Nosferatus Family/The End

Google docs reading: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1B-SLKlaUsvaRMtMi5BkZ9wQcJ17qO4leFsGWATRYXi4/edit?usp=sharing

I see a tall, lush rose, more beautiful than i could ever imagine amid a garden in bloom. An old man in a gardeners outfit sits down near it and smiles at me. The feeling of familiar joy over takes me as he pulls the rose by the stem, out of the earth. He shows me its roots in their complex natural beauty, almost as beautiful as the rose itself.

As quickly as it came to me the images now fades making place for a much less enjoyable scene. A weeping family witnesses a brutal execution of their loved one. The square filled with soldiers, a clear show of power. I look at the scene from the opposite of the family and i start to realize i am actually part of the scene, and not just watching. I am a little child and someone who appears to be my mother holds me firmly by the arm, as i try to struggle lose. “Father, Father!” i hear myself scream, and franticly i manage to break free, running straight at soldiers guarding the square. In an instant of reflex one of the soldiers draws his short sword and stabbs me straight in the heart. I look down at the gaping wound and saw the blood pour out. Quickly everything around me turns in the deep red colour of my own blood and my conscious slips away.

In a grasp of air Davis wakes up, now sitting straight up, slightly comforted by the familiar sight of his bedroom in his Ashforth estate. He quickly scans his chest for a wound or blood, nothing. Next to his bed a book on Caligan folklore still lay open, right on a page on Tokatian tales and he realizes what he just dreamt. This was the story of the heroic Wladimir and his resistance movement against the Fontanees oppressors. But what’s so strange about this dream was that he himself was in this dream, screaming for this boy’s father he was while the actual family of this story clearly stood on the other side of the square, whom he reckognized from the story. Confused Davis walks up towards the closet and notices his old sword leaning in the back against the wooden frame. It remembers him of his own mother and his young days as a 14 year old boy, working for his mothers brothel as a guard. Altthough the memeroies wheren’t fond, he always kept his old sword with him. With that sword he protected his mother a many times against drunk, abusive customers including his own father, a regular. Perhaps the only customer that could return time after time after hurting the women that worked there. He owned the place and the city, he could do whatever he wanted as long as Davis worked here. This all changed one night when Davis came to his mother screaming for help. When he entered the room, he caught the fat Abbot punching her repeatedly on her head. Blood was already pouring from her face and all she could do is try to fend off the blows with her arms desperately stretched out. In a fell sweep Davis pulled the man from his mother , his sword drawn ready to strike at his chest. Realizing that he couldn’t harm this man without putting him and his mother in serious danger, he stopped the tip of the blade an inch away from his heart and then proceeded carefully by pressing the iron tip of his sword into his flesh. A scare of a previous blade marked the spot, a scar large enough to say that a sword entered here before. “If you ever touch her again, i will make sure it does kill you this time! get on your filthy fat sausages ye call legs ‘n walk with the winds before i change my mind!” Davis screamed. Abbot fled and never returned. But in return did his men who put Davis and his mother on a ship to some faraway continent and he never saw her or his home again, wondering if Abbot ever even knew he was his son, did he even care?

He looks back at the book laying on his bed and pictures the odd scar on Abbots chest. No one could survive a wound like that, the cut was wide and deep and must have struck straight into his heart. Could it be a coincidence? The wound in his dream, the scar on his father's chest, could it be the very same wound? it must be.... He grabs the book again and reads the first lines. ‘Central Tokat, the year 1004, the central town of Wonaz.”

For the rest of the the day these questions haunt him and the dream returning in his mind, could it be a message from the very gods? He calls for his scribe and servants. “I need to know more about this family, i need to know the answers.” he directed his attention to his servant. “prepare my horse and carriage, war or no war, we are heading for Tokat!”

Meanwhile in Castle de Covois, Fronepu, Melhed.

