The Blood of Vampire: Chapter 3 - The Serpent's Whisper in Aerthos
Jatex awoke in the narrow, dirt-floored crevice not to the gentle ache of exhaustion, but to the cold, paralyzing certainty of starvation. The brief, sickening satiation he had experienced from involuntarily consuming the mountain goat's life force had long since vanished, replaced by a Thirst so profound it no longer felt like hunger—it felt like a systemic breakdown, a biological imperative overriding every instinct for self-preservation.
It was a rhythmic, agonizing pulse of absence, cold and metallic, centered in his chest and now radiating outward, causing his limbs to shake and his vision to strobe at the edges.
The Sanguine Stain was no longer merely a magical potential; it was a parasitic entity demanding its due, and its presence was actively consuming the remnants of his Vaelanar spiritual life force, leaving his body deathly cold and his skin an unnerving, translucent pale.
He forced himself to rise, pushing off the cold, rough stone, his first priority not food, but escape from the vengeance of Elder Kael. He knew Kael's resolve was absolute, but the mountains offered enough unpredictable paths that a seasoned tracker could be delayed, not stopped. Jatex quickly reviewed the cryptic parchment from Seraphina—the map to the Blackened Hearth.
"Seek the water where the gods weep, and the sanctuary where the Shadow knows itself—beneath the sightless, watchful gaze of the Dragon of Ash." It was a riddle steeped in the forbidden, pre-Vaelanar mythology of Syldavia, a language that spoke of spiritual landmarks rather than geographic ones.
Jatex, recalling the forbidden lessons whispered by rebellious Acolytes, knew the Dragon of Ash was a reference to the Draconic Constellation, a massive cluster of stars visible only during the deepest winter months, and "the water where the gods weep" referred to the Weeping Falls, a cascade that fed the Great River Mydra, famous for its iron-rich, blood-red water flowing down from the ruins of the first Syldavian city.
The puzzle gave him direction, but the immediate threat was the terrifying, escalating Thirst. He had to move into the hostile lowlands of Aerthos—the kingdom that had driven his people to the brink—to find both the ancient site and, critically, a way to control the feeding impulse before he became the very monster he feared. Aerthos territory was a landscape of rigid human settlements, zealous religious practices, and military occupation, a place where a pale, silver-eyed stranger carrying the forbidden Obsidian Amulet would be instantly viewed as an agent of the dark arts and executed without trial.
The thought of engaging with humanity—of being surrounded by the vibrant, distracting pulse of life essence that the Stain craved—made his stomach clench in a knot of physical revulsion and terrifying desire.
His descent from the Aethyr-Wound Canyons was grueling, taking two days of silent, forced marches. By the time he reached the rolling, scrub-dotted eastern plains of Aerthos, the internal cold had become unbearable, and the Thirst was a howling, constant agony.
His Vaelanar training allowed him to suppress the outward signs, maintaining an unsettling stillness that belied his inner turmoil, but his powers of Aethyr-Siphoning had completely failed, leaving him incapable of even generating a warming thermal shield.
He desperately needed sustenance, but the only life around him—small, skittish rodents and birds—repelled him. The thought of consuming their tiny, fleeting essences felt degrading, an insufficient and pointless distraction from the true, profound lack that the Stain demanded.
He finally reached the outskirts of a small Aerthos farming village called Briar-Watch, a cluster of rough-hewn timber and slate roofs huddled against the encroaching forest. The scent of human life, warm, complex, and overwhelmingly vibrant, hit him like a physical narcotic. The powerful, magnetic pull of the life force sent a jolt of genuine terror and excitement through him.
He recognized the smell of blood—a small, bleeding cut on a farmer's hand, the scent of fresh slaughter from a distant smokehouse—and the Sanguine Stain, awake and demanding, roared in response. He leaned against an ancient, moss-covered wall, fighting a dizzying wave of predatory impulse, forcing his Vaelanar discipline to hold the line, refusing to yield to the beast within.
"Control the consumption, Jatex. Control the monster, or come back and let me end your suffering," Aeliana's final plea echoed in his mind, sharp and clear. He realized he could not simply wait for the Thirst to subside; it would only grow, and eventually, discipline would fail.
He needed a mentor, a guide to the ancient lore of the Source Blood, someone who could teach him the forgotten Vaelanar method of controlled consumption and spiritual maintenance. His gaze fell upon the Obsidian Amulet, and his thoughts shifted back to Seraphina, the rebellious Elder sister who had supplied the clue. She had risked her life because she believed in a path other than destruction.
He needed to find the Blackened Hearth, but first, he needed information, and he knew exactly where to seek it: the clandestine black market of Aerthos, places where the strict religious laws broke down, and prohibited knowledge, relics, and transactions occurred.
