Why are so many people opposed to youth in Asia? Like the kids in China never did anything wrong to you
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Little Bill,
Kaithe Dame,
pugbutter,
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8 mos ago
LUV GOIN 2 A RENNASANZ FAIR. LOTTA FAGET NERDBOYS BUT GAWTDAMM I LUV THEM TURKYLEGS. COULD BOUTA DOZZEN OF THEM TASTY LIL FUCKS. LEMME GET A HELL YEAH BRUTHER
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8 mos ago
MY PAPAW TOLLD ME 1 THING: SON WHEN UR MY AGE, UR GONA APPRESHIATE TAKIN A GOOD SHIT. AND BRUTHER, HE WUZ RITE! KEN I GETTA FUCKEN HELL YEAH?
5
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1 yr ago
GONNA HAVE 2 DO SUM COMONITY SERVISE BC I GOT A FUKKIN DUI. I ASKED THE JUDGE IF HITTIN ON FAT-ASSED MEXICAN GIRLS CULD BE A SERVISE 2 THA CUMUNITY! LEMME GET A GOTTDAM HELL YEA BRUTTHER!!
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1 yr ago
SMASHMBURGERS, MORE LIKE TRASH MY ASSHOLEBURGERS.. THOS GREEZY LIL FUCKS GIVE ME DIARRHEA N GAS LIKE U WOLD NOT BELEEVE. BEEN SHITTIING MY ASS OFF ALL NITE. CAN I GET A FUKKIN HELL YEAH BROTHER???/
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1 yr ago
I like a man that knows what he wants. And I love when what he wants is to wear a pirate’s hat and poop on my chest whilst saying “Arr! Swab the poopdeck ye scurvy hedgepig!” Aye aye, daddy! 🥵😫🏴☠️
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lol who gives a shit
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"He's gone, yer majesty,"
Baron Ulrek's expression was exceptionally dour today. Early in the morning, Ulrek Bathory had summoned his chamberlain to the great hall to perform a number of routine chores before the vampire lord began his slumber through the daylight hours. But the chamberlain never arrived. Hours passed, and at dawn Ulrek ordered the keep's guards to seize the chamberlain and bring him before the throne. Now it was early in the afternoon, and nearly the entirety of the keep's guard contingent had been mobilized to search every conceivable hiding place.
"You are certain of this?"
"Aye, yer majesty," affirmed the guard commander. "We've gone through the undercroft, looked in every barrel, and every space we thought a man could try to hide within. I'm certain he's gone."
Ulrek listened through the thoughts of his numerous guards and retainers throughout the fortress. Felboge Keep was rank with fear and anxiety today, even more so than usual, but as Ulrek scoured the minds of his servants, he found no trace of disloyalty. The traitorous thoughts he had been sensing were notably absent. Ulrek knew now that his chamberlain was gone, and worse still, that he harbored ill will for his former master. Ulrek cursed himself for not making a greater effort to hunt down the traitor while he had the chance.
"Where could he have gone?" Ulrek wondered aloud.
"Impossible to say, yer majesty. Probably made off with some jewels and coins and hiding in some crag on the moor now. Fret not, sire, he'll spend the rest of his miserable days a wretch on the lam, but he can't hide forever. His hide'll be staked to the walls soon enough."
"'Soon enough'? Soon enough is not good enough." Ulrek was well aware that his missing chamberlain did not leave for a handful of golden vespers. The chamberlain knew too much, and if his knowledge reached the wrong ears, then Ulrek's wish for the throne of the Imperium was in jeopardy. "Nothing enters or leaves without my approval. How was this even allowed to happen?"
"You see, sire..." the commander gulped, "there was a terrible storm last night. In all the thunder and rain, he must've gotten through somehow."
Before Ulrek could chastise his guard captain, the door to the great hall was thrown open by another guard, his boots and greaves caked in mud.
"Sire!" The new arrival announced as he made his way up to Baron Ulrek's throne. "We found these in the moat!"
The guard laid at Ulrek's feet a soaking wet scrap of silk from a robe as well as a long length of rope tied around a muddy beam of wood. The chamberlain's escape had been confirmed.
"Looks like he used that to rappel down the wall in the storm," mused the commander.
"We also found some tracks in the mud, leading away from the keep into the moor."
"Take these to the houndkeeper," Ulrek ordered the mud-stained guard. "Allow his dogs to acquire his scent and follow those tracks. "I want the borders closed to anyone without written permission to enter or leave these lands. Anyone matching a rough description of this man is to be arrested and brought in for identification."
"As you wish, sire."
"Find him quickly," Ulrek ordered his guard captain, "or your skin will be nailed to the keep in his stead."
He was roused from his sleep by the snorting and grunting of hogs. A wet, muddy snout prodded under his thigh; bringing to an end a fitful and restless night of sleep. He shooed the pig away and sat up from what had passed for a bed that night - a bed of weeds and straw laid over the muddy floor of a sty house. It was a wretched place to spend an evening, but the warmth of the hogs and a crude roof over his head made it preferable to sleeping out on the moor. He crawled through the doorway of the hut into a muddy pig sty. With his walking stick in hand, the former chamberlain of Felboge Keep waded through the filth and climbed over the low fence, making his way onto the street of the town.
He was a positively wretched figure, clad in a tattered robe and hood of coarse wool caked with mud and hog shit. When assuming a hobbling, staff-dependent limp, the former chamberlain was indistinguishable from a lowly, unremarkable vagabond. It was a disguise that would attract little attention as he made his way out of the Great Weald to the fringes of the Imperial Heartlands and ultimately the capital and Castle Bathory.
