[The walk back up the mountain is not a quick one. The paths naturally curl and twist up the mountainside, and Hector doesn't make his way by the most direct route. He wants time to think before he reaches Julia's cottage.
He did mean what he said to Isaac, before they...before the sex. Julia may be better off without either of them. He will do right by her.. whatever that may be.
The night breeze whisks away the scent of blood and sex and sweat that hangs around him. There will be no fooling Julia's eagle eyes, so he tarries, hoping she will be deep asleep so that he can clean himself up before facing her.
There's nothing for him to fear on the mountain. His forged creatures keep monsters away, and no people come here. Well, Isaac had, but Isaac also hadn't killed him.
In any case, it's a slow, contemplative journey, and Hector is focused inward, not outward. When he hears movement along the path behind him, he first assumes it is some nocturnal creature, foraging or hunting for its dinner. But it persists, and Hector is forced to turn his aching body to meet the oncoming form.]
similarly, lemme know if this word dump is ok. I'm sure future tags won't be half as long
[They stay crouched in the undergrowth, communicating in a language of looks and nods, breath bitten back as they take aim. By the time Isaac feels the familiar, visceral twinge of a holy aura somewhere in the middle distance - Belmont-like, but less overbearing -, he's already in their crosshairs. Abel moves fast, lunging for the shadows with a powerful snap of its wings. But projectiles are faster.
It's not the first time a hunter has gotten him wrong: Isaac doesn't burst into flames or crumble to ashes when a jagged bolt punches into him, or when a stake does as he whirls around, wild-eyed. Jacked with fury and adrenaline, he's as alive as he's ever been, roaring for blood while Abel tears through their formation. They break apart and fall back, some in pieces, survivors fumbling desperately to reload. A flask of holy water shatters into Isaac's shoulder, splashing his face as he rips through a man from hip to armpit and severs another's head in the same swing. Someone turns, stumbling back the way he came. They don't make it more than ten feet before Hector's dagger leaves Isaac's hand and catches up, burying into the back of his skull. The one man left alive survives just long enough for Isaac to drive his heel into his crotch and twist it, squeezing everything he needs to know out of him.
There are others on the move: packs of village-grown hunters led around by sorcerers, all humans emboldened by Dracula's fall and determined to reclaim their homeland, piece by piece.
It's not the thought of Hector that makes his stomach swoop when he has Abel take him up into the air and set him down along the steep, craggy footpath leading up the mountain to intercept him. Isaac wasn't counting on a reunion this soon, if at all; but the fierce look in his eyes leaves little room for talk of anything but the situation on hand.]
You will go no further. [He doesn't raise his wet, sheening sword but doesn't sheathe it either, standing with a slight slouch to his shoulders as though he's struggling under the weight of his own blood-soaked cloak.] We are being followed.
[For common hunters, his enemies were clever enough to anoint their weaponry. He managed to wrench the stake from his blistering flesh, but the bolts snapped off, leaving the heads buried. Whether poor craftsmanship or a deliberate choice in its design is to blame, they're aggravatingly effective; he can already feel the blessing leaching from the metal, the wrongness of it as it slowly eats at his insides.]
[Hector gasps out the greeting when Isaac emerges, but his rival's explanation cuts off any further inquiry. He looks feral, and smells like blood. Hector's immediately on guard.]
Damn it. [So much for going home. Hector's still unarmed and aching. Damn, damn, damn. He and Julia had been so careful to avoid notice. Why now?]
We'll lure them away. I know these paths. If we move quickly, we should be able to lead them on a merry chase.
[He's careful not to mention from where they are diverting their pursuers; he knows not how close they are or if his words will be overheard. More than his life or Isaac's, Hector hold's Julia's safety as paramount. No matter what, he cannot let her come to harm.
He starts to move down a side path, then hesitates as his eyes pass over Isaac's form in the dark. He knows Isaac, has witnessed all manners of his postures and poses. Even in darkness, he knows the silhouette of the man. This slump of his is atypical. Concerning.]
Are you hurt?
[He steps closer to Isaac's side, hyper-aware now of the scent of blood hanging about him.]
[He turns from Hector's knowing gaze, his jaw sharpening as he moves on ahead, his stride purposefully, defiant. Isaac may have turned his back on the idea of returning to the castle on its eventual return, but it lives inside him all the same, as does its culture of fierce competition and posturing. He can't say yes, can't bring himself to say it, even when his body betrays him, because forgemasters aren't supposed to ask for help.]
'tis nothing. ...'twill take far more than a few bolts sprinkled with the piss of a priest if they hope to kill me.
[He keeps his sweat-stung eyes to the darkness on the horizon, gaze darting briefly at any sound he can't place or with the feelings on the periphery of his awareness. His lungs shouldn't burn; it shouldn't be this hard, keeping up with Abel's lazy wing beats. He gives his head a brisk shake to clear it, annoyed with himself. Sooner rather than later, he'd need Abel to burrow its claws into him and pick out every burning piece of metal.]
These are hunters by no means as capable ['Or as pretty', he might have mused, in a lighter mood] as the Belmont. But 'twould seem they have recruited men of magic to further their glorious cause. [After a while, he finally slants Hector a look from the corner of his eye.] There is time to fashion yourself a crude weapon. But work quickly.
