Chapter XXII: Prisoner
She knocked on the door, all the while fiddling with the collar of her new uniform. The stiffness of the fabric chafed her sensitive skin, especially around her neck and wrists where the collar and cuffs were buttoned tight. The dark haired girl wondered if it truly was a physical discomfort she was feeling due to the coarse material, or whether it was the fact that she was wearing the uniform itself that was the problem. For years she had went out of her way to avoid the men clad in the dark gray dress of the SS, and now here she was, one of them.
A traitor.
That was what the others in the neighborhood had called her. Not to her face, of course, but she had heard their whispering. Frankly, it annoyed her to no end. Couldn't they see that she was doing this for them? That she was putting on this awful uniform for their sakes? Because of her current position things in the neighborhood were so much better than they used to be. Regular supplies and necessities were being delivered to her uncle's shop, supplies that allowed her neighbors to buy the essentials they needed to survive. Even the SA were less of a presence there; none of those thugs dared to come anywhere near her neighborhood to harass its residents.
But still, the people who lived there resented her. They whispered about her behind her back. They looked upon her with distrust as well as disgust. She had even heard one girl, a girl she had once thought of as a friend, call her a "nazi's whore" during an overheard conversation.
But the betrayal that hurt most though was Greta. She had always been close to her cousin, ever since both were small children. In the past, she thought of the older blond girl as a sister. But now even dear Greta seemed to hate her. Before accepting the Major's offer, Gretal was always so warm and forthcoming with her, and the two of them could share any secret. Nothing could break them apart. Now though her cousin was icily polite and indifferent. Greta no longer wished to spend time with her whenever she finished work or her studies. She barely said two words to her since she had accepted the position with Millennium, and to be frank, her cousin's rejection cut into her like a knife.
Her uncle had seen Greta's treatment of her and sympathized; he had whispered a promise that he would talk to his daughter, ask her to stop being so cruel. She would often hear the father and daughter arguing, sometimes quite loudly, about how she was being treated, but Greta would not be swayed. The blond girl remained ever cold whenever the two of them would meet. Eventually, the dark haired girl found herself returning her cousin's disdain, until one day the two just stopped bothering to interact. They became ghosts to each other, ignoring each other's presence, both trying to pretend the other didn't exist.
Thankfully, things with her mother and father were a bit better. Her wage as a member of Millennium was substantial, enough that her mother could quit her job at the factory. The Major had also pulled a few strings and her father was able to get a position at a local institute. It wasn't as prestigious as his previous job at the university, but it was still a teaching position.
"It's a start," her father had told her with a smile when he began his first day, ever optimistic that things would get better.
Despite her misgivings, her father was right. Things were getting better, at least for the people she knew. Outside her neighborhood, though, things were vastly different. Jews, as well as those others who did not fit into the new vision of Germany Hitler was building, were not faring quite as well. She tried not to think of them, of their plight and the injustices they were currently suffering. She had enough to deal with taking care of her own family, after all. Like her father had said, Germany was in transition. After a bit more time, when the economy rose and emotions settled down, things would get better. The country would recover.
The dark haired girl fiddled with her tie and tugged at her collar before once again reaching up to knock on the door. After the third knock, a cheery voice from the other side shouted, "Enter!" The girl took a deep breath and pulled at one of her braids, making sure both plaits of dark hair were straight and untangled, before turning the knob and entering.
Inside the large office was the same chubby man in the SS uniform that had visited her uncle's shop to recruit her some weeks back. He was seated behind a dark wooden desk reading through a large stack of paperwork, the pale hazel eyes behind the spectacles shining with what seemed like ever-lasting amusement.
"Ah, Second Lieutenant #######! Glad to see you again!" the Major greeted with a smile as she stood before him and saluted. "Come, come. Have a seat. Would you like a drink? Tea, perhaps?"
The dark haired girl shook her head as she sat in one of the small, stiff-backed chairs in front of his desk. "No, thank you, sir. You wished to see me?"
