— Inspector Duddly Crowley, Report on Urban Disparity and Crime Rates
For as much as Mina hated coming here, she had to admit, The Pawnbroker's church was one of the few places in Outer Peccatum that she would call ‘pleasant.’ The boarded windows helped block out the hum of the city, and the air smelled like an old bookstore thanks to the scent of musty parchment, old leather, and the hundreds of burning candles.
Mina dragged herself up the stone steps and slipped inside. Where the pews had once stood, rows of glass display cases now stretched across the hall, filled with an assortment of objects: tarnished rings, prosthetic limbs with rusting joints, and battered typewriters missing half their keys. Candles flickered against the walls, illuminating the arsenal mounted above: knives, revolvers, rifles, and even a few old swords and shields. That was what she cared about most when coming in here. She liked to see the rare finds, like the revolvers with pearl grips, the ancient swords with notches in their edges, and fancy elven daggers. She was tempted to look, but tonight, she wasn’t here to shop.
Sitting at the appraisal desk, which had taken the place of the old altar, was The Pawnbroker. He was an old man, his skin loose, and his veins so prominent that Mina could almost see the blood flowing through them. Behind him, the statue of Asdros, the God of Men, loomed. It was once a symbol of divine guidance, but now reduced to a cracked and crumbling relic. A jagged fissure ran through the god’s chest, and he was missing his right hand, like it had been chopped off.
“Ah,” he murmured, “And just as I was about to close up for the night, another unexpected surprise. How exciting.” His grin stretched wide, deepening the sunken folds in his paper-thin skin. “It has been some time since I’ve had the honor of the Raven of Reghin walking through my doors.”
Mina said nothing.
The Pawnbroker’s grin grew wider. “A shame you didn’t bring your friend this time. What was her name again?”
Mina sighed. “Karaline.”
“Ah, yes, Karaline. Quite the eccentric woman, I must say. And the child with the mask…adorable, wasn’t she?”
Mina didn’t respond.
“But alas, they are not here. A shame. I was setting aside some rather unique gears and sprockets for Karaline. Straight from the elves of the Morlean Isles.”
“Another time.” Mina reached into her pocket and placed a small sack on the counter. The Pawnbroker opened it, and found dozens upon dozens of fangs inside. To most, they were almost worthless, but to some, they were trophies, valuable ones to the right collector.
“Yours wouldn’t happen to be in here, would they?”
Mina curled her lips back just enough so that her fangs could glint in the candlelight.
“I thought not,” he laughed, and plucked a freshly bloodied fang between his fingers, turning it in the light. “How much more interesting would it have been if they were?” His tongue darted out, licking the blood clean from the fang. “Where did this one come from?”
“Outskirts of the city.”
“Is that all to the story? The buyers like a conversation piece.”
“Make one up.”
“Hm.” He emptied the fangs onto the counter. “Seems there are plenty about.”
“Or there is a nest hidden somewhere in the city.”
“You want to know where it is.”
“I want to know where Draven Theodgar is. I know he’s here.”
And like that, his smile was gone. “Theodgar?” he murmured.
“The vampire said I could find him ‘in the shadows of Peccatum.’”
“You think I know where he is?”
“You know where everyone is.”
“Why seek such a monster?” The Pawnbroker whispered.
“He’s looking for the same person I am. Gotta make sure he doesn’t get to them first.”
The Pawnbroker scooped up the remaining fangs and sighed. “I hear rumors. Speculations.”
Mina narrowed her eyes. “And what have you heard?”
He didn’t answer.
She stared him down.
“I can’t say for certain that I know where he is,” he whispered. “But what I can say is that there have been rumors floating around the riverfront.”
“Of what?”
“Some have suspected the women in the area to be of the… night-feeding, soul-draining variety.”
“Succubi?”
“Perhaps.”
Mina grumbled to herself. A succubi nest was a likely hiding place. The issue was that there were hundreds of brothels across the city. And on the riverfront— “That’s a twenty-fve-mile stretch. You don’t know which district?”