[Rocks, branches. Not much in the ways of useful raw material, but it's a start. Open that COMBINE menu!]
[Even in the height of Hector’s time as Dracula’s Devil Forgemaster, a part of him was always unsuited for the brutalities of war. He hated sending his creations off to die in battle. He hadn’t want to see innocents suffer. He yearned for peace, for the chance to devote himself to his art of creation, not of death.
Isaac is a tenuous ally at best, but he is the only ally Hector has at the moment. They have the unified goal of keeping the hunters from Julia’s door. Hector wants him well. Isaac would rather die than accept pity, but Hector is counting on the fact that he will recognize the fact that Isaac can’t pull his weight if he bleeds out first.
...the fact they fucked factors in to Hector’s resolve as well, though he does not know where in the puzzle it fits.]
If there’s time for that, then there’s time for me to patch up your wound so you don’t leave a trail for our would-be Belmonts to follow. If it’s as trivial as you claim, it should only take a moment.
[He lengthens his strides so he can outpace Isaac and get out in front of him to bar his path. The fact that he can is a testament to how sorely it is needed.
He won’t risk summoning any of his combative devils when Julia might need to call upon them, but his fairy, he beckons to join them. He might have need of the creature’s skills, if Isaac will let him see the damned wound.]
[Everyone has heard rumors of the Ghost Ship. The whispers persist, insidious and pervasive, throughout the court of the Pirate King Dracula, in spite of his efforts to silence them.]
Pay it no mind. [He orders Hector, the newest and youngest of his vassal captains. Hector looks up from where he kneels before Dracula's throne, determination lighting up his silver eyes.]
My king, I will see it delivered to you, if it can be taken, or sunk if it cannot. It shall plague you no longer.
Hector.... [Dracula shakes his head and sighs, sounding much wearier than such a great and fierce lord should.
The Ghost Ship has become almost a Holy Grail within the pirate court. The list of crimes attributed to it vary wildly from tale to tale- vassal ships plundered or routed, treasure gone missing from holds, ships sailing into a fog and coming out impossibly far off course. Some of it is the typical tall tales of old sailors, but still, the rumors sow seeds of doubt in Lord Dracula's absolute mastery of these waters. Each captain covets the chance for victory over such a foe.]
I hear it's full of the fiercest warriors ever to sail. I'll find them and use their skins for sails! [Godbrand slurs over his grog. Hector hates him fiercely, and touches nothing whenever he's forced to board Godbrand's ship. Damn Viking and his disgusting habit of making people into boats.]
It holds weapons. Powerful ones. [Carmilla purrs. There's lust in her catlike eyes, but it's a lust for power, not for sex like she'd have everyone believe. If given the opportunity to seize an advantage, Carmilla will take it. If not given the opportunity, Carmilla will insert a stealthy knife into a back to make the opportunity.]
Our lord said to leave it be, Hector. [Says Isaac, ever infuriatingly loyal, and secure in his standing with Dracula. He is the pirate king's right hand, his most trusted officer, and Hector HATES him. For all Hector's talent, he cannot hope to win the standing Isaac has...not unless he can present his lord with a prize greater than any other.]
I will not fail in this. [Hector swears to himself as he sails out from the Pirate Court's base in defiance to his Lord's orders. His crew, all reanimated, do not question him or caution him against such acts of well-intentioned mutiny. His little dog, also undead, similarly accepts his direction without fuss, though with more demands for attention whenever Hector has a hand free from the wheel.
He sails for most of the day, but does not drop anchor when the sun sets and moon rises, bright and full, over the dark water. This is the time, he knows from the stories. Though the tales agree on little else, moonlight is key to unlocking the way.
He uses a compass he built himself, a mixture of modern science and old-world superstition. It would never be accepted in any of the colleges in the cities on land, but Hector is proud of what his tinkering has accomplished. Rather than pointing him due north, the needle spins, then stops, directing him eastward. As he pilots his ship in that direction, a mist forms on the waters around him. Another one of the rare agreed-upon signs. He must be on the right track.
The fog grows too thick to see through, and the light from his lantern illuminates only a sphere of the deck of his ship. Hector relies solely on the compass to set his course. It's slow going, inching through the waters, course correcting as the compass needle spins, then slowly pressing onward. He's almost ready to give up for the night, go curl up in the captain's quarters where Cesar is already snoring, when a dark shape appears in the fog. Finally.
He gives his crew the silent order to cast anchor and lower the jolly boat into the water so Hector and a selection of his crew can row to their prize.]
[The thing that rises out of the fog is a ship that requires a truly dedicated crew to manage. It's a towering ship, three masts with none of their sails out and flapping in the wind. No. It is a ship that sits silent in the waters, the only hint of life being the few emergency lights that glow from the deck. (They are too similar to the lights upon Dracula's flagship, the technology leaps and bounds ahead of those used by mere mortals.)
