Spoiler: Chapter 30 - Plunder and Pillage - Part 2
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“Do we know where we are going tomorrow?” Garvana asked.
“The docks,” Bor grunted, “Bugbears are afraid of ships, sea and sailing. Best bet is the docks haven’t been touched.”
“Indeed,” Pellius said, standing from his seat, holding his arm out to Willow, “We shall search the docklands tomorrow after dawn. For now, I will bid you two goodnight.”
Willow stood and took his arm, following him through the manor as they climbed the stairs. It was the realization of their close proximity that had her feelings of irrational need and hunger return. It took every ounce of willpower she had to restrain herself and keep her feet continuing forward. When they reached their bedchamber and he released her arm to walk forward, beginning to strip his shirt off, she whimpered as her fangs plunged down and tore her lip. As he pulled the fabric over his head, and her eyes followed the pale flesh of his back to his neck, she trembled with aching need. She had never felt such a peculiar and overwhelming sensation, something unlike anything she had ever experienced before. He craned his head to the side, stretching the muscles along his neck to release the built up pressure and tension. It was as the muscled clenched and flexed along his throat, that the groan slipped from her lips. He turned to her, his bare chest strong and firm, his wide shoulders broad and toned. Quickly, she spun away from him, clasping her hand over her mouth.
“Willow?” he asked worriedly, walking towards her, “Are you alright?”
“I am fine,” she rushed, swiftly stalking passed him towards the dressing room.
As she thought she was free to hide within the small chamber until the feeling passed, a firm grip on her wrist wrenched her backward. With ease, he pulled her around and forced her to face him. For only a moment, her eyes found his, before they flew to the bare column of his throat. She whimpered aloud, her fangs throbbing in ache, her lips struggling to keep them within her mouth.
“What is the matter with you?!” he demanded, frown furrowed deeply, “Tell me, now.”
Her eyes painfully drifted back towards his, and upon seeing the clear command within his gaze, she could do nothing back obey. Slowly, she let go of her lip, allowing her fangs to stretch to their full length. It took a moment for him to understand, but as it clicked, his forehead smoothed as his sly grin lifted. As he chuckled, the movement clenched and retracted his neck, drawing her sight rapidly back to its target. A rasping growl of a hiss expelled from her lips, as she struggled to keep control of herself. His eyebrows rose at the sound, and his grin only widened.
“It is merely the bloodlust,” he said casually, “It will pass. You can still consume food, so it is not imperative that you consume blood. Either way, we will find you someone to feed on tomorrow.”
Willow ‘s temper flared, chafing against the idea of being denied what she so desperately desired. She knew how easily he would overpower her if she tried to take what she wanted, so she prayed that he would feel the same need when presented with a willing and eager host. As he turned away from her to finish undressing and preparing for sleep, she silently undid the buttons of her high necked blouse. She stripped the shirt free and dropped it to the floor, her black corset cinching tightly on her waist, with her neck, chest and shoulders bare to the cold breeze drifting through the window. Although her skin felt the chill of the wind, the bloodlust swarmed in heat through her veins. She waited, slowly unlacing the strings of the corset, until finally he turned back to her. As he did, and her corset followed her blouse to the ground, she saw exactly what she was looking for. His fangs plunged from his mouth, his eyes alight with fiery hunger, an aching need coming over his face. For a moment, he hesitated. As if he abhorred the idea of either allowing her to feed from him, or allowing himself to feed from her. But the bloodlust must have been coursing through him as it did her, for he stepped forward with complete dominance and seized her in a frightening grip. Her breath came in short ragged bursts, her limbs trembling as the anticipation ached within her. With one swift plunge, he drove his fangs into her neck and quickly drew the blood from her veins. Her head flew back and she cried out in blissful agony, as he drank deep from the two slits on her throat. She felt her own hands clawing to gain perch, digging into his skin as she pulled her head upwards. A rasping hiss blew mouth her mouth as she found his neck, sinking her fangs into the column of his pulsing throat. As the scarlet warmth flooded her mouth, she whimpered in euphoric ecstasy. She had never imagined the taste of blood to be so sweet. She greedily gulped it down, drawing as much as she could between each breath. They held each other crushingly tight, mouths locked to their throats, groans of enraptured delight breaking the strange silence that had come over the room. Willow’s head began to spin, her legs weakening as she felt herself falling further into his embrace. As the pair slowly sank to the floor, knees intertwined and hands and nails clutching skin, she felt her sight darkening. Suddenly, the agonizing pull from her neck ceased, as she was torn from her hold on his throat. Haze clouded her eyes, hands trembling and knees straining to hold her weight. His baritone voice came through the fog.
