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Selected Seduction


The wraith passed silently across the grassy, treeless, expanse separating the Castle of Blood from the tavern-Inn that was Alderia's Oasis. It was very late, nearing midnight. For several days the Elder had his servants keep watch on the place to inform him when it was most devoid of guests. Upon learning that, he set his plan in motion. As he drew near he changed form again, appearing as a gentlemen dressed in finery, elegantly masculine, replete with a black feathered cap, red silk vest, puffy white shirt, black trousers and thigh boots. One stroke of his pointed fingernail upon his arm drew blood which he allowed to flow freely for a moment, staining his shirt sleeve. He then moved slowly to the porch and stumbled through the doors to fall heavily upon the floor.

The bar tender looked up from wiping plates as did the other working employee, a seller of rare liquors who, himself, was quite drunk and sitting alone at a table. The establishment was otherwise empty of patrons. The tender, named Alan, set down the plate he was cleaning and hurried to where the man lay, apparently unconscious, bleeding. "Gonna need some help with this one," he muttered as he hurriedly left the man and went upstairs. Alderia, the proprietor, had gone away on business. The only other authority figure was Mahal, whom her sister employed as a waitress. They returned to where the injured man lay and knelt down to examine him and his wound.

"Get a wet towel and some bandages!" she ordered, and Alan quickly complied. Cleaning the laceration, which was not too deep, she then applied a cloth bandage that began to immediately darken with blood. "Help me get him upstairs to one of the rooms," she insisted.

With difficulty, especially taking him upstairs, they got him to a room and lay him gently upon its single bed. He moaned softly and winced from the pain through closed eyes. "Get me a large bowl of water. I will tend him. The wound is not deep but I must stop the bleeding," she stated.

Alan hurried away to fulfill her request. As she removed his vest and began to unbutton his shirt, he opened his eyes and hers locked with his.

Moments later Alan returned but was shocked to see the man sitting on the side of the bed while Mahal lay face down on the floor. "What happened?" he inquired, setting down the water and roll of bandages. The man appeared to be confused, hardly awake, still obviously reeling from his injuries. "Sh... she just... fell over," he muttered.

Alan went to her and picked her up carefully. She was quite unconscious. "Ah, she probably passed out from seein' the blood. Never knew her to be so squeamish though," he added as he took her to an adjoining room to place her gently on the bed. In all the excitement he failed to notice the two small red pinprick holes at the base of her neck, partially concealed by the collar of her blouse.



Mahal woke up with a splitting headache. She sat up only to immediately regret this decision. The room had swayed violently.

“Whoa, take it easy,” Alan’s voice cut through the fog, catching her in time from falling off the side of the bed.

“Wha..what happened?”

“I dunno. You told me to grab you a bowl of water, I came back with it and some bandages and found you on the floor. The guy was shocked and said you had fallen over. Since when did you get all…,” he feigned shock, back of the hand pressed against the forehead, absurdly loud gasp then crumpled noisily to the ground. His performance earned him a pillow to the face.

“You missed your calling Alan,” Mahal ribbed, absently scratching at her neck. “When you are done with your monologue, could I have something to drink. My throat is so dry. And something to eat too. Oh, beef stew if the cook isn't busy. And why is it so hot in here?” Mahal fanned herself, but it provided no relief. She started to undo the top buttons on her dress, at which Alan promptly left the room.

“Ahh, much better,” welcoming the coolness of the air brushing against her skin, sinking back into the pillows. I am not squeamish, she ruminated, What happened.

She was undoing the man’s shirt when he opened his eyes. She looked at him and that’s when everything seemed to feel like a dream. He was devilishly handsome.

He leaned in, sniffed her “Just a little taste,” Each word emphasized as he drew closer to her. She shivered with anticipation.

“Yes,” she replied breathlessly.

There was a sharp pain at her neck. Terrified, she tried to push him away, but he held fast. She attempted to cry out yet her voice betrayed her. Her eyes rolled back as the look of fear transformed into a look of pure ecstasy as waves upon waves of pleasure coursed through her body involuntarily clinging onto him praying it would not end.

He released his hold, and they, once again, locked eyes. She was unable to avert her gaze, and why would she? He was so… beautiful. Her eyes traveled to his mouth, hoping he would kiss her. She paused as she saw red liquid as he licked his lips. Is that-

“Sweet as I expected,” he purred.

An acrid smell pulled her away from her thoughts. Alan had opened the door and was about to step in when Mahal made a retching sound.

“Egads, what is that,” she asked covering her mouth and nose.

"The beef stew you asked for,” Alan replied perplexed. “What are you talking about, this smells amazing. The cook made it especially for you at your request.”

“Take it away, it smells awful.”


Malicious Musings

It was with a considerable measure of delight that the Elder Scaramandine evaluated his performance at the Oasis recently. Under pretense of being injured he had gained a welcomed entry, and therefore uninhibited access, to the place. The target, a young woman he had recently been introduced to by his occasional minion, Torak, had caught his eye. He had seen many come and go, usually as his victims, sacrificial or otherwise, but she distracted him, preyed on his preying mind, until he decided to act. He could use a consort, a beautiful one at that, to share what passed for his life in these dreary realms.

Alan, the barkeep of the tavern, had questioned him extensively after he exited the room, apparently having revived suddenly from the bleeding injury and subsequent collapse at the entrance of the tavern. "Who are you? How did you get that cut?" he had asked as the Elder sat at a bar stool below the room where Mahal lay, recovering from the bite he had inflicted upon her. "What happened after I left?" he continued.

Feigning weakness, the Elder played the game. "I am Enid. Enid Namaracs. I call Luna home. I had a friend tell me about this new place so I came out to see it for myself. Something hit me from behind and as I turned, it knocked me down. I guess I cut my arm when I fell. I got up and only remember stumbling inside. The sight of blood along with my spinning head made me pass out."

Alan snorted. "Well, it seems you are okay now. Can I get you a stout ale or something better?" he grinned, reaching for a bottle.

Enid shook head no. "My stomach and head still aren't grounded. I need to be getting home; I am expected. My wife will worry," he replied, rising to his feet. "Thank you for the assistance. No real harm was done. I will return another day."

Alan had nodded, insisting he take a free bottle, only to have it waved away courteously and then he departed...

Mahal would be his but he would have to work cautiously to convert her. From what Torak had told him about Alderia, she would be involved and as observant as a hawk. Perhaps she might have to be dealt with if she interfered.

The Necromari would have a beautiful and powerful queen.