Dhampir Chapter 1: Guardian of Cattle

Re-edited and updated: March 23rd 2014.
I'm in the process of tidying the chapters up and working them into a novel format publication so I can justify the time spent on them a little more, so chapter 5 is on hold for the time being. It'll certainly happen, but these first four plus side-story chapters equate to a solid start, and have come out in pretty good time. I just have to balance things between immediate publications and writing that banks to a future release. All good things to those who wait.

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Chapter 1: Guardian of Cattle
A beautiful, clear night’s sky hung over the sleepy town of Ironwood, though its patrons paid it little mind. The night was much like any, whence taverns and streets were rife with patrons looking to forget their worries and work. The only stars they saw were the holy white flames of mirror-backed streetlights.

Each was as gift of divinity in its own right, gifted to the people to guide them through the darkness of night. They were just as easy to disregard and forget the faith that gave them life. It was just part of what made the world in Her image.

Away from the bustle of the town, away from stars within cages lay the farms. There, simpler, older thatch houses and wood barns contended enjoyed the twinkling blanket above, undisturbed. It was simpler and quieter out there, a place for honest work and earned rest. For others, it was a place to get away from the noise and think.

In one such barn, with slats of its roof broken and missing, a youthful woman counts those stars, dreaming of a different time. Laid out across the hay of the broken-roofed loft, she raises a black-gloved hand to caress the gibbous curve of the moon, sighing in vexation.

“I should be getting flaming drunk, not playing scarecrow for holstaurus.” She mutters, dropping her hand to rest on the velvety cloak laid out beneath her. Fiddling with the pouch at her belt and bouncing it in her palm a few times, she gives off a mirthless breath of laughter. There wasn’t near enough coin to be spending in bars, anyway. This job had been her only choice for shelter, and wasn’t the first time she’d gone rough.

Giving up on the thought, she tosses the purse aside, leaving it to clatter against the side of a sheathed rapier, covering her face with a wide-brimmed black hat to rest, instead. She didn’t want to see the stars anymore, either. Settling down to enter the tranquil void, her hands near instinctively clasp over the wolf-headed shield on her necklace, resting comfortably over the black and red silk of her coat.

Resting her eyes under the cover of that hat, she cleared her mind and let her body drift in the peace of the dark, keenly aware of all around her. A floor below, the holstaurus shifted and mooed peacefully in their sleep, cordoned off into small rooms for pens. Being more human than normal cows, they afforded a higher fashion of comfort and quality than she in the loft was currently enjoying.

In the end, they were still treated as just farmland dairy cattle, however. The simple farm life was supposedly important to sustaining the natural quality of their milk. The woman in black would be their guardian angel, this night. The hole above her hadn’t collapsed from natural causes, and sightings of some demonic winged beast had been on the rise.

Something was terrorizing the farmlands, keen to spread word of its presence. Whatever it was, it had attacked the farmstead once already, perhaps as warning. The town was offering good coin for mercenary guards, so it had satisfied her curiosity as well as need for a place to lay.

That curiosity would be sated, tonight. Down below, outside the barn, a sickening crack of splintering wood that was having the metal bolts torn out of it reverberated through the barn. None of the holstaurus below roused to the sound, snoring and murmuring contently through it, but the woman above was no longer resting.

She knelt, hunched in shadow with the sheathed blade in hand under the dim moonlight, staring beyond the lip of the loft floor. With her hat discarded, the gentle light on her back gave the long blonde braid an ethereal glow. The rest of her face lay masked beneath trim bangs. The black leather of her leggings creaked with tension to move as the barn door was wrenched open, but she waited.

What passed through the door was a towering figure, its silhouette fuzzy and jumbled. The woman above tensed, gripping the scabbard of her blade with one hand and her necklace with the other. Watching the figure step in to the barn, she gauged the power in its poise as best she could, but the dark made detail difficult.

It certainly did have wings, just as the stories suggested, yet walked on two legs. There looked to be tufts of fur lining the bulk of its body, too, but it was no were-bat. It was much more imposing, lacking the radar ears and incessant squeaking. Its ears looked almost feline in nature.

Watching it prowl into the barn beneath her as she crouched, a tail became visible. Before her eyes could focus more clearly, however, it slipped out of sight beneath her with a powerful and intent gait in its steps. There was no time to observe and gauge the creature’s power.

