Targoviste

You awake on soft carpet, your eyes are slightly blurry as you grope around in the semi-darkness, trying desperately to identify your surroundings. Last night, you certainly did not go to sleep in a house this cold or with the smell of old wall glue and wet paper. Before your eyes can adjust to the lack of any real interior lighting, you stand to your feet. Directly in front of you is a solid gray wall with a single photo frame hanging from it.



The caption reads "Targoviste". It looks like a photograph of a city taken during the night, but appears as though it hasn't been dusted in generations. Looking around, you notice a stern man shadowed by the couch. He is observing the rest of the room and as your eyes follow his gaze, you notice that there are others here. This strange turn of events breaks when the man opens his mouth and speaks in a very low but firm tone.

"Welcome to my home. You are all, no doubt wondering what you are doing here and who I am." He paused, eyeing the people in the room with interest. "I am Trevlac, a vampire." he continued. "I have brought you many miles from your homes in the dead of night--against your will--to offer each of you a career opportunity." he smiled and his fangs were now clearly visible even in the extremely low lighting.



His mere presence was astounding. No one dared make a move, or even a sound just yet. "My subordinates have peacefully brought you here unharmed. Where is here? Targoviste, Romania. And you will be relieved to find your gear is also with you." The vampire Trevlac clasped his hands together and hummed a tune that vaguely sounded like an aria of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, then giving himself a satisfied nod, he pressed on. "The business. I have recently been promoted from the rank of vampire Lord to Count. This would be the vampire equivalent of a Prime Minister. my charge was Germany, and I usually maintain my lands from within my bastion--Castle Ehrgeiz. I have purchased this manor to serve as my Elysium and base of operations temporarily. Recently, a Countess from Hungary has sieged my castle, taken my wealth, and had her main forces occupy my territory so that I may not enter."

Trevlac unfolded his hands and leaned his face against one of them. "So you may be wondering what this has to do with anything. The Countess feared retaliation directly--because I tend to handle things that way--and fled to Romania while her forces are in occupation. I don't have an army to take them on, but as she's a vampire and they are ten thousand ghouls, defeating or reasoning with her will stop the ghouls as well.

I don't know if it is necessarily true, but I have reliable agents in Hungary and Romania, and they have reported that this Countess has been meeting with a very old and very powerful Count just outside of Targoviste. Well. Words won't do these two justice. Here are some pictures." He withdrew two photographs of fifteenth-century artwork and slapped them haphazardly on a weathered leather coffee table.



"Yeah that's right folks. Elizabeth Bathory and Vlad Dracula the third. Now don't get all frightened, my quarrel isn't with the Impaler. I advise that you avoid him at all costs, in fact. I only need Countess Bathory to either withdraw her troops, sign a treaty of peace, or ...be killed. She is believed to be inside Castle Bran, the legendary Castle Dracula situated by the border of Wallachia and Transylvania. This is the stuff of nightmares. But I cannot enter the castle and parlay with Bathory nor Dracula. You see, someone has enacted very powerful blood magic around the grounds that prevents anyone who's stepped foot into the castle from ever entering again. Unless the caster is killed, I can't say that the magic will be quelled. Seeking the alliance with Vlad the Impaler was a very smart choice for Bathory." Trevlac said that with a snarl. But then he smirked,

"Do you know something interesting? Dracula is actually selling his castle for forty million pounds-sterling. I'd love to have it, but I can't even ask the man to sell it to me. I won't have the cash anyway, after I pay you lot. I have eight million in United States Dollars for everyone who participates. I can give you one million each now, and seven upon completion." Trevlac momentarily stopped speaking. He lifted his head up and sat back in his seat on the plush couch. Then he adjusted the light above him and it reflected onto an object hanging on the wall.



A heraldic shield bearing a dragon coat of arms melted into the lamplight. It looked beautiful and barely worn. Trevlac smiled and touched the shield gently with one finger. "This, people, is the shield of Dracula himself. It's the real deal. I grabbed this and his sword the last time I visited a year ago. The sword is safely hidden because it is needed, but this beautiful specimen is up for grabs. I honestly have no idea if the thing has magical powers--though I admit I never even inspected it. I'll trade it for the head of either Bathory or Dracula. This thing is absolutely priceless. This protected the Dark Prince himself! I get so excited by looking at it."