"Yes, yes. I just wanted to congratulate you on your performance yesterday," the Major shuffled through one of the large piles of papers on his desk, flipping through the sheets until he found what he was looking for. "Ah!" The blond man pulled out a folder and flipped open its contents with relish. "Here we go! The results for your evaluation. Hmm…" He swiftly skimmed through the notes, his lips twisting up into a pleased smile. "Yes, yes! Just as I thought, near perfect scores all around. Marksmanship is superb, as I thought it would be, as is your physical health, though you seem to have a history of migraines."
"Yes, Major," she spoke, a bit embarrassed that this man she barely knew had access to her medical exam results. "I've had them since I was a child."
"Hmm, hardly matters, I'm sure it's nothing," the man muttered as he continued reading the file. "Ah, but most interesting are these results. You scored seventy-eight percent correct on the card test, forty percent on the insight test. Oh, and you managed to find eight out of ten mice in the M3 test. Very impressive. Your extra sensory abilities score quite high."
"Thank you, sir." The girl could only nod and smile at the man's praise. Internally, she frowned, as she recalled those last set of strange tests the doctors had her perform. It was a series of bizarre trials, where they had her pick out shapes from a pile of cards, or had her try to guess the next image that would pop up from a random set that was projected onto a screen in front of her. Another test had her searching for some mice that the researchers had hidden inside an enclosed room, a task that she needed to complete within five minutes. She had no clue what those strange men in lab coats were attempting to ascertain from such bizarre examinations, but they had to have been important if the Major was gushing about her results so much.
"Oh, no, my dear. Thank you! You may not believe so at the moment, but your aid is allowing us to advance science and the progress of the German people! You should be quite proud of yourself!"
"I am, Major. Thank you for this opportunity." The girl gave the chubby man her most earnest smile. Despite the man before her being a Nazi, he had still done much to help her family and friends. She had to be grateful for his assistance, if nothing else.
"You are most welcome, and it is my pleasure to have you with us." The man grinned, then reached for one of the files atop the piles on his desk. "Anyway, on to more banal matters." He picked up a folder and handed it and its contents to her.
"Sir?" The dark haired girl asked as she took the thick envelope from him.
"Inside are official notes and forms, some of which you will need to sign, so that we can change your name." Seeing the girl's eyes grow wide at his words, the Major shook his head and smiled sadly. "I know, I know, it's such a bother. But this is all for your sake, you must understand. It's been brought to my attention that your surname is a bit too… Semitic for our ranks. Many in our organization feel that it would be best if your moniker were changed to better suit the ideals of the National Socialist German Worker's Party." The blond man shrugged, looking just a bit put out. "It's merely for appearance's sake, you see."
"Y-yes. I see." The girl bit her lip, unsure of how to take this news. She had realized that taking up this position with Millennium would call for sacrifices on her part, but she didn't realize that she would be losing her own name. As she opened the folder and began to skim through the documents, she idly wondered what her parents would say when they heard this news. Her mother would probably be angry as she hadn't wanted her to take up the Major's offer to begin with, but she wasn't sure how her father would react. He was a prideful man, most would say overly so. Although he was greatly in favor of her joining Millennium, would his opinion change once he learned that she had to change her name, to abandon his, all so that she could pretend that half her heritage didn't exist?
As she quietly mulled over these thoughts, one line of text in the documents she was skimming through caught her eye. She pursed her lips as she read through the line, a tight frown of distaste forming on her face. The line she was reading was the one that contained her new name, the name that the Major had chosen for her.
"Rip Van Winkle?" the girl asked, her blue eyes moving off the page to find her superior leaning against his desk grinning at her.
"Yes, I thought it quite apt. It is from an old American folk tale. Have you heard of it?"
The girl shook her head no.
"Ah. Well, it is a very good story." The Major leaned back into his chair and chuckled. "It is about a man who falls into a deep, dark sleep. His slumber is so long and immersive that he doesn't wake up for a long, long time. But once his long sleep ends, once he finally awoke from that dark, immersed hibernation… he finds that the world has changed."