It would be nearly a week at his current pace to pass the borders of the Great Weald and be free of the wrath of his former master, who by now had certainly recognized his absence. Once in the Imperial Heartlands, the former chamberlain could travel by horseback, but so long as apprehension by Ulrek's men was a possibility, he had to maintain a low profile. Under the frayed woolen hood, passersby never suspected that the destitute man ambling down the southern road toward the borderlands had once been among the closest advisers of the horrifying master of this realm. No one could have imagined that the forgettablr drifter was in fact a courier bearing a secret that would set the Xelwyth Imperium ablaze.
Cuz you better change dem sheets erry dam day smdh 🌊🛏😂😂
Ever been with a squirter before?
With the vampire slayers went the uncharacteristically pleasant weather that the Great Weald had been enjoying for the past several days. Dusk came early that night as dark stormclouds rolled overhead from north of the Felmurg Mountains. Cold, heavy rains fell upon the moor in oppressive sheets. The rains fell upon Felboge Keep's chiseled facades, coating the edifice in a dribbling curtain of water that coursed off the cornices of colonnades and the chins of monstrous gargoyles. Bright blue peals from within the tempest above illuminated the dismal fortress for brief moments, followed immediately by chest-vibrating cracks of nearby thunder. Deep within Felboge Keep, even underneath many layers of thick stone, the storm outside could still be heard if only as distant and muted rumbling.
Baron Ulrek sat upon his throne in the great hall, holding within his slender fingers a wooden box containing a potato-sized lump of silvery metal packed in wads of hay. Argstone, the Felmurg Dwarves called it. It was an ore rich in silver, shining with veins and bubbles of silver metal within a matrix of gray stone and other minerals. Sturin's Folk had already begun delivering prodigious quantities of Argstone and other ores to Felboge Keep, carting off equal amounts of mithril and gold back to their hoards in their mountain homes in accordance with their agreement with the vampire lord. The dwarves surely thought Baron Ulrek an utter fool for trading precious gold and mithril for comparatively mundane silver. But Ulrek knew that greed compelled dwarfkind far more than any sense of honor or loyalty. When the time came to fight, Ulrek knew he could count on his dwarven allies to support him and, by extension, their lucrative mining agreement. Let the dwarves have their mithril, Ulrek thought. With enough silver, the Xelwyth Imperium would be his alone.
Thunder rumbled outside as Ulrek stared into the box, hesitating. His finger slowly lowered around the silver ore, his bony digits still burned and blistered from previous attempts at holding silver. His hands hovered above the sparkling rock, fingers already trembling in anticipation of the tremendous pain to which they would soon be subjected. Ulrek inhaled through gritted fangs and finally laid his hands upon the silver ore. He lifted the stone up out of the box, supporting its weight completely. Sharp, burning pain radiated through the Baron's fingers as smoke trailed upward from his hands once again. The feeling of silver on his flesh was excruciating, but already not as traumatic as his first attempts at handling silver, nor was there yellow fire during this attempt either. Ulrek's plan seemed to be working: already he was building a tolerance to silver.
Tolerance was one thing, but Ulrek wanted immunity. Thunder rumbled once again as Ulrek gritted his teeth, denying himself from letting go of the rock and relieving himself of the pain. His hands were giving off a considerable amount of smoke and shaking vigorously under the pain. Ulrek believed that if he held this silver for long enough, he might gain complete immunity. Focusing completely on keeping his hands on the silver ore, Ulrek resolved to push himself to the very limits of his newfound tolerance.
Driving rain and lightning had made the ramparts of Felboge Keep an unpleasant place to be. The keep's guards, while technically required to conduct routine rounds along the battlements of the keep regardless of inclement weather, were now taking shelter under any roof or structure they could stand under to find some shelter from the storm. With the ramparts unguarded, and the Baron preoccupied with his strange rituals, the head chamberlain of Felboge Keep was afforded perhaps the best opportunity he would ever have of escaping this place.
The chamberlain, his courtly robe matted to his body from the pouring rain, thoroughly surveyed his surroundings to ensure he was alone. Save for the occasional peal of lightning, it was completely dark. So heavy was the rain that the torches had been extinguished in their sconces. And there was not a single guard to be seen on this lonely stretch of the rampart. This was it.
The chamberlain produced from under his robe a thick, solid beam of wood one cubit long with a length of rope tied snugly around the middle. He uncoiled the rope from around the wooden beam and placed it between two battlements of the rampart and allowed the unfurled rope to fall down the keep's wall to the moat some twenty feet below. Each flash of lightning illuminated the daunting descent the chamberlain would have to make in order to make his escape, revealing a muddy moat full of sharpened pikes that would certainly skewer him should he make a single false move during his descent. The dizzying descent repulsed the chamberlain, and he backed away into the wall of the keep. The escape would prove a frightful ordeal, but the chamberlain knew he could not expect to survive in Felboge Keep much longer. He sometimes felt the disconcerting sensation that he was not alone in his own mind, and suspected the Baron was probing it. It would only be a matter of time before Ulrek discovered the chamberlain's disdain for his own master. But more importantly than his own fate, King Zachaeus had to be notified of Ulrek's treasonous deeds.