He needed to find a specific type of information broker—one who dealt in pre-Syldavian religious artifacts and forbidden texts. He directed himself toward the nearest major market town, Veldara's Crossing, a hub notorious for its lax enforcement of the purity laws and its thriving, shadowed trade in historical heresies.
Entering Veldara's Crossing was a sensory overload. The town was a dense, loud crush of humanity, and the collective pulse of life force—the object of the Sanguine Stain's total devotion—was almost unbearable.
Jatex moved with practiced, deliberate slowness, utilizing the Vaelanar skill of Spiritual Camouflage, a technique designed to dampen his own aura and make his presence unremarkable to human attention.
He was unnaturally pale, his movements too fluid, but in the grime and chaos of the market, he successfully merged into the background noise, his amber eyes perpetually scanning the crowded, chaotic stalls.
He eventually located the quarter he sought: the Alchemist's Alley, a cramped, shadowed street lined with vendors selling exotic spices, dubious elixirs, and ancient relics. He was looking for a vendor who sold the kind of spiritual debris that the Vaelanar had spent centuries burying. His attention was drawn to a stall draped in dark velvet and adorned with bones and silver charms, presided over by a figure of unsettling composure.
This was a Crypt-Scholar—a vendor who dealt not in gold, but in forbidden historical truth.
"You seek knowledge that bites the hand that feeds," the Crypt-Scholar stated without looking up, his voice a dry, rasping whisper, startling Jatex with the accuracy of his immediate perception. The vendor, a hunched man with spectacles perched on his nose, traced a pattern on a large, cracked piece of slate.
"You carry the scent of the High Places, but beneath the juniper and granite, I detect the metallic tang of desperation. And something… older. Something that hungers."
Jatex kept his face impassive, his Vaelanar discipline holding the terror in check. He pulled out the Obsidian Amulet—the most dangerous currency he possessed—and placed it carefully on the dark velvet counter, the ancient sigils of the Blood Gods gleaming faintly in the low light. "I seek the Blackened Hearth. I seek the lore of the Source Blood—the truth buried beneath your king's purity laws. Do you know the meaning of the Dragon of Ash, or the Weeping Falls?"
The Crypt-Scholar recoiled instantly, his spectacles slipping down his nose as he recognized the artifact and the forbidden language Jatex used. His eyes, suddenly sharp and terrified, flicked around the alley.
"The Dragon of Ash is a legend, a celestial map to the heart of ancient Syldavia. The Weeping Falls are the blood of the forgotten, first sacrifices. You speak of the First Embrace, boy.
You speak of the progenitor. Are you mad? That amulet… that is a death warrant and a beacon for the things that hunt by true night!" He snatched the amulet, wrapping it instantly in velvet.
"Then you know the price of silence and the value of my need," Jatex pressed, his voice low and intense.
The Thirst was now a roaring fire, threatening to incinerate his discipline, forcing him to keep the negotiation swift and brutal. "I offer the amulet for the map, or I take the knowledge from your mind.
Your choice. But know this: I am beyond the laws of men, and the hunger is at my heels." He allowed a sliver of the Sanguine Stain's cold, absolute malice to leak into his spiritual presence—a calculated display of terrifying, destructive potential.
The Crypt-Scholar shivered violently, recognizing the signature of the Stain's energy—the cold, predatory void that only sought to consume. He realized he was standing opposite something far more dangerous than a simple mage. He quickly pulled a scroll from beneath the counter, his hands shaking.
"I have no map to the Hearth itself; it is a spiritual geography, as you know.
But I know the one who guards the knowledge. He is called Lord Zydian, a historian of the Blood Wars, and he dwells near the Weeping Falls—in the ruins of the Old Citadel of Syldavia, a place that exists beyond the borders of Aerthos law. He is protected by a spiritual veil, only accessible by those who carry the scent of the Stain and know the ancient word for Consumption."
"The word," Jatex demanded, his voice barely a rasp, the Thirst momentarily forgotten in the rush of the hunt.
The Scholar leaned in, his breath sour with fear. "It is Sartus," he whispered. "The ancient tongue of the Blood Lords. Go now, quickly. The power you radiate will draw attention, not just from Kael, but from things far older and far hungrier
Jatex retrieved the amulet, offered99 a single, fierce nod of acknowledgment, and retreated into the chaos of the market, the name Sartus now etched into his mind. He had his direction, his final clue, and a name:
Lord Zydian. His dark odyssey had a clear target: the Old Citadel near the Weeping Falls, where he would either find his salvation or receive the inevitable First Embrace that would forever seal his monstrous destiny.
He was leaving the world of spiritual defense behind, embracing the path of the predator, driven by the hope of Aeliana's love and the agonizing scream of the Stain's perpetual Thirst.