Kerbi crouches down to bring his face closer to Mable.
"What do you mean, they don't sound right? What do they say to each other?" he asks with a serious tone.
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A Familiar Adventure, Ch 2: The Enemy of My Enemy Is My?
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Dustland
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She looks up at your furry face meekly. "Well, they talk a lot about, well, eating."
"Eating?" you grumble.
"Yep, eating. You know, each other. It's disgusting. They're always arguing over who's going to eat whom next. It's terrible! They laugh about it like it's some great joke, but I don't think they're joking Kerbi."
You've seen rats eat their dead a few years back when a particularly dry summer killed off most of the crops, leaving them starving. But the rats around here certainly aren't starving.
"Are they talking now?"
Mable swivels her scarred ears to and fro. She perks up a bit, "Nope, sound asleep. They usually stop talking when the sun comes up, sort of like Summer and her, um, friend. Kinda strange really, I LOVE playing in the sun. Can't even begin to imagine why anyone would spend the day snoozing," she prattles on as she thoughtfully nibbles on a bit of dandelion root.
"Eating?" you grumble.
"Yep, eating. You know, each other. It's disgusting. They're always arguing over who's going to eat whom next. It's terrible! They laugh about it like it's some great joke, but I don't think they're joking Kerbi."
You've seen rats eat their dead a few years back when a particularly dry summer killed off most of the crops, leaving them starving. But the rats around here certainly aren't starving.
"Are they talking now?"
Mable swivels her scarred ears to and fro. She perks up a bit, "Nope, sound asleep. They usually stop talking when the sun comes up, sort of like Summer and her, um, friend. Kinda strange really, I LOVE playing in the sun. Can't even begin to imagine why anyone would spend the day snoozing," she prattles on as she thoughtfully nibbles on a bit of dandelion root.
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Nestor
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Kerbi leaves Mable to her antics and walks off to assimilate this latest development.
He had never thought of himself as an imaginative fellow, but a nightmare scenario bubbles up in his mind: and army of vampire rats, setting forth to feed and enslave the world. And his own mistress a willing participant, if not an instrumental architect of the plan.
His heart sickened, the distraught canine sits heavily on the stub of a long-ago fallen wall. He blinks as the sun's piercing rays stab at his eyes.
The sun. The sun!
Kerbi leaps up, his head a-whirl with a mad plan. He has no idea if it will achieve anything, and it will most likely anger Redcoin, and therefore Summer, but his anger and frustration washes away even that last bit of restraint.
He rushes back to Mable, still prattling away as if unaware of Kerbi's departure, and interrupts. "Mable, can you tell me where the rats are kept?"
He had never thought of himself as an imaginative fellow, but a nightmare scenario bubbles up in his mind: and army of vampire rats, setting forth to feed and enslave the world. And his own mistress a willing participant, if not an instrumental architect of the plan.
His heart sickened, the distraught canine sits heavily on the stub of a long-ago fallen wall. He blinks as the sun's piercing rays stab at his eyes.
The sun. The sun!
Kerbi leaps up, his head a-whirl with a mad plan. He has no idea if it will achieve anything, and it will most likely anger Redcoin, and therefore Summer, but his anger and frustration washes away even that last bit of restraint.
He rushes back to Mable, still prattling away as if unaware of Kerbi's departure, and interrupts. "Mable, can you tell me where the rats are kept?"
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Dustland
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"I would assume someplace just beyond Redcoin and Summer's burrow," she replies nervously. "There's a few more rooms down there past the one we usually stay in. You know how Summer and Mr Redcoin have their room behind the door?"
You nod, sure you've caught glances of what lies beyond, a well appointed bedroom, but you've never entered it.
"Well, I think there's another run leading out from there. Mr Redcoin goes down there when Summer's with you; he use to just go talk all funny, I guess practicing whatever Summer's teaching him, but now he's taking those rats down there. I've been REAL careful not to dig too deep around there," she points to the earth a few yards away, "Don't want to see what those rats have been talking about."
Suddenly it seems to dawn on her. "Oh no no no no Kerbi, you aren't going down there are you?!?"
You nod, sure you've caught glances of what lies beyond, a well appointed bedroom, but you've never entered it.
"Well, I think there's another run leading out from there. Mr Redcoin goes down there when Summer's with you; he use to just go talk all funny, I guess practicing whatever Summer's teaching him, but now he's taking those rats down there. I've been REAL careful not to dig too deep around there," she points to the earth a few yards away, "Don't want to see what those rats have been talking about."