After a brief time pausing for effect, Trevlac crossed his arms and looked at everyone with expectancy.

From the gloom a tall man stood slowly, a look of disbelief slowly thawing into awe. "Holy. Shit. Vampires are real. This is....holy fuck." A look of chagrin flashed across his angular features and he ran his hand through his hair as he stared down. "Hey, uh, sorry about the whole Twilight thing man. I don't know how you guys hold back on just massacring all of us for that, that is some godddam bullshit, you guys clearly deserve better literary recognition than that...uh, but thank you for the offer, It sounds tough but I'll give it my all, I'm guessing you already know my name given that you kidnapped me and all but, ah, hi everyone, I'm Carl van Flocht, I'm a former member of the French Foreign Legion, designated marksman. Uh, I think we should probably avoid violence if we can, but be prepared to react with great ferocity if our attempts at negotiation are rebuffed...." Carl was suddenly aware that he seeme to have been talking for several thousand years and trailed off, giving an embarassed bow to Trevlac and mumbling "Why did I bring up Twilight? That's like walking up to a guy from India and babbling about The Love Guru."

He glanced down and saw his gear piled up neatly on the ground, he could see at a glance the case for his FR F2 rifle and scopes, an MP7 with a reflex scope his PAMAS in its holster, his ghillie suit, rather in need of some modification given where it was last used, and assorted facepaints, basic medical kit, a seven inch utility knife, boots, several pairs of socks, both wool for cold and moisture wicking for hot, two BDUs, fishing line for knitting on new bits to his suit, some stray scraps of burlap for replacing bits of the ghillie suit, all the bullets for all three guns he's had at his house still in boxes, empty magazines for all three guns, binoculars, gun cleaning supplies and tools, long wool underwear, and his emergency fund of 500 Euros neatly stacked atop the pile.

It was a lot to look through and prioritize, and he started seperating everything out as the others around him began to stir a bit, still conscious of the cool presence of that vampire to his side, irradiating a ruthless, amused calm that reminded Carl vaguely of some of the Bosnian mercs he'd fought with over in Djibouti, that same total lack of any of the softer human emotions, all replaced with a detached amusement punctuated by an alien sense of humor. Men who'd played soccer with human heads and who he'd found, after killing them, to have pictures of themselves grinning and making the peace sign as a village burned in the background.

It didn't really bother him though, to be honest, that commonality of indefinable menace that his patron exuded, except in the shallowest way of a vague disquiet. The money was beyond good, and it might not even come to violence after all. This was a whole new world than Africa, than his old fights. The supernatural, for fuck's sake! Squeamishness be damned. He'd been moribund for too long, been sick at heart as a civilian, this was too good to miss, too good by far. Back into the fucking breach, goddamn, it would be fun. A good way to die, if it came to that, at the hand of monsters as infamous as satan.

The cool air invigorated Alice back into the realm of consciousness. The darkness pressed upon her eyes momentarily and she groped for a while, not used to the darkness. Her hand instinctively reached over to her left eye to pull the eye patch over, but it was not there. She often took precautions against be abducted at night or going into tombs with sudden darkness by always preparing one eye. She braced her back against one of the smooth walls as she waited patiently for her eyes to adjust. In the mean time, her other senses were hard at work. She could hear conversation and smell moist old glue. The figure in the center explained the situation. Alice bit her finger hard in frustration. How could she let this happen? All of that time preparing against just such an occasion and she was taken easily. But the offer was lucrative, and the situation wasn't going to get any better. Romania was far away from her humble log cabin up in the snowy mountains of Iceland.

A soft glow of light illuminated a red heraldic shield and part of the man who spoke. Vampire. Not a bear, but still bad news. As casually as possible, the hulking figure of Alice Brunhild followed the light to a table with her belongings laid out on it. There they were; the wickedly curved and weighted blade of her kilij sword, the custom .357 magnum that fired two barrels at once, and the pugio shaped dagger all neatly assembled in a pile next to her bearskin furs.



She had made those skins after her father was killed by a bear as if to always keep him at her side. She unashamedly changed from her nightgown into the hard leather boots, belts, tunic, and skins, then equipped her weaponry safely to the belts and stood in the center of the room. Her deep voice spoke harshly to Trevlac, "It's a terrible night to have a curse, vampire. If I must be ready, then I am."