“Too, much,” he growled, dragging her from her knees, throwing her towards the bed, “Too much.”
She felt her weight falling through the air, floating almost, as the soft caress of the mattress met her back. Her legs were lifted from the floor and dropped atop the bed, when his heavy weight fell next to her, shaking the padding beneath them. He drew her close, the heavy breaths tearing through his chest, mirroring her own. Slowly, the haze began to clear. Her acute senses sharp to feel every movement he made, every turn his blood made through his veins. As the strength slowly returned to her limbs, she was unable to stop herself from climbing atop his body. She slid her thighs on each side of him as he rose to meet her, his hands wrapping around the bare flesh of her back. As his lips met hers in a languid dance, she sighed deeply into his mouth. She felt utterly exhausted, in the most wonderful of ways. But as his kiss deepened and his hands searched further; the simmering fire within her built to frenzied roar, only matched by the one within him. Her touch became almost desperate. Hungry, aching, starving for more of him. With one hand in frightening grip in her hair, the other crushing her waist, he threw her to the side and his weight crushed her beneath him. As he thrust her head back to bare her throat, and his frustrated growl rumbled as he forced himself to keep from biting her again, he ripped her belt and trousers off in a single tear. When she saw the blazing inferno within his eyes, she knew it would be a long time before the night came to an end…


The beam of dawn sun light slowly traced its way across the room, eventually finding her still form as she stared into the mirror. As the fierce glare had burned harshly against her pale flesh, she had sealed the blinds and sat by glowing candlelight. Willow’s gaze pierced the glass plate, as a cold chill settled deep in her spine. There was no reflection staring back at her. She sat upon the cushioned stool, directly in front of the vanity, yet she saw only the chamber behind her. She could feel the tears that had welled in her eyes, as she pictured each arch of her bone structure, each dip of her lip line, each smooth swell of colour along her completion. She knew every detail of her face, pristine skin and deep red swirling eyes. Yet, she saw nothing. She could only pray that she would not forget herself.
She had awoken early, sore and sated, held tightly within Pellius’ arms. Yet, when she had risen from the bed, her legs had only been mildly stiff, the aches of her flesh only meagre and minimal. There had been nothing gentle about the previous night. The riotous way in which they had sated themselves should have left her almost unable to walk. But bar a few discoloured light bruises and a tender stiffness of the legs, she felt refreshed and eager to get moving with the day. She had checked over her neck by feel, yet the marks of his bite had completely disappeared. Somehow, she was healing faster. While he slumbered unaware, she had checked over Pellius’ throat and found no evidence of the night. If it weren’t for the slight smear of blood along the floor and pillows, she would have believed that it had all been a rather lecherous dream.
“Is something troubling you, my lady?” Pellius yawned, dragging his legs to the side of the bed.
“Nothing important,” she dismissed, unwilling to voice her thoughts.
As she looked to see him in the mirror, her brows lifted. He too, cast no reflection upon the glass. She turned to him, unable to control her grin as she eyed his glorious naked form.
He arched his brow to her, a sly smile on his lips, his hair as much a mess as hers.
“You are rather chirpy this morning,” he said, slowly strolling to her, bending down to gently kiss her on the cheek, “I was afraid I had actually been too rough last night. That is a first with you, I assure you.”
Willow grinned a mischievous smile, “Certainly not. Though, it seems as if something has changed, I feel nothing of the consequences of last night.”