Suddenly it seems to dawn on her. "Oh no no no no Kerbi, you aren't going down there are you?!?"
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Dustland
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Nestor
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Dustland
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Mable stops her nervous prancing and stops to consider the revelation. "Oh. Hmm, that's odd, why would anyone want vampire rats Kerbi? I mean, really, regular old rats are bad enough."
She looks you in the eye, as innocent and confused as a newborn pup. You've never asked how many winters she's seen, but you're now guessing zero.
She looks you in the eye, as innocent and confused as a newborn pup. You've never asked how many winters she's seen, but you're now guessing zero.
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Nestor
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Kerbi can't help himsef; he ruffles Mabel's scruff between her ears with rough affection.
"Never you mind," he says. "What I'd like to know is if there's more than one way in to Redcoin's back chamber where he keeps the rats."
The thought of sneaking past the vampire's and Summer's slumbering forms does not appeal to him at all, but if it's his only option, he'll take it.
His eyes fill with sadness as he feels the impending finality of what he's considering. One way or another, it'll settle things between his mistress and him.
"Never you mind," he says. "What I'd like to know is if there's more than one way in to Redcoin's back chamber where he keeps the rats."
The thought of sneaking past the vampire's and Summer's slumbering forms does not appeal to him at all, but if it's his only option, he'll take it.
His eyes fill with sadness as he feels the impending finality of what he's considering. One way or another, it'll settle things between his mistress and him.
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Dustland
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She thinks about it for a moment, her nose scrunched in thought. "No, not unless you dig another one. I'm pretty sure it's just a dirt burrow where he keeps the rats."
"How do you know?"
"Well, when he walks around in there, it sounds like he's walking on dirt!" she says as though it's the dumbest question she's ever heard. She pats your paw as though to say it's ok to be dumb every once in a while.
"How do you know?"
"Well, when he walks around in there, it sounds like he's walking on dirt!" she says as though it's the dumbest question she's ever heard. She pats your paw as though to say it's ok to be dumb every once in a while.
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Nestor
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Kerbi sighs. He can't stay angry in the face of that much perkiness.
With a gruff snort, he bids farewell to the rabbit and threads his way back to his chambers.
As he walks he looks up at the sky. Not yet noon, the sun shines brightly as it climbs up the sky.
Back in the cleared-out basement he still can't bring himself to call home, he paces back and forth as he tries to build up courage for what he is about to attempt.
In theory, it's a simple plan: sneak past Redcoin and Summer into the secret room, grab a cage of rats (for some reason he assumes they're kept in portable cages) and bring them out.
If the sun causes them harm, he'd know he's right in hs fears. Then it's a matter of repeating the exercise with the rest of the transformed vermin then confronting the vampire (his mind refuses to make the noun plural) about it.
Things get kind of fuzzy after that.
Finally, his courage bolstered by the seething anger and frustration he's been nursing for a while, Kerbi sets forth.
With a gruff snort, he bids farewell to the rabbit and threads his way back to his chambers.
As he walks he looks up at the sky. Not yet noon, the sun shines brightly as it climbs up the sky.
Back in the cleared-out basement he still can't bring himself to call home, he paces back and forth as he tries to build up courage for what he is about to attempt.
In theory, it's a simple plan: sneak past Redcoin and Summer into the secret room, grab a cage of rats (for some reason he assumes they're kept in portable cages) and bring them out.
If the sun causes them harm, he'd know he's right in hs fears. Then it's a matter of repeating the exercise with the rest of the transformed vermin then confronting the vampire (his mind refuses to make the noun plural) about it.
Things get kind of fuzzy after that.
Finally, his courage bolstered by the seething anger and frustration he's been nursing for a while, Kerbi sets forth.
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Dustland
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You walk through the den that you've called home for quite some time, pausing to sniff and listen, but you don't sense anything out of the ordinary. You pad your way to your master's private quarters, slipping into the room unnoticed. You glance to the bed and see Summer and that...thing, embracing in their sleep. You almost growl but catch yourself.
Finding the tunnel that leads to the rats isn't difficult; where the rest of the den is well crafted from stone and timber, the tunnel is roughly scraped from the dirt and held in place by crudely cut logs. You enter the earthen passage and pad quietly in the soft dirt.
After a few tense moments, you emerge into what you'd describe as a poorly crafted wizard's lab. Glyphs, vials, scrawled notes, and various other sorcerous accoutrements clutter the small chamber. You half expect the smell of rats to assail your nose, but much like your master, the smell is (mercifully) faint. Nevertheless they are there, held individually in small cages, a dozen in total.