The Major leaned forwards, his elbows atop the desk with his gloved fingers entwined in front of his face. Behind his shiny spectacles, the hazel eyes were shining bright with almost manic glee. "This name is very apt for you, my dear. I see you as that man in the story, sleeping soundly through the years. But once you wake up… oh yes! Once you awaken…"
The Major then smiled. This smile was not silly, or joking, or anything like whatever other benign smirk he usually wore. This current smile he wore was the same smile a wolf has when he is just about to sink his teeth into a cornered deer's neck.
"Once you awaken, Rip Van Winkle… you will change the world."
0
Rip's eyes fluttered open, and she cringed slightly to find that sunlight was touching her skin. She shook her head to clear the cobwebs of the dream memories away; she did not have the luxury of worrying about them at the moment. Right now she needed her full concentration if she was to survive her coming ordeal.
Last night, after being captured by Baron Milan's cadre of vampires, she was bound and carried across the rooftops to Tristania's palace whereupon her shadowy captors entered through an unused back entrance. Still injured from her altercation with the priest from Iscariot, Rip had no choice but to let these sad excuses for vampires drag her around like a sorry sack of potatoes. They took her past the walls, silently making their way through the shadowy alcoves and down the deeper dungeons into the bowels of the palace. The dark group passed numerous armed sentries on the way down, but the uniformed men only nodded at the vampire's leader before allowing them to pass through.
Eventually the group arrived in a large circular room. The floors were bare stone and swept of all dirt and other refuse, the surface of the hard material looking shiny and scrubbed clean. Along the eastern edge of the rounded walls were six large but barred windows, each open to the night sky which allowed bright moonlight to pour into the otherwise dark room. At the center of the cell a pair of shackles hung from chains attached to the high ceiling; the metal from the restraints were strange as they shone blue in the moonlight and had several complex runes etched into the chains.
A thin middle aged man met her vampire captors inside the room, and from his smell Rip could tell that he was human. The man was dressed in the robes of a mage, though the lack of finery and bright coloration upon them denoted him as more of a scholar than a ruling class noble.
"Is this the specimen?" the human asked the lead vampire rather gruffly, his small eyes shining wildly as he looked Rip over. His voice sounded wheezy, as if he had trouble remembering to breathe on occasion. "She doesn't seem like much."
"It's her," the female vampire stated. "Don't let her appearance fool you, Professor Lambert. This… creature killed Baron Milan and almost took down his ghoul." The woman frowned for a moment, mulling over her thoughts before continuing. "The information we were sold is also accurate. This woman is the Gandalfr, as the runes upon her left hand will testify to."
"Oh?" The thin man walked forwards and yanked up Rip's bound hands, pulling off her left glove to examine the runic symbols etched into the flesh. "Are you sure these are genuine?"
"Yes," the vampire replied. "I saw her do battle with Pope Victor's Black Inquisitor. She did quite well against him, and lasted longer than anyone on record who has ever stood up to that lunatic. More new information has sprung to light as well, as our observations on them allowed us to discover that this Father Montoya is the Windalfr, the so-called Right Hand. It would explain some of his impressive abilities, though not all."
"Is that right? Fascinating!" Professor Lambert dropped Rip's hand and began to tap his chin, his thick bushy eyebrows furrowing up in deep thought. "That means that His Holyness, or someone working for or within the Church, is a Void Mage as well! What does this mean, I wonder? The Left and Right Hands of God appearing all of the sudden. Questions, questions, so many questions! Bah." The man shook his head, then turned away and began to walk towards the hanging shackles in the center of the room. "Such quandaries can be answered later. Right now our concern is the specimen."
The vampires followed the mage, two of whom shoved Rip along with them.
"Chain her," the human stated, and her vampire wardens were quick to follow his instructions.
"Vhat are you doing?" Rip protested as two of the cloaked vampires pulled her towards the center of the room before yanking her arms up and clamping a manacle to each wrist. Rip grit her teeth as the two men were not at all gentle in their ministrations; her broken left wrist exploded in agony upon the rough handling and she almost yelled out due to the pain.
"Quiet," the human mage chided. Lambert stepped over to a nearby desk where piles of books and scrolls had been laid out. He took up a quill and began to scribble some notes on a blank parchment, absent-mindedly muttering to himself as he did so.
