sleepytimejunction | ❧ oh but you taste exquisite

❧ oh but you taste exquisite

[The Adrestian Empire's victory seems to be looming on the horizon. There will still be losses on both sides inevitably, but the tide of the war appears to be obvious to most. Yet, there is that lingering concern of whoever is slaughtering their troops out in Faerghus. Not simply killing, but maiming out of pleasure, leaving a bloodstained battlefield.

And so it is that the latest small army is investigating out by House Rowe's territory from the latest encounter.

This time, they arrive with a man in tow, a thick metal collar around his throat and arms bound in chains. He's led along as if he were an animal to be paraded around.

C'mon. Sniff him out.

A deep, beastly growl escapes the man, but he tips his chin up, sniffing the air.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[The Empire must surely have figured out by now that sooner or later, his bloody rampages across the Fódlan countryside always lead back to Garreg Mach in the end. That's the direction he's heading now — southwest from Fhirdiad, down as far as the border that runs between old Empire and old Kingdom lands, before bending back again through Gaspard toward the monastery in its center. It's not a course he's specifically planned so much as it is one that just suits him; for all his wild and bloodthirsty exploits, there's still a part of him that has never quite given up hope that someday he'll cross over the boundary line onto the crumbling church grounds and find Byleth there waiting for him, alive and unharmed.

It's a compulsion, almost. A religion all his own. It's why he always goes back eventually, to slaughter the bandits and assassins that desecrate the place in his absence, and hold it in place just in case — just in case —

But that's later. Now, he is still far afield to the northeast, sleeping beneath trees and in burned-out buildings that might once have been homesteads and barns, left with no company but his own ghosts — and the voices of the soon-to-be-dead soldiers that seem to have tracked him down, again.

Good. It's a good day for hunting, and a better one for killing.

He packs up his belongings efficiently, storing them in a hole beneath a pile of rocks for safekeeping, and then picks up his lance and takes off through the cover of the sparse woodlands around him, intent on stalking his prey while they seek to hunt him in return.]

[The scent is on the wind. One that he knows too well. Blaiddyd. He turns his head sharply, scowling to himself, calculating. These men will die, inevitably. By this man's hand, or his own. He just needs to wait, he needs to be patient--

His chain is yanked.

He's smelling this way.

If he just had some blood, he could break free. Even a splash of it would be enough for him. As starved as he is, he's lucky to walk right now. So he stumbles after the direction of the chain, hissing softly, anxiously waiting for his moment.]

[Curious; they've brought something with them, if the way the soldiers are talking amongst themselves is any indication. Some new beast, perhaps — one of the hideous creatures they truss up in chains and muzzle with a mask, as though forcing such ugly manacles onto it makes it any less of an abomination. Best to kill the soldiers first, Dimitri muses to himself as he treks deliberately into the wind, making a spectacle of himself as he leads his quarry toward a small glade he knows of, one ringed by a copse of trees.

Yes, pick off the soldiers first, the easy marks. Then deal with the beast; it will give him less satisfaction than the others.

He pauses beside a riverbed, gathering up a few fist-sized stones from the bank, and then immediately sets off in a hurry to circle around and wait, now using the wind to his advantage to disguise his movements where he'd once used it to reveal them.

The trap is set, now, he thinks as he doubles around and finds himself a vantage point. Soon. Soon, the grass of this meadow will run red, and the dead will be pleased for the new sacrifice he delivers them.]

[The one with the crest of Blaiddyd moves, in a way that specifically makes it difficult to track. It isn't pointless movement either; it's a trap, clear only to him.

He huffs, amused.]

Do you pray?

[His handler looks at him in confusion when he suddenly speaks.]

For all that you fight against the Church, trampling others in your conquest -- do you pray to your Goddess?

[What are you talking about?!]

You should. Right now.

[More's the pity. It's too late for the one on the right.

Even something so rudimentary as an idle stone can be made deadly when placed in the right hands, and any projectile enhanced by Blaiddyd strength is one with more than enough power to kill. He's no archer, of course, but his aim is practiced from repetition of similar such tricks alike — they work well, when no one ever lives to tell about them after — and the rock he throws embeds a clear two inches into the unfortunate man's skull, all but shattering it as he drops like a puppet with his strings cut.

