Information to come

(The following is a torn clipping that you find inside a scrapbook. Scrapbooks used to contain interesting print articles that people cut from the papers. ((sort of like personalized Google News :)) 

((Handwritten:))from the Ipswitch Globe, Dec. 13, 1849

… and while the captain is expected to entertain with stories of his conquests overseas, there are many eager to hear the tales of another new arrival, Mr Arthur Serpente, who is remembered as the man arrested in India for the gory murders of three men only to declare he was not guilty of ill intent for he was held captive to supernatural lusts as a vampyre. His subsequent claims of a cure aroused much suspicion, but numerous people of high station in the British Government swore to the accuracy of his nickname “Always Tells the Truth Arthur.” His acquittal on grounds of Satanic possession caused considerable unrest in India, as some natives assumed Mr Serpente had bought his way out of justice through the expenditure of funds and corruption. However, whether vampyres exist or not, and we are doubtful of this, Mr Serpente has spun many a colorful tale of interest in his claims to have recovered from vampyrism. During detention in India he wrote his first book, “The Six Habits of Polite and Highly Effective Vampyres.” It is known that his book about the actual cure, “Vampyre No More,” is due to be published in January by Winston bindery. Mr Serpente indicates that he will embark on a national lecture tour offering hope to current vampyres and victims of occult bewitchery, asking only small sums to assist with travel expenses and scientific experiments he and his assistant are engaged in to speed the vampyric cure. 

Regular readers will recall an incident in Bristol last August in which several ministers accosted Mr Serpente at a public reading, saying that the Lord would surely not allow vampyres on this earth, but reports were that Mr Serpente comported himself well. He was welcome in the home of his hosts in Bristol, except, after some disruption in the town when reportedly his private interview with one of the wives of one of the ministers apparently came to a disagreeable end when the minister returned home. There were some rumors that his intentions had been impure, but it was announced that he had merely suffered a small setback to his supernatural affliction, which Mr Serpente’s laboratory assistant, daughter of the famous scientist Cavendish, said she had put to a speedy end, after she heard of his discovery with the minister’s wife, with the application of a large iron frying pan to his skull. 

At that point, Mr Serpente embarked on a small tour in advance of his book, and has been speaking to audiences interested in the supernatural and remarkable tales that he say date back to his affliction of vampyrism and the cure. An account in the Gazette holds that Mr Serpente says his cure was assisted with the help of the Brothers of the Rosy Cross, as Mr Serpente apparently believes the Rosicrucians exist and help men in times of great national grief. By all accounts, his stories of his travels are of interest whether one believes he was a vampyre or not. He will be speaking at the home of J. Chesterton and invitations may be requested from that family or Mr. Wellsley of Bromley Grocers.

Dedication

It is with honor and respect I dedicate this work to the men, women and children who labor under the condition of vampirism as well as to many men and women who have held profitable discussions with me upon the subject and enlarged my own knowledge of the range of the affliction. To all of you, know there has been one who has lived your pain, but can offer hope.


Chapter 1

In which our hero Despairs of the life of vampyrism. slaughters several would-be rescuers, and Does not Even get a meal From it


It was never my intent to become a vampyre, and I have borne no ill will against the gentleman who made me such. He labored without knowledge of a cure, in a time dark of such knowledge as I have been able to bring to bear on this subject. In some ways, I would want to cure him most of all but this was rendered moot when I drove a stake through his heart during an argument over cards.


In fact, the life of a vampyre is not without its pleasures, as you might expect from week after week of entrancing young women with your thrall, slipping off their bedding though of course always respecting their evening garments, and drinking of their life. But I decided to leave the life one day in India. Let me tell you that story of that fateful night in India..


I was consuming the neck of a 19-year-old brunette, her rounded limbs thrashing under her sheer negligee, when her brother entered the room and proceeded to shoot me. I lept up and crashed his skull with a musicbox made of Greecian marble. I proceeded to the lovely lady’s neck again, when her father entered the room and shot me. I rose and tore out his heart with a Turkish dagger I kept in my boot for such purposes.


