@Vampiretwilight
Sorry I haven't post anything yet, i'm just lost. so what is happen in the IC right now?
I bet you could read it and find out!
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I bet you could read it and find out!
It was indeed an auspicious time as the sunshine rose uninhibited by clouds above the hills of the Great Weald, bathing the battered and sun starved lands in a glorious explosion of yellow and gold. The vast open moors of rolling hills where spotted with patches of dark green and black, spoiled here and there by bright green patches of fen, stretching to the horizon. Many leagues to the North the snowcapped peaks of the Felmurg Mountains stood out starkly against a pure blue sky. Trickling brooks took on the appearance of frothing streams cutting between the hills in boggy lowlands of peat, heather, and and even the wind stunted junipers seemed to stand taller in the sunlight. Soft hills and green ridges crowned with plump carpets of moss highlighted the large and unusual caravan that now snaked its way into the Vampire lands.
The Dwarves were staring about them in wonder at the land that had once been their home and the various human guards had propped their helmets on their saddle horns, there was no danger of a Vampire atack on day like this. Even the slaver, made more hideous by the arrival of pure daylight, managed to looked both pleased and surprised. The whimpering from his wagons had even died away as bruised faces pressed themselves to the bars.
"I c'nay think o'a toime t'was so sunny 'ere..." He was enjoying the heat on his face, surprisingly strong now that the clouds had burned away and the sun beat down with a vengeance on a land long deprived of its life giving powers. Several of his thugs, and a few Vampire Hunters, all voiced their agreement. Solomon said nothing, just nodded.
They crested a small rise and standing before them, tendrils of mist still clinging stubbornly to its turrets, was the keep of Felboge, in sight at last. It was a redoubtable structure to be sure. Built upon the only true "hill" in the Moor, it was surrounded on all sides by a rampart of local cobblestone, buttressed by a moat of sharpened stakes while the green covered moor lapped against it like an unmoving ocean. Dozens of leathery hides of flayed prisoners pierced on iron nails hammered into the joints between the cobblestones. As if warning the garrison of their arrival, the wind kicked up from a gentle breeze and a heavy gust hurled itself against the high stones, tearing one of the affixed skins from its mooring and blowing it out into the distant moor. There might be a monster inside, but another monster now stalked the moors.
Guards, squinting heavily against the bright sunlight, greeted the caravan at the bottom of the hill before the road began to climb toward the fortress. The Dwarves bustled forward first, eager to receive the documents allowing them to continue their diggings in the east. Their permission received, they turned away from the Keep and began their march East, a song breaking out from their ranks as they went.
The slaver was permitted to turn aside to the town that huddled in the shadow of the Keep. The market grounds, long a barren and empty place, were already alive with colour and the swirl of trade as other merchants who had swarmed across the newly opened border sold their wares to an amazed local populace. This left the Vampire Hunters and a swarm of hopeful supplicants looking for leave to begin other businesses.
"You gentlemen will have to give up your weapons." Stated the guard commander, indicating the items carried now by Kane and his compatriots.
"This is not possible." Kane replied quietly. The guard commander looked stumped, never in his living memory had anyone refused an order from one of Baron Ulrek's soldiers.
"'Fraid I cannot let you in then. Baron's orders are simple: no weapons past the gate. Leave em with me or turn around."
Kane nodded and then looked around at his gaggle of fellow hunters. Some were not even trying to hide their weapons. He had at least made an effort save for the longsword that hung at his waist. "Alright then soldier, how about we put down the long arms and you take this small gift to forget we even have a couple of daggers? A stranger in a strange land feels a bit more like a man when he can have some steel at his waist, eh?"
The guard commander's only response to Kane's proposal was a tacit glance over each shoulder, ensuring that his comrades were out of earshot and not looking in their direction. A brief beckoning gesture of his chainmail-clad fingers gave proof that the commander was amenable to Kane's bribe.
"That's right, swords and pikes with me," the guard announced for the benefit of any of his comrades. "Very good, come on through," he crowed, stealthily accepting a small coin purse from Kane as he strode past.
The Vampire hunters deposited their long weapons and stepped onto the drawbridge that spanned the stake-laden moat. Their footsteps sounded hollow on the drawbridge before echoing as they walked through a crumbling gateway framed by snarling gargoyles. The gateway opened onto a cobblestone parade ground surrounding the entrance to the keep itself. A number of attendants and soldiers stood before the doors of the keep, awaiting the arrival of the strange assembly.
Despite the sunny the keep walls were high enough to throw a deep shadow across much of the courtyard. The torches, obviously needed most days of the year, were still burning despite the heat of the day and Solomon's mouth twitched in some approximation of a smile. He could feel the fear and hatred of the place, so many people crammed together to serve their undead lord. He was certain he would one day have to kill his potential employer as well.
A concerned looking chamberlin looked them over before hustling them into the keep where all hint of daylight vanished behind thick stone walls and heavy curtains drawn across the few windows. Solomon paused long enough for his eyes to adjust to the blackness before following at the tail end of the group. The big man who he had first addressed the previous week led the way into the main audience chamber.
The Dwarves were staring about them in wonder at the land that had once been their home and the various human guards had propped their helmets on their saddle horns, there was no danger of a Vampire atack on day like this. Even the slaver, made more hideous by the arrival of pure daylight, managed to looked both pleased and surprised. The whimpering from his wagons had even died away as bruised faces pressed themselves to the bars.
"I c'nay think o'a toime t'was so sunny 'ere..." He was enjoying the heat on his face, surprisingly strong now that the clouds had burned away and the sun beat down with a vengeance on a land long deprived of its life giving powers. Several of his thugs, and a few Vampire Hunters, all voiced their agreement. Solomon said nothing, just nodded.
They crested a small rise and standing before them, tendrils of mist still clinging stubbornly to its turrets, was the keep of Felboge, in sight at last. It was a redoubtable structure to be sure. Built upon the only true "hill" in the Moor, it was surrounded on all sides by a rampart of local cobblestone, buttressed by a moat of sharpened stakes while the green covered moor lapped against it like an unmoving ocean. Dozens of leathery hides of flayed prisoners pierced on iron nails hammered into the joints between the cobblestones. As if warning the garrison of their arrival, the wind kicked up from a gentle breeze and a heavy gust hurled itself against the high stones, tearing one of the affixed skins from its mooring and blowing it out into the distant moor. There might be a monster inside, but another monster now stalked the moors.