The chamberlain returned to the battlements and took the rope in his hands. He prayed that the mortar holding the stone battlements in place did not fail under his weight, and stepped over the edge. His breaths were furious and fast, rainwater spraying off his lips with every terrified exhalation. He dared not look down below him and only took short, deliberate steps down the face of the wall. Step by terrifying step, the chamberlain watched the keep above get smaller and smaller. As he neared the bottom, the chamberlain was startled to feel something tugging at his shoulder. Surprised by the tugging sensation, he lost his grip on the rain-soaked rope, and fell. The sleeve of his robe tore away from him, and he fell only a short distance into the muddy water of the moat. He emerged from the filthy moat with much of his robe torn off of his body, and discovered much of it snagged on the point of a pike he was fortunate to not have landed upon. Save for ropeburn on his palms and a scrape on his shoulder, the chamberlain had survived the descent unscathed. He gave a swift, whipping jerk on the rope, freeing the wooden block from the battlements and sending it plunging down into the moat with a splash that was barely audible over the pouring rain and thunder. He waded through the moat and pikes and flopped onto the muddy bank of the moat, panting with exhaustion. The chamberlain looked back up to see the dread keep behind him after spending so much of his life within its walls. He had only a moment to savor his newfound freedom, for the storm would soon pass and Baron Ulrek would discover his head chamberlain missing.
The chamberlain staggered down the hillside into the moor, slippered feet squishing into the mud with every step as he proceeded toward a village he knew to be located nearly a stone's-throw from Felboge Keep. It would be the first place Ulrek's men would check once they began their search for the missing chamberlain, but he would be able to acquire there some basic necessities for his journey to the Capital.
After an hour stumbling through the storm, the chamberlain encountered the hamlet known as Felboge Shadow: a collection of wattle-and-daub huts gathered along a muddy road that went east and west across the Weald. No sign of the town's denizens, unsurprising given the weather and late hour. The chamberlain came up to a crude, thatched-roof inn in the middle of the village and slammed his fist upon the door to be let in. Three knockings and still no sign of stirring from within. The proprietor of this inn either was either fast asleep, or had no intention of seeing visitors at this odd hour.
"Spare a coin, suh?" Said a raspy, croaking voice that startled the chamberlain. Sitting in the mud under the eave of the inn was a wretched soul, dressed in a filthy hooded robe and cloak who appeared to own nothing beside a pair of holey shoes and a walking stick.
"I ain't eat in two days, suh," the vagabond pleaded again, his palms outstretched. "Two pence an' I kin get some soup 'ere in the mornin'."
The chamberlain produced a coin and threw it into the vagabond's palm. The beggar's jaw dropped open when he discovered it was a golden vesper - more money than this depauperate man had ever seen in his entire life.
"Give me your robe, your staff, and your word that you will never speak of having seen me here tonight."
Baron Ulrek sat upon his throne in the great hall, holding within his slender fingers a wooden box containing a potato-sized lump of silvery metal packed in wads of hay. Argstone, the Felmurg Dwarves called it. It was an ore rich in silver, shining with veins and bubbles of silver metal within a matrix of gray stone and other minerals. Sturin's Folk had already begun delivering prodigious quantities of Argstone and other ores to Felboge Keep, carting off equal amounts of mithril and gold back to their hoards in their mountain homes in accordance with their agreement with the vampire lord. The dwarves surely thought Baron Ulrek an utter fool for trading precious gold and mithril for comparatively mundane silver. But Ulrek knew that greed compelled dwarfkind far more than any sense of honor or loyalty. When the time came to fight, Ulrek knew he could count on his dwarven allies to support him and, by extension, their lucrative mining agreement. Let the dwarves have their mithril, Ulrek thought. With enough silver, the Xelwyth Imperium would be his alone.
Thunder rumbled outside as Ulrek stared into the box, hesitating. His finger slowly lowered around the silver ore, his bony digits still burned and blistered from previous attempts at holding silver. His hands hovered above the sparkling rock, fingers already trembling in anticipation of the tremendous pain to which they would soon be subjected. Ulrek inhaled through gritted fangs and finally laid his hands upon the silver ore. He lifted the stone up out of the box, supporting its weight completely. Sharp, burning pain radiated through the Baron's fingers as smoke trailed upward from his hands once again. The feeling of silver on his flesh was excruciating, but already not as traumatic as his first attempts at handling silver, nor was there yellow fire during this attempt either. Ulrek's plan seemed to be working: already he was building a tolerance to silver.
Tolerance was one thing, but Ulrek wanted immunity. Thunder rumbled once again as Ulrek gritted his teeth, denying himself from letting go of the rock and relieving himself of the pain. His hands were giving off a considerable amount of smoke and shaking vigorously under the pain. Ulrek believed that if he held this silver for long enough, he might gain complete immunity. Focusing completely on keeping his hands on the silver ore, Ulrek resolved to push himself to the very limits of his newfound tolerance.
Driving rain and lightning had made the ramparts of Felboge Keep an unpleasant place to be. The keep's guards, while technically required to conduct routine rounds along the battlements of the keep regardless of inclement weather, were now taking shelter under any roof or structure they could stand under to find some shelter from the storm. With the ramparts unguarded, and the Baron preoccupied with his strange rituals, the head chamberlain of Felboge Keep was afforded perhaps the best opportunity he would ever have of escaping this place.
The chamberlain, his courtly robe matted to his body from the pouring rain, thoroughly surveyed his surroundings to ensure he was alone. Save for the occasional peal of lightning, it was completely dark. So heavy was the rain that the torches had been extinguished in their sconces. And there was not a single guard to be seen on this lonely stretch of the rampart. This was it.