The thin silver glow of some ethereal light allowed Gregory Astaroth's eyes to slowly adjust. He found himself half-laying, half-sitting uncomfortably in a wing backed chair. The musty scent of an ancient house filled his nostrils. He adjusted his position and found his old M24 SWS, lifted from the IRA's armory when he deserted, standing up between his knees. He moved the rifle to the ground and smelled the air. The absence of any real light kicked his other senses into overdrive.

There were others here: humans. But there was another smell, it was cold and grey, like permafrost. It was familiar somehow. His eyes adjusted more and the gaunt form of a vampire came into view. The vampire was talking business of some sort. Greg caught his diatribe near the end, but from the sound of it he, along with the other humans in the room, were to infiltrate Vlad Dracula's castle.

Astaroth rubbed his eyes, his vision exploded into an array of colors. He had slept unawakened, but not well by any means. His joints creaked and muscles felt tense. He yawned and stretched, his arms falling upon his backpack sitting on the ground next to him. It seemed all of his gear was here. What happened? He must have been kidnapped from his sanctum via strange means. The IRA was not a fan of deserters, and he had thought nobody knew his whereabouts, but he must have been wrong.

It had been almost half a year since he had last heard from Ordin Hvalte. He had been dumped in the Russian out-lands by his master to scrape a living for himself, to prove he was capable of holding his own. This job that he had unwittingly been hired for would definitely prove this...

He pulled a variable LED flashlight from his pocket, clicked on the red light, and checked the contents of his inventory. The M24 was there, of course, along with its scope and shoulder strap. As were his two K-bar knives, GLOCK-17C (also lifted from the IRA), change of clothes, rations, water, bed roll, cigars, flask of whiskey, and various other odds and ends. It was all here. Glorious.

Greg stood, strapped the knives to his right thigh, GLOCK to his left, and slung the bag and rifle over his shoulder. He surveyed the room. There was another human who called himself Carl von Flocht from the FFL. He seemed nervous. Apparently he had never come into contact with the supernatural. Gregory had become accustomed to it. Everywhere Ordin went, strange creatures of the abyss seemed to follow.

Ignoring Carl, he turned to the nearest person; another vampire. Perhaps hers was the scent Greg had mistaken for the employer. It was a woman who had just finished gearing up. He introduced himself.

"I'm Greg," his voice was a little hoarse from rarely using it in the Russian wilderness, "I guess we'll be working together?"

He waited a beat and turned to their employer. He hadn't caught his name, but his features seemed etched into his skull from the recesses of his mind. "You are Trevlac Ehrgeiz, are you not? Good to meet you."

Carl felt a faint prick of irritation. Was he the last bloody person to not know vampires existed? He put that thought away and stepped over to the two of them, sizing them up. Alice was likely some sort of close quarters fighter, giver her choice of weapons. Inside the castle, that could come in handy From his choice of weapon, Gregory was a fellow devotee of the art of long-range shooting. Not a bad combo.

Carl began the process of basic planning, considering everything he'd ever heard about the myth of vampires, the way castles were typically built, secret passages, possible armed servants, traps, and of course the fact that this being he'd only ever heard of in relation to savage, unimaginable brutality, with centuries of experience in what he could only assume was a competitive world of immortal, petty monsters warring for territory, was likely to view him and these people as the least of pawns in a fellow immortal's play at vengeance.

It was difficult for him to even begin planning in its most basic form. Too many unknowns, both known unknowns and unknown unknowns, mysteries inside mysteries. Dear fuck though, this WAS the shit. The jerking, confused butterflies of nerves and a weird excitement were stirring in him. It was like being some defiant ant charging into the nest of vicious termites, David versus Goliath if Goliath were as big as mountain and wise as a god. It was too good to pass up, too good by far.

