but was met with no reply. Her comforting words or feelings came to him and he was lest alone. The absence of her self proved for disturbing than her intrusions into his mind ever had.

Days wore on, probably a week at least. The only way he could keep track of the days was they brought him a small roll of bread and a single tin cup of water each one. Naturally all of his armour, his weapons and his provisions had been confiscated when he had been brought here. All he was allowed to wear now was a tattered shirt and pants, not even a pair of shoes to protect his feet from the cold floor. He'd expected them to come back before now, but they didn't. Perhaps they were leaving his fear to stew for a while before they questioned him again. He didn't put it past them. His scars, left untreated by a physician, blistered painfully on his skin and by now would be permanent.

Through his mind ran scenarios of what had happened, trying to make sense of the blur. A Sarafan army had marched past Vorador's mansion on it's way to the front lines in the northern canyons and a selection of them had broken off from the main group to march on the estate itself. This in itself was stunning. How could they have know there were any vampires left here, let alone the Cabal headquarters? Then came the true attack, from behind! Creatures born from the very shadows had charged over the back walls and given the element of surprise, they had the Cabal resistance fighting for their lives by the time the Sarafan arrived and after that it was just a blood bath.

Finally they came for him again. Only this time no questions were asked, as if they decided not to waste time and get on with it. Again he endured torture; lashings, beatings, bombardment of hostile magic. Nothing fatal, only practices designed to introduce pain. Then they dragged him back to the cell, neither escort saying a word to him as they pulled him across the floor before throwing him into the cell, locking his arms to the wall and slamming the door shut after them.

That same guard had been here most of the time. Not once did he speak, he kept his attention solely on the book in his hand, his feet up on the table. That is, until now.

"Rekon they'll be calling you back in tomorrow or near enough. Ta day was just ta soften ya up" He stated with a heavily accented voice without looking over as he closed his book and picked up his cards, shuffling them in his hands. "If you really a Cabal spy then ya know they gonna kill yah whether you tell them or not."

Ewoden said nothing. The chains pulling his arms up above his head made it painful to breath never mind speak. Without an opportunity to shave he'd grown a small beard and without anything to heal the wounds properly the lashings were turning into thick scars. "Ya tha first who ain't screamed and begged for mercy by now." He added, finally looking the former knight in the eyes. "I'm impressed, really."

"If I'm going to die." Ewoden began with an unreadable flat expression. The words came painfully but he spoke them anyway. "Then can I at least know where it is I'm dying?" The guard chuckled under his breath.

"Yeah right, like that'll make a difference." The guard replied putting his feet back on the floor. From this vantage point. Ewoden could see a dagger tucked into the mans leather boot.

"Still like to know." The man put the cards down on the table and walked over to the bars. He was about Ewoden's height but his hair cut made him seem slightly taller. A string lined with shells of some kind hung around his neck, directly in the centre of his chest was a large, curved dagger like tooth.

"The western Willdendorf garrison is ya must know." The man told him with a raised eyebrow. "Although I'se fail to see how that gonna help a man in your place." A second later, the door to the cell bay flung open and a knight marched in; his helmet removed and hung on a hook near his belt. He was an Elite as the red cape and the double plume on his helmet showed. His hair was a dirty blond and he hadn't shaved for a couple of days. He stopped outside the cell door and stared right at Ewoden. His brown eyes were full of hatred at he stared. There was something about him that radiated a sense of unrelenting hate, Ewoden felt physically sick in his presence.

"Has he made trouble?" The knight asked his eyes not leaving the prisoner even for a moment.

"No Sir Gaunt." The guard replied. "Hasn't said a word." The fact that the guard lied hadn't registered with Ewoden. He recognised the knight, Gaunt, the former Sarafan summarized. This warrior had been amongst those to attack the Mansion. The knight rubbed his chin with his gauntlet before looking back at the prisoner.

"If I had my way you piece of scum you'd be stretched out on a rack by now having holes cut into your flesh with a blunt knife." His tone as full of venom. "As it is, you're in luck. Tomorrow night you and an assortment of other traitors and bloodsuckers will be taken out into the nearest public square and executed." Ewoden had been expecting that so it came was no big surprise.

"How is that to be considered lucky?" Ewoden asked through half shut eyes. The knight hissed through his nose.

"Believe me heretic, I would much prefer to see you tortured for a full day and finally die screaming under the sword at midnight. That's how lucky your fate is." Gaunt's hand tightened around one of the bars. "You killed my brother. Froze him solid in his own armour with your devilry and then sliced him in half." That part of the battle the former Sarafan remembered. He recalled freezing a knight and then killing him while he was paralysed. "I'll be conducting the hanging personally, so do yourself a favour and break your neck in the noose. It'll save you the pain when I quarter you!" With that, he turned and left; his cloak trailing out after him. The door slammed after the knight loaded, the echo ringing through the cells for a moment or two afterwards.