I returned to the young lady’s neck as her ripe, rounded glowing womanhood revealed itself from under her garments when what should I see but the amply shaped gem’s mother poised over me with a frying pan! I lashed out with a claw and slashed her throat, admiring the rush of blood, but deciding instead of devour the succulent morsel who had been the original object of my desires.


I began another mouthful when what should be standing over me but the pastor of the small community, no doubt aroused by the loud cries from the building, holding a cross. I pulled out my small pistol and fired, shooting him between the eyes. Alas, I ponder now how evil this was, and how had I not been cured of vampyrism, that I would surely go to Hell. The pastor slumped atop the mother.


I resumed devouring tender flesh when once again I heard commotion, and saw three women from the Temperance League, waving Bibles at me! Oh, if only I had stopped to savor the Holy Word of God, but its’ tender tones and messages of mercy are lost uponthe undead. I lept off the bed and began slashing, cutting off one’s head, slicing the neck of another, and, because at this point I was getting a bit of a foul temper, tearing off the arms and legs of the third.


They all lay quivering atop the pastor and mother when I lept onto the bed, watching the young lady’s pale limbs part before my unholy majesty, when as I swooped to lay atop her I heard a noise and looked up and saw five holy Indian men chanting to save my soul. I rose again and began slashing, killing all five.


At this point, I was thinking of moving the voluptuous young lady somewhere else when i heard further commotion, and looked up to see several stout men removing the door frame, apparently to allow the admission of half the town, bearing pitchforks, stakes, barrels of fiery tar, and three crucixes. Those who were too weak to carry a weapon were carrying small to large pieces of kindling.


They were shrieking imprecations, insults and more, shouts of “Kill the beast,” “Avenge the dead,” “Cut his John Thomas off,” and more.


All of this was making enough noise to raise the dead. And in fact, it did. There they were, coming up from beyond the horizon, zombehs summoned by Indian fakirs chants in a futile effort to corner me.


At this point, large amount of the siren’s blood had escaped into the bedding, and my lovely target was no longer as nourishing. When I heard someone shriek “No, if you shoot more than 15 cannons at once, we’ll all be deaf,” I decided to leave. 


As I lept away, watching the voluptuous young woman’s body quiver, flesh moving in succulent waves of tempting mounds,  i ran and escaped them all by disappearing behind a wall and then quickly producing a disguise as a crippled begger named Mr Bumpkins, but pondered that this was no way to live, or rather, to continue to die. And so, as I limped away past the crazed villagers, the brace of cannon, the undead army and and an odd assortment of tigers, lions and bears that I had completely missed before,  I determined to seek a cure.

Chapter 2

In which there is conversation with a member of a mysterious brotherhood and a visit to a garden.


The cure for vampyrism is long and arduous, and those who bear its secret, the Brothers of the Rosy Cross, are loath to tell the tale. There is a vicious cycle, for those who know the secret to vampyrism are not vampyres themselves, and thus have no interest in sharing the secret or propogating the cure. It was to a brother of the Rosy Cross that I sought, who I knew, and explained to him that “a friend” was in need of a cure.

“Dear man,” he said, for we were good and hearty friends tested in battle with Indian heathen, “who do you fancy in the cricket match between the King’s 8th and the Queen’s 9th?”

“Dear bosom companion,” I replied. “That has nothing to do with my inquiry as to the potential salvation of my friend who suffers from vampyrism.”

He continued to ignore my pleas. “I rather fancy Priggins with his gumshot on the cricket 9,” he insisted.

“Look you fairweather friend,” I replied with vigor and rising energy “That’s not even cricket! What in the fiery depths of Satan’s chimney is a gumshot? Who in the name of the rising sun upon the ice-frosted horizon is Priggins? Why cannot you answer my plea?”

The man quickly realized I had outwitted him, and lowered his voice, bringing his pint closer to his lips, and his lips closer to me. 