But as imposing as the thing is, as towering as it projects itself, it is a thing of no life. As Hector's smaller vessel approaches the great, unnamed ship (for it is unnamed, it always has been, even in the stories about it), no shots are fired. No cannonballs try to deter their approach. There is only the lapping of the waves. No gulls shriek overhead.
There is nothing. Hector may as well be approaching a tomb.]
[The Ghost Ship has a pervasively eerie aura surrounding it, but Hector and his crew do not turn back. You don’t become a pirate necromancers by turning and running at the first sign of spooky.
The lights on the ship are a sign that Hector is on the right track here. The same style as his lord’s ship. Perhaps a ship stolen from Dracula’s fleet, now begging to be restored.
It’s not the most strategic move, but Hector is the first to throw a grappling hook up to catch the great ship’s rails, and the first to begin the ascent. He could claim it is because he is a real leader (patently untrue), or that he cares for the (un)lives of his crew (not untrue). Really, though, he is the first on board because he is insatiably curious.
A ship this size necessitates a crew. Where are they? Even at night, there should be a watch. And if it be abandoned, how had it not been found and claimed already?
Giving a quick eye around for traps, Hector beckons for his crew to make their way up the ropes and onto the deck of the seemingly abandoned ship.
One of the reanimated sailors carries a lantern with him as he climbs, and Hector takes it so he can examine the ship more closely. It is old, but not in such a state of disrepair to no longer be seaworthy. Curiouser and curiouser the mystery grows, and Hector grins in spite of himself.]
Come, [He tells his men, even though they need no such encouragement from him.] let us see if anyone’s home.
[The lights on the deck remain steady in the dark, making it easy enough to get a sense of the place. There are others attached to the mast that lead up to the crow's nest, but inspection there will reveal that it too is empty.
Precious little gives away the ship's secrets on deck, save for the space beside the great wheel that overlooks the whole of the deck. Oh, the wheel is as normal as everything else, but beside it? Beside it is a small group of instruments, far more sophisticated than any ship save Dracula's. There's a barometer with a digital read out, same for a thermometer, and a little screen that's labeled surrounding area and is really just a radar system. This ship, whoever the owner is, they know secrets that they probably shouldn't. Hell, that they absolutely shouldn't.
It's a matter that continues the next level below. There? Oh, it is pipes and whirring and hissing, muted by some means but present all the same. There's no way of knowing, but it is a key part of the ship's autopilot capabilities, the reason the ghost ship is a ghost ship. No man steers it - it steers itself, somehow able to avoid storms and ships alike.
There is a door there, the one that leads to the third deck. It is a thing made of steel, and a thing locked.]
[Alucard’s golden-eyed gaze is intense, and Hector squirms under the scrutiny.]
You don’t have to make it sound like I’m some lovestruck maiden you’re leaving at shore.
[He growls, struggling to give voice to his thoughts. He has never had a friend before, at least not a humanoid one. Alucard is not that, but it feels like he could become it, with time.]
You’ve sailed on my ship. You’ve eaten my food. You've bandaged my wounds. You’ve spoiled my dog. You could have killed me when first we met, but you did not, because in spite of your withdrawal, you are good.
[These are facts that Hector can lay before Alucard as points of evidence to his argument.]
Considering all of that, were you in my place, would you be content to leave such a man to venture into an enemy’s stronghold without backup?
I'm not trying to-- [Alucard actually looks embarrassed by that first suggestion, but then he stops, realizing that self defense here is pointless. He's being overly cautious. Refusing to commit to the thing that must be done, and refusing to acknowledge that Hector has well made his choice. His head doesn't drop in shame or anything of the sort, but there is a quiet nod.]
You're right. In all respects. I will try to stop the compulsion to keep offering escape hatches. If you wanted one, you'd find one.
[Alucard brings himself upright, slowly and carefully. He doesn't wish to step on the maps.]
And no, I would not. Tell me, do you have some kind of bird that we can send as an emissary to the Speakers, rather than having to sail all the way there only to be told to go away?
[If Hector had the skill for it, he would embroider it on a damned pillow, to be hurled at Alucard’s head whenever he got a brooding, self-sacrificial notion into his head.]
That depends. Are the Speakers likely to take fright if they see a little exposed bone? I have a skeletal bird that could make a flight over the open waters right now. If it needs to pass for a living bird, I’ll need time for cosmetic adjustments.
[Hector's lab is a study in organized chaos. Wild animals in various states of animation are constantly moving through it, so there is little point in him trying to keep it clean or tidy. Hector settles for knowing, generally, where things are, and sweeping up the dirt and dander each evening.
He can only imagine, wistfully, what Vlad Ţepeş's laboratories in his distant moving castle must be like. Vlad had told him of it when he visited, and Hector had felt like a child, begging for just one more story before bed. He had wandered quite a bit before settling down east of Rhodes, but he'd never met anyone like the man they called Dracula.
And Hector is resigned, now that the vampire has returned home, that he will never see him again. Maybe, if Hector is lucky, if he can make an exceptional enough breakthrough in his work, he can send a letter and start up a written correspondence with Vlad.