“Nothing?” he asked, a harsh reprimand of warning in his tone.
She slowly arched her brow, “… nothing.”
His grin turned dastardly, “Alas, I will have to try harder next time.”
Willow quivered in excitement and premature anticipation at his dark promise. As he chuckled and turned to gather his clothes for the day, she thought over the peculiarity of the bloodlust and feeding.
“You do not suppose,” she asked awkwardly, “That each time we feed will be like that, do you?”
His hearty laugh echoed through the chamber, “I’d hope not, that would be quite troublesome. Not every meal would wish to follow through with the things we do.”
Willow smirked at his answer, but couldn’t shake the worrying frown.
“What will it be like?” she asked.
He turned back to her, a reassuring smile upon his lips.
“It will be like all other meals. Some nicer than others, but all much the same. There will be no sex involved in your meals. Well, most meals.”
He chuckled at his own joke, but Willow could not bring herself to follow.
“Pellius,” she said quietly, “I am serious. If it is not usually like that, then what is it like? And why was last night the way it was?”
“You did not enjoy yourself?” he asked skeptically.
“Of course I did,” she snapped, waving a dismissing hand, “But please, explain it to me.”
He sighed, pulling his loose trousers on before walking to her and taking a seat by her side.
“I had a contact in Cheliax who was afflicted by the vampiric curse, and he lived a very normal life. Well, normal as a vampire can be. When we met over dinner, he would simply feast on the servants. He knew enough to know when to stop to keep them alive and able to continue their duties. There was no desire for carnal satisfaction, they were merely food. Last night was probably more than just simple feeding. When the bloodlust takes hold, you can end up in an uncontrollable frenzy, that is why it is imperative to feed regularly. I had assumed as we are still coming into the transformation and can still tolerate food that we would be safe from it for a while longer. But perhaps paired with another uncontrollable need, the bloodlust manifested in unison.”
Willow smirked at his insinuation, but understood his meaning clearly. It was an intimidating prospect, the knowledge that she knew little of something so vital as feeding herself. Soon, she would not need the intake of food. Soon, she would crave only the blood of sentient beings.
She thought on the hazed memory that she had, vaguely remembering he had been in control enough to stop them when they had begun to go to far.
“You stopped us,” she said, “You said we had taken too much.”
“Yes,” he nodded, tracing his fingers over her neck where the bite marks should have been, “You can drain a vessel completely. If you keep drinking, they will fall unconscious and eventually die. We were drinking far too much; we could have easily killed each other. Though I am unsure whether that is possible. I have never heard of two vampires being able to drain each other, as they are usually undead, and the undead have no running blood to drink.”
“Undead,” she repeated, still getting used to the idea, “It is a strange thought.”
He smiled, leaning forward to lay a gentle kiss on her forehead before standing from the chair and returning to his morning ritual.
“You will get used to it,” he said easily, “You do not have much choice any longer.”
“No,” she said softly, turning back to the empty mirror, “I suppose I do not. It has already truly begun. Do you know what I will miss? The dawn rise of the sun. Moreover, I will miss the setting at dusk.”
“My lady,” he said gently, “You are focusing on the negatives. Think not on what you are losing, but rather all that you are gaining.”
“I am not focusing,” she shook her head, “I am merely longing. The cycle of the world has always been a fascination. Mitra speaks of the sun rising to usher away the darkness, yet the darkness will always return. It is a fitting metaphor. We are the darkness, come to usher out the ways of the Shining Sun’s light.”
He returned to her side as he lifted her chin to his sight.
“Then, my lady,” he smiled, “I shall find a way to bring the sunset back to you…”

Clad in full armour and weapons, dark and menacing steel of black, they prowled the streets of the ruined city. Bor had been correct in his assumptions, superstition and fear had kept the bugbears from thoroughly looting the warehouses along the docks. They searched through the cold buildings that were left stale and silent, and strolled along the quiet boardwalks that lingered over the sea. The treasures they found were not piles of golden and silver coins, but strange curiosities and peculiar rarities. Willow found a small trinket, shaped like a paint brushed, imbued with strange magic that painted small creations into life. She had never been particularly skilled with a paintbrush, so as she tested the trinket and tried to paint a small blade, she ended with a crooked and jagged chunk of steel. She laughed as she threw the chunk into the pile of debris that had amassed by the door, slipping the brush into its box and stowing it in her pouch.