The chamberlain produced from under his robe a thick, solid beam of wood one cubit long with a length of rope tied snugly around the middle. He uncoiled the rope from around the wooden beam and placed it between two battlements of the rampart and allowed the unfurled rope to fall down the keep's wall to the moat some twenty feet below. Each flash of lightning illuminated the daunting descent the chamberlain would have to make in order to make his escape, revealing a muddy moat full of sharpened pikes that would certainly skewer him should he make a single false move during his descent. The dizzying descent repulsed the chamberlain, and he backed away into the wall of the keep. The escape would prove a frightful ordeal, but the chamberlain knew he could not expect to survive in Felboge Keep much longer. He sometimes felt the disconcerting sensation that he was not alone in his own mind, and suspected the Baron was probing it. It would only be a matter of time before Ulrek discovered the chamberlain's disdain for his own master. But more importantly than his own fate, King Zachaeus had to be notified of Ulrek's treasonous deeds.
The chamberlain returned to the battlements and took the rope in his hands. He prayed that the mortar holding the stone battlements in place did not fail under his weight, and stepped over the edge. His breaths were furious and fast, rainwater spraying off his lips with every terrified exhalation. He dared not look down below him and only took short, deliberate steps down the face of the wall. Step by terrifying step, the chamberlain watched the keep above get smaller and smaller. As he neared the bottom, the chamberlain was startled to feel something tugging at his shoulder. Surprised by the tugging sensation, he lost his grip on the rain-soaked rope, and fell. The sleeve of his robe tore away from him, and he fell only a short distance into the muddy water of the moat. He emerged from the filthy moat with much of his robe torn off of his body, and discovered much of it snagged on the point of a pike he was fortunate to not have landed upon. Save for ropeburn on his palms and a scrape on his shoulder, the chamberlain had survived the descent unscathed. He gave a swift, whipping jerk on the rope, freeing the wooden block from the battlements and sending it plunging down into the moat with a splash that was barely audible over the pouring rain and thunder. He waded through the moat and pikes and flopped onto the muddy bank of the moat, panting with exhaustion. The chamberlain looked back up to see the dread keep behind him after spending so much of his life within its walls. He had only a moment to savor his newfound freedom, for the storm would soon pass and Baron Ulrek would discover his head chamberlain missing.
The chamberlain staggered down the hillside into the moor, slippered feet squishing into the mud with every step as he proceeded toward a village he knew to be located nearly a stone's-throw from Felboge Keep. It would be the first place Ulrek's men would check once they began their search for the missing chamberlain, but he would be able to acquire there some basic necessities for his journey to the Capital.
After an hour stumbling through the storm, the chamberlain encountered the hamlet known as Felboge Shadow: a collection of wattle-and-daub huts gathered along a muddy road that went east and west across the Weald. No sign of the town's denizens, unsurprising given the weather and late hour. The chamberlain came up to a crude, thatched-roof inn in the middle of the village and slammed his fist upon the door to be let in. Three knockings and still no sign of stirring from within. The proprietor of this inn either was either fast asleep, or had no intention of seeing visitors at this odd hour.
"Spare a coin, suh?" Said a raspy, croaking voice that startled the chamberlain. Sitting in the mud under the eave of the inn was a wretched soul, dressed in a filthy hooded robe and cloak who appeared to own nothing beside a pair of holey shoes and a walking stick.
"I ain't eat in two days, suh," the vagabond pleaded again, his palms outstretched. "Two pence an' I kin get some soup 'ere in the mornin'."
The chamberlain produced a coin and threw it into the vagabond's palm. The beggar's jaw dropped open when he discovered it was a golden vesper - more money than this depauperate man had ever seen in his entire life.
"Give me your robe, your staff, and your word that you will never speak of having seen me here tonight."
Do you enjoy being asked about
Have you ever frozen one of your poops to use as a buttplug?
The vampire hunters and beastslayers had arrived. Even before the chamberlains had announced their arrival, Baron Ulrek had sensed their presence as they entered his keep; already he had begun attempting to probe their minds. It was apparent that many among them were skilled vampire slayers, for the thoughts that Ulrek perceived were unbelievably inane or crude. Ulrek probed one of the beastslayers' minds only to be subjected to the memory of the teenaged vampire slayer pleasuring himself with a large, overripe turnip with a hole poked through it. Revolted by being subjected to such a thought, Ulrek immediately untethered his consciousness from the hunter's mind. No doubt that these vampire slayers were well aware of vampires' capacity to read minds, and had therefore forced themselves to think of some drivel to distract or disgust any who would attempt to read their minds; a simple yet effective tactic in the presence of a powerful vampire. These were precisely the sort of seasoned hunters Ulrek needed.
The Keep's head chamberlain ushered nearly a dozen men into the great hall. They were a barbaric gaggle of dangerous looking men; their mere entry had stirred the guards to the utmost attention and the Baron's servants exchanged anxious glances with one another as a hushed murmur came up from the peripheries of the great hall. Even to the courtiers that had not expected them, it was clear that these men were vampire hunters from the crosses hanging openly from their necks and the reek of garlic emanating from their pores. What had compelled the Baron to invite such men to his court?
The Baron of the Great Weald sat rigidly upon his throne, eying his curious guests. Ulrek seemed attentive but unperturbed, even as the miserable garlic stench clinging to the clothing and skin of some of the vampire slayers reached his nose. Once they had settled into the great hall, Ulrek stood to address them.