The Pawnbroker shook his head. “‘The riverfront’ is all I’ve heard. A name like that isn’t spoken often… at least, not by those not looking for trouble.”
Mina would have preferred something more concrete, but it was something. “Thanks for the time.”
The Pawnbroker’s smile returned. “Do enjoy yourself. It’s quite lovely down there this time of night.”
On her way out the door, a young girl came in. Mina stepped past her without a second glance. She was just another homeless street rat, smelling of sewage and river water. Mina crossed the road to where her gelding was waiting, hitched to an old, beat-up stagecoach. It was unremarkable at first glance, but that was just the way she liked it. There was less chance of people sticking their noses where they didn’t belong.
She ran a hand through the horse’s mane, feeling the coarse hair between her fingers.
This could be the night.
Before heading out, she downed a tin flask of blood she kept in her inner coat pocket. Then, she lit a cigarette and clamped it between her teeth as she turned toward the riverfront. The white ribbon of smoke drifted behind her, curling like the steam from a locomotive stack.
Hunting vampires was a pain, but hunting purebloods was even worse. There were a lot of dead ends. A lot of false leads. For all she knew, this could be another one, but she was confident. After months of searching, this lead felt solid enough. She had speculated for some time now that there was a nest of bloodsuckers in Outer Peccatum, somewhere amongst the illegal backrooms, hidden passages, and shady businesses. It was hard to prove, and even harder to find. No vampire, not a pureblood, nor a half-blood, would ever admit to it. Not unless they were shit-their-pants scared, which she was particularly good at making them feel.
Mina took another drag from the cigarette and exhaled.
Now, it was just a matter of figuring out where along the riverfront she needed to start.
Emily limped through the back alleys.
If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.
With one hand, she clutched at her aching ribs, the golden watch chain tangled around her fingers. In the other hand, she gripped the elven dagger. Her socks were soaked, and the cold stung the soles of her feet with each step. She had nothing to protect her now from the filth-strewn cobblestones, slick with oil, piss, and whatever else the city had to offer.
A gunshot cracked through the night.
She barely flinched.
A second later, the high-pitched screech of an overhead train nearly drowned all other noise. The metal wheels shrieked against rusted tracks as they thundered across the skeletal bridge above.
Emily exhaled and kept walking.
Gunshots were as common as whores out here. Just another piece of the city’s rhythm, like the hiss of steam from corroded pipes or the distant clang of factory bells.
That’s all this side of the river ever had: violence, whores, thieves, beggars, and the ever-present stink of horse shit. Nothing but sick workers and drunken men who spend every last coin on a bottle instead of bread.
An old church of Asdros loomed ahead. It was a rotting building, with peeling paint and cracked windows, not unlike every other building in this god-awful city.
Emily dragged herself up the stone steps and slipped inside, ushering past a white-haired woman on her way out.
The Pawnbroker looked up from his appraisal desk. His gaze swept over her, taking in the soaked clothes, the bruises, and the way she clutched her side like something inside had cracked. “My, my, another customer at this hour? Fancy a midnight dip, did you?”
Emily shot him a flat look. “I need help,” she muttered.
“Doesn’t everyone,” he said with a grin, revealing his blackened teeth. “Now, what may I do for you?”
“I need to find someone who knows about vampires,” she said, approaching the desk. “Someone who might help teach me to fight them.”
For a flicker of a moment, The Pawnbroker’s smile faded. He glanced to the door, then back at Emily. “Is that so?”
“I know you accept trades,” Emily said, then hesitated. She glanced down at the elven dagger in her other hand. She hadn’t taken the time to admire it, but looking at it now, it looked beautiful. The silver blade caught the candlelight, reflecting the runes etched along the fuller. The grip was wrapped in fine blue leather, the pommel carved into the likeness of a crescent moon. It had to be worth something at least. It had runes on it, afterall. She didn’t know much about them, or how they worked, but she knew they were valuable to some people.
“This is all I have.” She placed it on the counter.
The Pawnbroker’s sunken eyes gleamed as he picked it up, rolling it between his bony fingers. “Now, where did a gutter rat like you get her hands on something this fine?”