Another fever wave set in, Cold shivers climbing up my spine. A vague image of the room spins and swirls around me. Familiar faces and the colours of my interior blends into a random visual combination of two dimensional images. It swirls and swirls around in a large spiral, faster and faster, until i no longer recognize anything of what my eyes can see. I feel gloomy and after blinking my eyes i seem to see clear again. A beautiful rose takes my attention, it appears to glow and everything around her can only be part of the background. An older men staring at it, stands as if frozen in time, beholding its beauty. He wears the clothes of a past generation, of which i have only read in books. In a flash, the man now holds a rose petal in his hand, on his knees crying. The rose he so adores seems to be dying. But before i can grasp the image i swiftly move away from it with an unimaginable speed and find myself sweeping through time and space. When this experience settles in i find myself in a forest and the same old man knocks on the door of a small wooden cabin, grown over by a thick layer of moss. An ugly old women opens the door with a smirky grin on her face. The man explains her the story of how he grew the most beautiful rose in the land, how he won price after price in every single contest and that now it was dying in front of him. The women tells him to offer his youngest daughter to the ocean if he wishes to keep his rose for ever. Another flash and it is night. I hear the moaning of a little girl and an exhausted old man. He drags her by her little arm along the woods untill they are halted by an enormous white owl, striking down right in front of them staring straight into the mans eyes. A feeling of guilt overcomes him and he starts jabbering at the owl. “Never again will man see such beauty, she is worth every sacrifice! I grew the fairest flower in the world, not even the gods will ever grow a rose this fair!” The owl doesn’t flinch, stared at the men for several more seconds and then took off and with the flapping of the owls wings my vision turns black. I can now see, hear and smell the rolling waves of the coast. The screams of a little girl slowly fades away as the water turns into that distinct deep red, the colour of blood mixed in with the salty waters.

Vaguely the face of my worried uncle appears before me, cornered by its staff.

“Shae, can you hear me?”

I open my mouth but can’t respond! My throat is burning, i feel weak and even the slightest attempt to speak completely fatigues me. Again the room started spinning, and as the shivering cold creeps up my spine i see large stains of colours spreading out to each other. It waxes and wanes with the pain i feel. This is now followed by large lines of light, as if i am moving at a very high speed. I see the same room again where i first saw the man with his rose. Now i see my grand father, in his younger years with a young man that appears to be uncle Pierre. They also stand around that same glowing rose. They are talking, nay whispering and it feels like i am just a little too far away to hear them until i pick up a few lines. “As keeper of the rose, you shall keep her secret safe from anyone else, including your brothers and our family will remain safe. They cannot know, for they cannot handle the truth. The faith of this family and my heritage lies in your hands. The Nosferatus will live forever.” The image fades and i feel like falling into a deep dark bottomless pit, into a deep long sleep.

Barbarossa discovers It is another sunny day in Madina Garden, just after monsoon. Life is bursting, flowers and plants shoot up in there never ending quest for the skies. High Marshal Barbarossa looks worriedly at the large stack of letters on his desk. The thick walls of his estate made this place perhaps the coolest in the entire Gardens of Madina. Yet thick drops of sweat pours from his forehead as he scans through the documents in front of him. The door opens, two armed men and Barbarossa’s Captain Williams enter the room with noticeable confidence. From the captains clothes and excessive jewelry, you can tell he is well payed, much better then others of his rank.

“What is it?!” Barbarossa says turning its attention towards the captain. With an obvious sign of annoyance he impatiently combs his red beard with his right hand as he looks at the captain from underneath his frowning, grimm eyebrows. The captain grins, uncovering a golden tooth. He starts rubbing his hands conspicuously. “Our operations have started to bear its fruits, Ser High Marshal, we have intercepted a letter that might interest you.” Barbarossa shoots straight up from his chair. “About me Father?!” The captain nods with a fresh grin. The High Marshal had offered bounties for useful information regarding his father and the Captain knows he had struck gold. “Thats not all Ser, we waited several days for someone to come and pick the letter up.” The captain giggles as he pauses. “AND?!” Barbarossa replies threateningly, he takes a few steps until he practically stands right infront of the captain. “Someone did.” the captain says as he tries to control himself. “We caught him and eventually got him to talk. He works for Abbot and is willing to lead us to him.“ Barbarossa grabs the captain by his shoulders and kisses him on both cheeks. “Blessed are ye! Lead me to him now!” The captain hands out the letter. “Ser, you might be interested in its content, it concerns your heritage and it is signed by someone claiming to be his Son, thus your brother.” Barbarossa slightly tilts its head in suspicion, as if scanning the captains face for lies while taking the letter from his hands. Carefully he reads it.