"Gentlemen," Baron Ulrek began as he rose out of his throne, "I bid you welcome. You have traveled distant leagues and endured many inconveniences to join me at my court today. The matter that has forced me to summon you today is urgent indeed, and I thank you for arriving quickly in keeping with the urgency of this situation."
"Enough jabberin', Baron," a broad-shouldered beast of a vampire slayer interrupted. "Wot d'ya wont wif us?"
"You wish me to be concise? Fair enough," said Ulrek. "Guards, servants, leave me and these gentlemen for a brief while." The guards hesitated for a moment. Leave his majesty alone with a dozen vampire slayers without a single guard in the room? Had Ulrek gone completely mad?
"Guards, I insist," Ulrek repeated, sensing their unease.
Mad or not, the Baron's orders could not be denied. The guards slowly filed out of the great hall and the head chamberlain shut the doors behind them, leaving the vampire lord and the vampire hunters alone together.
"Now, as you wish, I shall speak candidly and concisely. King Zachaeus Bathory, my father and master of this imperium, has elected to forgo the legal order of succession of these lands and pass the inheritance of rule over the Xelwyth Imperium to whichever of his sons can first find a loving bride. I am a revolting monster that naturally repulses female beings, and so I am naturally handicapped in this absurd game against the likes of my handsome younger brothers Edward, Matteas, Rory, and others. I see this contest for what it truly is: a desperate attempt for my father to deny me my rightful inheritance. I will not abide this flagrant perversion of inheritance law."
"So, where do we lot come in?" Asked the giant of a vampire slayer.
"I will pay 1,000 golden vespers for each of my brother's heads delivered to me." Ulrek declared. The vampire slayers exchanged toothy grins and excited nudges to one another. A single golden vesper was more than many commoners saved up in an entire year; 1,000 was a considerable fortune. It was by far the largest bounty any of them had ever been offered.
"Which of your brothers do you think will be wed soonest?" Asked the tallest of the vampire slayers, handsomely dressed and better spoken than his cruder compatriots.
"A wise question," said Ulrek. "I believe Matteas, Baron of Solleck, is nearest to being betrothed. He has courted a noblewoman of that city for some time before my father issued his challenge and is therefore in an advantageous position." Ulrek, impressed with this taller vampire hunter, casually attempted to probe his mind.
Nothing.
Ulrek's eyes widened slightly, for this had never happened before. Never before had Ulrek encountered a mortal impervious to being mind-probed. He continued on with this briefing, wishing to distract the vampire slayers from his shock.
"Matteas is a problem, but Edward is the greatest threat. 1,500 vespers for his head."
"A bloo'y fo'tune!" Exclaimed one of the vampire slayers who could not contain his enthusiasm for the promise of such riches. "I'll be rich 'nuf to buy my own bloo'y castle when this is all said 'n done."
"A word of caution," Ulrek added, tempering the enthusiasm. "These are not the wild, feral beasts you gentlemen are accustomed to dispatching. These are powerful vampires, learned and protected by guard contingents and the laws of this land. If you should be captured attempting to kill my brothers, then there will be nothing I can do to save you. Die in the last ditch, for if you are captured my brothers will mete out the most excruciating of executions against you. Great risk warrants great reward." Truthfully, Baron Ulrek did not know if a captured vampire slayer would be immediately executed if found by his brothers, but he hoped that they would believe it and choose to fight to the death rather than be interrogated and reveal his plot.
"I dismiss you now to seek out whichever of my brothers you see fit," Ulrek said at last. "Now go and do your bloody work. But work quickly. Time is of the essence in this matter."
As the vampire slayers made their way for the doors, Ulrek focused on the tallest of the vampire hunters, confirming once again that he could not read his mind. As Ulrek's attempts to hone in on this man's mind proved fruitless, the immortal monster felt for perhaps the first time in his long life a very mortal feeling: fear. For the first time in nearly three centuries, Ulrek Bathory had encountered in this tall mortal man something that frightened him.
The Keep's head chamberlain ushered nearly a dozen men into the great hall. They were a barbaric gaggle of dangerous looking men; their mere entry had stirred the guards to the utmost attention and the Baron's servants exchanged anxious glances with one another as a hushed murmur came up from the peripheries of the great hall. Even to the courtiers that had not expected them, it was clear that these men were vampire hunters from the crosses hanging openly from their necks and the reek of garlic emanating from their pores. What had compelled the Baron to invite such men to his court?
The Baron of the Great Weald sat rigidly upon his throne, eying his curious guests. Ulrek seemed attentive but unperturbed, even as the miserable garlic stench clinging to the clothing and skin of some of the vampire slayers reached his nose. Once they had settled into the great hall, Ulrek stood to address them.
"Gentlemen," Baron Ulrek began as he rose out of his throne, "I bid you welcome. You have traveled distant leagues and endured many inconveniences to join me at my court today. The matter that has forced me to summon you today is urgent indeed, and I thank you for arriving quickly in keeping with the urgency of this situation."
"Enough jabberin', Baron," a broad-shouldered beast of a vampire slayer interrupted. "Wot d'ya wont wif us?"
"You wish me to be concise? Fair enough," said Ulrek. "Guards, servants, leave me and these gentlemen for a brief while." The guards hesitated for a moment. Leave his majesty alone with a dozen vampire slayers without a single guard in the room? Had Ulrek gone completely mad?
"Guards, I insist," Ulrek repeated, sensing their unease.
