Tjere sank her teeth into the neck of the drow man. His blood was cold, and bitter to the tongue. The taste lingered in the back of her mouth like ash. It was nothing like the warmth of a human, or sweet like an elf. It was more akin to dwarvish blood than anything else. There was a little more flavor, a tiny bit of seasoning that made the cold ash digestible, but it wasn’t to her liking.
Only once had the dhampir felt the need to consume dwarf blood, and Tjere promised herself she would never do so again. That was why, as she supped from the drow, she almost gagged. Her lingering hunger was hard to ignore, and for some reason it required a mortal’s taste.
The succubus let her feed from her wrist on occasion, but Rain’s blood had an alien quality to it that was somehow both fulfilling, and painful to ingest. It was like a nourishing poison, a true blessing of Roien. Drinking Rain’s blood opened Tjere’s eyes to new colors, and her lips to new tastes, but it quickly dulled her other senses until there was a hollow pit in her stomach.
While Dhampir’s weren’t subject to the same dietary requirements as their forebears, that didn’t mean they weren’t afflicted by the thirst. It wasn’t rampant, but the desire to consume blood was always there.
Blood was the currency of the soul, the very bridge between life and death. It was the river that bound spiritual essence to the flesh, and tasted like nothing else. To a vampire, the need for blood was paramount to their survival, for their souls lingered along the thin edge of oblivion. Blood kept them grounded, and rejuvenated their necromancy. Dhampir’s, on the other hand, were far more aligned to the world of the living, having been born from a mothers womb. They didn’t need blood to survive, but they quickly grew feeble without it.
Tjere remembered her mother once saying, “a teaspoon of blood a day keeps your heart pounding away.” If only it hadn’t sapped what little strength her mother had in the process. She still felt guilty about that, all these years later.
Tjere pulled back her teeth from the drow’s hard flesh, and shoved him away. The flavor still left a bitter aftertaste in her mouth. The last of it wend down like gravel. The chilled air suddenly felt a lot less cold, and she felt a renewed sense of ease through her body. Knotted muscle loosened, and strained sinew healed as if she hadn’t spent the entire day helping to load wagon carts.
Lady Rain had spent much of her day overseeing the evacuation, and was slowly earning their respect. Tjere still had her reservations about them; the drow were from an outcasted clan, likely banished for good reason. The fact that Rain had entertained their squabbles only annoyed her. It wasn’t a drow’s, or any lesser mortals, place to spend so much time with her queen.
The young drow rubbed his neck before skirting out of the chamber, leaving Tjere alone to herself. She sighed, leaned back against the wall, and looked up toward the ceiling. Cobwebs decorated the corners, and several clusters of tiny eyes were visible in the darkness. She could hear the scurrying of their tiny legs against the damp stone, and grew farther irritated by it.
With a flick of her wrist, a single dagger flew towards one of the larger arachnids. There was enough force behind the sharp blade to impale the spider, and dig farther into the aged marble. A new cobweb of scratches scarred the masonry, almost matching the cobwebs in artistry.
Tjere looked down at the collection of armor plates, leather straps, and piles of cloth in the corner of the room. She had been working to craft something special for Rain, and was almost finished. She just needed a few more good ingots blessed under the full moon. Tjere would have to find a suitable animal to tan some additional leather which took time, and the smell of tannery work always attracted attention.
Her eyes looked to the dark metal yet to be moulded to fit her masters frame. It was then that a thought occurred to her, that maybe all the leather and cloth wasn’t necessary. Tjere conceived the notion that, perhaps, her master would prefer to have her beautiful brands exposed.
“Of course!” Tjere shot up, and picked up some of the pieces. It would be much easier to bless the armor so that it offered her master maximum protection, without having to cover the stomach or chest. The vital’s would be protected through the will of Roien, and Rain’s power alone. The armor would enhance Rain’s potential, rather than be a simple layer of protection.
In a way, the armor was similarly designed as her own. Tjere learned the art of iron crafting when she was a child, simply by watching her clans forge master. Her keen eyes observed the way he folded the metal, and bent it to his will. She was fascinated by the the blacksmiths skill, and his son in particular. In secret, she even enjoyed a small tryst with him. This was before the clan discovered what she was, back before she had the strength to wield a hammer properly.
Tjere felt a warm tear stroll down her cheek, and she wiped it away quickly. Such memories, she rarely visited. Since opening up to Rain, she found it difficult to keep those thoughts buried. She even forgot the blacksmiths sons name! Until now, Tjere had no interest in remembering it.
She took in a deep breathe, allowing the memories to fade, so that she could focus on the task at hand. With renewed passion, and inspiration, the dhampir began carving tiny runes into the iron itself. She was so focused on her new task, she failed to notice the lingering shadow wandering in her domain.
“So pretty!” Namire’s voice broke through the air.
Tjere scowled, embarrassed that the other dhampir had managed to sneak so close without her noticing. “You’re back, finally.” Tjere put down the tiny knife, leaving behind several glowing runes etched into the armor.
Namire sat down, her tail wrapping around her waist. “Things got a little complicated. I almost couldn’t find my way back.”
That wasn’t good, Tjere doubted her fellow dhampir struggled to find her way. If something was preventing her to return quickly, then it was likely a true threat.
“Have you spoken to the mistress?” Tjere looked up, and noticed that Namire’s fox-like ears were tucked low. It was truly shameful, how Namire struggled to hide her emotions. Tjere couldn’t help but wonder if all Pharine’s were like that, or just Namire.
“I…” Namire hesitated, keeping her eyes to the floor. “I’m…afraid she’ll be disappointed.”
Tjere sighed before offering a reply. She really didn’t think Namire had anything to worry about. “Did you find another vampire nearby?” Tjere hoped the answer was a resounding no.
“Yes,” Namire’s tail wagged back and forth before settling down. “Or I got a strong scent of one, but the woods are crawling with men with swords!”
“Knights?” Tjere’s right hand instinctively shot to her side, where she normally kept her own blade. It was absent, currently laying to the side, and waiting to be sharpened. Tjere’s hand twitched as she felt nothing but damp air between her fingers. It took a split second for her to remember where it was.
Noticing her reaction, Namire reached out to pat Tjere on the shoulder. “Some, but I noticed others fighting them. I don’t think they’re all on the same side.”
Tjere brushed aside Namire’s hand. Multiple groups of men fighting amongst the woods didn’t make any sense to her, but at least Namire had achieved partial success. “Well, at least that’s something,” Tjere groaned.
“Look,” Namire pouted. “Could you come with me to speak with the mistress. I…hope she won’t be mad at me.”
“Fine.” Namire rubbed her eyes, and left the collection of armor on the floor, where it waited for her finishing touches.