Dropping down silently from loft to beam, beam to frame and finally touching ground, the lack of light did little to improve visibility of the night stalker, but she could see it. Considering the slick black of her clothing, the barn’s guardian was the darker of the pair and harder to see, beyond the tail of long blonde hair behind her.

Several steps ahead, the tall, humanoid figure prowled into the barn, looking from left to right before stopping at the first of the holstaurus’ pens. Its tail looked almost like something belonging to a scorpion – thick, firm and spiked around the bulbous tip, rather than bushy and soft. It swished slowly from side to side as its owner opened the door.

A glint of moonlight between shafts illuminated a wicked, fanged grin across a sinister, humanoid face. Short, tomboyish hair gave way to a rugged mane of fur around its shoulders and neck. There were feminine curves to the creature, but even those lay hidden away behind muscle, fur or loose clothing.

The shadowy stalker didn’t need to see that grin, nor feel the bloodlust in the air to know this was what had been terrorising the countryside. Before it could take the second step into the peacefully sleeping holstaurus’ pen, a ringing peal of steel announced her presence behind it. The creature froze as the slender razor edge of a rapier rested on its shoulder.

“One more step and you’ll find it hard to breathe. Just what are you, and what are you doing out here?” The woman’s voice was as hushed, cold velvet over steel to match the deathly finesse of her blade. It was much easier to see the creature before her, now. Those feline ears stood rigid on its head, twitching and turning back towards her slightly as it clucked its tongue and spoke in a voice deep and regal, yet distinctly feminine.

“I must say, you’re rather sly, for a petulant little human. I could only sense the blood of cattle in here.” The humanoid creature explained, having no trouble in speaking a common tongue with confidence and pride in its growling tone. The rapier clinked, pressing more firmly against the unwelcome guest’s neck. A low growl rolled from its throat at that, though it raised its head as if only proud and ignoring the threat.

“But oh, what do we have here? Inscribed moonsteel, is it? My, but that art died out some time ago. You’re a long way from home, Keeper’s child.” The bestial woman growled. The blade retracted but a hair, its owner faltering and hesitating the hair’s breadth the monster had expected.

In a blur of coiled power and unbeknown strength, it slipped away from the blade’s edge and lowered its body, beating its wings for extra force as she lunged backward, crashing into the woman behind her and sending them both across the barn, into an opposite pen’s door. The speed and force of it had been reckless, but paid off, leaving the assaulted girl dazed and disorientated.

Under a cloud of cracked wood and hay, everything became chaos. The holstaurus were awake, confused and afraid, hawing panicked whines from their pens. Coughing and trying to gather her senses from the attack, a thick paw clenched around the smaller woman’s neck, hoisting her up off her feet. Her rapier clattered to the ground as her opponent growled.

“What am I?! You damned humans are nothing but sheltered little children!” She snarled, spitting her words with a feral anger. Another leathery burst of wing beats saw the claw-tipped grip on the woman’s neck release. The world spun and lurched for all of a moment before a shocking burst of pain exploded through the girl’s body. Thrown into the barn’s door, she rolled past it, winded and dizzy.

“Manticore!” The creature that had thrown her shouted, following the floored girl in black out of the barn and kicking the fractured doorframe out of her way. “A name your coddled little sheep should have remembered. Oh, worry not, your precious cattle is safe, I’ll just make an example of you instead!” The Manticore yelled, leaping and beating her wings to rise up before pushing off the barn frame at the woman.

Under the pale moonlight, the manticore was a nightmarish beast of muscle and dark fur that resembled a ferocious cat, granting her the agility to perform such feats. By comparison, the girl in black looked almost frail and helpless as she lay staring at the stars, gasping for breath.

Coming down on its prey, the manticore’s razor-clawed paw sunk into cold dirt, fruitlessly. There was nothing there but a dark afterglow, leaving her to take the full brunt of her momentum, rolling to ease out the shock. Leaping back on powerful legs and using her wings again to gain altitude, the manticore barely avoided the glint of a silver, sword-shaped throwing knife plunging into the ground as she righted herself.

From her floating vantage, the manticore found the infernal girl aiming an ornate pistol at her. Her ears went flat and eyes glared down at the woman, but she heard and instinctively reacted to the hammer’s click just in time to drop her weight and avoid the shot. Feeling a wash of triumph – surely the damnable girl was out of weapons, now – the manticore laughed and beat her wings to rise back into the air.

“Hah! You couldn’t even hit your pathetic barn with that barbaric toy!” She claimed, flexing her paws and grinning derisively down at the girl. Much to her annoyance, the child didn’t seem any more phased, and simply dropped the discharged pistol.