His current project concerns re-stimulating the growth of flesh on a reanimated specimen; specifically, he wants to see if he can help little Cesar regrow the flesh and fur and little pads of his bony paw. Hector is forever having to clean and mend the limb, and while the pup's clicking footsteps are charming when he dances around Hector's feet, he wants to heal him. He's neglected his supper in the pursuit of this, and if the flickering of the flames in the candles in the room are any indication, he is in the process of neglecting his bed time as well.
Hector drags a hand across his face and rubs his eyes. There is no force on earth that can distract him from his work.
Probably.]
Re: For Crypysleeper- Vlad never accounts for anyone's horniness for his son, we know this.
[It's a novelty, being so far from home. Being permitted to enter the world properly, because Alucard's presence in the world has always been a thing of debate between his parents. There is the fear of Alucard's nature inspiring harm against him, but it contradicts Lisa's own command to her husband. To travel and see the world as men do. Why should they deny their son the same opportunities to travel?
This is a trial run. To see if Alucard even wants to move beyond the safety of the castle walls and if traveling agrees with him. He's rode horses and wagons, spoken with his countrymen, with the Ottomans, with Greeks, all in service of reaching this isolated place. There have been pleasurable parts and deeply annoying ones, and Alucard is unsure exactly how he feels about the matter.
But he has reached his destination. His father's description of Hector's home is exacting, and Alucard knows that what happens next is up to his hands.
He knocks on the door twice. Then adds, just in case:]
I come on the authority of Vlad Ţepeş.
[It will either open a door or whoever lives there now will have no idea who Alucard is speaking of.]
[Hector can count on his hands how many times visitors have come to his door. Even less, the number of times those visits have been good.
Given the hour, and the work yet to be done, Hector is prepared to ignore the knock, until those words.
The door to the cabin flings open, and Hector is there, in the doorway, eager for whatever news the messenger bears from Vlad.
And immediately, he regrets not having taken a moment to comb back his hair or wash the grime and blood off his hands, because the man in the doorway must be some kind of incubus. The ancient Greek sculptors would weep for such a model.
It is either some sort of trap or he's collapsed in his lab, dreaming.
Behind him, Cesar yips and hobbles past him on three normal paws and one bone limb with faint hints of muscle tissue beginning to develop. The dog paws at the visitor's pants leg, demanding attention.
Hector...should probably say something. Anything.]
Yes? [Even this caught off guard, he has enough presence of mind to not immediately invite the stranger in, at least. Although if he has to die of something, being devoured by this man would certainly be a way to go.]
[Alucard isn't sure what to expect. His father had explained that Hector is a necromancer. A softer soul, and that had been it. So when Hector opens the door, the dhampir's golden eyes take a moment to process everything.
Hector is slender, but that may be from eating poorly. He's in the midle of work, going by the blookd and grime. He...has a dog? Alucard's gaze goes down to Cesar, and oh, yes. That's necromancy. For sure.
Alucard has a single leather travel bag over his shoulder. He reaches into it, pulling out a sealed letter that he offers to Hector. The seal is of a deep, blood red color and the rest is very much that of Vlad Tepes.]
The letter goes into depth, but my father would like to invite you to our home for a time.
[This charged antagonism with Isaac is familiar, and Hector slips into it easily in spite of his exhaustion. It helps distract from the chasm of loneliness within him.]
I could use it to oppose you. For all you think my power diminished, I could yet be a thorn in your side.
[Fighting words as he scrapes his nails up Isaac’s bare arm.]
That’s cute, and he laughs into Hector’s skin, a low, rumbling chuckle, before catching his nipple in his teeth. What’s pleasure without a little pain to make it all the sweeter?]
Such a bold proclamation from a man flat on his back… [He says, peering up through his lashes at him. The scrape of Hector's nails is something he finds himself liking more than he cares to admit, so he allows it - for now.] ...and no fight in him left.
[Hector considers himself to be a logical man. He knows there is reason and purpose behind the coalition of vampires. It allows for greater control of each member's respective territory, offers protection from the hunters and armies that might rise up against them, and in theory facilitates the sharing of knowledge.
And, more practically for Hector, wherever there is a gathering of vampires, there is bound to be a constant supply of corpses to be had. It's an efficient system- vampires feed and discard, Hector collects and forges. With an assembly of this size, Hector should be swimming in corpses, making headway into restoring the numbers of Night Creatures that have been hunted to near-extinction. Necromancers, nature's greatest recyclers. In theory, this should be an acceptable arrangement. The reality though....]
What do you mean, they've already been spoken for?
[The reality of the situation is that with the greater gathering of vampires, there happens to be another individual here claiming corpses for his work. And apparently he outranks Hector. When the mystery individual arrives to collect his bodies, he'll find one very salty human glaring daggers at him.]
[ It's unusual for Mother to actually allow Heisenberg to go to the assembly. He doesn't question what scheme that she has up her sleeve. No, that's a lie; he absolutely questions what is going on in her insane mind, but decides to stew over it quietly.
At the very least, he is able to acquire a lot of dead bodies to continue with his planned out revolt. Of course, he says that he's just gathering them up for his own experiments and making more fodder for his matriarch. Even so, there is a lot of huffing and puffing from the vampires as they seem to think such work is "beneath them" and he should just ask the Forgemaster to make his soldiers.
