Dhampir Chapter 7 - A Bitter Taste

There's not much to say in the header this time - that's a lie, of course I'll find things to waffle on. An obvious lamentation on gaps between updates being too long is certainly one thing, and something I intend to work on in the near future. After this update is one chapter of Umbral Coil with the overdue snake tits, then I can stop juggling so much and focus down on moving this forward.

"All things to those who wait", or have their first exposure at a later date when it's a non-issue. Still, apologies. This chapter should work at answering some pertinent questions that were brought to me and dump worse ones in the space left behind. Such is the cycle.

---
Index: http://pastebin.com/u/LDR
Chapter 6 - Spider Bite: http://pastebin.com/TzHUjmcy

Chapter 7 - A Bitter Taste
Bedridden upon a pirate ship at sea, her body battling the effects of a monstrous spider-woman’s bite, what fevered dreams danced behind the eyes of the mysterious blonde woman indeed. Within her mind, dreams and memories bloomed, conjoined and swirled unbidden to the forefront of her stricken mind. Most melted into nothingness as quickly as they came, a storm of colour and emotion until finally settling into a calm.

“Hey, it’s time to get up, sweetie. Come on, Dianna, wake up!” A silvery shield, emblazoned with the symbol of the Blackguard Hounds swung back and forth before Dianna’s bleary eyes, glistening in the warmth of an oil lamp. How long had she been asleep? Well, that didn’t matter now, so long as she could reach out and grasp that symbol, everything would be alright.

Neither particularly cold nor warm to the touch, it felt good to have it back in her hands, leaving her to squeeze on it and smile quietly. Confusion skittered across her mind. Why was it so important to have this? It was just a pendant, and not even hers. The one it belonged to was much more important. Her head felt a mess, perhaps she hadn’t been sleeping well at all.

A thicker hand eclipsed hers, near twice as large as her own, and squeezed gently. Blinking and focusing her eyes past that gentle fist, Dianna finally saw him looming over her – broad shouldered and square-jawed behind a trim brass beard and rustic, dirty blonde hair. The delicate, oaken eyes watching over her could belong to no one else.

“Daddy…” She managed to murmur out, rubbing her eyes with her free hand before smiling timidly. The sight of him prickled at her heart as though it was not just last night that she had seen him last. Surely she wasn’t getting to be such a southland milksop that she would miss him over a night’s sleep. No, clearly the rude wakening was what had her out of mind. She didn’t look her best at all, what was he thinking, waking her like this?

“Welcome back to the world of the waking, Princess.” His tone was mildly chiding, enough to put a heat in Dianna’s already flustered cheeks. She hadn’t really been sleeping that long, had she? Somehow, it still felt as though she’d been gone for a long time, that she should cherish the warmth and strength in that hand, but the sensation was pushed out of mind with the fog of waking.

“Mnh, what? I didn’t mean to sleep in…” She grumbled, pulling herself up from the four-poster bed of rich, deep green silks to sit in her rumpled white nightgown, smoothing it down as her hand was released with a deep chuckle.

“What, you forgot already? You wanted me to train you to duel as I do with your Mother. Well, we’re going to lose the few hours of southern sun if you don’t hurry along.” Still quietly grumbling to herself, the words clicked in her head and woke her with a start. Of course she remembered that, and Daddy had said today was the day he’d take her out. Why they needed to go out and why in the hours of light, she didn’t really understand, and he refused to answer, but she’d been looking forward to it.

“Oh yeah! Sorry D-ah?!” The effort of coming to her senses and jarring her groggy memory had cost her the sense of awareness to not see the bear diving at her, flattening her back onto the bed to struggle under it. “Flaming snarltooth and hells fire, Dad!” Dianna whined, flailing and shoving the thick fur to find her way out from under the heavy cloak thrown at her. Her bleeding father seemed to think the whole ordeal was an amusement, standing in his much thinner, treated leather trousers and ragged shirt that had once been white but now matched the darker leather overcoat.

“Hey, language! It’s a cloak, and you’re going to need it if I’m not carrying you back shivering after an hour of light. Don’t take too long fighting a beast that’s already dead, now.” Dianna’s father chided, chuckling softly as he left the room to the sound of bestial growling to suit a wild bear. Once she’d claimed victory over her morning adversary, swearing curses that no longer existed in language, Dianna vaulted across her room with a giddy step to her tall dresser, quickly changing into travelling gear.