They spent most of their day scouring the harbor in leisure, collecting the strange contraptions and various trinkets, pocketing a small fortune of wealth along their travels. As they decided lastly to search an abandoned alchemists hut, before turning in for the evening, Pellius dragged the jarred wooden door open. The side of the shop had been hit by something large as it had thundered passed, the eastern wooden wall lay in splinters along the floor. As Willow toed through the room carefully, her slight frame putting little pressure on the destruction beneath her feet, she eyed a row of untouched potions along the far wall. As she picked her way delicately along the debris, she felt the distinct crush of glass and liquid beneath her foot.
“Get out!” she cried, instinctively diving from the wreckage towards the door.
The ruins rumbled with forceful arcana, a great blazing inferno rippled from beneath the wood, flaring high from the sides of the debris. Willow was quick enough to tumble passed the others, narrowly avoiding the reach of the searing lick of the flame. Pellius was not as lucky, his hefty solid armour slowing his escape, the brunt of the fire scorching his flesh and clothing. As they retreated swiftly, a trembling pulse shuddered the ground beneath them. It was a vial of alchemist’s fire that had crushed and released, its unchecked rage blazing within the wooden hut, the tremendous heat melting the other vials upon the shelves. In a catastrophic explosion, the wood blew apart, an array of coloured beams in different hues and tones swarming high into the sky.
“Is everyone alright?” Willow panted as they watched the magnificent inferno from afar.
“Mostly,” Pellius grunted, bright red skinned patches upon his hands and face.
“I think that is enough for one day,” Garvana huffed, “That was far too close for comfort.”
Pellius scoffed, “Agreed.”

It was on the return trip through the outskirts of Tythers that a scuttle of boots upon gravel pricked Willow’s ears to the east. She stopped in her tracks, signaling for the others to continue as they made move to stop along with her. Willow quietly crept back to the intersecting roads they had passed, peeking down the eastern shadowed alley. At the far end of the passage, she saw a man dressed in peasant’s clothes scampering in a hurry around the corner. She felt herself grinning, the temptation of the chase too delicious to ignore. She quickly signaled Pellius, telling him to continue on for her to meet up with them later at the manor.
“Vystrynivvi,” she whispered, activating the arcana within the ring on her finger.
Her skin rippled as the invisibility took hold, running on light feet down the cobblestone road in pursuit of the mysterious man. When she reached the corner he had turned down, she slowed her steps, prowling silently ahead. She followed him through the winding back streets of Tythers, eyes sharp and keen, stride soundless and sleek. When he finally came to a stop, he looked around warily to be sure he had not been seen or followed. Willow smirked as he bent and lifted the metal grate to the sewers, before he lowered himself down. She waited until his soft footsteps echoed away before silently following him into the passage. Tiptoeing by the right of the putrid stream, she tracked him by the sound of his steps, winding through the underground system of tunnels. She stilled to a halt as she rounded the corner and saw him pulling aside a cluster of hanging vines that fell from the grate above. He carefully pulled a hidden lever, one so well concealed that Willow was unsure if even her keen eyes would have been able to find it. As he hefted his pack on his shoulder, a doorway opened inward and he stepped through. She heard the lock click as the door closed behind him, and quietly crept forward in approach. Her fingers traced over the lever as she strained her ears to listen to the cavern within. She heard the chatter of a group of men, restless jabs and rumbling laughter, the sound of a band of mercenaries.
“Aint got much this time, Brueder,” grunted a voice in a thick slang, “Tythers been cleared out. New group in town, aint bugbears, they human. Don’t look like the type ya wanna cross. Got passed ol’ maggie’s an’ got outta there.”