Mad or not, the Baron's orders could not be denied. The guards slowly filed out of the great hall and the head chamberlain shut the doors behind them, leaving the vampire lord and the vampire hunters alone together.
"Now, as you wish, I shall speak candidly and concisely. King Zachaeus Bathory, my father and master of this imperium, has elected to forgo the legal order of succession of these lands and pass the inheritance of rule over the Xelwyth Imperium to whichever of his sons can first find a loving bride. I am a revolting monster that naturally repulses female beings, and so I am naturally handicapped in this absurd game against the likes of my handsome younger brothers Edward, Matteas, Rory, and others. I see this contest for what it truly is: a desperate attempt for my father to deny me my rightful inheritance. I will not abide this flagrant perversion of inheritance law."
"So, where do we lot come in?" Asked the giant of a vampire slayer.
"I will pay 1,000 golden vespers for each of my brother's heads delivered to me." Ulrek declared. The vampire slayers exchanged toothy grins and excited nudges to one another. A single golden vesper was more than many commoners saved up in an entire year; 1,000 was a considerable fortune. It was by far the largest bounty any of them had ever been offered.
"Which of your brothers do you think will be wed soonest?" Asked the tallest of the vampire slayers, handsomely dressed and better spoken than his cruder compatriots.
"A wise question," said Ulrek. "I believe Matteas, Baron of Solleck, is nearest to being betrothed. He has courted a noblewoman of that city for some time before my father issued his challenge and is therefore in an advantageous position." Ulrek, impressed with this taller vampire hunter, casually attempted to probe his mind.
Nothing.
Ulrek's eyes widened slightly, for this had never happened before. Never before had Ulrek encountered a mortal impervious to being mind-probed. He continued on with this briefing, wishing to distract the vampire slayers from his shock.
"Matteas is a problem, but Edward is the greatest threat. 1,500 vespers for his head."
"A bloo'y fo'tune!" Exclaimed one of the vampire slayers who could not contain his enthusiasm for the promise of such riches. "I'll be rich 'nuf to buy my own bloo'y castle when this is all said 'n done."
"A word of caution," Ulrek added, tempering the enthusiasm. "These are not the wild, feral beasts you gentlemen are accustomed to dispatching. These are powerful vampires, learned and protected by guard contingents and the laws of this land. If you should be captured attempting to kill my brothers, then there will be nothing I can do to save you. Die in the last ditch, for if you are captured my brothers will mete out the most excruciating of executions against you. Great risk warrants great reward." Truthfully, Baron Ulrek did not know if a captured vampire slayer would be immediately executed if found by his brothers, but he hoped that they would believe it and choose to fight to the death rather than be interrogated and reveal his plot.
"I dismiss you now to seek out whichever of my brothers you see fit," Ulrek said at last. "Now go and do your bloody work. But work quickly. Time is of the essence in this matter."
As the vampire slayers made their way for the doors, Ulrek focused on the tallest of the vampire hunters, confirming once again that he could not read his mind. As Ulrek's attempts to hone in on this man's mind proved fruitless, the immortal monster felt for perhaps the first time in his long life a very mortal feeling: fear. For the first time in nearly three centuries, Ulrek Bathory had encountered in this tall mortal man something that frightened him.
Anime is a scourge
The past fortnight had seen more visitors to Keep Felboge than the previous century. All manner of visitors were coming and going from the Baron's great hall in a flurry of activity that left the servants and chamberlains utterly exhausted. Baron Ulrek Bathory's malign intentions were becoming increasingly apparent. The chief chamberlain of the Keep had done all that he could to notify his liege, Lord Edward Bathory, of the Baron's actions. He hoped that Edward's hawk had made it back to the capital with his brief message intact, and that his master did something to check Ulrek's maneuverings - and fast.
The head chamberlain had opted now to ensure that he could bear witness to as much of Ulrek's treasonous behavior as possible. To this end, he insisted on attending each audience the Baron held with visitors to the keep. If Edward was able to act quickly and mobilize a force to arrest his older brother, the chamberlain hoped that his testimonial of these meetings might one day be used to mete out justice. But he feared now that the time to stop the rogue Baron of Felboge Keep without bloodshed was fast coming to a close.
He stood now in attendance in Baron Ulrek's court, standing vigil over yet another audience with a party summoned to the great hall. A gaggle of foreign alchemists and apothecaries stood before the throne behind a wooden table brought in specifically for this audience. Under the gaze of the Baron, they unpacked an assortment of dried herbs and vegetables from satchels and placed them on the table for display. The chamberlain's interest was piqued when he saw an apothecary produce a braid of garlic cloves from a satchel and lay it upon the table beside a bundle of some dried purple herb that bore similarity to lavender. The sight of garlic elicited visible unease among the dozen guards in attendance; their grip on their crossbows tightened. Garlic, a potent poison to vampires, had been strictly outlawed in the Empire for the entirety of the Empire's existence - excluding the Great Weald as of very recently. Anxious glances at the Baron gave proof that he was not at all perturbed by the garlic cloves, and so the guards allowed the alchemists to continue.
"Baron Ulrek Bathory," one of the alchemists began once the table had been set, "we are honored to attend your court today. As you have requested in your letter, we have procured all readily-available herbs, vegetables, and materials that are known to us to be noxious to your kind. To be absolutely clear, we have brought these materials at your request, and have no intention of causing any harm-"
"Understood," Ulrek cut the alchemist of with a wave of his bony hand. "Show me your goods."
"As you wish, your majesty." The alchemist began at the right side of the table, holding up one a large, dried shelf mushroom.
