1497 AD - Kingdom of France - Paris.
A cloaked figure walked along the cold streets of Paris, head low and untrusting of the surroundings. The night was dark, with the moon hidden behind dark clouds, adding a subtle tone of mystery. The one whose figure is shrouded carries a book, holding it firmly as he suddenly turns into a foggy alley. Once there, he finds an odd wooden door at the end of the alley. He, with a last check of his surroundings, pulls a key from inside his mantle and proceeds to unlock the door that reveals a staircase leading to an underground facility. Upon descending, he finds a round table surrounded by the dim lights of lanterns and touches. Along the room, dozens of people stood quietly while only a few cloaked figures sat at the round table—the key players.
"Thy lateness is an insult, Armand," a man annoyingly remarked from across the table as the newly arrived Armand removed his mantle, taking a seat soon after.
"Shut it, we have no time to dwell on petty scables, Lucien." A woman who is sitting beside Armand spoke impatiently, "Speak, Armand, the night has finally come?" She was on the edge of her seat, her eyes shining with excitement.
Armand, with a hint of a smile forming on his face, spoke firmly, "Tonight, Cecile, Tour Saignée shall fall." Armand's voice echoes joyfully for all to hear. His announcement made the room tremble in excitement and whispers.
Armand pulls a letter from within his pocket and proceeds with a clean of his throat, "The content of this letter intel that after suffering defeat at the hands of the Résistance at the battle of Olds, The Empress Marie was sought by their leader once again, but now, she finally accepted. No doubt, she seeks peace after having her forces severely diminished. Now, she shall leave Tour Saignée and ride toward Orleans with what is left of her manpower, leaving only a handful of fledglings to protect her manor. It's our time to strike, to finally leave the shadows and bring down her twisted reign over the houses." The facility erupted in cheers, fledgling warriors waving their swords aimlessly and screaming to their heart's content, even a few of whom were seated, were thrilled by the news. However, not all were so loyal to the cause as they were loyal to their own desires.
"Armand, I believe thou hastn't forgotten about thy promise, yes?" Lucien spoke coldly, his voice made the room go silent, and each of the five who sat alongside Armand waited for the answer.
"No, it is fresh in my mind still. Do I need to ask the same? Lucien from the Argent" Armand spoke coldly, slightly offended by the doubts.
The man placed both hands on the table as he proceeded, "What I seek and always sought is Tour Saignée funds, simply said, money."
"As we agreed long ago, it shall belong to thee as long as thy house pledge to support when the times ask. Now, it's finally here, and I count on the Argent's forces." Armand said with a hint of annoyance.
"I, Lucien from The House Argent, shall lend the manpower as agreed." He said calmly after a light pause.
After Lucien's statement, Armand locked eyes with the other supporters who were sitting around the table, trying to search for doubts or fears on their faces.
"I, Cecile from The House Gravelle, too, shall lend strength. But not for something so foolish as money," She snorts with a hint of disgust before continuing with a joyful tone, "I, different from the lesser, have found faith. The word of the sire of sires resonates within my being ever since I found the scriptures. Hadn't my eyes opened to the truth, I would still be but a vessel to the lies of that betrayer. I shall never bow to that fake." After Cecile's speech, a loud 'pfft' comes from Lucien while he wears a smirk on his face.
"Gravelle's... chaser of fairy tales is a more fitting name." Lucien's mockery results in Cecile rising and hitting the table with both hands. "Thy ignorance disgusts me. The messiah of the forsaken era shall appear, and with its rise, the downfall of all who follow the deceiver. As it is written,"
Lucien's eyes spiral to the back of his head, "I prefer to put my faith in something else rather than an ancient book. But suit thyself, now can we go back to the pressing matter, or are thou in need of giving another show?" Lucien's claims made Cecile scoff and sit down again with her arms crossed.
After putting aside the news, it was now time to prepare for the assault, one that will be marked across ages and remembered as: The beginning of the second era. Earlier that night, however, an odd yet common occurrence seems to take place in the Empress Marie's chambers, deep inside Tour Saignée—the royal manor placed a few miles outside Paris.
...
Marie's chamber, as one might have expected, is excessively luxurious and hauntingly beautiful. But what truly stood out in her large room was the maiden slumbering inside a glass coffin in the center—Carmilla, or as Marie adores to call.
"My doll," Marie said with a dreamy tone as she placed her hand on the glass.
And it was no mere figure of speech, but rather an accurate way of portraying the situation. All these years, whenever bored, or simply in the mood, Marie would snatch away Carmilla from her coffin and play with her body both sexually and normally—sometimes both at the same time. She buys clothes, accessories, brushes Carmilla's hair, evening lunch, and an infinity of other small things that would be considered befitting of a complete degenerate and twisted person.