Fur-lined black leggings, thick snow boots and a snug, long-sleeved coat in much better shape than her father’s weather-worn shirt or overcoat. Glancing back at the heavy bear-fur coat on the bed, Dianna stared daggers at the jawless head that peered back with an unseemly innocence. She had half a mind to leave it, but knew very well Daddy would turn her back around, and scold her for wasting time.

Picking the thing up, Dianna threw it around her shoulders, almost toppling backward in the process as the remainder of its padded weight swung through her bedchamber. Growling quietly again, she tugged and hugged its arms around to the front to clasp and lock together as a heavy scarf. She could put up with some silly bear cloak to get more time learning from her Father.

Out of her bedchambers and into the richly embellished hallway, Dianna shrugged and snugged into the heavy cloak, all but heaving it as if a travelling pack for all its weight before jogging through the grand hall with its plush red carpet and decorated walls lined with tapestries and ornaments.

With no window to the long stretch, a pallid gloom hung over the decorations that did nothing to slow Dianna from reaching the high landing. There, a dim light filtered in through the tall, stained glass windows standing guard astride the heavy front door. Two winding staircases wound down to the ground level of the welcoming hall, furnished with the same beautiful red carpet that put a lightness in Dianna’s step.

Down on the ground floor, those carpets segregated into effective guidelines, branching in from left and right through the doors and staircases that led into the mansion before pooling around the door as a welcoming mat. Under those welcoming guides, a finely polished marble floor rested, tailored to complimenting the guidelines with embellished borders etched into the marble, a grand compass carved into the centre of the room beneath a wondrous, crystalline chandelier.

Aside the massive oak door stood her father, towering lord of the Northlands – or so the title went. Those days of lordship and sovereignty had long since passed. Dressed for travelling much the same as Dianna but for a silvered blade at his side and small pack over his shoulder, the man stood larger than life at a generous six hands taller than his descending daughter.

It was enough to make her pout from just how naturally he filled out the bearskin cloak and held that sword at his side. For all he was only waiting on her to be done, none would have dared cross a man whom held himself so dangerously. Such was what Dianna believed, and would tolerate none wanting to prove her wrong.

“There you are, ready?” Smiling down at her as Dianna all but skipped onto the welcoming mat aside her father, the fussing man lifted the head of her bearskin cloak up, covering the loose blonde ponytail into a hood that almost worked as a mask. Dianna would have fussed and whined if not for the blast of cold to smack her cheeks immediately after. Not waiting for a reply, Father had opened the door and stepped out, inviting a thick flurry of snow and cutting wind that sliced and muted sounds.

“Agh, you can’t even see down to the town! What sort of flaming light hour is this supposed to be?!” Dianna complained, shouting over the whistle of wind and trudging out into the thick snow that sank her boots a good few inches. No, instead of throw it off, Dianna snugged the cowl down around her ears and was silently thankful for it as she followed her father out into the torrent of white under thick, grey skies. Daddy did always know best, and this was no weather to wear less in, though he only laughed at the storm.

“We’re not going to the town anyway! It’ll clear up once we reach the treeline, come on!” It took Dianna a moment to realise the reason it sounded as though her father was shouting from a distance was because he had gained ground on her amidst her snow-blind huffing. Scowling to herself in a petulant pout, she cursed his larger legs and all but hopped through the snow at a jog to catch up.

She absolutely would not be left behind.

The dream faded, blurred into the white of snow to reform at a fireplace, surrounded by a thick canopy of trees in a small clearing. Only the rustling whistle of the wind and some rays of what remained of the sun made it through the canopy. While Dianna chewed at the meat of a kill they had hunted down, her Father sat, smoothing out a long branch into a straighter piece. It almost looked like a lance, and kept Dianna’s attention intently.

“Now, one of the most important thing for a duellist is a clarity of mind, not just paying attention though, you treat it like the hunt, understand?” Dianna slowly shook her head, a nonplussed look in her brilliant blue eyes. Her Father chuckled heartily to it, trimming down the branch.