Of course, throwing the stone gives away his position, and his element of surprise. That's no matter; he hurls the others more for the sake of the cover they'll provide than from actually seeking to kill with them, and grasps his lance in one hand as he darts out from his hiding place to stampede the small gaggle of Imperial soldiers that have wandered too far into his trap.]

[The blood sprays just enough that a bit of it splatters over his chin. Slowly, he licks it off, and smiles to himself. It's almost instant how much stronger he feels, his senses vivid. He breathes in, as chaos explodes around him.

Finally.

Now able to access the crest inside of him, chain links rip apart as he tears his arms free. Fingernails become sharp claws, and he forces the collar open at last. His normally golden eyes are bright red as he turns and looks at his handler.]

I wonder what you are pleading to her right now.

[There is an attempt to spear him with a lance, but he dodges away, going in for a brutal kill. His claws rip out the man's insides before he's tearing into his throat with too sharp fangs. The blood gushes into his mouth and he drinks eagerly.

He comes up, sighing, content before he sees no problem in turning on the rest of the Imperial soldiers.]

...?

[What? The man in their midst — the one in chains, he sees now, in the split-second before the metal tears in two — is rebelling against the soldiers? Is slaughtering them with a violence that leaves Dimitri breathless, leaves hot discomfort stirring up from the inside. He only barely thinks to divert his own trajectory, chasing around the perimeter of the gaggle to buy himself a few more seconds to watch, and his eye widens as the man sinks teeth into the fresh-dead corpse's flesh and makes his throat bulge as he drinks.

He ought to be too far away to hear a sigh. Maybe it's just that he feels it. He hasn't felt like this, electrified and manic, since his own slaughter in the Holy Tomb, and it feels...

It feels...]

How lovely, to see this glade run red!

[With a snarl, he hefts his lance and throws it with enough force to pierce through another man, sending the speared corpse hurtling back until it hangs, impaled, by the spear embedded in the ground. Then it's off, as fast as he can, to pursue another; he'll kill them with his bare hands, and listen to the music of their bones breaking.]

[The prince is quite a beastly in the way he fights, he notices. How gleeful he is to bathe the area in red. When was the last time he was a free man? He truly cannot recall, but now he can tear them all apart with a fellow monster.

And so it is, two men ripping apart their foes on the battlefield. For him, he takes one soldier's sword and impales another on it with such force that the sword nearly shatters. Another, he claws out the eyes before impaling his hand into the chest to maim the heart and kill the man.

For a moment he stands there, licking his fingers. How horrendous it is to revel in the slaughter of men, but he has no mercy for them either.

Soon enough, his golden hair is stained by red. He almost can't have enough.]

[Soon enough, they're the only two monsters left standing in the glade, and what a sight they make — both blond, both bloodstained, both eerily delighted by the slaughter surrounding them. There are only two left of them now, and Dimitri can't help but wonder how long it will take them, standing there facing each other, to decide to whittle it down to one.]

Monster.

[He says it almost congenially, one little lord extending courtesies to another.]

It seems the time has come for one of us to die.

Is that what you truly desire, savage prince?

[He drags his tongue over his fingers as he approaches the other man.]

We've done one another a favor. Unless you're so eager to join the men you've slaughtered today.

But I feel that you have much more killing to do before you're ready to leave this world.

[The Death Knight had been touched with a particular brand of insanity, hadn't he? Perhaps beneath his armor, he might have looked like this. Bloodstained. Feral. Sauntering from the delight of his kill.]

Truly, you must be mad. A favor? I would have killed those men whether you partook of the slaughter or not.

[He smiles faintly, his expression challenging.]

They had you in chains. Those soldiers knew not to trust you, so why should I?

I permitted them to walk into your trap. If I wanted to keep them alive, I'd have advised them. However, that would have been no benefit to me.

[He gestures to their aftermath as his boots step in blood, squashing into the mud.]

Do not trust me, then. Trust that I wish to kill the Imperial Army as you do. They, and their associates most of all.

