One a Penny, Two a Penny

Childe Valurad slouched in his massive chair and dreamt of blood.

His calloused knuckles gripped the pommel of his upright sword and he leant on its guard like a son forlorn.

Sentiment was scarce in these warring times, this epoch of ravages and torn heads. Only blood lust prevailed in his bulging veins, the triumphant Gore Lord.

But the ancient noble, a giant of a man, was tired of maiming, of killing and of the deep pools of men betwixt his boots, the scarlet life-force of vanquished foes filling his vats.

They were brim full too, those iron casks, ready for supping the thick red grue. He had downed the blood of a thousand souls to slake his thirst and foresaw the countless thousands yet to fall at his feet.

But now, aged, he was weary, so weary and threw down his sword on the cold flagged floor.

"Damn you Death! No more shall I send my emptied enemies to Hell! I relinquish hatred and will still the cup of blood forever!"

The embattled Knight leant at his altar and prayed to God in Heaven for redemption.

"Yes. Yes! I hear you Lord. I shall stay my cruel blade for the the forty days of Lenten tide. I shall drink no more lives! I hear!"

Valurad garbed himself in simple apparel, donned a wooden crucifix and set forth on his quest to purge his scarlet desires.

His land appeared vast and open. He brushed the fescues like a boy, a leviathan in the vernal sun.

Dells, streams, peaceful hamlets. He had never taken in his homeland before, it's beauty, it's green core. War had been his only companion, in the lands of others, lands he now also owned, the remains of his enemies chilled in the vats of his cellars for his quiet consumption. 

After thirty nine days of frugal pilgrimage atop the bluffs and over meadows, his fortitude was weaker and his red rage returning. Yet still he sought salvation. 

On the last morning of his fast the plain-clothed Knight came upon a hamlet, where he lowered his huge frame beside a fountain and tasted, to his astonishment, the clear quench of water for the first in his life.

He savoured the crystal tang of the mountain melt and felt a oneness he hadn't experienced ever before, as he took in the fluid of his land itself. No blood, no marrow could give him this.

"I could drink this stream dry! Tis the fresh decanter I seek!"

"Ah, you seek refreshment I wager good Sir!"

Valurad turned to see a gaunt peddler sat beside a rickety table of various wares deep in the shadows of an archway by the font.

"And what is it to you peddler?"

Facing this emaciated toad of a man the gargantuan Knight felt the primeval pang of his wargames rise and keenly desired the steady hilt of his forsaken sword.

"I mean you no harm Sir. I am but an old hungry trader proffering comfort in these egregious days"

"What comforts?"

"Lenten hot cakes, one a penny, two a penny and a leeching of the humours"

The Gore Lord leant forward and took a hit cake from the shadows, leaving a penny in its wake.

"No cross I see peddler!"

"Tis strictures kind Sir, to save on dough in these hungry times"

"No matter, I have my own cross peddler"

Valurad grasped the crucifix around his throat and held it aloft. It seemed to the Knight that the thin seller drew further back in the darkness of his arch.

Tossing another coin he took a second cake.

"And what are these leechings you spoke of?"

"Ah, my specialty Sir, tis true, I can soothe a worried soul with a little bleeding by my friends the leeches"

"And where does this take place?"

Sensing a sale the old trader rubbed his hands and oiled the wheels 

"For you Sir, a giant of a man for sure, I will perform it right here in this copious chamber, dark and dank for the benefit of my pets and charge you the same as a normal fellow"

"And the fee?"

"One a penny, two a penny and ten a shilling and you will feel anew!"

Intrigued by the prospect of his own hard-won veins siphoned a little, the old Knight stepped into the darkness. Once seated the peddler tied up his hair and gasped.

"Ah, I see you are still wearing the cross. May I beseech you to remove it that my associates might find better purchase on your skin?"

The cross gone, ten thick leeches were carefully placed around Valurad's neck like a noose of fingers.

The creatures began to suckle and the Knight began to feel uneasy. Something seemed amiss. The peddler had grown quiet.

Sensing a more avid guzzling on his left than on the right of his throat, he reached over, only to touch the sinewy body, not of a leech, but of his peddling friend, firmly clasped to Valurad's skin and hungrily mouthing his steaming blood, his head fattening like a flea as he watched.

"You bloodsucking louse!"

The knight held the peddler aloft by his ankles, his lips still pouting and smeared with red. 

"Forgive me sir! These be slim pickings for village vampires like me. That damn Gore Lord takes everything. I'm starving!"

"Ah, the Gore Lord you say! Well I best introduce myself you insatiable mite! I am Valurad, the very Lord you speak of and unluckily for you it is the end of lent!"

"Er, gulp, what did you give up my Leige?"

"Blood!"

The peddler felt the grip of the knight begin to tighten around him.

"Nooooooooooooo!"

But to no avail, the Gore Lord squeezed his mammoth hand and let the peddler's meagre juices trickle down his throat.

"There's only one vampire on my land!"

Chuckling to himself and downing the full leeches like plums, Valurad stomped home and happily dreamt of blood again.