“Aye, it comes naturally in the moment, but master working it as a switch and well…” He explained, trailing off a moment to stroke down the cleaned length of stick. “You’ll as soon forget fear and pain exists.” It sounded too good, and still too abstract. She knew he was going somewhere with it, and wanted her to think for herself, but how could one have clarity of mind to forget and throw caution to the wind like that? Dianna let her mind wander to the soothing sound of wind through the trees, and the dream wandered with it.

Harsh clacks of wood brought Dianna’s wandering mind back to a solid point in time. A time of bruising, pain and anguish under the shadow of her father’s prowess – the indomitable, impassable man that stood over her with perfect form. If she had not chosen the wood to graft with him, she wouldn’t have believed that what he wielded was the same as hers. The world’s difference of experience was a daunting thing, but she wanted to learn. She would learn, to stand proudly aside her father.

“You’re still thinking, letting yourself fear it!” He shouted down on her, swinging in with the blunt wood fashioned into a simple weapon for practice. Her body locked up, bracing and raising to defend against it. How, why did this intimidate her so? A blow square to her temple made Dianna cry out and stagger back, just in time to see a merciless advance swinging in from the left.

She had to stop it, had to get away, but all she could feel was her body falling, in all but slow motion. Hitting the frozen mulch of the forest floor knocked the air from her lungs, leaving the world to spin and burn in a dark haze. Only the sound of the dry canopy rustling above caressed her ears, the skies beyond it entirely dark and a bitter taste on her lips.

“Good, again.” His firm hand was lifting her back up. Good? She’d just fallen on her ass, it wasn’t good at all! She may have avoided the blade, but the fall hit her pride as surely as the wooden stick would have landed on her side. It wasn’t like her Father to belittle or give empty praise, though. The words made her mull over it, scowling and licking at the copper on her mouth in the moment of pause she was given to stabilise herself.

Thinking – she was still doing it, and this wasn’t the time at all, but how was she to stop? Throwing the thought from her mind, Dianna grit her teeth for the beat-down she was likely about to receive once more, focusing only on her father’s form and movements.

Wooden blade outstretched, the large man feigned and moved in to attack all too swiftly for his size. Dianna lilted once more, falling forward into an all but gliding motion. She felt light, her head hazy, but she didn’t wish to just fall on her face. Stop falling. A boot slammed the mulch and branches underfoot, her body twisting with the flow. Something satisfying rattled down her arm, but she could pay it no mind. She had to keep moving, keep flowing forward.

Only the fluidity of the world around her filled Dianna’s mind. The trees, the night sky above, the blinding strike of pain to erupt from her collar. The beautiful twirl of motion crumpled clumsily to the ground, a rich laughter filling her ears. It seemed her spirit trailed a few seconds behind her body, for only once she’d laid in the snow and grass for some seconds did she felt the sting of wounded pride accompany the throb in her shoulder where his strike had landed.

“Good form, you’re in the right state, but it still left you open. You might get there yet.” An honest, tempered praise that left Dianna to soak in the heat and pain of the strike, wiping her mouth off and running through what had happened once more. Closing the gap in fluid motion let her spin the inertia of her body into a swift twist, slashing her wooden blade in a wide arc that should have only met air.

No, that wasn’t right, she realised, stepping away to take stance. She had countered his first strike, but had thought of it as nothing more than the air around her. A natural, flowing presence of nothingness. Squinting and shaking her head, Dianna scowled and pursed her lips once more. That made little sense, and was why her neck hurt.

Shaking off the feel of delirium, her eyes drew up just in time to see the boulder of power that was her father bearing down on her with another strike. Move. Avoid it. So she thought, willing her body to fall back without clumsily going so far as to lose her footing. She wouldn’t be laughed at again. Staggering a few steps, the swing her father had taken never struck home, as though it were air. Was he taking her for a fool?

No. The look in his eyes and quirk about his smile said nothing of going easy on her, nothing of a weakness in his poise. She’d done it herself and was still standing, so she wouldn’t be caught unawares again. Lunging forward, she swung the grafted wood to meet swing for swing, high arcs to low cranes, twists, deflections and jabs with a fluid parity that felt as if floating.

It was exhilarating beyond reason, beyond understanding. Therein lay the charm; there was no thought, only action, reaction and a primal language of force. Was this how Mother always felt when they duelled? No, it was probably vastly superior for that woman, much more than the simple rush of a freefall. That didn’t matter – nothing did.