Guards, squinting heavily against the bright sunlight, greeted the caravan at the bottom of the hill before the road began to climb toward the fortress. The Dwarves bustled forward first, eager to receive the documents allowing them to continue their diggings in the east. Their permission received, they turned away from the Keep and began their march East, a song breaking out from their ranks as they went.
The slaver was permitted to turn aside to the town that huddled in the shadow of the Keep. The market grounds, long a barren and empty place, were already alive with colour and the swirl of trade as other merchants who had swarmed across the newly opened border sold their wares to an amazed local populace. This left the Vampire Hunters and a swarm of hopeful supplicants looking for leave to begin other businesses.
"You gentlemen will have to give up your weapons." Stated the guard commander, indicating the items carried now by Kane and his compatriots.
"This is not possible." Kane replied quietly. The guard commander looked stumped, never in his living memory had anyone refused an order from one of Baron Ulrek's soldiers.
"'Fraid I cannot let you in then. Baron's orders are simple: no weapons past the gate. Leave em with me or turn around."
Kane nodded and then looked around at his gaggle of fellow hunters. Some were not even trying to hide their weapons. He had at least made an effort save for the longsword that hung at his waist. "Alright then soldier, how about we put down the long arms and you take this small gift to forget we even have a couple of daggers? A stranger in a strange land feels a bit more like a man when he can have some steel at his waist, eh?"
The guard commander's only response to Kane's proposal was a tacit glance over each shoulder, ensuring that his comrades were out of earshot and not looking in their direction. A brief beckoning gesture of his chainmail-clad fingers gave proof that the commander was amenable to Kane's bribe.
"That's right, swords and pikes with me," the guard announced for the benefit of any of his comrades. "Very good, come on through," he crowed, stealthily accepting a small coin purse from Kane as he strode past.
The Vampire hunters deposited their long weapons and stepped onto the drawbridge that spanned the stake-laden moat. Their footsteps sounded hollow on the drawbridge before echoing as they walked through a crumbling gateway framed by snarling gargoyles. The gateway opened onto a cobblestone parade ground surrounding the entrance to the keep itself. A number of attendants and soldiers stood before the doors of the keep, awaiting the arrival of the strange assembly.
Despite the sunny the keep walls were high enough to throw a deep shadow across much of the courtyard. The torches, obviously needed most days of the year, were still burning despite the heat of the day and Solomon's mouth twitched in some approximation of a smile. He could feel the fear and hatred of the place, so many people crammed together to serve their undead lord. He was certain he would one day have to kill his potential employer as well.
A concerned looking chamberlin looked them over before hustling them into the keep where all hint of daylight vanished behind thick stone walls and heavy curtains drawn across the few windows. Solomon paused long enough for his eyes to adjust to the blackness before following at the tail end of the group. The big man who he had first addressed the previous week led the way into the main audience chamber.
In
Precipice of War - The Big Leagues of NRP (Only generous tippers need apply)
→
8 yrs ago
Forum: Nation Roleplay
OOC: With European history recently rewritten, this is a new Spanish history as a number of existing Spanish posts and storylines have been drastically affected by the new "Red Zone".
This post has been reviewed and approved by @Dinh AaronMk
The First World War was the catalyst for the rebirth of the Spanish Empire. Balancing a precarious diplomatic tightrope, they promised everything and yet delivered nothing, in finest Spanish style. Industry flourished as both sides sought Spanish goods and materials to fuel their own war machines.
When the the Great War finally came to a close Spain emerged from the cloud of war staunchly neutral and the most powerful nation in Europe. As the only major surviving European economy still intact, Spain soon saw massive economic success. Perhaps not surprisingly this brought unrest among the peasants in the countryside as they demanded their share of the new prosperity. Prosperity that had somehow made its way into the coffers of the wealthy landowners and failed to trickle down to those who had actually done the work.
Violence broke out in several regions, notably Catalan and Andalusia. The Conservative Government ordered troops deployed to quell the uprisings when local police forces refused to engage with the protestors which only served to fuel their determination to get what was owed to them. Soldiers deployed across the country as the Government screamed for drastic measures to be taken. It looked as though Spain would follow in the steps of other post-war European powers and shed the blood of its own people.
In a move that stunned the nation, the current King, His Majesty Alfonso XIII, left his crown in Madrid, walked out of the city, passed through the line of soldiers and linked arms with the angry mob marching on the city. On that day, he won the undying love of the common Spaniard, and the soldiers refused to fire on their King, instead turning on their officers and, in some cases, shooting them on the spot.
The King immediately ordered the military leadership, and the Government, arrested for trying to destabilize the regime. Some shots were fired between the Guardia Civil and Royalist army units loyal to the King as soldiers stormed Parliament and military headquarters. Two Guardsmen were killed and the rest surrendered when the Royalist forces brought up artillery.
Hundreds of millions of peseta were "donated" by wealthy landowners when given the choice between making the donations, or losing everything. The money was poured back into the country by the King, who quickly became the most popular leader in the last century. So popular in fact that he dissolved the Parliament and few said a word, he replaced military leaders with those loyal to him and nary a peep was heard, he crushed the Moroccan revolt and the country cheered him.
When Communist forces seemed to be gaining the upper hand in France, now a shell of its former self, he offered Spanish assistance to bedraggled government forces. Desperate for any help they could get, the French Government hurriedly accepted the Spanish intervention. Tens of thousands of Spanish troops poured across the border and occupied much of the southern half of the country. The French realized far to late that the Spanish saying, "Revenge is a dish best served cold", was not empty words. Spanish forces quickly annihilated Communist, Anarchist and Royalist forces alike.
The French people, starving, decimated, and bleeding, surrendered with only a few gasps of resistance as the Spanish flag broke out over the south. Further north the massive devastation, the scattered mines, unexploded shells, and so much more, had turned what remained of France into a series of smaller warring city states reminiscent of Russia.
Buoyed by the success of their French campaign, the Spanish turned south. A British Government, faced with another major war, quietly sold Gibraltar the the Spanish Crown. Italian forces, trying to claim their own piece of France, ran full tilt into the Spanish army and a short battle later the Spanish were advancing into Italy. Rather than losing their northern territories, the Italians ceded all control of Corsica and Sardinia to the Spanish.