Emily crossed her arms. “Does it matter?”
The old man chuckled. “Only if someone comes asking.”
“Then… uh… probably not.”
He tested the edge with his thumb and smirked when a bead of blood welled up. “Sharp. And pure silver. Perfect for monsters. Kills more than just men, doesn’t it?”
Emily said nothing. ‘Perfect for monsters.’ Maybe she shouldn’t give it up.
“Monster hunters who deal in vampires are hard to come by,” he began explaining. “Do you know why?”
She sighed. “I don’t think theres a reason I haven’t heard by this point.”
“I know of one who might be able to help, but their name is going to cost a bit more than this.” He set the dagger down, and widened his smile. “But, there are other ways a girl like yourself can make a trade.”
She looked down at herself, then back at him. “There’s not a lot here, trust me.”
“It doesn’t matter for some.”
Emily shuddered. “Yeah, I’m not doing that.” She reached into her pocket, then hesitated again. She rubbed her father’s pocketwatch with her thumb. “I… I have this too.”
The Pawnbroker took it and turned it over with his bony fingers, running his nails along the grooves and indentations. He tapped the thinner pieces, checking their strength. “Ah. A fine find indeed… The chain, that is. This watch is no different than the one in my pocket.”
Emily’s heart sank. “It’s still worth something, though, right?”
The old man hummed, weighing the chain in his palm. “Perhaps to a commoner. But the chain… yes, I can think of a few harlots who’d adore it around their pretty little necks.”
Emily frowned. “It’s a watch chain.”
The Pawnbroker chuckled. “It’s not like any of them are smart enough to know the difference.” The old man placed the watch and chain back on the desk, his grin widening. “Why hesitate showing me this?”
“It was a gift from my father,” Emily admitted quietly. “He gave it to me the night he…”
The Pawnbroker chuckled. “Ah, I see. A sentimental attachment, hm? My, that does give it some value.”
“Is it enough?”
The Pawnbroker reached toward the pile of teeth, and plucked a fang from it. Emily had noticed it when she first walked in, but had tried to ignore it. Focusing on it now, she recognized the kind of fangs they were. She saw them every night in her nightmares.
“You know what this is?” he asked.
“Vampire fangs?” she asked hesitantly.
The Pawnbroker sat up. “Why yes, they are. You have an eye for teeth?”
She paused. “No?”
He eyed her for a moment. “You’ve encountered a vampire before? Got away without so much as a bite?”
“Yeah. It killed my parents.”
“As they tend to do. A shame, really.”
“Where did you get those?”
“From a rather fortunate patron. It must be your lucky day, girl. The very person you’re looking for passed you on your way in. A woman. Hair like snow, and a face you’ll never forget.”
Emily glanced back at the door. “That woman was a monster hunter? And she killed a vampire to get those?”
“She’s off to kill one right now. The only monster hunter I know of brave enough to fight such creatures. Then again, she’s the only one I know of who is strong enough.”
Emily stared a moment longer. “Do you know where she was going?”
Hooves clattered against damp cobblestones, wagon wheels groaned under heavy cargo, and the low murmur of factory workers trudging home filled the streets like the distant hum of a wasp nest.
Mina kept a watchful eye.
This was Peccatum, the human capital of Ageria, a city whose veins ran thick with filth and crime. Though the crowds around her were mostly working men and hunched-backed women, there were no doubt cutthroats and cutpurses among them.
It was an awful city in every regard. Even from miles away, her heightened senses could pick up the city’s stench of coal smoke, and burning oil. The sourness of overfilled cesspits, and the sickly smell of food left to fester in the gutters. Every now and then, as she passed an alleyway, the familiar stench of blood and decomposing flesh slithered into her nose. The alleys were the worst place to be in Outer Peccatum. Death traps, by all accounts, were places where desperate men and things worse than men lurked in the shadows, waiting to mug, stab, shoot, or worse. But at the same time, they were also the best places to disappear. A true double-edged sword.
By the time Mina reached the riverfront, the smells had changed, but not for the better.