"Today as well, thy beauty is exhilarating," Marie opens the coffin and brushes her hand gently against Carmilla's dormant cheeks. She leans over, planting a soft kiss on Carmilla's lips. Then, after a few more sultry words, it's time for Marie to join her company on the path toward Orleans. But what she wouldn't have expected is that in the meantime, while she is gone, an unknown enemy would rise from within the shadows to bring her reign to an end.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When the moon shone at its highest point, a small force of roughly a dozen vampires began to walk across a green landfield, shrouded by dark cloaks that dragged on the grassy plain as they went forward. In their sight, Tour Saignée in all its glory stood tall with its Gothic architecture and great walls holding banners of the royal sigil—a hand loosely holding a crown, the background all red while the addorning black. The team, now close to the gates, is quickly spotted by the watchers, and when the horns are blown to alarm the manor, the hunt finally begins.
They threw away their mantle and armed themselves with a variety of weapons, now running with full power toward the vampire watchers. The gates open, and the remaining vampires of Tour Saignée rose to protect their wall. The fight broke out at the gates, and both forces clashed with each other with might and blades. The battle is gruesome, limbs are shredded, bullets of flintlocks going through eyeballs, impalings, but most importantly, the heads rolling. To those who observed, the battle was far from fair. The conspirators sent their most elite vampires from their respective houses, each very skilled in their arts. But the star of this battlefield is none other than the enforcer of the House Argent—faithful practitioners of the art of blades, the Argent are second to none when it comes to close combat.
By the time the battle ended, the Tour Saignée gates were drowned in a pool of blood, blades, and headless corpses. Nothing was standing in their way anymore, but from here on, their job was finished. Now, another force made mostly by lesser vampires, or as they now call 'fledglings', will come to move all the precious items and burn all tracks they might have left behind. Four hundred years' worth of treasures inside, more money than any could ever spend in several lifespans... or so the conspirators thought. In truth, only a small fortune was found there, still somewhat of a victory for Lucien's party—Marie wasn't so dumb as to the point of keeping all her funds in a single place. However, she couldn't predict a frontal attack from a few smaller houses alongside the Argent and Gravelle's sudden betrayal.
Although not much of value was found, a certain coffin was retrieved by the conspirators—it now lies inside their base. Cecile takes laps around it, staring at Carmilla like she is an esteemed prize. Lucien and Armand, however, are cracking their own heads in search of a plan to escape the empress' fury. With her ancient home attacked and still enough funds to raise an army, the conspirators might be onto dark waters from now on—even so, Marie alone would be more than enough to make them vanish, though all know she isn't the kind to dirty her own hands. In truth, the play always has been high-risk, high-reward. After all, turning against an empress isn't a child's game. Marie will search, but for now, the conspirators have enough time, given that they covered their tracks well.
"Cecile! Do not even think about freeing that thing." Lucien said impatiently as Cecile was about to reach for the opening of the coffin.
The grinning Cecile looks back at Lucien, "But look! A vampire of pale skin like the snow, long threads of hair seemingly crafted by countless spiders, as the scriptures foreseen! I only need to confirm the color of her eyes." Cecile spoke quickly and with eyes trembling in excitement as she once again began to approach the opening with hesitant hands. Lucien swifly dashed and caught her wrist. "Be it whatever it is, Marie doesn't keep prisoners—this thing is surely her friend, or worse, her enforcer," Lucien said angrily while staring deeply into Cecile's eyes, but the woman slapped Lucien's grasp away.
"Thy pessimism shan't help any further. Think, if this is truly the betrayed sire of sires, then she shall gladly wipe out Marie out of this planet for good,"
"Fairy tales written by a crumbling old man!-"
Armand intervenes, "Calm down! Both are acting like children," He proceeds after a cough. "I believe Cecile might be right, our best chance right now is to free her and see. The one in the coffin can't be a friend to the empress, no sane vampire would submit willingly to spend eternity in a dormant state," Armand said calmly as he rose from his chair.
Lucien clicks his tongue as he sees Cecilia's smile widen, "And if this thing isn't sane? What then?"
"Then, we fight, and if we can't, we run expecting the best." Armand's tone was bitter, with cold desperation.
The glass coffin creaks as Cecilia slowly opens it with great excitement. Lucian and Armand stand aside, both with guards up and sharp gazes. With the coffin now open, Cecilia takes the time to stare at Carmilla once more, baffled by her beauty. Carmilla is wearing a tight, one-piece, black dress that highlights her slender figure. It extends to cover her neck but features small holes that allow just the right amount of her neck skin to show, adding to her appeal. On the bottom, a freely looking skirt that covers all of her legs and feet.
