Drakengrim

Everyone knows,
For the sake of their toes,
Don't do nuthing under a Badree Nym's Nose.
— Old Gormondi Proverb

A few centuries ago – it seems like only yesterday – I was one of the most feared Lemyari vampires in all the world. My name, Frozbrodarbrin, could inspire fear in the hearts of kings and emperors. Now I'm a laughing stock, the butt of the joke, homeless and pitied.

What went wrong?

I developed gremlin problems.

I swear to the gods that I have developed ulcers. No, don't laugh. I'm serious.

Most people call them gremlins, but they call themselves the Badree Nym, the Children of Laughter. Hah! Laughter at everyone else's expense, I warrant.

It all started when the self-styled Drakengrim declared that he wanted a vampire as a pet like a bloody dog on a leash. Guess which one he chose?

Me.

That's why I'm standing here in threadbare clothes at the door of a sepulcher I hid in last night, my stomach growling with discomfort, and watching a perfectly lovely twilight spread a soft mist across the woodlands beyond the town of Hell�s Widow. I preferred a fog. I have always loved deep fog. Sunlight has never troubled me; after all, I am a Lemyari vampire, not one of those wretched Lesser Bloods, the Ylesgaire who must hide their ratty faces from the daylight. I simply prefer the night. The serene stillness far from the maddening crowds of bustling humanity and their rude noises.

I weighed my choices. Hell's Widow is a substantial town in the southeast corner of Waejontor. I could not go any further south or east without finding myself in lycan territory: Clan MacLachlan to the south and Clan Red Wolf to the east of me. Those pugnacious wolves were best avoided.

I had wedged myself between a rock and a hard place by fleeing, half out of my mind, from their last ambush. They had danced around me hollering "Let's play a game" until I could not think straight. It did not help my nerves any that one of them nearly dropped a tree on me.

I had no wish to draw the attention of the sa'necari necromancers who rule this realm by cadging a free meal off some unsuspecting farmer or the townsmon. The necromancers would recognize any kills I made and stealing a few sips would be punished with the removal of parts of my anatomy that I wanted to hold onto. I felt in my pockets, pulled the coins out, and counted them. Bronze, all bronze. Not enough to dine at those establishments that catered to obscene appetites like my own.

The shadows deepened around the trees as I considered whether I had any options at all left and might have to take my chances. Soft crying came from my left. The sound made me hungry. My fangs came down, and I wondered whether this might be a runaway child, someone who would not be missed. Children have always been one of my favorite meals. Especially fat, juicy, well-fed little children, all plump and tasty.

I stole toward the sound, listened to it die down to broken sobbing and then cease entirely. I parted the branches that led into the little glade and saw what I had hoped to see: a small child, not more than eight or nine. The child appeared to have curled up and fallen asleep weeping. I licked my fangs and crept up to the child, looking down at him. How delicious the little one looked, how warm his blood smelled.

The child wore a brown homespun tunic and trousers with an oversize hat on his head. I could just make out the freckles on the child's fair skin, and I froze. Most Waejontori children were dark skinned and black haired. What if this was not a child at all? But a gremlin?

My thoughts sped into a spiral of panic at the thought of them.

Those ever cheerful, little walking disaster zones had been stalking me for two centuries. I shuddered at the thought of them catching up to me again. They always wanted to help or play. No sane mon wanted anything to do with them. The Badree Nym have a bizarre range of magical talents, but the worst is the uncontrollable poltergeist effect that arouses spontaneously whenever someone angers, frightens, or otherwise upsets them. How could I not upset them? I'm a blood-thirsty fiend.

No, don't look at me that way, I'm a fiend, I tell you.

GODWAR CENTRAL

Drakengrim