It gets a little under his skin that he's thought of as inferior because he wants to be a little hands-on. That's the problem with vampires. They always want to delegate their duties. Should he be saying that as a vampire? Maybe not.
And when he arrives to collect his bodies, he is a little surprised to see a human glaring daggers at him. ]
What's with all the glaring? Your master mad I didn't come to pick these up sooner? Well, I can only move so fast. [ Heisenberg jokes as he's sure that the human also knows just how fast vampires can move if they really want to get from a-to-b. ]
[ His eyebrows lift in honest surprise. It takes him a second before he claps his hands together, realizing that this must be the Forgemaster. ]
Will wonders never cease? I was told about you earlier. Most of the vampires seem to think that the two of us are peas in a pod... it's hard to tell who that is insulting more, am I right? [ He barks out a laugh at his own joke. ]
And Lord Dracula can hear all about it, because I'm revolutionizing the whole forging of the dead. [ With his free hand, he makes small circles in the air. He clenches his hand into a fist. ] I've found a way to bring them back... but without using magic.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
For relictusdeus - Hunted
[The walk back up the mountain is not a quick one. The paths naturally curl and twist up the mountainside, and Hector doesn't make his way by the most direct route. He wants time to think before he reaches Julia's cottage.
He did mean what he said to Isaac, before they...before the sex. Julia may be better off without either of them. He will do right by her.. whatever that may be.
The night breeze whisks away the scent of blood and sex and sweat that hangs around him. There will be no fooling Julia's eagle eyes, so he tarries, hoping she will be deep asleep so that he can clean himself up before facing her.
There's nothing for him to fear on the mountain. His forged creatures keep monsters away, and no people come here. Well, Isaac had, but Isaac also hadn't killed him.
In any case, it's a slow, contemplative journey, and Hector is focused inward, not outward. When he hears movement along the path behind him, he first assumes it is some nocturnal creature, foraging or hunting for its dinner. But it persists, and Hector is forced to turn his aching body to meet the oncoming form.]
similarly, lemme know if this word dump is ok. I'm sure future tags won't be half as long
It's not the first time a hunter has gotten him wrong: Isaac doesn't burst into flames or crumble to ashes when a jagged bolt punches into him, or when a stake does as he whirls around, wild-eyed. Jacked with fury and adrenaline, he's as alive as he's ever been, roaring for blood while Abel tears through their formation. They break apart and fall back, some in pieces, survivors fumbling desperately to reload. A flask of holy water shatters into Isaac's shoulder, splashing his face as he rips through a man from hip to armpit and severs another's head in the same swing. Someone turns, stumbling back the way he came. They don't make it more than ten feet before Hector's dagger leaves Isaac's hand and catches up, burying into the back of his skull. The one man left alive survives just long enough for Isaac to drive his heel into his crotch and twist it, squeezing everything he needs to know out of him.
There are others on the move: packs of village-grown hunters led around by sorcerers, all humans emboldened by Dracula's fall and determined to reclaim their homeland, piece by piece.
It's not the thought of Hector that makes his stomach swoop when he has Abel take him up into the air and set him down along the steep, craggy footpath leading up the mountain to intercept him. Isaac wasn't counting on a reunion this soon, if at all; but the fierce look in his eyes leaves little room for talk of anything but the situation on hand.]
You will go no further. [He doesn't raise his wet, sheening sword but doesn't sheathe it either, standing with a slight slouch to his shoulders as though he's struggling under the weight of his own blood-soaked cloak.] We are being followed.
[For common hunters, his enemies were clever enough to anoint their weaponry. He managed to wrench the stake from his blistering flesh, but the bolts snapped off, leaving the heads buried. Whether poor craftsmanship or a deliberate choice in its design is to blame, they're aggravatingly effective; he can already feel the blessing leaching from the metal, the wrongness of it as it slowly eats at his insides.]
no subject
[Hector gasps out the greeting when Isaac emerges, but his rival's explanation cuts off any further inquiry. He looks feral, and smells like blood. Hector's immediately on guard.]
Damn it. [So much for going home. Hector's still unarmed and aching. Damn, damn, damn. He and Julia had been so careful to avoid notice. Why now?]
We'll lure them away. I know these paths. If we move quickly, we should be able to lead them on a merry chase.
[He's careful not to mention from where they are diverting their pursuers; he knows not how close they are or if his words will be overheard. More than his life or Isaac's, Hector hold's Julia's safety as paramount. No matter what, he cannot let her come to harm.
He starts to move down a side path, then hesitates as his eyes pass over Isaac's form in the dark. He knows Isaac, has witnessed all manners of his postures and poses. Even in darkness, he knows the silhouette of the man. This slump of his is atypical. Concerning.]
Are you hurt?
[He steps closer to Isaac's side, hyper-aware now of the scent of blood hanging about him.]
no subject
'tis nothing. ...'twill take far more than a few bolts sprinkled with the piss of a priest if they hope to kill me.