“The holstaurus barn is more valuable than your infernal hide, manticore.” She shouted. If the manticore had glared before, it was practically warming up the ability to shoot fire from its eyes, now, should it be able. Such a mockery had set the flying lioness’ mane on end with outrage, but her voice was as hard and calm as when she had first spoken.

“I do wonder where this courage of yours comes from, child. Could it be…” She growled in an almost bemused, rumbling purr, her grin widening to show off dangerous fangs. “Oh, but you aren’t just a human, are you? No, you’re more a monster than I…” The manticore claimed, the fur around its shoulders and neck puffing up as it growled in the back of its throat. The girl below remained silent, merely glaring in return.

“Yes, those eyes. Those are not the eyes of a human child. Nor could one use such dark magic to slip away from me. So many questions…” The manticore purred, a deep and rumbling growl, as though it had found a foe that promised to entertain more than her bloodlust. The eyes of the girl staring back were a dark red and bore every bit as much of the vicious bloodlust, but she stood silent.

Gunshot broke the stillness between them, making the manticore flinch and droop down. It hadn’t come from the girl, but from other people who were rushing out into the field. The manticore glanced from them to the girl before her and hissed, understanding the situation. The gunshot that little witch had fired was never meant to hit her, but to alert the peasants.

“Just as I thought you may be worth attention, you cower behind the guard of weaklings. Your insults are boundless, but so be it.” The manticore growled, adjusting her weight and beating her wings hard to lunge down at the girl beneath her again. It had not worked before, but this time the proud creature was prepared. Landing lightly, she forwarded the weight into swinging her heavy tail quickly, catching and staggering the girl’s leg. The stumble left her open to grappling, and the manticore took the opening. With a quick lunge, her arms locked around the smaller girl firmly.

“Tell me, will the peasants fire on their precious lackey?” The manticore asked, grinning into the girl’s ear as she struggled from inside the infallible grip of the monstrous woman behind her. It was no use, and saw to a deep rumble of laughter from the manticore as she tightened the grip, leaping into the air with beats of her powerful wings to keep airborne, quickly leaving the range the farmers could fire on her.

“You, who would dance to their whims whilst hiding such strength, sicken me. Your kind who have lost their fangs should fall and be forgotten. Your peasants will sow the seeds of fear and respect monsters once put in the hearts of men for me. Fall.” The manticore growled, throwing the girl like some disgusting waste and booming off into the distance, away from the town.

Naught but the endless, beautiful starscape filled the falling girl’s vision as she floated. She could remember laying under such an endless sky, listening to stories of legends and gods within them for hours.

Those stories had always made her so happy, yet now she only felt a clenching around her heart. She could see the constellation closest to the moon and even hear her Father’s voice from the time he had told her of what it meant and why it was so important.

“You see those, the biggest of them beside the moon? Those are Alfir, Siv and Embla, who guide travellers and huntsmen of the wild home. They led me to your mother, but she’ll give us death’s stare if I tell you that story.” Falling through the air for what felt forever, she managed to smile fondly, remembering the wry twist of her Mother’s smile beside them as she gave Father a warning glower out the corner of her eye.

A blinding flash of concussion tore the memories from her mind as she crashed into the roof of the barn, carrying on to fall straight through them as all the wind left her lungs. The stars and world disappeared as life itself tried to slip away from her grasp under such shock. She landed hard in the loft, a new hole joining the first, new stars dancing behind her closed eyes.

“Urgh, hell, now I really need a drink.” The girl grumbled. She was wounded and winded beyond reason, but alive. Blinking and trying to clear her head, she could hear people shouting below, but moving her body and even breathing hurt, for the moment. She didn’t want them to see her like this.

“What in the bleeding hells happened? Where’s Dianna?” A deep, loud man’s voice asked over the cries of holstaurus. She knew him to be the owner of the farm that had put out the request for assistance.

“I don’t flaming know, just get the girls calmed down already!” The wife and mother of the house responded, just as frantically. Dianna grimaced and forced herself to sit up, looking for her cloak. Reaching out for it stung near immediately, making her flinch back and notice the spike of wood jutting from just above the elbow.

“Oh, great, this is going to sting.” Dianna muttered, grimacing and wrapping her good hand around the thick splint of wood. Without tensing anything but her grip, she yanked hard and doubled over as pain boomed through her limp arm with an agonized cry.