“Sir Abbot, My Father, Perhaps this letter will surprise you. Sir Davis is my name and you are the father that deported his son to the East. I must admit that it even surprises me that i am actually writing this letter. However since my recent findings here in Tokat i live in constant doubt about my heritage. I have confirmed that a little boy whom lived here got stabbed in the heart at the age of six. The soldiers took him away and it is said that the little boy lived. When i spared your life in the brothel of my mother when i was but a young man, i saw a scar, right on your heart like that kid in Tokat. The Kid is most likely the son of an old influential family, the house Nosferatus. Surviving that must be a miracle. You must be that little boy, with a mighty angel looking over your shoulder. In all those years as a soldier on the front i have never seen a man survive a stab right through the heart. If you remember any of this, please let me know. I need to know.

Your Son, Davis.

Barbarossa lays the letter down among the hundreds already on his desk with a slightly trembling hand. The story reminds him of his old childhood, so similar. Barbarossa knows he must have always had an unimaginable number of brothers out there, judging his fathers sexual behaviour. The probabilities of this link with this fancy noble family does not interest him as much as this opportunity to catch his father he waited so long for and thus quickly turns his attention back to his Captain. “Lets move fast, by now he must have already suspect something, lets get him while we still can. He won’t wait any longer, lead me to the informant right now!” The Captain folds his hands together and replies “ With Pleasure Ser High Marshal.”

Back in castle de Covois Pierre enters his private quarters. He has an indoor private greenhouse in the castle and the sole ownership of the keys to it’s door. The room is filled with plants and covered by an enormous glass roof. Neuroticly he walks up and down the room mumbling. “The tonic has lost it’s power, she doesn’t respond on it any more. how could this be.” He walked towards the last section of plants and there stands on what seems to be some sort of altar, the family rose. A sinister smile appears on his face as he beholds her beauty, he has that same obsessed look in his eye, just like his father and his grand father. But now the smile is quickly followed by a sigh. “What tricks are the gods playing on me?” For years he managed to extract the unusual medicinal tonic from the rose’s roots. He had used the tonic on Shae for many times before, but now it seems to have lost its power. He starts walking up and down the shafts stacked with plants, on this part of the greenhouse primarily roses. He had been trying to clone the rose and its unusual powers for some time. He realized the vulnerability of the rose as a single specie. The clones he made came close to its beauty but never lived longer than any other rose, they all died. Horrible scenarios unfolds in his mind, he worried deeply for his niece. He looks across the room and notices the old family insignia above the door “ Nosferatus, Sub Rosa, Ad Vitam”. “It is not a curse but a gift...” he mumbles. “How can i fool myself like this?! I know what will happen to Shae if i can no longer cure her... Her faith is worse than death...” For a moment he looks at the rose and the thought of destroying it flashes through his mind, but he quickly suppresses the thought. He knows this will end it all, end her endless suffering. But he also knew it would mean the very end of himself and the Nosferatus Family.

A carriage of northern design rides into town. It looks fancy yet not decadent, the huge driver wears a long purple cape and the nobleman inside proudly looks at the locals passing by. “Speed it up driver, we are almost there”.