[He keeps his sweat-stung eyes to the darkness on the horizon, gaze darting briefly at any sound he can't place or with the feelings on the periphery of his awareness. His lungs shouldn't burn; it shouldn't be this hard, keeping up with Abel's lazy wing beats. He gives his head a brisk shake to clear it, annoyed with himself. Sooner rather than later, he'd need Abel to burrow its claws into him and pick out every burning piece of metal.]
These are hunters by no means as capable ['Or as pretty', he might have mused, in a lighter mood] as the Belmont. But 'twould seem they have recruited men of magic to further their glorious cause. [After a while, he finally slants Hector a look from the corner of his eye.] There is time to fashion yourself a crude weapon. But work quickly.
[Rocks, branches. Not much in the ways of useful raw material, but it's a start.
Open that COMBINE menu!]no subject
Isaac is a tenuous ally at best, but he is the only ally Hector has at the moment. They have the unified goal of keeping the hunters from Julia’s door. Hector wants him well. Isaac would rather die than accept pity, but Hector is counting on the fact that he will recognize the fact that Isaac can’t pull his weight if he bleeds out first.
...the fact they fucked factors in to Hector’s resolve as well, though he does not know where in the puzzle it fits.]
If there’s time for that, then there’s time for me to patch up your wound so you don’t leave a trail for our would-be Belmonts to follow. If it’s as trivial as you claim, it should only take a moment.
[He lengthens his strides so he can outpace Isaac and get out in front of him to bar his path. The fact that he can is a testament to how sorely it is needed.
He won’t risk summoning any of his combative devils when Julia might need to call upon them, but his fairy, he beckons to join them. He might have need of the creature’s skills, if Isaac will let him see the damned wound.]
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poor Hector cares too much
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don't worry, hec, you'll feel some heat soon
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Hector's a sap, news at 11
:']
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For Cryptsleeper - Ghostly Siege on the High Seas
[Everyone has heard rumors of the Ghost Ship. The whispers persist, insidious and pervasive, throughout the court of the Pirate King Dracula, in spite of his efforts to silence them.]
Pay it no mind. [He orders Hector, the newest and youngest of his vassal captains. Hector looks up from where he kneels before Dracula's throne, determination lighting up his silver eyes.]
My king, I will see it delivered to you, if it can be taken, or sunk if it cannot. It shall plague you no longer.
Hector.... [Dracula shakes his head and sighs, sounding much wearier than such a great and fierce lord should.
The Ghost Ship has become almost a Holy Grail within the pirate court. The list of crimes attributed to it vary wildly from tale to tale- vassal ships plundered or routed, treasure gone missing from holds, ships sailing into a fog and coming out impossibly far off course. Some of it is the typical tall tales of old sailors, but still, the rumors sow seeds of doubt in Lord Dracula's absolute mastery of these waters. Each captain covets the chance for victory over such a foe.]
I hear it's full of the fiercest warriors ever to sail. I'll find them and use their skins for sails! [Godbrand slurs over his grog. Hector hates him fiercely, and touches nothing whenever he's forced to board Godbrand's ship. Damn Viking and his disgusting habit of making people into boats.]
It holds weapons. Powerful ones. [Carmilla purrs. There's lust in her catlike eyes, but it's a lust for power, not for sex like she'd have everyone believe. If given the opportunity to seize an advantage, Carmilla will take it. If not given the opportunity, Carmilla will insert a stealthy knife into a back to make the opportunity.]
Our lord said to leave it be, Hector. [Says Isaac, ever infuriatingly loyal, and secure in his standing with Dracula. He is the pirate king's right hand, his most trusted officer, and Hector HATES him. For all Hector's talent, he cannot hope to win the standing Isaac has...not unless he can present his lord with a prize greater than any other.]
I will not fail in this. [Hector swears to himself as he sails out from the Pirate Court's base in defiance to his Lord's orders. His crew, all reanimated, do not question him or caution him against such acts of well-intentioned mutiny. His little dog, also undead, similarly accepts his direction without fuss, though with more demands for attention whenever Hector has a hand free from the wheel.
He sails for most of the day, but does not drop anchor when the sun sets and moon rises, bright and full, over the dark water. This is the time, he knows from the stories. Though the tales agree on little else, moonlight is key to unlocking the way.
He uses a compass he built himself, a mixture of modern science and old-world superstition. It would never be accepted in any of the colleges in the cities on land, but Hector is proud of what his tinkering has accomplished. Rather than pointing him due north, the needle spins, then stops, directing him eastward. As he pilots his ship in that direction, a mist forms on the waters around him. Another one of the rare agreed-upon signs. He must be on the right track.
The fog grows too thick to see through, and the light from his lantern illuminates only a sphere of the deck of his ship. Hector relies solely on the compass to set his course. It's slow going, inching through the waters, course correcting as the compass needle spins, then slowly pressing onward. He's almost ready to give up for the night, go curl up in the captain's quarters where Cesar is already snoring, when a dark shape appears in the fog. Finally.
He gives his crew the silent order to cast anchor and lower the jolly boat into the water so Hector and a selection of his crew can row to their prize.]
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But as imposing as the thing is, as towering as it projects itself, it is a thing of no life. As Hector's smaller vessel approaches the great, unnamed ship (for it is unnamed, it always has been, even in the stories about it), no shots are fired. No cannonballs try to deter their approach. There is only the lapping of the waves. No gulls shriek overhead.