Rip glared at the man, not at all liking his attitude. He reminded her too much of a younger, less creepy Doktor. She struggled with the chains of her restraints in futility, her body much too weak and injured to prove effective in breaking free. Sadly, Rip had the feeling that even if she were in prime health, the shackles upon her wrists were most likely enchanted by some weird magical spell and would probably prevent even her full strength from breaking through them.
"Keep still," the lead vampire told her. "We will not harm you, despite how much we might wish to. Her Majesty has forbidden your death."
Whatever comfort Rip would have received from her statement was quickly stifled by Professor Lambert's words. "Thankfully, Her Majesty has tasked us with studying your physiology and finding your weaknesses. It shall be truly enlightening! Imagine, a whole new species of vampire! I cannot wait to get to work."
Rip whimpered in fear when the man opened a nearby satchel and began to lay out his equipment onto the desk. Several of the instruments looked to be made of silver, and very, very sharp.
"Y-you can't do this!" She said with gritted teeth. Her glowing blue eyes flicked over to the lead vampire, whose dark lips were twisted upwards into a content smirk.
"We can. And we will," the woman stated simply. "We serve the Crown, and you are a threat to it. We don't know who you are, we don't know what you are. All we know is who you claim to be, Rip Van Winkle."
The vampire sniper's blood ran cold upon hearing her name spoken aloud by her enemy. She supposed she should have known that they would discover her identity eventually, since these people had said that they worked for Princess Henrietta, who was Louise's close friend. It was still unnerving to be discovered though, after hiding her true nature for so long.
"My name is Daphne," the lead vampire told her. "You should know it, as you may wish to scream and beg me while the Professor here is cutting you open and fiddling with your insides."
"Bah! I do not 'fiddle,'" the human stated in an insulted tone. He continued to examine his tools, making sure the blades and saws were adequately sharp.
Rip directed a fierce glare at Daphne. "Me, beg you?" she stated coldly. "Don't make me laugh. You sink I vould be afraid of pathetic little monsters like you? You are nossing. I have met ze devil himself, had gotten so close zat I could smell his fetid breath. You and all your little blood-sucking cronies are nossing but toothless, neutered dogs at ze beck and call of a little girl sitting atop the throne of a veak, pitiful country in a vorthless, primitive continent on an insignificant, putrid vorld!"
The artificial vampire snarled, then spat a glob of bloody saliva onto the cold stone at her feet. "Beg you? Hah! Bitch, do your vorst."
Daphne frowned upon hearing her words, her pallid, porcelain-like features grimacing in distaste. Eventually, the vampire shrugged, before turning towards Lambert. "You heard her, Professor. She's all yours."
The thin man laughed. "Of course, Lady Daphne. With pleasure." He picked up a long, vicious looking scalpel and began to walk towards Rip's chained form.
What followed were hours and hours of pain.
Lambert started by slicing open her belly to observe her internal organs. It was obvious they expected her to heal as fast as the vampires of this world did, but upon seeing that she wasn't regenerating her captors panicked, with Daphne almost calling for a healer. Professor Lambert was able to calm his vampiric cohorts though, as he observed that the skin at the edges of Rip's abdominal wound had begun to stitch themselves together albeit at a much slower rate than native vampires. Although their initial scare had been eased, Daphne decided to err on the side of caution and forbade any more invasive surgical procedures. Lambert was at first irritated, but he quickly got over it as he still had other toys to play with.
For hours upon hours the tests commenced. They splashed her with blessed water. No reaction. They tossed salt in her face. No reaction. Casted a spell that flashed a bright, pulsing light in front of her. She flinched, but no adverse reaction. They stuck long blades of various metals into her arms and legs, making sure to avoid any vital areas in her body. No reaction from iron, steel, gold, nickel, or lead. They were quite pleased to see her skin darken and blood sizzle a bit when she was stabbed with a sliver of silver. Lambert cheerfully marked the data onto his notes.
The tests went on and on, and throughout the torture Rip held firm. She never had that big of a pain tolerance, so she knew that she wouldn't be able to hold back from crying and whimpering as they cut and burned her. But she managed to hold out and refused to scream, and she would be damned if she'd give these bastards the satisfaction of hearing her beg them for mercy. She had been through much, much worse than this, after all. Much worse.