Carl gave a respectful nod to the strangers, noting that both appeared fit and battle-hardened. No greenhorns here to babysit! This was a small team, with all the advantages of mobility and flexibility that entailed, and he had a second in this Gregory, a spotter, a vouchesafer of distance and wind and humidity, another steady hand and keen eye to safely see any who sought his life into the slumber of annihilation. The woman, Alice, carried a sword and dagger and some sort of exotic revolver. Perhaps the weapons were enchanted? Was this woman a witch or wizard perhaps? The massive ocean of the unknown beat down on Carl, but he pushed these feelings aside calmly. He would find out what he had to to be effective. Likely this woman was death at close range, given her arms and hardened clothing, and that could prove effective if things came to violence in the no doubt cramped interiors of this ancient castle. Carl moved his swirling explosions of consideration to the back burn as reached Gregory and Alice.

"Pleased to meet you both, in case you didn't catch my name, Carl van Flocht. Although I can't claim the same degree of familiarity with the supernatural as you two have, I realize the difficulty and sensitivity of this situation fully and am open to any information you can give me on the strengths and weaknesses of Vlad in particular or vampires in general, anything that can help us to get this job done as well as possible.

I hope that we don't have to use our weapons, and, although I have incomplete information, I would like to suggest that our initial approach to Castle Bram should be done in the spirit of diplomacy. One of us should approach the compound on foot, armed either minimally or not at all, and request an audience with Bathory. Vlad, of course, is not to be fucked with at all costs. I'm no expert, but I assume he is a particularly powerful vampire.

Convincing her that returning the castle is in her best interests is imperative. Perhaps the best way we have of doing this, if it comes to that, is convincing her that, having made this action, she is now stuck forever within the Castle Bram. Our master is clearly a wealthy man, and if she kills us he can hire more people to stalk her every move. To leave it is insanity; our Master would love nothing more, I assume, than to strike this thieving bitch down with the fury of ten trillion hurricanes of Jupiter. Convince her that returning the castle to him will cause him to have her no quarrel, and that if she keeps it, his hate will wait for the day she slips and that her, ah, agony shall be the stuff of legend."

Carl cleared his throat.

"I am open to suggestions, and hope we can win back this castle and still remain living."

He glanced at Trevlac.

"...no offense."

"My, my, aren't we talkative...?" Alice smiled wryly. "You're clearly a soldier. I think you should stick to what you do best. History obviously isn't your strong suit. Elizabeth Bathory is irrational and clinically insane. She can't be bargained with, bullied, or persuaded." Alice withdrew her wickedly curved sword and placed it under the low table. She pulled on the handle with minimal force and the table lifted easily. "What you need is leverage." Alice drew the last word out into a long breath that almost seemed icy. "Vlad Dracula was a competent leader, an intelligent man, and a brilliant tactician. He is our leverage. Ignore the pitiful Bathory; focus on the person who can actually get something done."

Alice let the table fall with a minor thump and sheathed her sword again. The hulking Icelandic woman's eyes were stern and cold. "We either need to give Vlad a reason to help us or betray her. We could find a way to convince him that she's going to double-cross him by planting a fake letter signed by her explaining the treachery. Use your imagination." It was clear that she may be a strong warrior but that her primary muscle was her brain. Alice sat gingerly on the nearby plush recliner and sank into the comfortable fabric. It was time to wait. Her words would surely spark a reaction of some kind and now she would evaluate weather her allies were rational or incapable of using their heads. This was one of many 'tests' that Alice regularly employs by wrapping logic into a soft, patronizing burrito.

There would be many more tests to come; she would make note of every eye twitch, every micro expression, and every word carried out by her comrades. Alice interlocked her fingers and sank slowly into the chair, appearing more relaxed than even their Count host.

Greg jabbed his thumb in Alice's direction whilst rolling his eyes. It was clear this woman was intelligent, but doubted such a plan could work.
"There's no way Vlad won't know of our presence the moment we step within twenty miles of his domain. Shit, I'd be surprised if he doesn't ALREADY know. There could be some black, abyssal imp peeking in through that window," he pointed, quickly realizing that there were, in fact, no windows in the room.

"I don't think there could possibly be a way for us to plant a forged letter for him to find, without him already knowing of our intent. Even if we did manage to sneak in and pull that off without a hitch, who's to say it'll work? Maybe he has some sort of crazy link into Bathory's head, or maybe he watches her every move already, or maybe he'll know it's forged the moment he lays eyes on it. We're talking about the most famous vampire in the entire world; the humans even know about him. He's bound to be paranoid.