There is nothing. Hector may as well be approaching a tomb.]
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The lights on the ship are a sign that Hector is on the right track here. The same style as his lord’s ship. Perhaps a ship stolen from Dracula’s fleet, now begging to be restored.
It’s not the most strategic move, but Hector is the first to throw a grappling hook up to catch the great ship’s rails, and the first to begin the ascent. He could claim it is because he is a real leader (patently untrue), or that he cares for the (un)lives of his crew (not untrue). Really, though, he is the first on board because he is insatiably curious.
A ship this size necessitates a crew. Where are they? Even at night, there should be a watch. And if it be abandoned, how had it not been found and claimed already?
Giving a quick eye around for traps, Hector beckons for his crew to make their way up the ropes and onto the deck of the seemingly abandoned ship.
One of the reanimated sailors carries a lantern with him as he climbs, and Hector takes it so he can examine the ship more closely. It is old, but not in such a state of disrepair to no longer be seaworthy. Curiouser and curiouser the mystery grows, and Hector grins in spite of himself.]
Come, [He tells his men, even though they need no such encouragement from him.] let us see if anyone’s home.
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Precious little gives away the ship's secrets on deck, save for the space beside the great wheel that overlooks the whole of the deck. Oh, the wheel is as normal as everything else, but beside it? Beside it is a small group of instruments, far more sophisticated than any ship save Dracula's. There's a barometer with a digital read out, same for a thermometer, and a little screen that's labeled surrounding area and is really just a radar system. This ship, whoever the owner is, they know secrets that they probably shouldn't. Hell, that they absolutely shouldn't.
It's a matter that continues the next level below. There? Oh, it is pipes and whirring and hissing, muted by some means but present all the same. There's no way of knowing, but it is a key part of the ship's autopilot capabilities, the reason the ghost ship is a ghost ship. No man steers it - it steers itself, somehow able to avoid storms and ships alike.
There is a door there, the one that leads to the third deck. It is a thing made of steel, and a thing locked.]
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I want one of us to survive one of this. This...it allows for that slim chance. But a chance all the same.
[He hates this.
They both probably need to eat.]
Are you truly that keen to be at my side for this?
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You don’t have to make it sound like I’m some lovestruck maiden you’re leaving at shore.
[He growls, struggling to give voice to his thoughts. He has never had a friend before, at least not a humanoid one. Alucard is not that, but it feels like he could become it, with time.]
You’ve sailed on my ship. You’ve eaten my food. You've bandaged my wounds. You’ve spoiled my dog. You could have killed me when first we met, but you did not, because in spite of your withdrawal, you are good.
[These are facts that Hector can lay before Alucard as points of evidence to his argument.]
Considering all of that, were you in my place, would you be content to leave such a man to venture into an enemy’s stronghold without backup?
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You're right. In all respects. I will try to stop the compulsion to keep offering escape hatches. If you wanted one, you'd find one.
[Alucard brings himself upright, slowly and carefully. He doesn't wish to step on the maps.]
And no, I would not. Tell me, do you have some kind of bird that we can send as an emissary to the Speakers, rather than having to sail all the way there only to be told to go away?
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[If Hector had the skill for it, he would embroider it on a damned pillow, to be hurled at Alucard’s head whenever he got a brooding, self-sacrificial notion into his head.]
That depends. Are the Speakers likely to take fright if they see a little exposed bone? I have a skeletal bird that could make a flight over the open waters right now. If it needs to pass for a living bird, I’ll need time for cosmetic adjustments.
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For Crypysleeper- Vlad never accounts for anyone's horniness for his son, we know this.
He can only imagine, wistfully, what Vlad Ţepeş's laboratories in his distant moving castle must be like. Vlad had told him of it when he visited, and Hector had felt like a child, begging for just one more story before bed. He had wandered quite a bit before settling down east of Rhodes, but he'd never met anyone like the man they called Dracula.
And Hector is resigned, now that the vampire has returned home, that he will never see him again. Maybe, if Hector is lucky, if he can make an exceptional enough breakthrough in his work, he can send a letter and start up a written correspondence with Vlad.
His current project concerns re-stimulating the growth of flesh on a reanimated specimen; specifically, he wants to see if he can help little Cesar regrow the flesh and fur and little pads of his bony paw. Hector is forever having to clean and mend the limb, and while the pup's clicking footsteps are charming when he dances around Hector's feet, he wants to heal him. He's neglected his supper in the pursuit of this, and if the flickering of the flames in the candles in the room are any indication, he is in the process of neglecting his bed time as well.
Hector drags a hand across his face and rubs his eyes. There is no force on earth that can distract him from his work.
Probably.]
Re: For Crypysleeper- Vlad never accounts for anyone's horniness for his son, we know this.
This is a trial run. To see if Alucard even wants to move beyond the safety of the castle walls and if traveling agrees with him. He's rode horses and wagons, spoken with his countrymen, with the Ottomans, with Greeks, all in service of reaching this isolated place. There have been pleasurable parts and deeply annoying ones, and Alucard is unsure exactly how he feels about the matter.