“No even even knows I am of the Brotherhood. Do you think I am unsound of mind and unwilling to live such that I will state a cure for vampyrism?”

“But surely,” I remonstrated with authority,”your brotherhood bears the secrets of Hermes Thrice Blessed, the Trismegustus, such that you can orate to my ears and eagerly listening attention a cure for vampyrism that my friend may be cured.”

“there is such a cure,” he whispers. “You will find it buried under the garden of a Mrs P_______ of Burton-Upon-Trent”

((Here is an OOC note. The book goes on for another 88 chapters, in which Art details his encounters with a variety of people throughout Britain, France, Italy, a few other assorted countries, and the United States. Some of these encounters will be detailed in the roleply. I hope you will forgive this typist if I don’t write all that out here in this text :) Let’s just say that in the 88 chapters, Art namedrops a lot of people and refers to a number of things he tries to cure himself of vampyrism, including teas, mushrooms, drugs, ceremonies, rituals, and pretty much anything you can imagine someone presenting as a potential cure for vampyrism. Along the way, he describes how he is acting less and less like a vampire, as if he was gradually cured. Then the book picks up … ))

Chapter 89 

In which our hero Meets a Scientifical who seems to bear much wisdom, and his Comely daughter, who are both dedicated to the Cure as well as Perpetual Life

At this point, after six months among the natives of the India, I was introduced to Sir Cavendish, and I went to visit him in his villa. His scientific holdings were extensive, and I met his assistant Lily, a woman of great scholarship and an impressive mind for one of the gentle species. I discovered in her a confidante, in that Sir Cavendish was fond of practicing with men, and she was frustrated that he was not open to her as a scientist.

I found Lord Cavendish during his morning visit to the sauna, in which he and the five boys attending him listened with great interest as I detailed the events of my life. Lord Cavendish listened with great interest. I soon learned of him that you could tell how well you had captured his interest by the pace of twitching in his right eye. When you intrigued him, his eye pulsed like tidal waves upon an ocean beach. When he was bored, his eye was relaxed and easily grabbed the monocle he wore in the eye. 

A consequence of his right eye twitching with great interest is that he would drop his monocle from his eye with regularity and would have to catch it, a task of great amusement as the monocle would pop from his eye, he would catch it with his right hand, he would clean it upon the robe he always wore, replace it in his eye, and then it would pop out again when his right eye suffered another tic.

After all these years of travels, I thought I had seen every kind of structure, and every kind of building. I was wrong. Lord Cavendish lived atop a large crag of rock upon which an 11th century warlord had perched a structure of unlikely height, and subsequent additions had left it looking like a improbably castle of a monarch perched over sheer cliffs looking out upon his domain.

Inside this castle Lord Cavendish had packed the keepings of his own travels as well as the treasures brought to him by others. There was every kind of thing, from rare minerals to suits of armor and taxidermied creatures including a stuffed Wild Man of Borneo. In his laboratory were enough flasks to hold the wine production of all Italy, and a crew of young dark-haired men working busily at various experiments.


((more information to come here about what Lord Cavendish told him about a cure. I hope to get this going before roleplay starts)))

I was also indebted to Lord Cavendish for he taught me an important secret to defeating vampyrism: frequent exercise of Rigorous Athleticism with another person.  Exercise is vital to the life force! The stirring of life energy is important to restoring life to the vampire, and several times a day is advised. Lord Cavendish himself offered to assist me personally, but I sound found in Miss Lily a great and able assistance more to my nature, and to be candid, the nature of most men. 

I became committed to this purpose one morning while engaged in a constitutional around the grounds, when I came upon Miss Lily exercising toward the base of the cliff. She was wearing the sheer white garb of the native women, and the mist of the ocean crashing on the rocks had wettened her to the point where the garb clung to her body and displayed the fine features of a healthy woman standing in a chill. I was mesmerized by the sight of one so lovely and my head moved up and down as I followed her movements bouncing up and down.