Then, tragically, in 1948, the King was killed while learning how to fly. His plane plunging into the Sierra Nevada, the body recovered after a frantic six day search. His throne passed to his ten year old son son, Juan Carlos I.
Juan Carlos I inherited a Spanish state that was economically powerful, boasted a massive modern military, and had peace within her borders. As is often the case with young regents however, new forces with their own interests at heart began to try and sway the young royal one way or the other. Royalists, supported by the Catholic Church, sought to retain their current power, Nobles and Land Owners to regain some of their lost wealth, and the middle and lower class were quietly being infiltrated by Communist and Democratic forces.
For the next twelve years these various forces gently pushed, then began to shove, at the young King. Unable to completely trust anyone around him, he withdrew into his own household, leaving the day to day operation of the country to his advisors, the majority of whom were Royalist supporters. Tax reform slowly began to favour the wealthy once again, peasants began to see their rights being chipped away at, and a slow return to feudal ways began.
In 1960 everything changed once again as a coup d'État, led by Colonel De La Cal Delgado of the Elite Cazadores and supported by the Navy, ousted the young King and saw the execution of many of his supporters. A short but vicious war followed with Portugal that saw the use of a new type of warfare that combined the speed of motorized vehicles and fighter bombers.
Then came the Algerian Campaign as Delgado sought to secure a permanent oil supply for the growing Spanish Empire. The Muslims of Algeria, much as the French had before them, learnt of the long Spanish memory as the ghost of the Reconquista reared its head. Muslims were slaughtered in their thousands as deadly poison gas was unleashed indiscriminately against civilian populations and military targets alike. When Algeria eventually surrendered it was little more than a shell of a nation.
Spanish gold is reappearing in former colonies as pro-Spanish factions at long last find themselves a financial backer with deep pockets. While the great guns have fallen silent in Algeria, the intrigues that surround the Spanish leadership continue unabated and a reckoning is coming with various factions seeking to make their final play for control.
This post has been reviewed and approved by @Dinh AaronMk
The Spanish Empire - History Reimagined
The First World War was the catalyst for the rebirth of the Spanish Empire. Balancing a precarious diplomatic tightrope, they promised everything and yet delivered nothing, in finest Spanish style. Industry flourished as both sides sought Spanish goods and materials to fuel their own war machines.
When the the Great War finally came to a close Spain emerged from the cloud of war staunchly neutral and the most powerful nation in Europe. As the only major surviving European economy still intact, Spain soon saw massive economic success. Perhaps not surprisingly this brought unrest among the peasants in the countryside as they demanded their share of the new prosperity. Prosperity that had somehow made its way into the coffers of the wealthy landowners and failed to trickle down to those who had actually done the work.
Violence broke out in several regions, notably Catalan and Andalusia. The Conservative Government ordered troops deployed to quell the uprisings when local police forces refused to engage with the protestors which only served to fuel their determination to get what was owed to them. Soldiers deployed across the country as the Government screamed for drastic measures to be taken. It looked as though Spain would follow in the steps of other post-war European powers and shed the blood of its own people.
In a move that stunned the nation, the current King, His Majesty Alfonso XIII, left his crown in Madrid, walked out of the city, passed through the line of soldiers and linked arms with the angry mob marching on the city. On that day, he won the undying love of the common Spaniard, and the soldiers refused to fire on their King, instead turning on their officers and, in some cases, shooting them on the spot.
The King immediately ordered the military leadership, and the Government, arrested for trying to destabilize the regime. Some shots were fired between the Guardia Civil and Royalist army units loyal to the King as soldiers stormed Parliament and military headquarters. Two Guardsmen were killed and the rest surrendered when the Royalist forces brought up artillery.
Hundreds of millions of peseta were "donated" by wealthy landowners when given the choice between making the donations, or losing everything. The money was poured back into the country by the King, who quickly became the most popular leader in the last century. So popular in fact that he dissolved the Parliament and few said a word, he replaced military leaders with those loyal to him and nary a peep was heard, he crushed the Moroccan revolt and the country cheered him.
When Communist forces seemed to be gaining the upper hand in France, now a shell of its former self, he offered Spanish assistance to bedraggled government forces. Desperate for any help they could get, the French Government hurriedly accepted the Spanish intervention. Tens of thousands of Spanish troops poured across the border and occupied much of the southern half of the country. The French realized far to late that the Spanish saying, "Revenge is a dish best served cold", was not empty words. Spanish forces quickly annihilated Communist, Anarchist and Royalist forces alike.
The French people, starving, decimated, and bleeding, surrendered with only a few gasps of resistance as the Spanish flag broke out over the south. Further north the massive devastation, the scattered mines, unexploded shells, and so much more, had turned what remained of France into a series of smaller warring city states reminiscent of Russia.
Buoyed by the success of their French campaign, the Spanish turned south. A British Government, faced with another major war, quietly sold Gibraltar the the Spanish Crown. Italian forces, trying to claim their own piece of France, ran full tilt into the Spanish army and a short battle later the Spanish were advancing into Italy. Rather than losing their northern territories, the Italians ceded all control of Corsica and Sardinia to the Spanish.
Then, tragically, in 1948, the King was killed while learning how to fly. His plane plunging into the Sierra Nevada, the body recovered after a frantic six day search. His throne passed to his ten year old son son, Juan Carlos I.
Juan Carlos I inherited a Spanish state that was economically powerful, boasted a massive modern military, and had peace within her borders. As is often the case with young regents however, new forces with their own interests at heart began to try and sway the young royal one way or the other. Royalists, supported by the Catholic Church, sought to retain their current power, Nobles and Land Owners to regain some of their lost wealth, and the middle and lower class were quietly being infiltrated by Communist and Democratic forces.
For the next twelve years these various forces gently pushed, then began to shove, at the young King. Unable to completely trust anyone around him, he withdrew into his own household, leaving the day to day operation of the country to his advisors, the majority of whom were Royalist supporters. Tax reform slowly began to favour the wealthy once again, peasants began to see their rights being chipped away at, and a slow return to feudal ways began.