This was Dianna’s fight, her struggle against a mountain of an opponent. Each swaying lunge, strike and stab met with equal force and power, deflecting and teasing her with the possibility of and scoring home. Even why she wished for something so fervently as to land a blow stayed in the back of her mind.

The thick, grey skies turned to pitch black as she fought without pause, never once more falling from the quips and blunts she took. Their swords were just as air, and the wind rushing through the canopy above held no domain over her. Not even time held the young duellist’s attention, for only each moment on to the next held weight.

The length of time spent in those moments was lost even to Dianna’s fevered dreams. The only concrete cornerstone of remembrance was whence the wood finally broke. Cracking and splintering from the force of a final swing, Dianna had continued past its fragments. Reaching, grappling and toppling. The world spun as she closed in on that thick block of a neck, her arms clinging and wrapping around it with a fury.

Warmth filled Dianna’s mouth, splashing over her tongue and backing flooding her mouth with rich taste that sung to some deep-seated need, a desire that had been driving her. It gushed, pumped and overwhelmed her senses until she could not swallow, spluttering and splashing across her cheeks and down her chin.

Why could she not swallow? She had not savoured one bit of the taste to fill her mouth, yet it did not stop. Trapped in a storm of infuriation and despair, the hot liquid would drown her. Drown her, wash her in its tint and destroy all she was, but she could not stop. In the recess of her mind, a young girl’s innocence screamed.

Reflexively gagging, convulsing and choking, Dianna woke with a shock. Spitting, splashing and all but doubling over to clear her throat and finally breathe again. Her tongue writhed with the taste of something sharp, dirty and diluted, not at all the preciously sweet ambrosia her wandering mind had envisioned taking purchase in.

The taste combined with her rude awakening at its hands enflamed Dianna’s mind as much as her tongue. Somehow, she doubted she could ever scrub the taste off her lips now, and glared around the small room from the bed she lay in to discover who valued their lives little enough for to pull something like that on a sleeping woman.

“Aye, thought that’d kick your lily hide. Welcome back, missy.” Sprawled out across the other side of the bed in naught but string-tied trousers and a dirty glass bottle filled with copper-brown liquid was the last person she expected to see. Certainly the last one she wanted to be seen in such a state by, too. The feeling of dread and shame was familiar, as though it was much too late begin feeling sour for her situation. Dianna shook her head to shake off the feeling and spat again.

“Ugh, what in the flaming hells are you doing here, all but bleeding naked, and what’s in that gods forsaken bottle?” Coughing and wiping her mouth off on the sheet, Dianna squirmed away and got out of the now stinking and damp bed – naked. Well, it was too late for shame or regret to kick in and hide her body now. Somehow, the cool air felt too good on her skin to care anyway. She would at least give him a chance to explain while she got dressed.

“Hah, naught but questions, eh. You sure leave more of ‘em than answers in your wake, I’ll give you that.” Markus chuckled his words out in a way only a fool would have considered flippant and dismissive. Glaring at him with one eye, Dianna stalked around the bed in silence, cursing that she had retreated to the far side, away from the stack of clothing on the bolted down table, giving him a show of her curves from all angles. At least the room made more sense, now – a ship in motion was no place for things that could topple and fall.

“But I, ‘Madame D’, am ‘here’, from watching o’er your sorry self.” Markus explained, gesturing to both himself, sprawled out across the bed as though it was his own, then to her with the filthy looking bottle as if offering her a drink. Dianna chose to ignore him for a moment, reading a note on top of the clothing.

‘Come visit again sometime, sweetie. You have an exquisite figure for tailoring.’ Crumpling and throwing it aside, Dianna could feel her skin crawl from knowing what had written the note. The brisk chill of the room and his eyes on her ass reminded her to throw cares of where the clothes came from aside in kind. She needed dressed, no matter what or whom the thread came from. Even if the design of the underwear she picked out was all but transparent and thin in far too many places, it was something.

“So…” As though to clear the awkward silence in the air and remind her he was there, Markus cleared his throat before taking another hit from the bottle that Dianna imagined would block passage worse than clear. Stepping into the soft silk lingerie, Dianna craned her head back to look over her shoulder, crouching and leaving as much of her figure hidden as she could manage.

“I won’t say I’m not grateful, but if you’re expecting some fun in payment, to say I’m not in the mood…” Aiming to cut him off before such a thing was even brought to surface, her interjection earned a raucous laugh. Markus shifted and sat on the end of the bed, defensively waving her off.