Panting raggedly, the adrenaline started to crash and wash out of her, leaving her to shiver and hurt as her body healed and closed its wounds in ways that – as the manticore had suggested – were anything but human. Dianna grimaced at the accusation as much as the physical pain and sighed. A wound of words was not as easy to shrug off.

More importantly, someone would be coming to check on her, now. Reaching over with her good hand, Dianna grabbed the cloak, covering her limp arm and the rest of her figure. There were enough scrapes and blood matting her clothes for even farmers to know it was mostly hers, but she’d rather they lived a peaceful life without worrying about what she truly was to just walk away from a fight and fall of that height.

Quickly donning her broad hat to cover the matt of blood in her hair, Dianna kept her head low and gathered the rest of her effects as the ladder up creaked. Aside from scuffs, tears, the surrounding debris and dust, Dianna looked as though she’d been resting peacefully, as though the manticore had merely gotten bored and left.

“Heavens, girl! Are y’alright? What in holy blazes was that thing?” A hearty woman in a frilly country dress – the simple sort of cotton and wool pleats that were popular fashion, south of the capitol – asked. With her dark brown hair down in an unkempt mess, she must have been heading to bed with her husband before the gunshot sounded. Dianna raised her head as though shocked to find others there, as if nothing was wrong at all.

“Huh? Ah, I’m alright, just a little shaken after that drop.” Dianna explained, her voice cheerful and far lighter than the tone she’d used with the manticore, even laughing and smiling warmly. The kindly woman didn’t seem to think it was all so whimsical, fussing and grumbling as she came the rest of the way up and into the loft, dusting off the apron that adorned the lower half of her simple blue dress.

“Tch, nonsense aft’a fall like that. Thought it’d bleeding well carried ye off into the woods. Let’s get you looked at and warmed up inside.” The motherly woman ordered, waving Dianna over to her as she closed in on the smaller blonde girl with motherly doom.

Dianna only chuckled and pushed herself to stand, hiding a gasp behind her mirth as she flinched and nearly fell. There was another spoke of wood in her thigh that made standing hurt.

Wrenching it out from under the cloak with a hat-hidden grimace, she held onto it for the time being, waving off the woman with her free hand. If she was seen literally pulling pieces of wood out of her ass would have had the motherly woman lock her down with care and concern stronger than the manticore’s grip had been.

“Really, please, I’m alright. I fall through roofs a lot in this line of work. It wasn’t that far, either. Anyway, that was a manticore, a lion-hearted, flying nightmare. I need to inform the magistrate and see you get some real guardsmen on the borders as soon as possible.” Dianna explained, still trying to make light of her own situation with a warm and friendly manner, radiating charisma and charm as if magic.

“Really now, was a manticore, y’say? By Her Truth, ain’t been any those around since ol’ Granny’s day, if’n that.” The motherly woman mused, shivering and tracing the sign of the three-point shield across her left bosom in show of faith. Dianna smiled slightly but looked down, her mood barely brightening. It was strange that a manticore would show up and say such things, but she wouldn’t get answers, here.

“Try not to think about it. I don’t think it’ll be coming back, but it seemed to want to strike fear through gossip and remind people of darker days in their parents stories. It’s probably been harassing farms all around the countryside without going near town walls proper.” Dianna explained, rubbing her wrists, checking for the wolf-headed shield pendant around her neck and rubbing her thumb over the embossment fondly before walking over to the ladders.

While it was a little more dangerous, shaken as she was, Dianna decided to forgo the ladder for hopping down onto beam and frame again, to show how well she was. Stopping on the perch of a holstaurus’ pen, she so much as flourished her cloak and straightened her hat in a flamboyant act of showing off. She would have smiled and been pleased with it, had anyone noticed. The men beneath her were all busy, but for their Father, who only looked up to her after the fact of it all. Dianna sulked internally as she hopped off the high post. At least it would show the Mrs that she was well enough to be leaping around a barn. At least she hadn’t lost her balance and fallen flat on her face.

“Well good evening t’you, too. This’ll be yours, then. Fine craft, you take care to keep it so.” The burly farmer with a squared jaw and close-cut brown beard instructed, holding the sheathed blade between thick and calloused fingers. There was a weight in his words beyond that of a simple farmer’s praise, but Dianna only nodded quietly as she took the hilt and scabbard to slip it into the hoop at her waist.