Her captors also made her ingest numerous substances, all in order to gauge her reaction to them. She was made to drink some type of animal blood, either pig or cow she wasn't sure which, but that ended up with her vomiting all over herself and her brand new clothing. If her mind hadn't been so clouded with pain she might have complained about that. She was then made to drink a bottle of human blood, but since it wasn't fresh her body couldn't take it in. Rip had an even more violent reaction to ingesting that, as blood began to leak from her eyes and ears as well as her mouth.
"Curious," Lambert said as he marked down the results on his scroll. At least Rip thought he might have said something at the time. Drinking dead blood was not healthy for her kind, and she was feeling extremely nauseous and light headed. "It seems that this creature might only gain sustenance from blood if it is fresh from a living body."
"That's awful," Daphne stated. Funny, Rip thought. She actually sounded kind of sad. "Try the other samples. Hopefully we can find something to feed this creature without having to kill anyone."
They then began to force her to drink what tasted like sweat, as well as several batches of… other things. Mostly bodily fluids. Rip couldn't for the life of her figure out why they were doing that, but thankfully the disgusting feeding didn't last too long and she fell blissfully unconscious. She would have been grateful if she hadn't started dreaming.
Rip shook her head, banishing the recollections from the night before. She silently vowed that those responsible for all the pain and humiliation she had suffered would pay dearly. She'd get her revenge against Daphne, as well as that vile sadistic mage Lambert. Rip would kill them slowly, savor their suffering. That would happen later though; right now she had to concentrate on setting herself free.
Once more, the bound vampire pulled at the shackles clasped around her wrists. After only a few seconds of struggle against the metal restraints, Rip knew that it was futile. Her body was still very weak at the moment. Although she could tell that her wounds from the previous night had mostly healed, she hadn't fed in quite a while. In order to regain her full strength, she needed to drink some fresh human blood or her body would steadily grow weaker and weaker until she fell into a deep coma. That couldn't be allowed to happen. She had to get back to Louise-
"Millenium!" she hissed, angrily rejecting the stray thought. "I have to get back to Millenium. Ze Major vill need me…"
It was getting so hard to think. Her mind felt woozy. Slow. It couldn't just be from the lack of blood though, something else was affecting her. Was it all the filth that they fed her last night? Or did they do something else to her after she passed out? Was it a spell?
Rip's internal musings were cut off when she heard the door of her cell clang open. Through the haze of her foggy mind she could sense that there were four people outside her cell. Two of them didn't have heartbeats, which meant that they were vampires. The two that weren't entered the cell, stepping into the bright sunlight that filtered in through the barred windows overhead.
"Fascinating!" Professor Lambert stated with wide-eyed glee as he rushed over to her bound form and began to poke and prod her sore body. "The specimen is completely capable of withstanding direct sunlight! No other vampire in my knowledge has ever survived direct exposure to the sun's rays." The thin mage grabbed Rip roughly by the chin and lifted up her sloping head. He leaned in close, examining her dull eyes to check the dilation of her irises.
Huh, Rip thought absently as the man continued to examine her eyes. My glasses are missing. I wonder where I left them last.
"You mean you didn't know she was immune to the sun, yet you left her bound and locked in a room that was open to the dawn's light?" spoke up the human woman who had come inside the cell with him. She was tall, though not as tall as Rip herself, with short blond hair and dark green eyes. She was also clad in a coat of armor with both a sword and flintlock pistol strapped to her belt. A pristine white cape hung tightly around her shoulders, one that was marked with a rank symbol stitched in gold thread upon the shoulder. She was obviously a knight of some sort, one that served the royal family directly.
"Oh, come now, Chevalier de Milan. I know what I'm doing," Lambert snorted, sounding somewhat annoyed with his compatriot's chiding. He looked away from his examination of Rip, turning his head in order to address the female knight directly. "During my examination of the specimen last night, I was sure that she had many immunities that ordinary vampires just don't-"
His explanation was suddenly cut short when, in an explosion of motion, Rip van Winkle lunged her head forwards and sank her now razor sharp teeth into the mage's exposed neck. Lambert let out a short shriek that was cut off as soon as the vampire latched onto his flesh.