In 1960 everything changed once again as a coup d'État, led by Colonel De La Cal Delgado of the Elite Cazadores and supported by the Navy, ousted the young King and saw the execution of many of his supporters. A short but vicious war followed with Portugal that saw the use of a new type of warfare that combined the speed of motorized vehicles and fighter bombers.
Then came the Algerian Campaign as Delgado sought to secure a permanent oil supply for the growing Spanish Empire. The Muslims of Algeria, much as the French had before them, learnt of the long Spanish memory as the ghost of the Reconquista reared its head. Muslims were slaughtered in their thousands as deadly poison gas was unleashed indiscriminately against civilian populations and military targets alike. When Algeria eventually surrendered it was little more than a shell of a nation.
Spanish gold is reappearing in former colonies as pro-Spanish factions at long last find themselves a financial backer with deep pockets. While the great guns have fallen silent in Algeria, the intrigues that surround the Spanish leadership continue unabated and a reckoning is coming with various factions seeking to make their final play for control.
The squeal of poorly greased wagon axles mixed with the muted sobbing of their cargo. A few faces, wet with tears, would press themselves to the small barred window from time to time, staring back the way the convoy had come. Occasionally one of the guards would slam a spear butt against the window and laugh as a shriek came from within. It was a small distraction from the tension that filled everyone in the long line of wagons.
Heavily armed Dwarves, scruffy and unkempt human slavers, neatly attired merchants, and others, all grouped together in this one large, long, train of wagons crossing into the Vampire Kingdom for the first time in any human memory. Among the eclectic group, his habitual tall hat, long coat, and markings of his trade well hidden, was a tall man dressed in red broadcloth trimmed with heavy bear fur. He looked exceedingly happy, well fed, and comfortably wealthy. A stark contrast to the slaver with whom he travelled.
"I d'nay fink der was anyfink da blood suckers moight want, but I thinks you gots a grand ider sah..." The slaver, by the unfortunate name of Bert, was pawing his own greasy hair back into the best approximation of his companions as he spoke. The tall man, who he knew only by the name Tuttle, had run into him a week back and suggested he might make some coin buying daughters from peasant families and reselling them in the Vampire Kingdom now that it seem Baron Ulrek Bathory was opening his borders to trade.
Solomon winced at the horrendous butchery applied to his native tongue but nodded along in agreement. It was a decent cover indeed. Bert, for all of his disgusting appearance, had turned out to be quite a clever businessman, and purchased some thirty young women at a tenner a piece from their starving families. He would surely get five times their value in a land starved for fresh blood. He chuckled at the pun. Each of the girls was pretty enough and Solomon had already taken his pleasure of a couple of the best of the lot. The rest of the slavers had done likewise but left the two Solomon had chosen alone, they all feared the tall man despite his genial nature and broad smile.
"Somefink weird a'bout 'im..." Bert muttered to himself as Tuttle-Solomon turned his horse to one side and began to ride back down the long column. He nodded in friendly fashion to the Dwarves who returned his gentiality with the suspicion of their kind, and drew up next to a villainous looking band of thugs who had attached themselves to the end of the wagon train. He knew Vampire Hunters when he saw them, and though they had done a decent job of hiding their tools, the way they carried themselves, openly wore crosses, and reeked of garlic made him smile to himself.
"Good day lads, fine weather!" It was spitting rain and small swathes of sunlight broke through the clouds from time to time. It was indeed a fine day in the Great Weald.
"Supposin it is." Replied a big man, taller and broader in the shoulders than Solomon. "Woot are you doin 'ere?"
Solomon had not thought his disguise would fool men of his own trade, it only needed fool everyone else.
"Same as you. Might I suggest we not bring attention to our presence here and pass this most auspicious journey in some approximation of peace."
"Aight." Stated the big man simply and a round of nods went through the group.
"I might even suggest we consider working together. I imagine any prize to be had here would pay us all very nicely indeed."
This brought a gleam to every eye and the nods became a good deal more vigorous.
"As a token of my good faith, why not join my wagons up near the front," He leaned forward over the saddle pommel as if to impart some great secret. "We have a couple wagons worth of young ladies bound for the Vampire lands. The folk there won't give a farthing if they've had a chance to enjoy your company on the journey."
The nods became verbal growls of agreement and the strange collection of men followed him along the wagon line to join Bert and his company. Bert raised an eye at their arrival but didn't ask any questions. He never got a straight answer out of the blonde man when he did.
"Company. A farthing a piece for each of them to enjoy any of the girls they wish tonight, on me." He tossed a small bag of coins to Bert who pocketed it with dexterity and a nod.
"As ye says Gov'nor."
Later that evening, as the whole great wagon train halted for the night, Solomon Kane was kneeling in the dirt near to a small hovel whose terrified occupants watched him with awe. His bright coat and loud voice was almost alien in their barren and hateful land.
Behind him he could hear the cries of the women who had been brought with them as the other Vampire Hunters took their pleasures. The woman in the doorway winced everytime a scream cut through the air but she said nothing as she watched Solomon gently rub his fingers along a green shoot that was peeping ou from the dirt.
"Garlic... Why the hell are you growing garlic?" He finally asked of the family. The father, a wasted thing of a man, shrugged.
"The Baron says we're to grow garlic so we grows it, m'lord."
"Fascinating..." Solomon touched the small stalks again. This plant was surely ready to pluck and he drew the bulb from the earth, the white skin flashing in the fading sunlight. "If you harvest it within the week you will have a fine crop."
The man nodded, an expression of relief on his face. "Thank you m'lord, I've nought growed it afore."
"I would purchase some from you." Solomon announced and took a small purse from his waist. He was conscious of the couples children staring at him from eyes sunken with hunger. He counted out what would amount to a years wages for the family and pressed the coins into the farmers hands. "Sell your harvest to the Baron, then take your children and leave here forever."
He waved away the bubbling thanks of the family, selected ten generous sized bulbs and walked back to the wagon where the screams had at last died to whimpers. He stared a the bulbs in his hand. This was an interesting development indeed.
Heavily armed Dwarves, scruffy and unkempt human slavers, neatly attired merchants, and others, all grouped together in this one large, long, train of wagons crossing into the Vampire Kingdom for the first time in any human memory. Among the eclectic group, his habitual tall hat, long coat, and markings of his trade well hidden, was a tall man dressed in red broadcloth trimmed with heavy bear fur. He looked exceedingly happy, well fed, and comfortably wealthy. A stark contrast to the slaver with whom he travelled.