“I will, thank you. Your girls are all okay?” She asked, hopping off once the rapier was latched back to her hip in its fine black casement. The only sound her descent made was the furrowing of her cloak and a strangled wince as the shock lanced up her sore body. If he noticed, he paid it no mind as his wife came back down the ladder proper.

“The holstaurus’? Pah! Mos’of ‘em are using it as an excuse to get some extra affection, they’re a tough lot but they’ll act the soppy milking cow when they want, aye.” He said in a jovial, dismissive tone, waving into the barn. Not a huge place, the anthropomorphic bovine girls, more simply known as ‘holstaurus’, much like their far more dangerous cousins, the minotaur, and the lion-fisted manticore, were a rare breed and well cared for.

At a glance, they did look like naught but normal girls, if considerably more healthy around their bosoms and thighs. Closer, however, even from one end of the barn to the other, the differences were clear. The girls sported long, animate tails, tipped with a cute brush of dark fur at the tip, for one. The small, curved horns, floppy ears and naturally mottled patchwork dye of their hair made it clear on an otherwise perfectly human face.

Whilst the girls did wear clothes out of decency and support for their figures, the tufts of mottled fur around their collars, cleavage, and lower bodies made of bulky hips, inverse legs and cloven hooves supported their distinct appearance.

“Agh, just look at ‘em, you’d swear the boys only rushed out ‘fer excuse to molest th’bleeding things.” The motherly woman, finally back down the ladders, complained as she wiped her hands off on the apron of her dress and shook her head at them. Dianna had to laugh, for the sight was near rather erotically explicit. The girls were well, yes, and cuddling up against the younger men incessantly for comfort.

The young men were, of course, happy to comply and comfort the simple holstaurus. They were hugging and caressing the holstaurus’ backs, ears and massaging their breasts. It was the quickest way to soothe and calm them, if also arouse them. For all the cow girls were simple-minded creatures, they understood how to get pleasure and enjoy it.

Only two looked truly upset, clinging to the chest of the man who simply sat with them snuggling into his lap, whispering soft nothings into their droopy ears. Their dewy eyes had stopped crying, at least. The manticore had opened one of their pens and crashed through the other’s door. They had every right to look shaken at waking to such an event.

The sight of it all made Dianna smile warmly, happy to see the girls were safe with their farmhands happily tending to comforting them. She’d have liked to stay and enjoy the night with some rest, if not for the importance of her duty. The dangerous, if well meaning, words to come from the hearty Mother aside her only put an extra sense of urgency into her.

“Tch, honestly, boys should find a real woman an’settle down proper. Someone like you, if I might say, Miss Dianna. Y’must have t’fend townsmen advances off with that sword! Well, my boys are good, faithful lads, y’see.” The mother explained, quickly putting a sinking feeling of ice in Dianna’s stomach. Lowering her head to hide the embarrassment burning her cheeks, she pursed her lips and swallowed hard. It was her husband that came to aid, cutting her off with a berating guffaw.

“Pah, woman, let her be. She’s got more important things than to worry about booting the boys into shape, an who’d see to milking if they went off courting, eh?” He blustered, making his wife scowl and pout quietly in acceptance. With the situation defused, he turned to her again with a quiet, knowing smile and a purse of coin.

“Aside, you’ve got somewhere to be, don’t you, Miss? Here, take this and know you’re always welcome in my land and home. See you get a proper bed next time.” He offered sincerely, grinning and chuckling softly through that rugged visage as Dianna tilted her head up to meet his steely gaze with her soft blue eyes and a gentle smile, taking the coin-laden pouch happily.

“Thank you. I’ll remember that. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll, ah… let you handle your business, and get about mine.” She replied, quickly slipping out on a sheepish laugh as a final glance to the farmhands showed some of the holstaurus growing increasingly amorous. More than one of them was trying to lure the man keeping her company into the privacy of her small pen-room within the barn as he gently shook her off and pushed her into the pen alone.

Having exchanged their well wishes and bid farewell, Dianna dashed out to gather up the throwing knife and empty pistol from the field before jogging off towards the bright lights of the town and the towering beacon of the cathedral within it all. There were people she needed to see, questions to have answered and an inexorable hunger that was becoming harder for her teeth to ignore after the scuff she’d had with the manticore.

It was no state at all to be around good and honest people in.

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Chapter 1.5: Holstaurus Got Milk: http://pastebin.com/at3E8jY1
Chapter 2: Thirst: http://pastebin.com/B6gnRV5B
Index: http://pastebin.com/u/LDR