“They call this exercise the jumping Jacques,” she said innocently, completely unaware of how her motions might affect a man of normal health, which were noticeably absent in the Cavendish compound. “I see you are admiring my garb. This is woven by the women of the Handishi village, and I could obtain you a shirt of similar color and heft. Is there a reason you are so interested in the cut of my shirt? Do you have trouble being fitted properly?”

“Oh I see a fine fit in front of me,” I replied cheerily. “No I am merely enjoying watching a fine specimen of British womanhood out here in a heathen land, engaged in constructive physical activities for the betterment of God and Queen and empire.”

“What sugared words you speak,” the young lady blushed. God save the queen. I hope you may also be saved. Do you feel recovered of vampyrism?”

“I do not know. I only know that your father has given me many clues and treatments which I will enjoy as I continue my travels. I can only pray that someday I may be healed.”

“I hope that science will also help. Science will save us all as we apply our knowledge to the world’s problems,” she said. 

I smiled. It was wonderful to meet someone with such faith, and I enjoyed many profitable discussions with her and exercises of scientific inquiry for a proper British man. It was with great regret that I left the Cavendish compound.

As this book goes to press, it is understood a fire occurred at the Cavendish home. I do not know the outcome of this event. My prayers, which I can now offer as a holy man free of vampyrism and enabled to me by the Salvation of the Father, Son and Holy Ghost, extend to the good man and his family. 

Chapter 90

In which our humble hero recovers and dedicates his Life to Curing others

In such despair i returned to India and at this point, dear reader, surely you know the story as well as I. You will have read in the papers how I was found among the three men, drinking their blood, and about to be killed by the authorities when I announced my vampyrism and agreed to be subject for study. Imagine the surprise of all when in fact Cavendish’s cure worked its charms, and I was returned to the bloom of life. As the authorities worked out my fate, I agree to write a book that I hoped would help my former brethern who were not able to find the cure, with a goal of giving them a more constructive life “The 6 Habits of Polite and Effective Vampyres.”

There was naturally considerable skepticism of my tale, and not a few people told the terrible lie that I had used influence and blackmail to escape India with my life. I can only answer such balderdash with an honorable life and the exercise of what wisdom God has seen fit to restore in me, and live my life as He would wish. 

Here now, cured of vampyrism I continue to seek the truth so that a cure can be more frequently propogated. Clearly, there was something in the ingestion of various substances, the wisdom that reached my gradually clearing brain, and the frequent treatments at the hands of Miss Lilly, who has since become my scientific assistant.

Afterword

I began this sad tale recounting only some of the deaths caused by my befoulled hands, and that will accompany me to the Final Judgment where I will plead for God’s mercy. To the Father I will claim that in spreading the word of salvation, I shall only hope to atone and prevent many more deaths than would have occurred had I not lived and had I not spread the word thusly. 

This is why you will see my name throughout Britain as I travel with my “Vampyre No More” workshops, which at modest charge only enough to cover my modest expenses and frugal travel habits for it is important to me that men and women attend and be Saved. If you know someone who is afflicted with vampyrism and related curses, I hope that they may benefit from the cure or find the treatment minimizes their pain and suffering.

1. Take charge of your day

In every day, you have 24 hours to be dead. You don’t have 20, 22 or 28. You have 24. Your success in death, or life if you read this with a pulse, will depend on how you make use of those hours. Thankfully, you do not need sleep, which gives you a precious advantage over the living! Use this.

You would think the advantage inherent, but it is not. Tell me if this is familiar: You wake for breakfast and while sucking on the neck of a handy human servant, you reach around him her or it and grab the morning post. You begin to read each correspondence and cannot stop. Each and every letting you open contains a wealth of potential distractions. Increasingly, in this fast paced age of the 1840s, some vampires don’t even stop for a meal. They go right away to the post and open each letter. 