Mm. And who are you, that you loathe the Empire so?

[Not a fallen lord, surely. He would remember a noble this beautiful, even if his visage is obscured by streaks and spattering of blood.

...Or perhaps "obscured" isn't the right word, after all. Even the blood does nothing to taint his beauty; if anything, it enhances it.]

For what vengeance would you see them all die?

Adrian Fahrenheight Ţepeş. I do not expect you know my name.

[Truthfully, if Dimitri recognized it, he would be surprised.]

I suffered at the hands of the Empire's allies for years before they so graciously gifted me to the Empire to be used at their disposal. I would see the Emperor and all she calls friend fall. Let their blood satiate me, and meat rot in the streets of Enbarr.

Used to hunt me. They had you scenting the air like a dog.

[And now they are torn apart, dogmeat themselves, fit only to nourish the flies.]

I too seek vengeance for suffering, on behalf of those who cannot seek it for themselves. Mine will end only when I take the woman's head from her shoulders.

[His head tilts a little to the side, regarding Adrian Fahrenheit Ţepeş with a single critical eye.]

Who are these allies you speak of? Tell me more.

Then we've the same goal, as I expected. Especially considering how lovingly you destroy your enemies.

[It's said without any judgment. After all, Adrian had quite enjoyed how unmerciful they both were. It should horrify him, he thinks numbly. It should disgust him. Instead, it is a delight.]

The Emperor's vassal calls them Those Who Slither in the Dark. A ridiculous mouthful for the truth of them, but nonetheless a fair description. You've encountered a handful of them, from my understanding. The one who pretended to be the monastery's librarian, for example.

...The one who murdered Jeralt...

[In a moment like this, a mood like this, perhaps it's no surprise where his thoughts go. How he aches for Byleth, sometimes. How it tortured him, to bear witness to her grief and have no reparations to offer.]

How did they come to possess you, pretty beast? Were you taken captive?

So that I have heard, yes.

[News travels into hallways, those who plotted and found themselves eager to rule again.]

Yes. When the plague ravaged Faerghus years ago... my mother was determined to help others. Unfortunately, this also caused my capture. Is that enough for you to know?

But the plague in Faerghus was more than —

[...That long? That long, this creature suffered. That long, he has waited.

Duscur still lived while Adrian Fahrenheit Ţepeş was tallying sins to avenge.]

...I see. Very well, then. You hate the Empire as I do; then you are welcome to aid me in crushing it.

I know.

[He would rather not think too hard on it at the moment. He has years enough to recall, to dwell upon. To enrage him.]

Then let us tear down our enemies to the last. I will have more than I can possibly drink from their people.

Two questions more.

[He raises a hand, palm forward, his bloodstained fingers raised. Halting their progress, for just one more moment.]

Tell me of this craving for blood. And tell me how you were able to follow me with such precision.

[There's a pause as Adrian stares at the blood. It's drying now, all sticky, but nonetheless his gaze is drawn to it.

The request for information makes him scowl, but he decides to not deny Dimitri. After all, this is the closest he has to freedom in years. He won't risk it.]

I can eat food, but it does not nourish me. The effects of the experiments caused... changes in me. Needing blood to survive is one of them. As a result, I could smell blood. And your crest is one I know extremely well.

I see. Then you must have a constant supply of slaughter to survive. Taking other lives to prolong your own.

[He smiles, faintly. It doesn't reach his eyes.]

An infestation of rats plagues the old monastery at Garreg Mach. Shall we go kill them?

Killing is not necessary. But it is preferable.

[Adrian tilts his head curiously at the proposal, but he cannot stop a smile from forming himself.]

I will help you.

That monastery is mine, yet they never learn. As one might expect of vermin.

[He kicks at one of the fallen bodies for good measure; the force of the blow, seemingly effortless from the appearance of his swing, is enough to cave the corpse's head in as it rolls away from underfoot.

Unperturbed, Dimitri goes to retrieve his lance, stepping on the impaled man's chest to lever the weapon out before heading back toward the entrance to the glade.]

Come. We shall take their horses, if they had any.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject