[WHFRP 2nd Ed] Reign in Blood (IC I)

[BananaPhone]

Regine von Carstein

Steel rang in the broken shafts of the abandoned mine as Regine was fighting a withdrawing battle - her attention split between the advancing, hacking norseman before her, bellowing and swiping with his axe, and the magenta particles of fog that crawled forward ominously through the air towards her. Behind them still was the fiery man-sized pillar of the former shaman, the bores in its face glaring at the vampire as if studying her.

The mist neared close enough, its vaporous make-up materialising into an almost spear-like protrusion that stabbed forward at the vampire's body, but Regine darted to the side - her own weapon brought up and parrying the Norscans over-head axe-blow. Making the opening she needed, the thief twirled on the spot and brought her sword about in an arc, the sharp blade connecting with the right thigh of the raider and, compelled by the vampire's strength, sliced through and severed the limb from the mans body. The roar of pain filled the mine-shaft as the Norscan toppled diagonally, landing on his back and gripping uselessly at his wild, pivoting, gory stump, bellowing and screaming as blood spouted from the hideous wound and across the compacted earth floor.

The scent of the crimson filled the air and worked its way into Regine's nostrils, threatening to distract her from the moment. Cat-quick and agile, the vampire turned her body on the side and jumped backwards, drawing her arms together to half twirl once, twice, three times, landing on one foot each time to bridge the distance, her mind wracked with how she was going to fight the air itself -

The box.

Regine's eyes widened as she remembered the small device she had first encountered when entering the cave, its blasphemous inscriptions and runes marking it as a toy of the followers of chaos. Pulling herself back again and again, her body twisting to avoid the lancing extensions of the vapor, Regine finally opened the distance to spring back towards the entrance barely a dozen yards behind her, the Norscans gargling screams melting away to nothing as she did so.

There! The small, ugly contraption was still there, but she had barely a second to spare. Already she could hear the cold, hissing drawing closer from a foe she could not cleave and the crackles of flames behind it. Trusting her intuition, Regine somersaulted forward and came up on her knee's, snatching the steel box in both hands and spinning about to face the inexorable mist where she held it up as if in presentation, before switching open that latch.

Nothing happened.

For a moment.

Then a deafening roar gouged its way through the caverns of the mine as if the mountain itself was inhaling the atmosphere with a great intake. Regine felt her clothes whip around her body and her hair flail against her features as she could see the vapor, trying in desperation as if conscious of itself, dematerialising to stretch itself further, to clung to any surface that could offer the salvation of friction to halt its flight, but there was none. A cold shriek like a thousand screaming worms ripped through Regine's ears as the magenta cloud was drawn into the box she clasped in her hand, its obscuring haze rescinding from the mine shaft to reveal something even more curious - the burning shaman. The white, melted orbs that were his eyes no longer possessed the smug confidence of merely a minute ago. Instead they had widened, molten mouth gaping open in a silent scream as the crackling, orange flames were ripped from his body, stretching across the air and into the device the vampire gripped until finally his roar became the audible screech of a man in flesh.

Snapping the latch shut, the box now warm to the touch, Regine stumped forward, her guise a mess and her own black hair tangled about her face. But that wasn't all: the shaman was still present. His form was like cooked flesh as steam wisped from his split and charcoaled body, his agonized groans mixing with the cracking of burned tissue scraping against adjacent meat as he tried to move.

Spotting the spear she had dropped earlier, the vampire picked the weapon up, drew it back over her shoulder and hurled it at the Shaman, watching with a satisfying eye as it lanced through the air, struck him clean between the pectoral muscles and punctured right through to protrude two feet behind him. There was no gasp, no audible scream, just open, burned eyes, a mouth in gaping, silent agony, then he toppled forward, dead.

Collecting herself and composing her attire, Regine rolled her shoulders and retrieved her things.

"Give my regards to your gods, outlander," she hissed to the dead shaman, before approaching the now-dead Norscan whose leg she had cleaved off earlier. Unceremoniously, she reached down and grabbed him by the scruff of the collar and hoisted him off the ground as if he weighed nothing, and sunk her fangs into his neck and drank deep what hadn't yet bled out. Moaning gently, feeling that warm, sweet nectar of life flowing down her throat until it was dry, Regine tossed the corpse away as it landed in a broken heap on the floor, her mouth and jaw smeared with the red blood of her food and fangs glittering in the dim of the cave.

Cleaning her sword off on the mans clothes, the vampire proceeded deeper into the mine, the rancid scent of decay wafting from deep within...