But he has reached his destination. His father's description of Hector's home is exacting, and Alucard knows that what happens next is up to his hands.
He knocks on the door twice. Then adds, just in case:]
I come on the authority of Vlad Ţepeş.
[It will either open a door or whoever lives there now will have no idea who Alucard is speaking of.]
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Given the hour, and the work yet to be done, Hector is prepared to ignore the knock, until those words.
The door to the cabin flings open, and Hector is there, in the doorway, eager for whatever news the messenger bears from Vlad.
And immediately, he regrets not having taken a moment to comb back his hair or wash the grime and blood off his hands, because the man in the doorway must be some kind of incubus. The ancient Greek sculptors would weep for such a model.
It is either some sort of trap or he's collapsed in his lab, dreaming.
Behind him, Cesar yips and hobbles past him on three normal paws and one bone limb with faint hints of muscle tissue beginning to develop. The dog paws at the visitor's pants leg, demanding attention.
Hector...should probably say something. Anything.]
Yes? [Even this caught off guard, he has enough presence of mind to not immediately invite the stranger in, at least. Although if he has to die of something, being devoured by this man would certainly be a way to go.]
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Hector is slender, but that may be from eating poorly. He's in the midle of work, going by the blookd and grime. He...has a dog? Alucard's gaze goes down to Cesar, and oh, yes. That's necromancy. For sure.
Alucard has a single leather travel bag over his shoulder. He reaches into it, pulling out a sealed letter that he offers to Hector. The seal is of a deep, blood red color and the rest is very much that of Vlad Tepes.]
The letter goes into depth, but my father would like to invite you to our home for a time.
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For Relictusdeus
[Hector snorts in spite of his misery.]
Tea and doilies? Is that what you think I filled my time with after I left Dracula's employ?
[He falls back, placated by Isaac's yielding to his tugging, and tilts his chin up to give Isaac room to get at his neck.]
Ah! Damnation, you'd think you were a vampire.
[But he doesn't push Isaac away or do anything else to indicate displeasure at the sucking.]
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Your blood means nothing to me.
[He drawls, back to mouthing his way down his neck while the deft fingers of one hand work to unlace his shirt, baring more of him for the taking.]
...Your flesh, however, still has its uses.
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I could use it to oppose you. For all you think my power diminished, I could yet be a thorn in your side.
[Fighting words as he scrapes his nails up Isaac’s bare arm.]
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That’s cute, and he laughs into Hector’s skin, a low, rumbling chuckle, before catching his nipple in his teeth. What’s pleasure without a little pain to make it all the sweeter?]
Such a bold proclamation from a man flat on his back… [He says, peering up through his lashes at him. The scrape of Hector's nails is something he finds himself liking more than he cares to admit, so he allows it - for now.] ...and no fight in him left.
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For Heisenberg
And, more practically for Hector, wherever there is a gathering of vampires, there is bound to be a constant supply of corpses to be had. It's an efficient system- vampires feed and discard, Hector collects and forges. With an assembly of this size, Hector should be swimming in corpses, making headway into restoring the numbers of Night Creatures that have been hunted to near-extinction.
Necromancers, nature's greatest recyclers.In theory, this should be an acceptable arrangement. The reality though....]
What do you mean, they've already been spoken for?
[The reality of the situation is that with the greater gathering of vampires, there happens to be another individual here claiming corpses for his work. And apparently he outranks Hector. When the mystery individual arrives to collect his bodies, he'll find one very salty human glaring daggers at him.]
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At the very least, he is able to acquire a lot of dead bodies to continue with his planned out revolt. Of course, he says that he's just gathering them up for his own experiments and making more fodder for his matriarch. Even so, there is a lot of huffing and puffing from the vampires as they seem to think such work is "beneath them" and he should just ask the Forgemaster to make his soldiers.
It gets a little under his skin that he's thought of as inferior because he wants to be a little hands-on. That's the problem with vampires. They always want to delegate their duties. Should he be saying that as a vampire? Maybe not.
And when he arrives to collect his bodies, he is a little surprised to see a human glaring daggers at him. ]
What's with all the glaring? Your master mad I didn't come to pick these up sooner? Well, I can only move so fast. [ Heisenberg jokes as he's sure that the human also knows just how fast vampires can move if they really want to get from a-to-b. ]
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No, I'm mad you're dipping into my stocks. What are you even doing with them? They've been drained of blood and your kind don't eat flesh.
[Even worse than having his work interrupted is the thought that his work is being interrupted for no good reason.]
It's a fucking waste and Lord Dracula will hear of it.
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[ His eyebrows lift in honest surprise. It takes him a second before he claps his hands together, realizing that this must be the Forgemaster. ]
Will wonders never cease? I was told about you earlier. Most of the vampires seem to think that the two of us are peas in a pod... it's hard to tell who that is insulting more, am I right? [ He barks out a laugh at his own joke. ]
And Lord Dracula can hear all about it, because I'm revolutionizing the whole forging of the dead. [ With his free hand, he makes small circles in the air. He clenches his hand into a fist. ] I've found a way to bring them back... but without using magic.
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