"I thought you said they wanted to interrogate me?" Ewoden asked the guard, who moved back to his chair.

"Guess they think you're not worth the effort anymore." He replied, putting his feet up on the table again. He paused with his hand on his deck of cards. "Or maybe they think they can use you better by makin' an example outta ya." He shuffled the cards, sighed, and then slid them into his pocket. "Either way you'll be stretched by the neck soon enough."

The rest of the day carried on painfully slowly. Each second like an hour, one after the other, the distance in between them stretching out like elastic. Ewoden had been close to death many times before, but never with such certainty. He was unarmed and unable to use magic; cut off from any assistance he might receive from the Cabal.

The evening came and went and the morning after it just as slowly, as if his perception of the world was forcing him to take a long last look at it.

Well that's it. He thought to himself finally reaching the conclusion with finality. I'm dead.

It was ironic for him. The Sarafan had saved him from certain death in Willendorf when they bought him from the mines and now they were going to execute him in the same province.

He remembered that day well. He was nineteen to the day when Moebius himself came to the mines to personally check the stock of the city province. Choosing Ewoden along with a hundred others, he had carted them off to their stronghold for recruitment into the Order. Despite his many revelations about the true nature of the Sarafan Ewoden still looked back on that day with great fondness.

A loud clanking of a boot brought his attention away from his thoughts. Looking up weakly, he barley even saw the two knights entering the cell. Gaunt was with the, his thick sadistic smile spreading from ear to ear.

"People of the Lion, we are gathered here tonight to bare witness to justice dealt to vermin and those who would seek to aid them in their unholy quest." The preacher was giving the crowd the full works as the small band was marched out of the garrison gates and into the courtyard towards a wooden stage placed in the middle. Ranting on for several minutes on how the brave knights protected the people from the un-dead scourge and how only their faith and compliance would ensure final victory was a priest in white robes standing in the space of a makeshift pulpit up front. From here Ewoden could see the full fortress like garrison, the towers stretching so high they almost seemed to brush the clouded sky above. The flags of the Order fluttering on the tips of the towers.

Not everyone present was buying the sermon, Ewoden could see that from here as the knights marched them forward. Most of the crowd gathered in the courtyard had been forced to come here, in the middle of the night which was the only time their vampire prisoners could be brought outside for execution. Since walking out of those gates, Ewoden had tried to teleport away half hoping the contact through the chains he had with the other prisoners would take them all but it seemed whatever kept magic unusable in the garrison worked out here at well. Attempts to contact Sally over the Whisper also proved futile.

The former Sarafan looked up at the gallows ahead, the noose already hanging in place awaiting it's next neck. That was reserved for the humans, for the vampires in their chain gang was a guillotine, the blade being hoisted into place ready for it's first victim.

Graunt was standing nearby, his hands resting on the hilt of his sword; his blade angled downwards in front of him. A thick and wide smirk was plastered over his face.

"Bring forth the first creature." As the Priest began and the spoilers forced the vampire at the front forward. He was hardly dressed in anything and the scars from the torture secessions hadn't even healed yet. "Before the majesty of god's all seeing eye and the witness of these people, have you anything to confess before justice is served?" The young fledgling looked up weekly but clearly did not have the strength to say anything. "Then so be it, severe his head from his neck and then commit his body to the flames!" The knights began forcing the vampire up towards the guillotine.

Ewoden had to look away, unable to bear the scene. He cast his gaze upwards towards as the clouds began to part to reveal the night sky.

The stars were beginning to peak through, little points of light appearing one by one in a gigantic pattern. But all that was overshadowed by the moon.

The full moon…

-

Never before in his life had that object looked so beautiful. Despite the decay of the world around him, that shone as brightly as ever, unhindered by any magic in Nosgoth. The moonlight was exquisite, a soft and delicate touch that soothed even the most deep licks of a swords, some of the scars on his body even closing up. Slowly at first, strength unlike anything he had ever experienced before began pouring through his body, his muscles tightening and slowly expanding outwards. His heart pounding inside his chest like a bass drum, each beat like a pickaxe striking stone. With a loud snapping, the iron binding his hands tore and he collapsed to his knees.

"What devilry is this?" Gaunt demanded, nearly dropping his sword and staggering backwards as Ewoden's size began increasing, his feet arching upwards from the ball. The nails on the end of each toe and finger expanding forwards, becoming jet black and serrated claws. The others prisoners, human and vampire alike quickly backed away from him and the guards were too stunned by his transformation to stop them. Every tooth in the former Sarafan's mouth became sharp and dagger like and slowly the face pushed outwards into a snout.