“Hells, no. No after the last time, I almost didn’t make it to the flaming twain down the next night, thank you kindly.” Hooking the bra straps over her shoulders and pointedly ignoring how its cups frill brushed her nipples and hugged that little bit tighter than she’d have expected, Dianna turned to give him an easier, sidelong glance. He wasn’t the only one with questions, and how she even ended up here was among them.

“The what?” She didn’t expect to have heard of such a thing before – be it some slang or not, their endeavours were not condoned by the local people. The look Markus shot her was only incredulous for a hair’s breathe before cloaked in that boorish laughter as he placed the blackened bottle down on the bedside table.

“What, it was that good that ye didn’t even remember the trip either? Boat down the river that splits the forest right up, down from the hills. You’ll not sail a ship of any worth down it but dainty little thing fit for say ten and cargo in deep enough waters, aye.” Markus explained, waving a hand in a dismissive, downstream fashion as he reached down to grab up his shirt from aside the bed.

“Oh, right.” It took Dianna some reminding that she was on a pirate ship, and that ‘cargo’ wasn’t wholesome trade goods for common market stalls. Of course it would be smuggled in and out under cover of darkness and far away from the towns itself. The brisk reminder of those she’d met in the forest – seemingly local associates of these pirates – made her shiver and cover her breasts, which throbbed in remembrance.

His shirt looked a discoloured mess, even for something a ragged brigand and pirate would wear. The beautiful white of her own new shirt, embroidered with intimately stitched lines that hugged and held to her figure made an even worse contrast. Snugging into it felt good, the frilled cuffs and collar more royal than she had felt in some time. If only its tailor wasn’t a creepy abomination of a spider, she might appreciate it more.

“Nae, but what was on tip o’ the tongue was eh, so you’re one o’… them, eh? Hells but it explains you being a friend o’ Victor.” Them. The edge on it put an uneasy twist in Dianna’s already empty stomach as she stopped dead, stood in an open, v-tailed shirt that framed her rear and lacy underwear with a cautious glance back over her shoulder again.

“Them?” If there was a sharpness in her tone, she could do nothing about it. Markus only clapped a quick laugh and waved a hand defensively before drinking from the bottle again.

“Peace, woman, it’s all the same to me and anyone on this ship. Ain’t one that cares what hells blood or curse runs through you, we’re all in it together. Truth that some may feel more strongly about their, eh, humanity and differences, but all’s fair.” Dianna sighed and turned away, staring down at the pile of black leathers and lace that made up the rest of her specially tailored clothing. ‘Them’? A place of more than humans, where it didn’t matter what she was and didn’t have to hide it? Twisting her lips, Dianna licked at the back of a fang silently before picking up the next item.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about… what in hells name did she do to these…?” Holding up what had been her snug leather leggings, Dianna felt a wave of irritable confusion rush through her at sight of what remained of them, barely larger than the underwear she already wore. The raise of laughter behind her did nothing to assuage the fury welling up in behind her eyes.

“Hah! Dare say she improved ‘em. You’d not last a day at sea in leggings like they were, you need to be able to move ‘n let your legs breathe!” The truth of it only managed to grate and rub Dianna the wrong way. It would be difficult to hold such a grudge if the spider had acted with some good intentions and her well-being in mind. It did not excuse the underhanded methods, but a spider was a spider, after all.

“All said, it looks like you’re on your feet again, good sign. What in the depths you two did down there ain’t none for my business but it didn’t agree with your body one bit.” Markus explained, shaking and staring into the glass bottle before waving his shirt. “You made a fine mess of heaving over this, so you’ll excuse I don’t have it on.” He explained, chuckling and throwing it over his shoulder. Squeezing into the hotpants that dug into her thighs and grabbed her as though a half-size too small, Dianna turned back to him fully in the pristine white shirt and black pants, belt cinched tight around her waist and frowned.

“I was that bad? Well, I’m sorry, but why did you help me anyway?” Folding her arms, Dianna rested against the edge of the hard wooden table, bolted into the floorboards as it was. Markus barked a quick laugh and shrugged before waving his bottle to the door and whistling.