"I d'nay fink der was anyfink da blood suckers moight want, but I thinks you gots a grand ider sah..." The slaver, by the unfortunate name of Bert, was pawing his own greasy hair back into the best approximation of his companions as he spoke. The tall man, who he knew only by the name Tuttle, had run into him a week back and suggested he might make some coin buying daughters from peasant families and reselling them in the Vampire Kingdom now that it seem Baron Ulrek Bathory was opening his borders to trade.
Solomon winced at the horrendous butchery applied to his native tongue but nodded along in agreement. It was a decent cover indeed. Bert, for all of his disgusting appearance, had turned out to be quite a clever businessman, and purchased some thirty young women at a tenner a piece from their starving families. He would surely get five times their value in a land starved for fresh blood. He chuckled at the pun. Each of the girls was pretty enough and Solomon had already taken his pleasure of a couple of the best of the lot. The rest of the slavers had done likewise but left the two Solomon had chosen alone, they all feared the tall man despite his genial nature and broad smile.
"Somefink weird a'bout 'im..." Bert muttered to himself as Tuttle-Solomon turned his horse to one side and began to ride back down the long column. He nodded in friendly fashion to the Dwarves who returned his gentiality with the suspicion of their kind, and drew up next to a villainous looking band of thugs who had attached themselves to the end of the wagon train. He knew Vampire Hunters when he saw them, and though they had done a decent job of hiding their tools, the way they carried themselves, openly wore crosses, and reeked of garlic made him smile to himself.
"Good day lads, fine weather!" It was spitting rain and small swathes of sunlight broke through the clouds from time to time. It was indeed a fine day in the Great Weald.
"Supposin it is." Replied a big man, taller and broader in the shoulders than Solomon. "Woot are you doin 'ere?"
Solomon had not thought his disguise would fool men of his own trade, it only needed fool everyone else.
"Same as you. Might I suggest we not bring attention to our presence here and pass this most auspicious journey in some approximation of peace."
"Aight." Stated the big man simply and a round of nods went through the group.
"I might even suggest we consider working together. I imagine any prize to be had here would pay us all very nicely indeed."
This brought a gleam to every eye and the nods became a good deal more vigorous.
"As a token of my good faith, why not join my wagons up near the front," He leaned forward over the saddle pommel as if to impart some great secret. "We have a couple wagons worth of young ladies bound for the Vampire lands. The folk there won't give a farthing if they've had a chance to enjoy your company on the journey."
The nods became verbal growls of agreement and the strange collection of men followed him along the wagon line to join Bert and his company. Bert raised an eye at their arrival but didn't ask any questions. He never got a straight answer out of the blonde man when he did.
"Company. A farthing a piece for each of them to enjoy any of the girls they wish tonight, on me." He tossed a small bag of coins to Bert who pocketed it with dexterity and a nod.
"As ye says Gov'nor."
* * * * * * *
Later that evening, as the whole great wagon train halted for the night, Solomon Kane was kneeling in the dirt near to a small hovel whose terrified occupants watched him with awe. His bright coat and loud voice was almost alien in their barren and hateful land.
Behind him he could hear the cries of the women who had been brought with them as the other Vampire Hunters took their pleasures. The woman in the doorway winced everytime a scream cut through the air but she said nothing as she watched Solomon gently rub his fingers along a green shoot that was peeping ou from the dirt.
"Garlic... Why the hell are you growing garlic?" He finally asked of the family. The father, a wasted thing of a man, shrugged.
"The Baron says we're to grow garlic so we grows it, m'lord."
"Fascinating..." Solomon touched the small stalks again. This plant was surely ready to pluck and he drew the bulb from the earth, the white skin flashing in the fading sunlight. "If you harvest it within the week you will have a fine crop."
The man nodded, an expression of relief on his face. "Thank you m'lord, I've nought growed it afore."
"I would purchase some from you." Solomon announced and took a small purse from his waist. He was conscious of the couples children staring at him from eyes sunken with hunger. He counted out what would amount to a years wages for the family and pressed the coins into the farmers hands. "Sell your harvest to the Baron, then take your children and leave here forever."
He waved away the bubbling thanks of the family, selected ten generous sized bulbs and walked back to the wagon where the screams had at last died to whimpers. He stared a the bulbs in his hand. This was an interesting development indeed.
Four weeks later...
He stepped carefully through the debris of the house, placing one foot ever so gently to avoid a scattering of broken glass that must have occured when the creature burst through the window and slaughtered the entire family.
He stayed crouched low, eyes scanning the darkness ahead of him. He could hear a wet cracking and slurping sound, the beast must be feeding. His long coat had been left outside along with his iconic tall hat and pistols. There would no time to try a shot in a contained space like this. Instead he had brought a shield coated in silver and polished into a mirror like burnish. A simple wooden stake was held in his right hand. It would serve well enough for his purposes.
The slurping sound abruptly ceased and a female voice cut through the silence that followed.
"I can feel your presence, human." A shadow shifted within the darkness and Solomon stopped, the tall shield held in front of him, his fingers clasping the stake tighter still.
"Interesting..." Continued the voice. "You resist my mind prob..."
Solomon did not respond. He knew well how he resisted magic without any true understanding of why, it had never been something he really needed to know.
The shadow shifted again and a creature moved into the moonlight that poured through the shattered window. It was not tall, but the once white skin had gone deep grey, the lower jaw had dropped and projected to allow large teeth to form, and what might have once been an attractive human female was now a feral vampire. Not the pretty type so many legends made out to be normal, but the true monsters that haunted nightmares.
"Who are you...?" He could see a long tongue tasting the air, the once human nose had flattened into the face to leave the skull a strange featureless grey expanse with nought but teeth and red eyes upon it. "A Knight? Some foolish peasant? Perhaps a monster slayer?"
The ability of feral vampires to speak as if they were still human had always been strange. True, they hissed the "S" a lot, but not much else was different. Despite it all he felt a little thrill roll up his spine as he spoke.
"I am but a simple man of God. I am, Solomon Kane."
The scream that met this announcement always hurt his head and the creature unwrapped itself from it's victim, a pretty young woman who was still blinking at the sky, hands feebly trying to replace her destroyed throat.
The feral hurled itself toward Solomon's voice and he stepped forward, thrusting the silver shield in front of him. In that instant the Vampire froze and an almost human look of sorrow crossed the brutal features. Solomon knew what the feral was seeing, herself, as she had been before the curse had taken her. It was fleeting but for a man of his skill it was long enough.
He took another step and drove the wooden stake into the creatures chest. A whiff of garlic rent the air as it passed him by for the tip had been dipped in garlic infused holy water. It pierced the grey skin of the chest like a hot knife might pierce butter and drove deep into the cavity where a human heart might be found. The actual location of a strike did not matter, for the introduction of garlic to the ferals bloodstream would kill it well enough.
The feral began to scream now, lashing out, narrowly missing Solomon as the wound began to smoke. In seconds the creatures whole body was consumed in a strange yellowing flame that produced no heat whatsoever. Solomon watched, as he always did, as the creature died, writhing in agony, the mouth opened in a now soundless scream. It took no more than a few moments but the fire died quickly away to nothing and only a blackened patch of floor remained where the creature had been.
A gurgling sound caused him to look up and he saw the girl that the feral had been feeding on starting to recover. The wound on her throat was closing slowly. The regeneration of a vampire and it's kin were nothing short of remarkable. Still, he had several minutes before the transformation was completed and she was dangerous to anyone.
The girl was undoubtedly pretty. Her long blonde hair and blue eyes would began to cloud over and fallout soon enough but it was enough time. In two strides he crossed the room and caught the girls wrists, quickly lashing them with a length of cord from his belt. Picking her up with ease he righted a table lying upside down on the floor and pushed her down on it. Her ability to render words was already gone and she snarled up at him, but he enjoyed those who fought back.
He took her on the table, quickly and violently, his own passions always inflamed after a hunt. When he was finished he wiped himself on her dress. The blue eyes were starting to turn red now and the first of her hair began to fall out. She made no sound as he drove a second stake through her and into the table beneath her, the yellow fire rendering her to ash as it had her maker. Had he stabbed her any sooner, he would have potentially killed a human and he rarely did that.
He glanced around the house a final time before gathering his shield and stepping outside into the cool night air. He could feel sweat on his brow and was glad of it. It had been a few weeks since he had killed.
"Is it done?" A nervous voice came from behind an overturned wagon nearby.
"No... It killed me and ate my liver." He snarled with exasperation. "Yes it's done you idiot. My gold."
A heavy set man in armour stepped out from behind the wagon flanked by two swordsmen, both of whom eyed Solomon with something akin to awe on their faces. He handed over a bag of gold which Solomon expertly balanced in his hand, judging the weight. He did not suspect deceit and he did not detect any on the face of the country nobleman who had hired him.
The sound of hooves announced the arrival of an archer who rode into sight at the top of the long drive. He waved to the nobleman, slid from his horse, and then bowed to Solomon, proffering him a letter. The paper was thick and creamy, expensive. But the wax crest caused him to raise an eyebrow. A bat. Someone from the Imperium then. Who would have words with him?
"My niece?" The nobleman inquired, breaking in on Solomon's musing.
"Dead." Solomon responded as he began to walk away, still staring at the crest on the letter he now held in one hand. He would have a read of it back at the inn.
He stepped carefully through the debris of the house, placing one foot ever so gently to avoid a scattering of broken glass that must have occured when the creature burst through the window and slaughtered the entire family.
He stayed crouched low, eyes scanning the darkness ahead of him. He could hear a wet cracking and slurping sound, the beast must be feeding. His long coat had been left outside along with his iconic tall hat and pistols. There would no time to try a shot in a contained space like this. Instead he had brought a shield coated in silver and polished into a mirror like burnish. A simple wooden stake was held in his right hand. It would serve well enough for his purposes.
The slurping sound abruptly ceased and a female voice cut through the silence that followed.
"I can feel your presence, human." A shadow shifted within the darkness and Solomon stopped, the tall shield held in front of him, his fingers clasping the stake tighter still.
"Interesting..." Continued the voice. "You resist my mind prob..."
Solomon did not respond. He knew well how he resisted magic without any true understanding of why, it had never been something he really needed to know.
The shadow shifted again and a creature moved into the moonlight that poured through the shattered window. It was not tall, but the once white skin had gone deep grey, the lower jaw had dropped and projected to allow large teeth to form, and what might have once been an attractive human female was now a feral vampire. Not the pretty type so many legends made out to be normal, but the true monsters that haunted nightmares.
"Who are you...?" He could see a long tongue tasting the air, the once human nose had flattened into the face to leave the skull a strange featureless grey expanse with nought but teeth and red eyes upon it. "A Knight? Some foolish peasant? Perhaps a monster slayer?"
The ability of feral vampires to speak as if they were still human had always been strange. True, they hissed the "S" a lot, but not much else was different. Despite it all he felt a little thrill roll up his spine as he spoke.
"I am but a simple man of God. I am, Solomon Kane."
The scream that met this announcement always hurt his head and the creature unwrapped itself from it's victim, a pretty young woman who was still blinking at the sky, hands feebly trying to replace her destroyed throat.
The feral hurled itself toward Solomon's voice and he stepped forward, thrusting the silver shield in front of him. In that instant the Vampire froze and an almost human look of sorrow crossed the brutal features. Solomon knew what the feral was seeing, herself, as she had been before the curse had taken her. It was fleeting but for a man of his skill it was long enough.
He took another step and drove the wooden stake into the creatures chest. A whiff of garlic rent the air as it passed him by for the tip had been dipped in garlic infused holy water. It pierced the grey skin of the chest like a hot knife might pierce butter and drove deep into the cavity where a human heart might be found. The actual location of a strike did not matter, for the introduction of garlic to the ferals bloodstream would kill it well enough.
The feral began to scream now, lashing out, narrowly missing Solomon as the wound began to smoke. In seconds the creatures whole body was consumed in a strange yellowing flame that produced no heat whatsoever. Solomon watched, as he always did, as the creature died, writhing in agony, the mouth opened in a now soundless scream. It took no more than a few moments but the fire died quickly away to nothing and only a blackened patch of floor remained where the creature had been.