Say you have a post from a vampire friend in the Azores, sharing what she has been devouring there, and including press clippings with amusing jokes and etchings. Ho ho, you think this is very cute; and so you have one of your human servants copy out the etching and you begin to mail it to all your other friends. Time ticks past. Meantime you open another post, and it is a letter from a friend. He is asking your practical advice about a debauchery planned a fortnight hence. This is an urgent matter, not because of you but because he wrote so late, and you of course know a great deal about the enjoyment and devouring of nubile virgins. So you take pen in hand, or dictate to a human slave. You share your wisdom in loving detail - how to demonstrate how you have entranced the maiden, what tricks to make her perform, how to unclothe her to greatest advantage depending on the configuration of the room and number of vampires present, how to share the meal, and of course, what to do about the old fart in the corner - for there is always some old vampire fart in the corner - who is telling everyone in what’s supposed to be a whisper but which of course he wants you to overhear, “Oh if this was MY debauchery this would be so much more fun…”

…And so you write or dictate on and on, and more time passes where you share knowledge and feel good, but do not do what is most important in your day. 

Pretty soon it is noon, and you realize you have lost much of your day. You feel a surge of energy and begin to go forth, but the townspeople who are already drunken have already been claimed by other vampires, demons, mythological beasts, and policemen eager to get a good beating in early. Do not let this happen to you! Save correspondence for after your energy peaks in the morning, and weigh its importance in proportion to your pursuit of accomplishment. 


2. Be Human

It is tempting, when enjoying the surge of preternatural power, to appear at your most frightening a good percent of the day. It’s what the ladies expect when you hold them in thrall, and it’s good for scaring away human men.

My advice on the matter is to get the beast in you out of your system, so that you may be disguised and blend more effectively with the mortal world to achieve your goals. I recommend finding a source of childhood torment, such as bully, or abusive professor, and unleashing your beast on them. 

To me, it’s a choice. Do I want to wander around squandering beastly energy on this and that, a person I will never see again or someone I will eat within a few minutes anyway, or do I want to spend my energy on a person worthy of attention. 

Then it’s a simple matter to appear human though relaxed constitution and the application of makeup and other tools. In the matter of unnaturaly large or shaped teeth, a large moustache may prove useful. For the lady, the moustache may be explained away by waving the arm daintily and exclaiming ‘Those were my circus strongman (or bearded lady) days, now long past behind me”

3.  Remember what is at stake; Begin with the end in mind

If you must bite your human servant, remember that puncture wounds upon the neck, the refuge of the most tired of vampires, may cause consternation and comment. Better to begin with the end in mind; bite them up on what the French call ‘le deierre’ and surely no one will see unless their view is unauthorized, in which case you will have to kill them„ or perhaps authorized, in which case you will have to kill them. 

4. . First Things First

It is important to remember as you choose to spend your time, that while it is most tempting to snatch the bedclothes off a roundly limbed virgin or slash the throat of an unworthy, the wise vampire invests time in activites that will pay off by giving him more time. Among the most useful of these is pleasant relations with his currently alive peers. Humans make better friends than they do enemies, as they can clutter a vampyre’s life with pursuits, tortures, stakes, etc. 

5 Plan your meals for benefit of all

The wise vampyre will prepare to be hungry around creatures other than the human. I found as I recovered that I could slate my thirst upon bears, lions and tigers, and facilitated my physical presence such that I might be around these creatures. Sure, the blood of a virgin is more delectable, but consider how the removal of their clothing provides delay and nuisance. 

My final meal was with a rather surprised gerbil named Peaches, and while the young child who owned Peaches was sad to lose a pet, she recovered her poise quickly when I pointed out I could have eaten her father, mother, or any of the the nice men that the family often presented her to to give her presents.

6. It takes a village to raise a vampyre

This final principle, which seems counterintuitive - the urging of the value of community to the dead - was arrived at one day when I was sipping tea on the streets of a small city in Spain, B___, with a dear friend, who is still dead, so let us call him Mr M____

“Do tell me, how are you enjoying the vampyric life, Mr Serpente?” Mr M___ expostulated.

“It is hard to imagine how one could get tired of being surrounded by young women as their delicate rising curves quiver and their breaths grow faster and faster,” I commented. “Never having to sleep, having such energy as to accomplish supernatural activities beyond human understanding … why I am delighted, thank you for asking.”