The dark, sluggish water stretched out before her like an oil slick. The stench was salt and fish guts, sewage runoff, and industrial waste. Mina wrinkled her nose and tried not to focus on it. There was no shortage of fumes in this city, no matter where you were. That is unless you crossed the riverfront into Inner Peccatum. The air was cleaner there, the streets wider, the buildings taller. But crossing the river was damn near impossible. The handful of bridges connecting the two halves of Peccatum were heavily guarded, and patrolled by the Ironguard, who spent more time keeping the filth out than protecting the people within.
That left Outer Peccatum to fester. The perfect breeding ground for crime, corruption… and vampires.
Warehouses, wine sinks, and cheap brothels lined the docks, all with a prime view of paradise just across the water. Mina passed each alleyway cautiously. They were mostly empty, save for piles of garbage, makeshift shelters, and the occasional figure slumped against a wall. Dead asleep or just dead, it didn’t matter. She kept moving.
Ahead, were rows of warehouses. The docks stretched out into the river like grasping fingers. The gas lamps lining the streets were all dead.
Not that she needed the light.
Her search was slow. She started with the brothels, as they seemed like the most likely hideouts. The air around them was thick with the scent of cheap perfume, sweat, and opium smoke. Mina was looking for subtle tells; a woman whose skin was too flawless, whose beauty seemed unnatural, whose eyes held a gleam of something inhuman beneath the candlelight. Succubi were masters of deception, blending seamlessly into the city’s underbelly. They could take any form, but if she could find any, then there were likely vampires nearby. It wasn’t uncommon for vampires to use succubi as the first line of defense for their dens. They were, after all, ravenous, bloodthirsty demons, and if any of their sisters were ever disturbed, it would be like trying to fend off a swarm of piranhas.
Still, brothels weren’t the only things for her to search. Abandoned warehouses were often used by vampires to store bodies, dead or alive, especially on riverfronts. Ships could come by, and easily transport them to Alnwick Island, where they would be integrated into the Blood Farms.
So, warehouse after warehouse she searched. Most of them belonged to Orsella Freight & Commodities, shipments from across Ageria.
Fruits and vegetables from Hardersfield.
Ore and minerals from Brozengrad.
Gears and cogs from the Morlean Isles.
Nothing of interest.
Then, as her search continued, she came across a street covered in shattered glass. The windows of every building on the block had been blown out. A crowd of humans, elves, and dwarves had gathered. Some were injured, and the air reeked of blood.
The Ironguard were already on the scene, questioning anyone who had seen what happened. Their navy blue trench coats were pristine despite the filth of the district. They were fastened with gold aiguillettes, and they had leather armor strapped over their chests, and a white patch displaying Peccatum’s rearing stallion sigil.
Mina slowed, catching snippets of conversation—
“—came out of nowhere—”
“—a blast of some kind—”
“—never seen anything like it—”
She frowned. Whatever happened here was a result of powerful magic. Someone lost control, and now half a street had paid the price.
She wanted to stay and listen, to what exactly had happened here, but she had more important work to do.
She turned to leave but froze as she caught sight of something.
A bat.
It hung from a broken lamppost, staring directly at her with a pair of gleaming silver eyes.
Mina’s heart stopped as she matched its gaze. Her hand started to quiver.
Vampires were capable of many things, but only purebloods held true, powerful magic. Magic that helped them transform.
The bat dropped and launched into the air.
Mina followed it through the streets, weaving through the alleys, until the bat dove straight into an open warehouse window. She skidded to a halt as it disappeared from sight, and let out a disgruntled sigh. A cramped, enclosed space; this was a trap.
And she was going in anyways.
I HOPE YOU ENJOYED TODAY'S CHAPTER!
Please leave a comment!
- Any theories on what might happen next?
- What do you want to see more of?
- Wanna go on a typo hunt? (You’ll find something, I promise)
Follow the story to stay updated.
Favorite it if you enjoy the journey.
Craving more right now? Join my and help support the story!
- Read 8 chapters ahead!
- Bonus & cut content!
- Behind-the-scenes stuff ;)