Cecilia, with both hands, grips the blade stuck into Carmilla's heart. Her being trembling with both anxiety and excitement as she slowly pulls the buried knife, a broken smile forming on her expression.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Flowers, the smell of flowers, penetrate my nostrils as soon as my eyes open to the sight of a wooden ceiling and a strange woman of pale skin, black curly hair, and dressed in a fashion I have never seen—it was of such a fancy blackish with purple color, addoned by jewels and long laired sleeves. My mind is so out of place... it hurts my head.
I lock eyes with the woman towering over what was my slumber chamber—her nerves are all over the place, her fear showing in her eyes. However, with a knife still in her grasp. "Thou... wish to imprison me once more," I said weakly, baring my fangs at the anxious vulture as I slowly raised my palm in her direction. Then, the woman suddenly busts out, her back crashing against the wall before she falls to the floor. My left hand creeps out of the odd glass coffin I'm in, now sitting, I can see two terrified yet courageous men staring daggers at me—On the left, a young-looking vulture, he has slick-back black hair, wears a white button shirt with a napkin that falls from his neck...? What is that? And the one on the right looks older and sharper, a warrior no doubt. He wears approximately the same garments, however, with another piece above it all that has somewhat of a cape attached to the right shoulder only.
"What master do thou serve?" My voice is feeble, and even my body couldn't sustain itself on two feet as I failed to, and I now knelt on the floor after stepping out of the coffin that bound me.
I... can not walk... my head! It's all spinning, my body betrays my call. In my tumour, the ones around me find a chance to strike, they bare their claws and come forward swiftly. But once their hands stand very close, I raise both my palms, directing them at the attacks. The claws coming to tear me apart suddenly seem stuck in place. With them towering over me, hands seemingly stuck in thin air by some kind of unseen force.
"Wait! We mean no harm! Please, oh great messiah, forgive us," The woman whom I throw away rises from the floor, speaking with a hint of desperation in her tone.
"Cecile, she is no messiah! For fuck's sake, let me meet my final rest without thy religion blabbler at the very least," The man at my right spoke angrily as he tried with all his might to move his hand.
What?... I never heard of any messiah who wasn't the Christian kind, and I'm pretty sure I'm not Jesus of Nazareth. "I mean no harm to my own kind, stand aside," I liberate them, and with a suspicious and fearful stare, both men back off. I use the edge of my coffin as a support to stand, my legs shaking like I'm standing on a rough sea.
"Any gentlemen would please grab the lady a chair? Do I truly need to ask?" The woman, whose name is Cecile, said with an annoyed, sarcastic tone. Then, she came at me wearing a broken smile, seemingly thrilled. "It's an honor... such an honor to stand before thee..." While Cecile spoke nonstop flatteries and a bunch of other nonsense, my mind drifted—I smell like flowers, my captor seems to have taken great care with my appearance... maudit Marie, I can only imagine what the harlot did to me. The one whom Cecile called Armand brought me a chair, and finally, I could sit comfortably.
"My captor, Marie, where is she?" I cut Cecile's awfully boring speech with a tone of cold anger. For a moment, the room fell silent. "Orleans," Armand replied shortly. Hm, meaning I'm not in Orleans now.
"Well then, I shall intrude no further onto thy affairs. Upon my name as Carmilla, I shall be eternally grateful to thee, who has freed me," I said, while rising up, only to have my legs betray me and fall on the chair once again.
"Thy strength is severely diminished. How long has it been since thou last rose?" Armand said calmly.
I wonder... "I could hardly tell for sure, are the Merovingians still holding power?" I said casually. Cecile and Lucien seemed confused, but Armand quickly sent their doubts away.
"The Merovingians, the Frankish kingdom, all ceased to exist roughly six hundred years ago, at the start of the first era. Now, this is France, the kingdom of France, year one thousand four hundred and ninety-seven ." Armand explained with a certain amazement in his tone. For a slight moment, I let my composure slip, and my presence filled the place with dread. It was merely a hint, but the trio surely felt the crawls on their skin.
"Six hundred years... six, hundred, years." I was stunned. Inside a coffin, for six hundred years... no wonder I can't walk. By Lucifer, six hundred years! Slumbering for six hundred years... if not for my circumstances, I would never believe this. How could I? Everything I once knew as truth, all of it, nothing but ancient knowledge now. All because of that treacherous harlot! I shall make her suffer; her death shall be slow and painful.
"Please, allow me to take thee to my humble abode, my sire. There thou shalt be comfortable to regain thy body functions," Cecile said as if she were praying.
Don't see why not, for I yet have countless questions, and my revenge can wait. In any case, news of my rise shall lead Marie to me, knowing she can't hide anyway. Even if she does, well, hunting her down like the rat she is shall be as pleasant as killing her.
"Very well, my faithful follower." I extend my hand to her, and she takes it with immense joy. My palm now rests on top of hers while she wraps her arm around my waist, all to support my walking, but I feel like she is taking too much pleasure in it.
To a new world.