A gurgling sound caused him to look up and he saw the girl that the feral had been feeding on starting to recover. The wound on her throat was closing slowly. The regeneration of a vampire and it's kin were nothing short of remarkable. Still, he had several minutes before the transformation was completed and she was dangerous to anyone.
The girl was undoubtedly pretty. Her long blonde hair and blue eyes would began to cloud over and fallout soon enough but it was enough time. In two strides he crossed the room and caught the girls wrists, quickly lashing them with a length of cord from his belt. Picking her up with ease he righted a table lying upside down on the floor and pushed her down on it. Her ability to render words was already gone and she snarled up at him, but he enjoyed those who fought back.
He took her on the table, quickly and violently, his own passions always inflamed after a hunt. When he was finished he wiped himself on her dress. The blue eyes were starting to turn red now and the first of her hair began to fall out. She made no sound as he drove a second stake through her and into the table beneath her, the yellow fire rendering her to ash as it had her maker. Had he stabbed her any sooner, he would have potentially killed a human and he rarely did that.
He glanced around the house a final time before gathering his shield and stepping outside into the cool night air. He could feel sweat on his brow and was glad of it. It had been a few weeks since he had killed.
"Is it done?" A nervous voice came from behind an overturned wagon nearby.
"No... It killed me and ate my liver." He snarled with exasperation. "Yes it's done you idiot. My gold."
A heavy set man in armour stepped out from behind the wagon flanked by two swordsmen, both of whom eyed Solomon with something akin to awe on their faces. He handed over a bag of gold which Solomon expertly balanced in his hand, judging the weight. He did not suspect deceit and he did not detect any on the face of the country nobleman who had hired him.
The sound of hooves announced the arrival of an archer who rode into sight at the top of the long drive. He waved to the nobleman, slid from his horse, and then bowed to Solomon, proffering him a letter. The paper was thick and creamy, expensive. But the wax crest caused him to raise an eyebrow. A bat. Someone from the Imperium then. Who would have words with him?
"My niece?" The nobleman inquired, breaking in on Solomon's musing.
"Dead." Solomon responded as he began to walk away, still staring at the crest on the letter he now held in one hand. He would have a read of it back at the inn.
March 18th, 1997
"All units, all units, shots fired. Officer down."
"The fuck..." Frank Williams had just sat down in the front seat of his brand new Crown Victoria convinced he was in for a slow ride compared to the 77th. He could feel adrenaline flush through him and he was proud that his hand didn't shake. It had before.
"Whiskey 5-1 enroute." He managed to snap his call sign into the middle of the babble of other responding officers. Around him the parking lot was exploding into motion like a disturbed anthill.
He jammed the gear shift into reverse, flipped on his lights, glanced over both shoulders and then shot backwards, spinning the wheel hard so that the front end of his car snapped around. He punched the gear shift up and shot toward the exit, the big V6 engine roaring.
The siren screamed as he activated it, nosing into traffic that scattered in front of him. Other cars were coming onto the motorway behind him and he gunned the engine, only to realize he had no idea where the shooting had occurred, he was not that familiar with the area yet.
"Delta 3-4, Whiskey 5-1, I have no idea where I am going, you're my lead."
"Copy Sarge, follow me." A LAPD Caprice shot past him as more and more cars scattered out of their way. There were a dozen vehicles now as they hurtled toward the scene of the shooting.
For seven minutes they tore through the city at speeds of 80 miles an hour, dodging slow moving cars, dumbfounded citizens and city buses. It never failed to amaze Patrick that Police managed to avoid hitting anyone as often as they did.
The gas station drew into view and he could make out a white man, he assumed he was a plains clothes police officer based on how several others were grouped around him, one wearing a vest with POLICE across the chest. Several others were looking into a green SUV parked nearby.
The various police vehicles came to screeching halts as officers piled out, a plain clothes sergeant issuing orders to contain the crime scene. Williams parked his own vehicle more carefully. He was new here and this was someone else's crime scene at the moment. He climbed from his car and glanced around. The air was hot and a stiff wind was blowing. People were gathering nearby to stair and a news helicopter was already circling.
"Sergeant." He approached the plain clothes NCO who had been directing the arriving officers to secure the scene. The man glanced at him and nodded.
"Sergeant Williams, hell of a day for your first day in Hollywood Division. We've got a blue on blue."
"Fuck..." Williams nodded. "Thanks, I'm not here to interfere, just tell me what you need."
"Thanks, I appreciate that. For the time being just stick around to back me up if needed."
Williams nodded and moved so he could see into the SUV. A blackman was slumped over the steering wheel. Not good. He quickly approached the gathering knot of officers who scattered slightly as he approached, giving room for a man sitting on the hood of his shitty unmarked car.
"Officer," The man looked up at him. "Sergeant Williams, the new Ops NCO for Hollywood Division."
The man regarded him with immediate suspicion but Williams could see the worry and panic in the stretched lines of his face. "Officer Lyga."
"You say nothing, to anyone, you don't take any notes, you don't do anything of the sort. You talk a lawyer and no one else. Understand me?" Williams was speaking quietly but firmly to Lyga who blinked up at him.
"Sergeant?"
"You heard me. Not a word until you talk to your lawyer."
Lyga nodded slowly just as the plain clothes Sergeant hailed Williams, waving him over. Williams placed a hand on Lyga's shoulder and gave it a squeeze.
"You'll be alright son." He turned away to assist with whatever was needed.
"All units, all units, shots fired. Officer down."
"The fuck..." Frank Williams had just sat down in the front seat of his brand new Crown Victoria convinced he was in for a slow ride compared to the 77th. He could feel adrenaline flush through him and he was proud that his hand didn't shake. It had before.
"Whiskey 5-1 enroute." He managed to snap his call sign into the middle of the babble of other responding officers. Around him the parking lot was exploding into motion like a disturbed anthill.
He jammed the gear shift into reverse, flipped on his lights, glanced over both shoulders and then shot backwards, spinning the wheel hard so that the front end of his car snapped around. He punched the gear shift up and shot toward the exit, the big V6 engine roaring.
The siren screamed as he activated it, nosing into traffic that scattered in front of him. Other cars were coming onto the motorway behind him and he gunned the engine, only to realize he had no idea where the shooting had occurred, he was not that familiar with the area yet.