"Peacock's Tail, a polypore mushroom whose ashes have been reported as effective against vampires when burned. It is rare in these lands and grows only on giant trees in the frost jungles of Faresh, far to the northeast." He continued down the table to a few heaping bundles of dried plants.
"Vervain, this is highly sought after by vampire hunters, and reported to be highly lethal to your kind. And here: Warrior's Balm, a common weed in these lands. Legend purports that vampires are repulsed by this herb, but vampire hunters seldom request it which suggests that it is, in truth, not particularly noxious to your kind. Here we have Wolfsbane another herb purported to be deadly to vampires. It, like Warrior's Balm, has conflicting reports as to its efficacy in repelling vampires."
Baron Ulrek stood from his throne and descended from its dais, making his way over to the sampling of herbs on the table before him. To the surprise of the alchemists, Ulrek simply grabbed a handful of dried Wolfsbane and held it to his nostrils, deeply sniffing the crinkling leaves before laying it back upon the table.
"A slightly unpleasant aroma," Ulrek decided, "but I am hardly repulsed. Perhaps you may wish to inform the vampire slayers that patronize you that this particular plant is useless to them, lest you lose their business to some feral vampire."
"Of course, your majesty. Lastly, we have garlic. The most effective known vampire repellent," the alchemist grabbed a fresh white bulb of garlic and tore it apart, plucking one of the largest cloves from the papery husk. "Its juices are said to be highly toxic; its mere aroma rumored to drive vampires mad."
"Show me," Ulrek demanded.
"As you wish, your majesty," the alchemist acknowledged with eyes wide with anxiety. He laid the garlic clove down upon the table and with a small knife produced from his pocket, made a clean cut across the width of the clove. He held one of the halves up, presenting it to the vampire baron. The clove's sour zest slowly began to permeate the air. The aroma, after some moments, entered Ulrek's nostrils, eliciting an extreme and immediate revulsion. The vampire's normally stoic face coiled into a disgusted grimace as a smell deemed pleasant by most men was perceived by his own nostrils as a putrid odor far worse than that of a festering corpse marinating in pig shit.
"An effective repellent," Ulrek admitted, stepping back some paces to relieve himself of the garlicky aroma. "Very effective, very good."
((Suggested listening))
"One more item to show you, your majesty," the alchemist said as he produced a glass ampule containing a minuscule object only slightly larger than a grain of sand. His fingers trembled as he presented the small vial to the vampire baron. Ulrek took the ampule in his bony fingers and twirled it about before his eyes, watching the infinitesimal object within clink against the glass with a soft, metallic ring.
"Silver," Baron Ulrek recognized.
"Indeed, majesty. Nothing is more lethal to a vampire than silver. Per your request, we have brought to you the smallest nugget we could procure, but I must confess that I am perplexed as to why you wanted it. Surely, over your long lifetime, you have been acquainted with this metal at-"
Stunned silence overtook the great hall as Baron Ulrek uncorked the glass vial. He held one of his pale and bony palms up to the open ampule. He paused for a moment to contemplate and then, to the dismay of all in attendance, emptied the silver nugget into his palm.
For several moments, the Baron was perfectly still as the grain of silver rested in his palm. Without warning, the empty vial fell from the Baron's left hand and shattered upon the floor. A wispy trail of white smoke rose up from the vampire's palm, but still Ulrek was unwavering. The pallid flesh of Ulrek's palm began to smolder with the initial sparks of a yellow flame. Ulrek was wincing now and his face trembling, but even now he did not yield to the agonizing pain induced by this tiny drop of silver.
"Your majesty, release it!" A guard pleaded.
As if in defiance, Ulrek clenched his fist around the silver nugget. Yellow flames leaked out from between his fingers, licking his fingers and knuckles. Even as his hand burned with unholy yellow fire, Ulrek did not release the silver and instead braced his burning, quivering hand with the other, holding it tightly in his palm in spite the innate compulsion to release it. Through bared, gritted fangs, Ulrek watched as the flames built to an agonizing crescendo and then slowly began to subside. Smoke wafted from his clenched fist once more as the yellow flames extinguished. At last, Ulrek opened his fist and allowed the silver nugget to fall to the floor. His hands had been horrifically burned, but the vampire was still alive.
"Take your herbs and plants," Ulrek ordered to the alchemists and apothecaries between heaved pants, "and distill their toxic essences into one single potion. Make as many bottles as you can with the supplies at hand. And when you leave for your homes, go and tell any vampire hunters that might patronize your enterprises that there lives one vampire their poisons and silver will not kill."
The head chamberlain had opted now to ensure that he could bear witness to as much of Ulrek's treasonous behavior as possible. To this end, he insisted on attending each audience the Baron held with visitors to the keep. If Edward was able to act quickly and mobilize a force to arrest his older brother, the chamberlain hoped that his testimonial of these meetings might one day be used to mete out justice. But he feared now that the time to stop the rogue Baron of Felboge Keep without bloodshed was fast coming to a close.
He stood now in attendance in Baron Ulrek's court, standing vigil over yet another audience with a party summoned to the great hall. A gaggle of foreign alchemists and apothecaries stood before the throne behind a wooden table brought in specifically for this audience. Under the gaze of the Baron, they unpacked an assortment of dried herbs and vegetables from satchels and placed them on the table for display. The chamberlain's interest was piqued when he saw an apothecary produce a braid of garlic cloves from a satchel and lay it upon the table beside a bundle of some dried purple herb that bore similarity to lavender. The sight of garlic elicited visible unease among the dozen guards in attendance; their grip on their crossbows tightened. Garlic, a potent poison to vampires, had been strictly outlawed in the Empire for the entirety of the Empire's existence - excluding the Great Weald as of very recently. Anxious glances at the Baron gave proof that he was not at all perturbed by the garlic cloves, and so the guards allowed the alchemists to continue.