At this point, we became aware of a commotion. The commotion first announced itself as a rumbling human noise that appeared to grow closer and closer, as if a town festival was coming closer to you on a parade street. We looked toward the end of the street, and saw a lone figure, clad in a black suit of no small cost, with a panicked look in his eye, running fullspeed around the corner. Within a few paces after him, the townspeople began to appear, screaming children, wailing woman, and angry men, shouting cries of “Down with the Vampyre,” “Kill the Vampyre” and tones of similar cadence.

They wielded a remarkable army of instruments in their hands, from scythes and old swords last seen in battle two centuries ago, to sticks and timber and frying pans and kitchen implements. 

The vampyre made it past our table and cast a look with a demonic eye of panic, recognizing his kin, but too hurried even to shout for help, and whirled past us.

“That man is in trouble,” Mr M___ observed.

“He is in extra trouble since the street upon which we enjoy this paltry liquid in each other’s company is a dead end,” I orated.


The vampyre had quickly realized this fact, that there was no more pavement to pound on,  and leaped into a window. Sadly, he had no way of knowing that the reason a building was able to be erected in the middle of a street is that the authority of the Church was behind it, or rather, encompassing it. He had arrived at the outer apartment of a rectory, used not for accommodation, but for the activity of the young nuns inside the convent nearby, in which in between long hours of prayer the women occupied themselves making crucifixes for sale to supplicant visitors and also peeling, harvesting the packing the most abundant crop of the local town, which was garlic, for sale as a valuable foodstuff.

After leaping into a room full of crucifixes and garlic, the vampyre, leaped out again in a loud wail. He landed on several villagers, and inches from a stake held out by a small boy, who dropped it in astonishment. This turn of events was unexpected to the crowd, who were beginning to batten down the door of the rectory, to the great puzzlement of a local minister who had offered to open it. Clearly the mob was in the mood for trouble, and it was in the middle of them that the vampyre landed. 

“Well he is good for the stake,” commented Mr M__ with some small regret in his voice, as this fate is always lingering in every thought and conversation.

“We cannot sit idly by and let this happen,” I retorted. “I shall see if he may be assisted.”

“Surely you have lost your senses, not that you have any conventional ones being dead and all, but you have lost your preternatural senses,” Mr M___ counseled. “Even if you were not a vampyre, the crowd would not listen to reason and will surely tear you limb from limb. Look at the sufferings of the poor minister wherall….”

And indeed, the poor minister was clinging to the vampyre in an effort to protect him, and had already sustained two bruises to the head. The minister, while making out from the rantings of the mob that this man was a vampyre, was more fearful of what would happen next - the crowd, angry and pent up with rage, would stake the vampyre and then have nothing else to do, and would surely enter the Holy Complex and begin ravaging the virgin nuns. 

‘Indeed, however, I am a strong believer in the principle, “It takes a village to raise a vampyre.” I shall illustrate this through my further actions,” I announced, and rose and used my skills to quickly, though not obtrusively, work my way to the front of the crowd and place myself next to the minister, the now unconscious vampyre, and their abusers.

Using the powerful tones granted to me in death, I shrieked “Our enemies must die! Our enemies must die! Flay them! Tear off their members and shove them into their mouths! Stake them upon fiery irons. Our enemies must die!”

My words were by far the most eloquent of those so far uttered in the adventure, and the crowd began to regard me with interest. Mr M___ was watching from the table, his jaw now so far lowered to the ground in puzzlement that rats could have climbed inside at their casual convenience.

I looked around for whoever was the most influential in the crowd. Invariably, that was going to be the most gossipy woman in the community, for it is they who have the power to make or break reputation. I noticed a woman with more warts on her fact than God has placed sheep upon the earth, studying me with the intensity of a gossip and scold. 

“Death to our enemies!” she shouted as I held her with my vampyric eye.