"Delta 3-4, Whiskey 5-1, I have no idea where I am going, you're my lead."
"Copy Sarge, follow me." A LAPD Caprice shot past him as more and more cars scattered out of their way. There were a dozen vehicles now as they hurtled toward the scene of the shooting.
For seven minutes they tore through the city at speeds of 80 miles an hour, dodging slow moving cars, dumbfounded citizens and city buses. It never failed to amaze Patrick that Police managed to avoid hitting anyone as often as they did.
The gas station drew into view and he could make out a white man, he assumed he was a plains clothes police officer based on how several others were grouped around him, one wearing a vest with POLICE across the chest. Several others were looking into a green SUV parked nearby.
The various police vehicles came to screeching halts as officers piled out, a plain clothes sergeant issuing orders to contain the crime scene. Williams parked his own vehicle more carefully. He was new here and this was someone else's crime scene at the moment. He climbed from his car and glanced around. The air was hot and a stiff wind was blowing. People were gathering nearby to stair and a news helicopter was already circling.
"Sergeant." He approached the plain clothes NCO who had been directing the arriving officers to secure the scene. The man glanced at him and nodded.
"Sergeant Williams, hell of a day for your first day in Hollywood Division. We've got a blue on blue."
"Fuck..." Williams nodded. "Thanks, I'm not here to interfere, just tell me what you need."
"Thanks, I appreciate that. For the time being just stick around to back me up if needed."
Williams nodded and moved so he could see into the SUV. A blackman was slumped over the steering wheel. Not good. He quickly approached the gathering knot of officers who scattered slightly as he approached, giving room for a man sitting on the hood of his shitty unmarked car.
"Officer," The man looked up at him. "Sergeant Williams, the new Ops NCO for Hollywood Division."
The man regarded him with immediate suspicion but Williams could see the worry and panic in the stretched lines of his face. "Officer Lyga."
"You say nothing, to anyone, you don't take any notes, you don't do anything of the sort. You talk a lawyer and no one else. Understand me?" Williams was speaking quietly but firmly to Lyga who blinked up at him.
"Sergeant?"
"You heard me. Not a word until you talk to your lawyer."
Lyga nodded slowly just as the plain clothes Sergeant hailed Williams, waving him over. Williams placed a hand on Lyga's shoulder and gave it a squeeze.
"You'll be alright son." He turned away to assist with whatever was needed.
@Eviledd1984What war was his grandfather in....? The Japanese Invasion of Manchuria during the Second World War as a Japanese soldier?!
@ZAVAZggg I'm glad you threw in the three hour max daylight thing or he might be overpowered!
Solomon Kane
Name:
Solomon Kane
Occupation:
Monster Hunter
Age:
42
Skills/Attributes:
Magic resistance. Sleight of hand. Crack shot. Excellent swordsman. Ordained by the Church.
Biography:
Solomon began life as all humans do, pink, tiny, clawless, toothless, and essentially defenceless. His father, a nobody from the local town guard, and his mother, an innkeeper's wench, treated young Solomon to a life as best they could but it was nonetheless a life of dirt floors, thatched rooves, threadbare pants and all together to much bread and slabs of ham for every meal.
He fled home at thirteen, determined that there must be more to life than the promise of marrying a peasant girl and living in a dirt floored house for the rest of his days. His journey took him to the Capital, a far distant cry from the supernatural kingdom of horrors where our main story will play out.
Here, in his own Kingdom, there were no such creatures for they had been brought to extinction by Vampire Hunters, Witch Stalkers, and Monster Slayers. The Church itself still took in orphaned boys to train them as a Monster Hunter, ordaining them as Warrior Priests so that they might always have the power of God on their side in the hunt. It was to one of these Chapel training grounds that Solomon gravitated.
He entered the clergy at thirteen and would not leave the close supervision and training of the priests until he was nearly eighteen. He embarked into the world, travelling to distant kingdoms to hunt their fantastic beasts and monsters.
In time he made a name for himself, both as an excellent hunter of all things fantastic, but also as a monster himself. While he might come upon a village suffering the wrath of a witch and hire his services to the villagers, he was not cheap and if they could not pay he would take his payment in the enjoyment of their daughters.
Twentyish years later he is a Monster Hunter without equal and continues to look toward a future bright with gold and a mansion of his own. The news of a Vampire Kingdom with no clear succession draws him toward it like a moth to a flame for there is certainly a fortune to be made amid the chaos.
Solomon Kane
Name:
Solomon Kane
Occupation:
Monster Hunter
Age:
42
Skills/Attributes:
Magic resistance. Sleight of hand. Crack shot. Excellent swordsman. Ordained by the Church.
Biography:
Solomon began life as all humans do, pink, tiny, clawless, toothless, and essentially defenceless. His father, a nobody from the local town guard, and his mother, an innkeeper's wench, treated young Solomon to a life as best they could but it was nonetheless a life of dirt floors, thatched rooves, threadbare pants and all together to much bread and slabs of ham for every meal.
He fled home at thirteen, determined that there must be more to life than the promise of marrying a peasant girl and living in a dirt floored house for the rest of his days. His journey took him to the Capital, a far distant cry from the supernatural kingdom of horrors where our main story will play out.
Here, in his own Kingdom, there were no such creatures for they had been brought to extinction by Vampire Hunters, Witch Stalkers, and Monster Slayers. The Church itself still took in orphaned boys to train them as a Monster Hunter, ordaining them as Warrior Priests so that they might always have the power of God on their side in the hunt. It was to one of these Chapel training grounds that Solomon gravitated.
He entered the clergy at thirteen and would not leave the close supervision and training of the priests until he was nearly eighteen. He embarked into the world, travelling to distant kingdoms to hunt their fantastic beasts and monsters.
In time he made a name for himself, both as an excellent hunter of all things fantastic, but also as a monster himself. While he might come upon a village suffering the wrath of a witch and hire his services to the villagers, he was not cheap and if they could not pay he would take his payment in the enjoyment of their daughters.
Twentyish years later he is a Monster Hunter without equal and continues to look toward a future bright with gold and a mansion of his own. The news of a Vampire Kingdom with no clear succession draws him toward it like a moth to a flame for there is certainly a fortune to be made amid the chaos.
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