The knight cursed as she saw the previously docile prisoner suddenly attack the professor. She quickly drew her pistol and aimed its sights at the monster's head; unfortunately due to Lambert's panicked flailing, she could not gain an adequate target.
"Agnes, wait!" The vampire from last night, Daphne, called out from the shadows outside the cell. As much as she wanted to, she could not enter the bright, sun-lit room without bursting into flame. "Her Majesty wants the prisoner alive! Do not kill her!"
The knight, Agnes, cursed once more before jamming the pistol back into its holster. She then rushed forwards and grabbed Lambert's twitching shoulders, trying with all her strength to pull the poor man free from the vicious vampire's clutches. She considered herself a strong woman, as she trained both night and day in order to hone her body to its fullest so that she could serve the kingdom of Tristain to the best of her ability. Sadly, her strength was no match for the monster's. Try as she might, she just could not wrest him away from the vampire's jaws.
"Let him go!" The blond night shouted. She continued to pull at Lambert, then began delivering swift, crude blows to the dark haired woman's face in an attempt to free her jaws from the mage's neck. As the seconds ticked by Lambert turned paler and paler until his struggles began to cease, and his eyes slowly began to recede up into his skull.
The loud commotion brought three guards rushing into the cell, all of whom quickly joined Agnes in her attempts to free Lambert. Daphne once more warned them not to kill Rip, and the men tried their best to pull the hungry vampire off the now convulsing mage. Eventually the vampire let go of her prey and the guards were able to pull the man away. They rushed him to the other side of the sun-lit cell, as far away as they could from the shackled prisoner who had attacked him. Once the man was laid out onto the stone floor, Agnes checked his breathing while one of the guards grabbed his wrist and checked for a pulse.
"He's not breathing," Agnes stated. She looked down at the mage's sunken face. Only the whites of his eyes were showing within their sockets, and the sole color upon his pale flesh was the red from the torn, gaping wound in his throat.
The guard who was checking his pulse dropped Lambert's hand, then placed an ear against the man's chest. When he failed to hear a heartbeat, the guard looked up at Agnes and shook his head. "He's gone."
The female knight grit her teeth, then turned her furious eyes towards the dark haired woman who was hanging from a set of enchanted manacles bolted the ceiling. Gone was the confused, barely conscious waif that she had first seen when she entered the cell. In its place stood a lithe, dangerous beast.
Rip Van Winkle stood tall and confident, pushing up her chest as she stretched out the kinks in her back. After popping a few of stiff joints, the vampire met Agnes' angry stare and gave the knight a cheerful, friendly smile. The overall effect was somewhat ruined by her dripping, blood-stained lips.
"My, my," she told the knight in a light, affable tone. "You know, that vas ze first time I've ever eaten a mage." Rip then grinned, her teeth sharp like daggers. "Zey taste just like chicken."
0
Corporal Timson sighed as he and two other guardsmen laid out Professor Lambert's corpse atop an old wooden table in one of the lower dungeon's store rooms. Although the young guard didn't know the mage very well, he had met the professor numerous times during his duties maintaining the mostly empty dungeon. The middle aged mage wasn't what he would have called friendly, but unlike most other nobles within the palace the man didn't treat him or the other guards like vermin that were beneath notice.
"What happened to him?" the young man asked one of the guards who had brought the body in.
"You don't want to know, boy. Trust me," the older man stated. He brushed at his tunic, causing the younger guard to note several splotches of red upon the white cloth. The older guardsman stared down at the dead mage, then said, "Cover him up, will you?" before rushing out of the room.
Timson sighed, shaking his head at the professor's body. He frowned, feeling queasy upon seeing the grisly wound at his neck, but to the corporal that wasn't the worst part. Lambert looked horrifyingly pale, as if he had just had all the blood drained from his body.
"Poor old bastard," Timson said. He grabbed an aged, frayed tarp that had been strewn over a nearby barrel, then moved to cover the corpse with it. He suddenly jerked back in surprise when he saw the professor's face start twitching. The young man had almost screamed in fright, but then the body in front of him began to hack and cough.