I'm all for taking the diplomatic approach, but the penalty for ninjaing around in his castle without permission is death. No question," he let out a drawn out sigh.

"Not that I have a plan in mind myself. Just saying we need to spend time spit-balling until something fool proof comes about," he cleared his throat and looked at Carl.

"Anyway, on the note of your question... Vampire lore you know isn't anything close to true. Yeah, they drink blood for sustenance, yes, sunlight's a no-no, 'n some of 'em sleep in coffins if they want. Beyond that it's pretty much bullshit. There's a bunch of different clans and each of them have different properties. Y'know, Losambre are the ones that don't cast a reflection, and Nosferatu are wicked, goblinesque bastards--their appearance even disgusts other vampires," he shifted in place, nervously. While he knew much about vampires, he had only been around them in Ordin's presence. Many of them knew who he was and often kept themselves in check, but without his Master's powerful aura, he wasn't sure how close he was getting to stepping on toes with such generalizations.

"Right, well, the only way to kill them is to expose them to sunlight, set 'em on fire, or smashing their head to little bits. Also; they get stronger with age, too, so Bathory and Vlad could kill us in the bat of an eye lash if we let them. Hell, apparently there's one Clan that can control people's brains. I don't know what Clan these two are from, but our best bet is to only use violence as a last resort. Which it may very well come to that."

Gregory's words sunk in slowly, filling Carl with renewed amazement. Shitting hell. Mind-controlling vampires? God damn, this shit was getting more surreal by the moment...

He gave Alice a quick nod and found himself smiling. She was a bit dramatic, but had some solid points. And damn but she was strong, that was a solid wood table! She could probably split him in half from skull to asshole with that blade if it struck her fancy. Perhaps he should learn to use a sword... "You're certainly right on history not being my strong point, Alice, and thank you for telling me that reasoning with her is a dead end. I'm afraid the only Bathory I'm familiar with is a mediocre rock band one of my old squad mates listened to until he bought it in Oman." The thought caused a flicker of old pain to go through his head, he could almost see Bradly's head all torn up by shrapnel, his brains leaking into the sand, making a pale red crescent as the mortars fell all around them like fat raindrops...he pushed the thought away. This was no time for reminiscence.

He smiled at Gregory. The fellow seemed reasonable enough, if a bit eccentric. And he clearly knew a fair bit about vampires. Perhaps he could provide Carl with magic bullets....the thought of magic bullets danced briefly through Carl's head tantalizingly, bullets unaffected by wind or full of some weird explosive energy, and he nearly started drooling. "Thanks for giving me some basics on vampires Gregory. I gather from what you said that head-shots will be most effective at destroying them, that or a healthy dose of napalm...but that's our last-ditch plan, to get violent."

"As Gregory said, the letter idea seems like it would be difficult to pull off, both in getting it into position and in not giving away to..." He hesitated an instant before saying it as the sheer bizarreness of this whole event struck him; he was invading the fucking castle of... "Dracula that we are lying to his face. I mean, if he's a mind-reading vampire he'll see right through me for sure, I'm not totally shit at lying but I somehow doubt I'm going to be able to keep myself from getting a bit weak in the knees around this guy, especially if I'm trying to bluff him."

"No, I think we should just be honest with him. Obviously, this Bathory assbitch is a castle-thief with a lot of resources, who's to say she isn't planning on trying to steal Dracula's castle away from him? Her getting a hold of Castle Ehrgeiz might be her first step in trying to consolidate her power over the totality of Europe. Although, if I'm smart enough to think that as some wet behind the ears mortal, who's to say Vlad hasn't?"

"The fact that he's letting her stay only tells us he wants her close. I'm sure you've all heard that adage, keep your friends close and your enemies closer...if she's something of an unstable loose cannon, he might find it useful to have a degree of power over her, making her either a useful pawn in anything he's up to, or simply keeping her isolated from wrecking havoc. If she is dependent on him for personal security, then she is no threat to him, or at least a lesser one."

"So what we need to do is convince him that she has outlived any usefulness, and that jeopardizing his alliance with Master Trevlac over such a lunatic is folly. Now, you made mention of wanting to purchase Castle Bran for 40 million in silver but being unable to afford it if you straight up pay us. Speaking personally, I'll be glad to buy the castle along with you with most of my earnings from this, all I need is a small room, you're welcome to all the rest of it, and after all, I'll only be around for parts of the next fifty years until I die. And we could easily inform him of this when we visit him.