“They workin’ with the bugbears?” Breuder responded, “And the bugbears haven’t eaten them?”
“Seems if they scared of the humans,” the man replied scandalously, “They steer clear of ‘em!”
As the other men began to speculate on who the new visitors were, Willow silently lifted the lever, quickly stepping through the doorway. She knew their eyes could not perceive her, though she was still cautious to keep her movements slow and utterly quiet.
“Barney ya ****,” whined one of the men, “Ya left the door open again.”
Barney, the scout that had led Willow to their den, rose from his seat and sighed. He took a few clips to the head as he trudged to the door, passing directly by Willow, who had flattened herself against the wall. He pushed the door until it clicked shut, pulling on the handle a few times to make sure it had closed. When he returned to his seat, Willow took the time to look around the small chamber. At quick count, there were roughly twenty men and four women lazing about the room, dressed in tattered stained clothes and roughly worn scuffed boots. Either holstered to their hips or resting by their sides were short swords and daggers of shoddy and poor quality. Sitting at the head of the rabble, was a man who looked more like he should have been behind a desk in an office rather than crouched within a hidden chamber in the sewers. Dark and tousled hair, slight rough stubble on his chin, keen and shrewd blue eyes. With a finely made curved blade strapped to his belt, a somewhat dusty satin button up shirt, Willow figured he was the leader and the one they called Brueder. As she watched him laugh easily with his men, she was struck with an idea. There was opportunity to be had, though she knew not what he could offer her yet. She drew her blade from its sheath and silently crept along the outside of the chamber. As she approached him from behind, his brow furrowed, noticing something was wrong – a few seconds too late. Taking lead as Switch would, she swiftly wrapped her arm around him, drawing her blade tightly to his throat. As her invisibility vanished and she rippled into sight, the men let out startled and stirred shouts.
“Woah woah there missy,” Brueder chuckled hastily, staying his men with his hands, “There’s no need for any rash actions.”
Willow grinned towards the crowd, knowing her point had been well made. She released him, spinning her blade in her fingers. She traced her hand along his shoulder before pulling the nearest wooden stool towards her, turning to face him and sitting, leaning her elbows casually upon her knees.
“That’s quite the introduction,” he laughed, hushing his band and dismissing their worry, “Quite the skillset you’ve got there too. I’d be guessing you’re running those new folks in town.”
She smirked, “You’d be guessing correctly.”
“Ah,” he nodded, “Don’t claim to know your business, but I hear you guys got the bugbears running scared. You working with the Fire-Axe?”
“Perhaps,” Willow shrugged, “And you? You’re quite content hiding in the sewers?”
“Well no mam we ain’t,” he chuckled, “But here we’ll stay ‘til the army clears out. Figure they’ll be here only ‘til they find somewhere new to go. You guys, you got a mission. I respect that. And I don’t want to get in your way. Me, I’m just a business man. My family did business before anyone ever heard of House Darius. And we’ll still be in business when they’re long gone. My stock and trade is information. All sorts of useful information. I could help you in ways you don’t even know.”
Willow cocked her head to the side, amazed at his easy and casual demeanor.
“I am listening,” she grinned.
“Daveryn,” he continued conversationally, “This is town is chump change. This isn’t what you want. You got your eyes on the big prize. Am I right? You want the crown and that means Matharyn.”
Her eyebrow arched high in intrigue.
“My name is Anton Breuder, cousin to Nicholas Breuder. Nikki, he’s based out of Ghastenhall but he’s got his fingers everywhere. He’s got people in Matharyn right now. You play ball with me, I’ll introduce you to them. I’ll set you up. The Fire-Axe took down Daveryn real easy. Let me assure you, the capitol is a different matter. They will defend Matharyn to the bitter end. You need people on the inside and I can provide that. You kill me,” he said with raised eyebrows, “And you’ve proven that you easily could – you get nothing. What do you say? You want to make a deal?”