You pick up one cage to inspect the rodent; it doesn't even move a whisker, looking as dead as your master does when she slumbers. You pace around the room, sniffing about and making sure you aren't missing something more sinister than a small horde of vampiric rats...
(cont)
Finding the tunnel that leads to the rats isn't difficult; where the rest of the den is well crafted from stone and timber, the tunnel is roughly scraped from the dirt and held in place by crudely cut logs. You enter the earthen passage and pad quietly in the soft dirt.
After a few tense moments, you emerge into what you'd describe as a poorly crafted wizard's lab. Glyphs, vials, scrawled notes, and various other sorcerous accoutrements clutter the small chamber. You half expect the smell of rats to assail your nose, but much like your master, the smell is (mercifully) faint. Nevertheless they are there, held individually in small cages, a dozen in total.
You pick up one cage to inspect the rodent; it doesn't even move a whisker, looking as dead as your master does when she slumbers. You pace around the room, sniffing about and making sure you aren't missing something more sinister than a small horde of vampiric rats...
(cont)
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Dustland
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You're moving down the line of cages to inspect a strange table at the end. Atop it is a pentagram carved in its wooden surface, inlaid with silver and ringed by rather pleasant smelling candles. In total, the wizard's ring is no more than two feet across.
You stop to sniff the candles once more, the one pleasant thing in the room and lose yourself in the scent of the place for a moment, sliding back in time...
Redcoin comes here, lights the candles, speaks words of power. The rats, he puts one in the center of the ring, though he doesn't want to go. Your eyes open a bit to look; a scorched mark is in the center, as though something has burned. You sniff the charred surface, reading the history of the place further.
The rat, teeth preternaturally pointed from its transformation to a vampire, hisses at Redcoin in protest but is helpless to resist his will; he stays in the ring though he trembles in fear. He's seen this done to others.
Redcoin's chanting strengthens though wavers as though he's uncertain of how exactly the spell should be cast. A flare of white light, warmth fills the room, singeing Redcoin's undead flesh with its power. The rat screams as the energy flows into its body. Too much, and ash is all that remains. A howl of anger and frustration from Redcoin.
You open your eyes from your revery, trying to make sense of your vision. Why is Redcoin creating, then destroying his own rats?
A hiss from one of the cages grabs your attention, causing you to drop into a defensive crouch with the glaive in your hand. A twisted rat lies in the bottom of the cage, one milky eye trying to see you. "Kill me," it says, almost inaudible. You give a sniff and your nose tells you what your brain already guessed at; this rat's alive, though broken and twisted by magic you're sure.
You stop to sniff the candles once more, the one pleasant thing in the room and lose yourself in the scent of the place for a moment, sliding back in time...
Redcoin comes here, lights the candles, speaks words of power. The rats, he puts one in the center of the ring, though he doesn't want to go. Your eyes open a bit to look; a scorched mark is in the center, as though something has burned. You sniff the charred surface, reading the history of the place further.
The rat, teeth preternaturally pointed from its transformation to a vampire, hisses at Redcoin in protest but is helpless to resist his will; he stays in the ring though he trembles in fear. He's seen this done to others.
Redcoin's chanting strengthens though wavers as though he's uncertain of how exactly the spell should be cast. A flare of white light, warmth fills the room, singeing Redcoin's undead flesh with its power. The rat screams as the energy flows into its body. Too much, and ash is all that remains. A howl of anger and frustration from Redcoin.
You open your eyes from your revery, trying to make sense of your vision. Why is Redcoin creating, then destroying his own rats?
A hiss from one of the cages grabs your attention, causing you to drop into a defensive crouch with the glaive in your hand. A twisted rat lies in the bottom of the cage, one milky eye trying to see you. "Kill me," it says, almost inaudible. You give a sniff and your nose tells you what your brain already guessed at; this rat's alive, though broken and twisted by magic you're sure.
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Nestor
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Dustland
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The milky white eye shifts sightlessly around as the rat tries in vain to see. It begins to speak again but its body begins to convulse in a coughing fit before it gains control of its twisted body.
Blood mixes with spittle as the broken rat whispers, "He gives us his blood, makes us strong. Then he casts horrible spells, I think he's trying to take the blood back. It burns, it burns..." The rat trails off as he struggles to breath through the pink foam that has filled its mouth.
Blood mixes with spittle as the broken rat whispers, "He gives us his blood, makes us strong. Then he casts horrible spells, I think he's trying to take the blood back. It burns, it burns..." The rat trails off as he struggles to breath through the pink foam that has filled its mouth.