Countess Monique Dubois

Countess Monique Dubois

Status: In Progress

Genre: Fantasy

Details

Status: In Progress

Genre: Fantasy

Summary

1476. Vlad Tepes, a vampire king rains terror on Eastern Europe. The Catholic Church worried by his murderous reign demand action from a group of Vampire Elders. Tepes, his family and his advisor Gregor are assassinated, but a sympathizer amongst the Elders saves Tepes’s and Gregor’s remains and also spirits away Gregor’s human bastard, a baby a girl he names Adele. Centuries later, the Vampyre and Human world are on a collision course that can only be stopped by a group of Vampyres lead by Countess Monique Dubois.

Summary

1476. Vlad Tepes, a vampire king rains terror on Eastern Europe. The Catholic Church worried by his murderous reign demand action from a group of Vampire Elders. Tepes, his family and his advisor Gregor are assassinated, but a sympathizer amongst the Elders saves Tepes’s and Gregor’s remains and also spirits away Gregor’s human bastard, a baby a girl he names Adele.

Centuries later, the Vampyre and Human world are on a collision course that can only be stopped by a group of Vampyres lead by Countess Monique Dubois.

Prolog (v.1) - Bucharest, December 1476

Author Chapter Note

This opening has gone through many drafts and sets out the beginnings of the problems vampyres are facing. I am more than happy to listen to comments/suggestions, ways to improve it, leave as is.

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: April 25, 2020

Reads: 138

Comments: 4

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Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: April 25, 2020

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Steaming breath hissed inside the icy crypt as two lines of cloaked men sitting opposite each other traded accusations, threats and insults. Above them, a hooded figure sat hunched on a stone sarcophagus, listening. Only his long, ring-encrusted fingers visible beneath his purple raiment. Finally, he stood up.
”Enough!” he shouted. His voice thundered inside the mausoleum with a loudness and authority that belied his small, crooked body. 

“Listen to me.”  He stretched out a boney finger and jabbed it forcefully at the Count and his squabbling cabal.  “Agree to what we ask, or we will annihilate you and your wretched race. You will all die here, today.”The Count glared back, his fists bleached white, his face pale and sweaty.

The hooded figure lowered his hand. He scratched his angular chin and cleared his throat.  “We have tolerated your kind for hundreds of years, but the Church will not allow the carnage he has wrought on Wallachia to continue. You and your cohorts must agree today, to destroy him, and all his offspring.” The hooded figure’s hawkish eyes scuttled from face to face, watching the Count and his men seethe.
Wearily, the Count unfurled his cloak and looked at his colleagues, exhausted by the hours locked in fruitless recriminations and pointless discussions. Drawing an ornate, dragon shaped stiletto from his belt, the Count sliced the palm of his hand and slammed it onto the sarcophagus.“I give you our blood and my word. We will do as you ask.”
“Good,” rasped the hooded figure, “it is settled.” Like a murder of angry crows, dissatisfied with their meagre carrion, the Count’s men lingered, waiting for their leader. The Count cursed, pulled his cloak tight about his neck and bowed.  The hooded figure stood up. A sardonic smile lit up his face as he returned the bow, before shuffling stiffly from the crypt, flanked by his Cardinals.

 


© Copyright 2020 Tarakan. All rights reserved.

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