With her blade still twirling in her fingers, she couldn’t help but grin. She liked his confidence, she found nothing more pathetic than cowering. She had heard of Nicholas Breuder, though she had never met him. His men had been the ones to put her in contact with Switch, so very many years ago. She smoothly sheathed her dagger, leaning casually back against the wall.
“This deal of yours,” she said lazily, “Do you require anything more than keeping with your life? Safe passage through the city?”
He lips lifted into a smirk, “No thanks missy, rather stay here. The bugbears’ll leave eventually.”
“Then you’ve got a deal,” she shrugged, looking over the room, “I’ll have my men bring some food stores, rather pitiful what you’ve got here.”
“Much appreciated mam,” he nodded in thanks, “What we do have is some real Cerulean whiskey. Hey Sammy, fetch a couple’a glasses.”
The small man muttered his protest, but disappeared through the doorway and returned with two dirty tumblers. Brueder wiped the worst of the dirt away with his shirt, filling the cup with the dark liquid from the shining blue bottle he pulled from his side. When he held it out to her, she eyed it suspiciously with a raised eyebrow.
“Missy,” he chuckled, taking a showing sip from the glass, “I’m not so eager to die that I’d try poison’n you. You’d probably have my head clean cut off before you fell down.”
She conceded his point with a grin and took the glass he offered.
“Say, you folks staying round for a few days?” he asked, “Can probably help ya with your search. Us boys know a thing or two about the town.”
“I am not entirely sure how long,” Willow shrugged, “But I’m not one to turn down information.”
“Girl after me own heart,” he chuffed, “Right then. Well for the best looting you’d wanna go to Seaward.”
“There’s not much left after today,” Willow admitted with a laugh, “Most of it went up in flames.”
“Ah,” he frowned, “Well then, speaking of fire, ‘spose you know of ol’ Polydorus?”
“We’ve heard mention of him,” she replied.
“Right, you’d know the Seer has a tower named after him. Well he’s still there, throwing spells and fire at anyone who gets close. The other tower is in Duward, the Sable Tower, where the ducal regalia is stored. It’s all still there. There’s a camp of bugbears around it, but they haven’t gotten in yet. Beats me as to why, though we see ‘em go in, and only half of ‘em come out.”
“Interesting,” Willow commented, “Yet not unexpected. If the entrance takes more than brute force, they’ll be there until they wither themselves away to nothing.”
“Think you’d probably want to know that Harbold is still alive,” he said scandalously, as if the name warranted a dramatic response.
Unfortunately, Willow had not heard of him before, so the theatrics were lost on her.
“And he is…?” she asked.
“One mean ugly scarred son of bitch,” Brueder scoffed, “Captain Ricon Harbold, a die hard watch captain. Known for having the most elite and least corrupted squad in Daveryn; Harbold and his heart-breakers. The word about town is that he’s the one leadin’ the resistance.”
“Resistance?” Willow inquired, “I have heard only little of it. What do you know?”
“Heard reports of bugbears bein’ murdered in blind alleys, by somethin’ other than other bugbears. Apparently, they found an ogre head impaled on a iron spike.”
“And do you know where Harbold is hiding?”
“Think it’s somewhere in the sewers,” he shrugged.
“Anything more specific?” she droned.
“Sorry mam, when they show up, my boys don’t stick around.”
Willow threw back the last of the smooth whiskey, declining his offer for another.
“Lastly,” he finished, “Tandongate Prison in Cliffward is still secure. It’s been held by the warden, Arnon MacAnders. Ain’t no one breached that wall yet.”
“Well,” she said, leaning forward into a crouch upon the stool again, “Thank you. You’ve been most helpful. I’ll send my men along this afternoon.”
With a grin, she ripped her dagger free and pounced to his side in the blink of an eye, her blade pressed firmly into his neck as it forced his head up against the wall. Though startled and caught unaware, she appreciated the sly smile that lifted the corner of his lip.
“Think of turning on me,” she warned, her voice rasping with wicked sin, “Or your men think of taking more from mine than they offer – and next time, I wont be so nice…”