The crowd, if left to their own devices, would have assumed the enemies were the minister and vampyre, and later, the virgin nuns, who had to be enemies worthy of deflowering for some reason or other best known to God. But I studied the lady, made assumptions, and shouted “Your enemies. How many women have judged you behind your back? How many men have failed to acknowledge your beauty!”

This completely puzzled the crowd and the woman. But there was no doubt where the dialogue would go; it would go to my advantage. I had asked her about herself, and if there’s any subject safe for conversation or ranting with anyone, it is the subject of themselves.

“Well,” she observed “Quite a few, now that you mention it.”

“A horrible death to them all,” I shrieked, and I grabbed the vampyre by the suit’s lapel. I shouted in his face “you must slaughter that woman’s enemies! Kill them all! Suck the marrow slowly of the men’s bones, and show the women the power of your Satanic majesty..” - I pointed to his trousers - “… and have your wicked way with them as they die slowly and horribly. Death to our enemies!”

The men, having small minds, began shouting “Death to our enemies!” Certain of the women, who I knew already to be the vampyre’s future allies, studied his trousers with great interest as to what might be the exact measured nature of a Satanic majesty in their dull lives.  The elder gossip, who I had singled out from the crowd, was clearly measuring how this vampyre might help her avenge the many slights she had suffered over the years from countless people she gossiped about.

“Who is your worst enemy? Who has hurt you the most and caused your delicate beauties to tremble?” I shouted at the woman as the vampyre, a bit slow to catch on, studied me as the scientist studies the lunatic. 

I had chosen well, for had I picked the wrong woman, the next act could have been devisive. She briefly shook the locks on her head, which held there much like mud holds to the boots of a man.  She being the chief gossip of the town, pointed to a man who was hated by all “S______ there! He has said many foul things of me and the other ladies! He is a g___ a____ f_____ s______ of a s_______ with a b______ upon his v_______,” she shrieked.

I pulled the vampyre toward me, thankful that a glint of recognition was in his eye. “Kill our enemy,” I shrieked, pointing to the man.

The poor villager she had named dropped the small timber he was holding in vast puzzlement, and looked around in complete confusion as to what had just happened. The other men of the town would normally had rushed to defend him, but they would have been insane to do so now. Most stepped away.

I whispered to the vampyre’s ear, softly since his hearing, like mine, was beyond human knowing, “Make it gory and good and you’ll earn a fine living killing enemies for these people!” 

The dead one shook his head and quickly leaped from me and atop the villager, turned him upside down and proceeded to clamp his mouth upon the man’s manhood as he bit savagely and began to suck. The villager’s face, hanging between the vampyre’s legs, turned red as the blood that soon trickled down from his manhood, and his screams were enough to peel moss from the cobblestones. 

The lonely old gossip woman shrieked with great joy to see herself avenged. She bounced up and down, causing a small motion of the earth, and the other townspeople, just happy to see violence, cheered as the vampyre proceeded to kill the shrieking individual despite his protests.

“This vampyre can help you kill all your enemies!” I offered. “Even the people in the other towns who so vex you with claims their town is better.”

The eyes of several men gleamed with joy. There would be something in this for them as well! As it was, I knew nothing of this locale, planning only to say here briefly to visit Mr M___, and discuss his coming debauchery, but in every town, there are influential people who are angry at people in another town.

The minister just stood there, opening and closing his mouth like a fish. On the one hand, he knew he should stop this, but on the other hand, the crowd seemed less directed on debauching the young virgins who he had already promised to the bishop on St. Swivens’ Day.

I clapped the minister on the back, said “Well done,” in hopes he would cling to the phrase as some sort of man-to-man redemption for his actions, and returned to my table. My tea had grown cold, but since my taste at the time was only for blood, i did not mind and sipped.

“Well that was extraordinary,” Mr M___  owned. 

“That vampyre will have all the friends he wants who will help him, as long as he hurts their enemies,” I commented. “Too many vampyres hide and do not take advantage of what they can offer a Christian community. It takes a village to raise a vampyre!”