His ears changed first on the face, pushing themselves upwards to the top of it's head and gaining a pointed edge. The green eyes were quickly contaminated and changed to yellow, the pupils mutating to feline like silts. Fur the same fiery colour as his hair began growing out across his back, spreading out like a moss over his torso, then his arms and legs and finally branching out in a bushy tail behind him. The change complete, the mind of the former Sarafan was lost underneath a glossy coating of hungry and animalistic instinct. This new creature stood up on bi-pedal legs and arched it's back, howling into the night; it's outline silhouetted by the moon.

"Werewolf!" One of the crossbowmen shouted, raising his weapon. With speed that defied explanation, the beast darted across the distance between them and sliced the man's armour open with one swipe before he could fire. Knocked off balance, the man staggered backwards and let himself wipe open. The mistake cost him dearly as the wolf ripped open his rib cage with it's claws, crimson staining the air. It's jaws closed around flesh and for the first time, it fed. The feeling of the kill, the life slowly draining through it's claws and then to top it off, the feast. The sensation of raw flesh thick with blood running down his throat, the indescribable thrill of feeling the heart slow to a stop between his teeth. It was exquisite.

The prisoners had run off with the crowds, but the guards were far too preoccupied to notice. Archers raised their bows and fired several arrows at the creature. Irrupted from it's meal, the wolf ducked under the volley before using the momentum in it's legs to leap high into the air.

With the acrobatic skill of a cat it landed on the battlements of the outer wall and started running on all fours along the edge, darting past startled guards who could do nothing to stop it.

"Kill it! KILL IT!" Graunt was screaming from below as he placed his helmet on his head with one hand and grabbed his oversized sword off the ground with the other. The archers were trying, but this creature was just too fast. Sliding on the side of the wall, the wolf leapt through the air and tackled one of the men to the ground, it's teeth tearing out a huge chunk of flesh from his shoulder. The man screamed in utter pain, but that cry was quickly silenced as the wolf broke his break by smashing a paw against the side of his head.

"Perish foul beast!" Several archers managed to get lucky, their arrows sinking into the wolf's back and bedding themselves there. Howling, the wolf wielded on them and charged but was intercepted by Graund; who launched into a ferocious attack with his sword. Not expecting the blow, the creature lest itself open to attack. The searing sting of the blade cut deep into left arm. The sword he was using was made of silver, that was painfully released as the metal stung then flesh like acid.

The creature slid around the distance of the sword's length, striking out with the claws on it's front paws whenever it could, carving giant claw marks down the knight's armour. Piece by piece the beast hacked away, carving it's way to the soft flesh underneath. But finally, the knight scored a blow to the creature's right shoulder forcing it to retreat back across the courtyard. Blood was staining its fur and the wound itself was foaming as the metallic substance burned the allergic flesh.

Hungry would drive the wolf to attack and attack again, but a voice of reason, perhaps what remained of the human half told the beast that risking it was not wise. That sword could kill it. This prey was too well armed, best to travel on and find food elsewhere. Accepting the animalistic logic, the wolf darted to the side and bolted for the gate into the city itself.

"Don't let it get away!" Graund shouted to the archers, to raised their bows and fired another volley, with only one of them hitting the beast on the back of the left leg. Despite a limp it kept going. As the wolf neared the gate, the portcullis came down sharply threatening to cut off it's line of retreat. Despite the nagging pain it's left leg, the beast carried on running as fast as it could. The portcullis slammed into the ground but too late as the tail of the wolf whipped past it and the beast escaped into the city of Willendrof.

Seeing the demonic wolf, it's claws and fur stained with blood, every citizen started running for their lives. Sighting the nearest one, the wolf pounced on the young male; raising it's claws tearing to tear into the flesh. The human screamed and cowered on the ground, eyes transfixed in fear as the beast raised it's claws.

t the last second however, a form came darting out of an alleyway to slam directly into the beast knocking it off the human giving it time to pick itself up and run. Recovering from the blow, the wolf darted back across the street to see what had stopped it. It was another of his kind, another werewolf. The fur on this one was jet black apposed to ginger and hung greasily over the long limbs. The teeth already barred, a warning growl escaping it's lips.

Tolerating competition for food was against every animal instinct running through the creatures body. So it simple spread it's arms howled once and leapt forward blood lust burning in it's eyes. The second wolf met it half way and tackled it to the street.

Sarafan archers had arrived on the battlements above the gate and were armed with silver arrows, several of them al ready preparing shots. Pinning it with it's back legs, the second wolf brought it's arm up sharply began throwing it down in a fist smashing the road, the resonating thud echoing through the streets of the city province. The stone began to crack spreading out like a spiders web before it began crumbling completely as the after math of the shockwave trembled through it. Even before the arrows were away the two creatures were sent tumbling into the darkness of the sewer below.