Vlad and Isabella: Handholding

The battle had been won. Vlad sits upon the stump of a tree at the apex of the hill, from this vantage point he surveys the entire field, watching as his undead soldiers obediently, mindlessly scour the field clean of life. They are finishing off the wounded and carrying the corpses to a great pit for reanimation as new soldiers. Standing behind Vlad is a coterie of sycophants and lickspittles, minor vampires and necromancers who always buzzed around the greatest of the von Carstein’s like flies. One of them, a young necromancer, is buzzing in Vlad’s ear incessantly, heaping praises and honors upon Vlad for the great victory he had won, Vlad isn’t listening. This battle was no trouble, the Ostermark army was composed of recent recruits, unseasoned and unready it was a mere trifle to make them fall or flee. As Vlad gazed across the battlefield he intermittently focused on the woods just north of the field. The routing Ostermark army had fled through those woods. Isabella, his darling wife was sent with the black knights and vargheists to capture or kill as many of the broken army, preferably their command. At last he sees her return, breaking through the trees atop a magnificent undead steed at a quick but controlled trot, followed by half a dozen black knights. Vlad rises from his seat, his black and gold plate armor, stained with blood, clinks as he strides down the hill. The courtiers quickly follow him down, stepping over dropped weapons and corpses. As Vlad nears, Isabella blows him a kiss before dismounting. The myriad courtiers bow low as she gets close. Vlad closes the distance with a few steps and extends his arm, Isabella grasps it gently and is pulled in for a light kiss. Their armor prevents any deep intimacy but Isabella does put a hand over his shoulder, feeling the fur of Vlad’s great bear skin cloak. Breaking the kiss, Vlad spoke with his thick fake, but sued so much throughout the years it had become the norm for him.
“I trust thine hunt was a success?”
“Of course darling” Isabella motions to one of the black knights which accompanied her, the skeletal knight immediately dismounts and obeys the mental command, unlatching a simple round cloth bag which is attached to his mount. The bag is dripping with blood and Vlad knows its contents but Isabella unveils the head within anyways. Presenting it to Vlad and the courtiers.
“The head of General Strauss. Oh, my dear Vlad, if you could’ve heard how this grown man begged. Even before we tore him into him.”
“Wonderful dearest. What of the rest of thine forces?”
“Ah they continue to chase those pathetic mortals. You know how fun it can be.”
“Good, good. Now, come, my sweet Isabella.” He extends his right hand, the ungloved hand which bears the magnificent von Carstein ring. “Walk with me.” With his free hand he waves away the courtiers.



Isabella gracefully accepts the hand and together the couple walk through the battlefield. They traverse through the corpse-littered field with such care and grace it is as if they were at a ball. Their hands in an unbreaking clutch, often Isabella rubs her thumb across the back of Vlad’s hand occasionally tapping the great green jewel which formed the ring that had returned her lover to life countless times before. The walk is mostly in silence, there’s the occasional scream from a survivor being put down but between the two they are simply observing the battlefield, it is a testament to their power, the death they can cause. Yet often they simply look at eachother and smile, sharing genuinely happy and fanged smiles. Despite the centuries they have been together, they’ve never grown bored of eachother. Despite the constant wars and schemes fueled by ambition and a thirst for power. It is still a pleasure for them to simply be with eachother. Isabella stops in her tracks as she thinks about their relationship.

“Vlad. How long have we been married?”

“Hmm? It is 2502 and we married in 1757 yet we were dead for 450 years. Oh, about 255 years.”

“Two and a half centuries. Such a long time… And yet, we’ve never grown bored of one another.”

Vlad gives a rare chuckle of delight at the realization. “We haven’t. But remember dear, that’s not too much time for me.”

“Oh… Of course.” Isabella’s face suddenly turns worried. “Will we ever be bored of eachother?” She often feels like a foolish girl compared to Vlad’s extraordinary power and longevity, it worries her that he might abandon her. Vlad doesn’t answer the question forthwith. He continues his smiles and steps close, grasping her other hand and pulling her close. Their blood-stained, matching chestplates graze against eachother as he stares straight into her eyes, and then kisses her on the nose. Isabella’s worries melt away. Vlad von Carstein is a conqueror and a tyrant, feared by all. He can be courteous and charismatic but never kind. Save to his wife, to Isabella.  The battlefield with it’s hundreds of dead, suddenly feels like the most romantic place in the world to her. If she could, she’d blush. The couple resume their walk, hand in hand again. Watching their undead servants work at gathering the recently slain. Not long after their first stop they are halted again. One of the survivors of the Ostermark army unnoticed by the undead, crawls toward them. Recognizing the couple as some form of nobility but not as THE von Carsteins. The man, with a fresh scar across his face pleads frantically on his knees before them,  , seemingly mad from the horrors he witnessed.

“Please noble sir and lady. Please spare me. Spare me!! I begs ya.” Vlad and Isabella look at the whelp with equal amounts of amusement and disdain. They turn to leave him for their servants to “clean up” but then the man makes the mistakes of reaching out and ever so lightly smearing his blood on Isabella’s dress. Feeling the light rustle of her dress, Isabella immediately turns backwards and delivers a harsh slap across the soldier’s face. She looks at him with a piercing gaze of disgust and hatred. The poor wretch breaks into sobs as Isabella turns to her husband.

“Dearest would you please…”

“Of course my love.” Vlad unsheathes Blood Drinker; the enchanted blade makes a wicked hissing noise as it comes clear of it’s scabbard. He moves over to stand above the man, and with barely any thought he pushes the blade down, straight into the heart. Vlad is only ever kind to his wife.

“Thank you” Grabbing his hand again, Isabella and Vlad return to their peaceful stroll across a bloody battlefield filled with the dead and dying.