If he sells you the Castle, which he has no reason not to, then I assume, perhaps falsely, the blood magic protecting it would dissipate, eliminating her protection from you and netting you some prime real estate in the process. A win-win situation; Dracula's goal of selling his castle and eliminating a doubtless troublesome guest accomplished without any culpability being on his hands, and you with both your own Castle Ehrgeiz and Castle Bran."

Carl realized that his mouth was very dry and wondered idly if Trevlac kept water around for his guests, and even fleetingly wondered if all he might have was blood. Was blood hydrating? The unnerving thought caused him to ponder what it was like to be a vampire. It sounded like it had its share of dangers and was very secretive.

It reminded him of the Legion in a weird way, though it sounded more political and a lot less humanitarian. Immortality had its appeal, but wouldn't you get bored after a while, as everyone you knew died around you? But the power it seemed to bring...Carl doubted that the next time he slept, it would come easily, or be full of anything but restless visions of cloaked, screeching demons draining blood and tearing each other to pieces in an orgy of hateful joy.

"Okay ladies." The baritone voice of Trevlac sliced its way into the air like a katana. "We're all impressed by how clever you are. But get the fuck out of my house." His voice was light and chipper. After only a moment, his smile faded and replaced by a murderous glare "No, really. Leave my Elysium at once. You have accepted my job and I require that you complete your work before the sun comes up and vampires go to sleep." Trevlac was sitting on the edge of the couch, appearing as though he was fully prepared to use force. He glanced in Alice's direction and noticed that her feet were clumsily moving toward the front door. "Ah, Ms. Brunhild." Trevlac called to her. "Yes, a vampire." Trevlac looked toward the two humans in the room. "You see, once a vampire recants their invitation to a fellow Kindrid, they have no choice but to leave the Elysium. Their body cannot disobey." He smiled large and wide. "Marvelous, isn't it?" he winked.

Alice opened the door and she stepped outside. She was inside her heart. There had obviously been a blizzard outside for the snow was at least two feet deep all around. A covered chariot painted shadow black with stained wood was sitting just outside with mounds of snow piled on top. Little flakes continued to float serenely down to the earth. Trevlac called out, "You will arrive by carriage. Dracula is a bit old-fashioned about manners. Cars startle him and going on foot makes you appear to be an invader. Just don't wreck my fucking chariot." Trevlac added with a wink.

Suddenly, a funky bass tune seemed to echo from everywhere, and a lyricist whispered "I wanna take you on a roller coasterrrrr. I wanna tell you that I'm feeling closerrrrr." suddenly it was cut off and Trevlac looked bashful. "Uh. I just always wanted to do that thing like in movies where kick-ass music is playing as the protagonists head off to kill monsters. You know..." he finished sheepishly.

This was all very strange, Greg remarked to himself. He shrugged at Trevlac's command and marched outside after Alice. He wanted to do this all in a single night? he thought to himself. That definitely put a hamper on things. He figured they would have at least a week to do this. But 12 hours? Damn. Fuck fuck fuck.

He opened the door to the carriage and climbed inside. It was a little cramped for his 21st century sensibilities, but it would do fine. He placed his cargo underneath the cushioned seats an awaited his companions.

As Carl quickly loaded his supplies into the carriage, he felt a slight nausea worming its way through him in jerks and twists, a nervousness far stronger than that earlier.

Shit had just gotten weird...well, okay, weirder. Was this Trevlac guy stable? Would his reward for Carl be millions of dollars in metal or a swift punch in the brain? And was their enough time to get everything together.....Carl felt confusion cloud his thoughts and shook it away. It was all a matter of focus and thinking, to survive. That was paramount. React quickly and be ready to react again.

He sat on the crushed velvet seat and turned to Gregory, who looked like Carl felt.

Carl nodded to him and spoke in a low, friendly tone; "So, what do you think of the idea I brought earlier about propositioning Dracula with the offer from Trevlac to buy the castle, and all that other good realpolitik stuff? Also, tell me about yourself Greg, you ex-military?"