“Missie Theia over opposite was wondering where in hells you’d gotten to after the first night you didn’t show back. Swear if she didn’t look the lost puppy, asking around as she did but you’ve got a friend in that lass. Turned out the last anyone saw of ye was heading down into the funnel, ‘n well…” Markus trailed off, twisting his lips and walking over to plant the half-full bottle on the table in offering. When next he spoke, the very air in the room felt chilled and sombre, lacking any of its previous mirth as he shrugged his shoulders uncomfortably.

“I’ll not curse a soul on this ship but there ain’t a spider in the world you turn your back on. Them an the elves down there will follow ol’ Victor to the last, but damned if they don’t have their own agendas and disposition. No place for a friend to go missing to mercy.” Markus explained, his tone never raising from sunken dread and seriousness, as though if spoken any louder would bring curses and trouble down on them. She could believe it would, and sighed a quick laugh.

“I’ve noticed…” Dianna murmured, rubbing at her neck where she had been bitten, drained and injected with the poison that had wracked her body and mind with delirium. “How long was I out, anyway? If I said anything…” For all time meant little out here on the ocean, especially after her detour below, it would be nice to know. Markus’ lighter, humoured tone was back with a quick laugh and defensive wave.

“Nothing, no. You just seemed to be trying to tear out my flaming neck so you got a taste of the best. Your pardons if it didn’t go down well, but it had me wonder. Night and a day with one hell of a fever to mop off, but you seem all right now. Take it easy for a bit, down the rest and nothing’ll shake you again. Sail’s truth.” Markus offered, gesturing to the bottle. Dianna’s lips twisted and she edged away from the table as though the murky liquid within was volatile and capable of escaping its glass prison to attack her.

“If it doesn’t kill me first…” Dianna grumbled, giving the bottle a distrustful glower.

“Hah! Faith, woman, but if you can handle some Vargen black bitter you can handle your flaming rum. It’s all we got out here anyway, does good for the sea water and keeps you clean. Anyway, I owe you a drink so help yourself.” Markus explained, his words far more shining than the liquid looked, but she’d heard the tall tales of it being the lifeblood of sailing, cultivated in the far south where the sun blazed for longer than it was away.

“Alright, fine… so what now?” Markus had been gradually making his way to the door with his shifts in position, the shirt slung over shoulder, poised to turn and leave. At her question, the grizzled man stopped and rubbed at his darkened chin a moment in thought.

“Well, I’m going to clean up a bit and sleep. You should take it easy and finish getting dressed, then just watch where you wander off to next, aye? I’d recommend heading to the deck, it’s pitch night out right now, beautiful sight and freshest air. We’ll reach dock before the morrow’s end, so it’s the last chance you’ll get. Just watch your flaming stiff-stilt landwalking step.” Markus explained, opening the door and making it half the way out before Dianna interrupted.

“Wait, dock? Where?” It sounded a chance to get free, if she could reclaim her things first, any port was better than being stuck as a “guest” at sea. The look of bewilderment in Markus’ glance was momentary again before smoothing out and meeting her gaze to answer.

“Aile Torena, fine place any friend o’ the cap’n should know well enough.” Another passing jab that put a twist on Dianna’s lips as she frowned over at him, wrinkling her nose and looking away.

“I’ve only been travelling inland of late, I haven’t had a chance to visit.” Not a lie, but this hadn’t exactly been an expected detour either. That didn’t matter now, only the less questions she left in people did. Let them think she was a friend and esteemed guest all they pleased if it stopped her getting strung up in unfortunate circumstances again.

“Hah, first timer eh. Well it’s a damn fine place, everyone’s your friend and knows your name no matter who the hell you may be. You’ll see soon enough.” With that and a final rap of a hand on the doorframe, he was gone. It left Dianna to mull over her thoughts – truth to tell, both he and Theia had been very friendly, accommodating and not pried into her personal being all too much.

This Aile Torena struck her interest, however. A place where she could be whomever she pleased and not have to masquerade was intriguing. At the same time however, she did not resent pretending and passing for just a human girl. Life was easier that way, and she cherished the humanity of her father’s blood above all. Lost in thought, Dianna absent-mindedly reached out for the bottle on the table aside her, bringing it to her lips and tilting up before immediately doubling over and sputtering it out.

“Disgusting!” No, she could not see herself getting used to the bitterly sharp taste of this mess at all.