"By the Founder! He's still alive!" The corporal rushed over to the convulsing form and pressed his hands to the mage's torn neck, hoping and praying that such an action would help the man continue breathing. "Help!" Timson shouted to the open door of the store room. "He's still alive!"
"What's all this racket?" called out his sergeant as the large, brawny guard clambered into the room.
"Sarge!" Timson shouted, turning his head to look back at the older man. "The professor! He's still alive!"
The corporal turned his attention back to the twitching body on the table, but upon seeing Lambert's face the young man's blood turned cold and his eyes widened in terror. Laying upon the table was not a man, but a monster. It still had Lambert's thin face, of course, but there was no way this… thing was Lambert. Its eyes were wide open and glowed with an unearthly violet light. Its skin was a mottled shade, the color of a fresh bruise. And its mouth… dear God, its mouth. Within the gaping maw grew long, barbed fangs that dripped ooze and bile.
Timson screamed as the creature's suddenly clawed hands grabbed him by the shoulders, its unholy strength pulling him down into those fangs.
0
Rip Van Winkle watched, and waited.
She was currently still shackled, still in the same circular cell. It had been about half an hour since she had fed on that idiot Lambert, and she grinned happily as she could still feel his warmth within her belly. It was amazing what a difference a meal made. She was no longer tired, or dizzy. Her mind felt sharp, like a sword's edge.
Three guardsmen, fully enclosed in plate armor, stood sentry around her clutching pole arms. They made sure to stay well away from her reach, and Rip could smell the alluring scent of their fear as the men's sweat dripped from within the armor. It was almost funny, watching all those formally dressed knights and soldiers, clad in armor and regulation finery, running around in an almost panic as they tried to decide how to handle the situation.
Rip glanced over at the Knight, Agnes, who had taken full command. She was ordering everyone around and trying her best to lose herself in the rank and file of the military machine. Giving orders, receiving orders, all of it were just attempts to forget that only minutes ago she had let a man die on her watch. She was a fool, thinking she was in control; any true commander would have seen that things were completely out of control.
Then there was Daphne, the vampire dog. Rip turned her head to observe the vampire, who in turn was observing her. Daphne and her lone compatriot stood in the shadows by the cell doors, trying to keep out of the guardsmen's way. They stood stock still, attention fully focused on her. On Rip Van Winkle, their helpless prisoner. Or not so helpless, as they had discovered. The two native vampires probably thought that they were in no danger from her; after all, they were vampires, too. Powerful, unswayable, not like the poor weakling mortals that scuffled about around them. They probably thought that they were in control as well. In control of themselves, and of her.
Oh how wrong they were. How wrong they all were.
Rip Van Winkle stood where she was, silent and waiting. Unlike everyone else here, in this cell, in this dungeon, she remained calm and collected. Her breathing stayed steady. Her heart beat slow and steadfast. For unlike them, Rip Van Winkle was in control.
The vampire sniper sighed contentedly and tilted her head back, listening with her enhanced hearing as some several floors below her came the sounds of screaming and the clamoring of swords. They were much too faint for the humans, and even the native vampires, to hear through the layers of rock and stone. But her unholy and artificial senses allowed her to listen, and to feel. Her sixth sense granted her the ability to observe as, one by one, heartbeats stopped and the screaming turned silent. It wouldn't be too long now until her children emerged from the deeper levels of the dungeons and came for her.
"What the hell are you smiling about?" Agnes asked angrily.
Rip widened her eyes in faux shock. "Oh! Es tut mir leid." She apologized.
"Stop looking so smug," the knight told her. "I don't know what Her Highness has planned for you, but you are never getting out of here. Not if I can help it. So don't try anything stupid like that again. There is one of you, and an army of us. You won't make it very far, even if you did break those chains."
"Oh, yes. I agree," Rip told her with a nod. Agnes frowned, then shook her head and looked away. Rip had to suppress a grin. It wouldn't be long now until she had an army of her own. Then we'll see who is in control of whom.