"Baron Ulrek Bathory," one of the alchemists began once the table had been set, "we are honored to attend your court today. As you have requested in your letter, we have procured all readily-available herbs, vegetables, and materials that are known to us to be noxious to your kind. To be absolutely clear, we have brought these materials at your request, and have no intention of causing any harm-"
"Understood," Ulrek cut the alchemist of with a wave of his bony hand. "Show me your goods."
"As you wish, your majesty." The alchemist began at the right side of the table, holding up one a large, dried shelf mushroom.
"Peacock's Tail, a polypore mushroom whose ashes have been reported as effective against vampires when burned. It is rare in these lands and grows only on giant trees in the frost jungles of Faresh, far to the northeast." He continued down the table to a few heaping bundles of dried plants.
"Vervain, this is highly sought after by vampire hunters, and reported to be highly lethal to your kind. And here: Warrior's Balm, a common weed in these lands. Legend purports that vampires are repulsed by this herb, but vampire hunters seldom request it which suggests that it is, in truth, not particularly noxious to your kind. Here we have Wolfsbane another herb purported to be deadly to vampires. It, like Warrior's Balm, has conflicting reports as to its efficacy in repelling vampires."
Baron Ulrek stood from his throne and descended from its dais, making his way over to the sampling of herbs on the table before him. To the surprise of the alchemists, Ulrek simply grabbed a handful of dried Wolfsbane and held it to his nostrils, deeply sniffing the crinkling leaves before laying it back upon the table.
"A slightly unpleasant aroma," Ulrek decided, "but I am hardly repulsed. Perhaps you may wish to inform the vampire slayers that patronize you that this particular plant is useless to them, lest you lose their business to some feral vampire."
"Of course, your majesty. Lastly, we have garlic. The most effective known vampire repellent," the alchemist grabbed a fresh white bulb of garlic and tore it apart, plucking one of the largest cloves from the papery husk. "Its juices are said to be highly toxic; its mere aroma rumored to drive vampires mad."
"Show me," Ulrek demanded.
"As you wish, your majesty," the alchemist acknowledged with eyes wide with anxiety. He laid the garlic clove down upon the table and with a small knife produced from his pocket, made a clean cut across the width of the clove. He held one of the halves up, presenting it to the vampire baron. The clove's sour zest slowly began to permeate the air. The aroma, after some moments, entered Ulrek's nostrils, eliciting an extreme and immediate revulsion. The vampire's normally stoic face coiled into a disgusted grimace as a smell deemed pleasant by most men was perceived by his own nostrils as a putrid odor far worse than that of a festering corpse marinating in pig shit.
"An effective repellent," Ulrek admitted, stepping back some paces to relieve himself of the garlicky aroma. "Very effective, very good."
((Suggested listening))
"One more item to show you, your majesty," the alchemist said as he produced a glass ampule containing a minuscule object only slightly larger than a grain of sand. His fingers trembled as he presented the small vial to the vampire baron. Ulrek took the ampule in his bony fingers and twirled it about before his eyes, watching the infinitesimal object within clink against the glass with a soft, metallic ring.
"Silver," Baron Ulrek recognized.
"Indeed, majesty. Nothing is more lethal to a vampire than silver. Per your request, we have brought to you the smallest nugget we could procure, but I must confess that I am perplexed as to why you wanted it. Surely, over your long lifetime, you have been acquainted with this metal at-"
Stunned silence overtook the great hall as Baron Ulrek uncorked the glass vial. He held one of his pale and bony palms up to the open ampule. He paused for a moment to contemplate and then, to the dismay of all in attendance, emptied the silver nugget into his palm.
For several moments, the Baron was perfectly still as the grain of silver rested in his palm. Without warning, the empty vial fell from the Baron's left hand and shattered upon the floor. A wispy trail of white smoke rose up from the vampire's palm, but still Ulrek was unwavering. The pallid flesh of Ulrek's palm began to smolder with the initial sparks of a yellow flame. Ulrek was wincing now and his face trembling, but even now he did not yield to the agonizing pain induced by this tiny drop of silver.
"Your majesty, release it!" A guard pleaded.
As if in defiance, Ulrek clenched his fist around the silver nugget. Yellow flames leaked out from between his fingers, licking his fingers and knuckles. Even as his hand burned with unholy yellow fire, Ulrek did not release the silver and instead braced his burning, quivering hand with the other, holding it tightly in his palm in spite the innate compulsion to release it. Through bared, gritted fangs, Ulrek watched as the flames built to an agonizing crescendo and then slowly began to subside. Smoke wafted from his clenched fist once more as the yellow flames extinguished. At last, Ulrek opened his fist and allowed the silver nugget to fall to the floor. His hands had been horrifically burned, but the vampire was still alive.
"Take your herbs and plants," Ulrek ordered to the alchemists and apothecaries between heaved pants, "and distill their toxic essences into one single potion. Make as many bottles as you can with the supplies at hand. And when you leave for your homes, go and tell any vampire hunters that might patronize your enterprises that there lives one vampire their poisons and silver will not kill."
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