Davis had just come from the town of Wonaz mentioned in his book and his findings were astonishing. The boy of his dreams had indeed lived there and the locals were well familiar with Nosferatus family and the boy that was stabbed from his dreams. All the stories pointed towards the same direction, the boy lived. The boy was even mentioned in local archives but never as a direct descendent of the Nosferatus. However what was even more astonishing was that the locals did not only pointed that the boy lived, they claimed that Wladimir had lived through it as well. He was never executed on that town square but taken by Fontanees soldiers and the local story goes that they threw him in the deepest pit of Tokat, close to the Sordidus border. Heavily wounded, he was left there to die a slow and horrible death in a dark deep hellish pit.

The little border town is quiet and the locals seem unimpressed of the presence of a noble carriage, unlike the previous town of Wonaz. They stop at the first peasant they encounter. “Greetings, my name is Davis son of Abbot, Sword Champion of Nivemus and i have come all the way down here in search of Wladimirs pit, you may lead me there now.” The peasant seems to ignore the noblemen at first until he mentions Wladimirs pit. His eyes widen and appear to tremble in fear. “Wlad... Wladimirs pit’s? That place’s is haunted good Sir, haunted i tells you! We better stay away from it’s.” Davis frowns annoyedly, he is too proud to be afraid of some silly local scary story. “There is no such thing as ghosts you stupid peasant, now tell me where to find the place!” He gestures his driver to grab the peasant, and in a quick movement the driver drags the peasant by his neck and through the mud until Davis gestures to stop again. It is a comical sight; a giant playing with a skinny dwarf, the drivers hand fully enclosed around the peasants entire neck. “Have mercy m’lord! I was only warning you’s! I will lead you to the trail up the hill, there you’s will find the pit’s! follow’s me!” The carriage rides on with the skinny peasant walking in front, until they reached a small trail leading up the hill. “I cannot take you’s any further then here’s Good Sir! Please have mercies, let me go!” Davis nodds the peasant to go and grumbles as he stepped out of the carriage to continue onwards on foot. The peasant had been mumbling for the entire road about all the evil spirits that must haunt this place. He was actually happy the peasant wanted to finally take off that fast. The climb up wasn’t far, the landscape arid and dry, only a bush grows here and there.

When he finally reaches the top he finds himself on some sort of empty plane plateau.

“Is this the place there making such a fuss about?” Davis holds both his hands on his hips, standing proudly, laughing at the peasant that warned him for this place.

At the sign of his master laughing, the Driver joins, untill Davis impatiently gestures him to walk ahead.

He scans the area for some time until he wildly gestures his master to come. He runs towards the driver and a black hole unfolds in front of his eyes. A pit so deep, noone can ever see the bottom. Davis franticly tries to look inside from various angles and lights a torch in order to look deeper into the pit. He slips for a moment but luckily restores his balance again. The edge is crumbling, several stones roll into the dark hole. Seconds past untill finally he hears the echo of the rocks hitting the bottom. It is oddly followed by a strange sound, a moan of some sort. Davis looks at his drivers, who clearly hears it too. “Anybody there?” No reply. Davis gestures his driver to fetch a robe from there backpack and remain staring at the pit. Untill finally he hears it again, it sounds like someone in agonizing pain, a moan of suffering. “cursed you!” a man’s tired moaning voice screams. Davis eyes widen, did he just hear that or is it his imagination. “Leave this place or know thyself, this place is cursed!” Davis froze, where the locals right, is he speaking to a ghost? “Who are you? or what are you?” The voice sounds fatigued, as if even the slightest words takes all of his energy. “My name is Wladimir, and leave before you end up just like me!” “It is a ghost!” All the little hairs on his body now stand straight up as he replies trembling. “But... they killed you! that is impossible!” The pit replies with a deep moan and the pain cuts deep into the nobleman's heart. Before he could reply an unfamiliar voice behind him calls his name.

“Aaaah , Champion Davis, what a surprise, that i have found you here” In a single move Davis fully turns around. A noblemen, about his age stands in front of him in good clothing rubbing his right hand over the hilt of his sword. He does not recognize him. “Who are you and what business do you have here?!” The man grins and walks a few steps towards Davis. He completely ignores Davis questions. “Champion of Nivemus ay? greatest sword fighter of the North?” The man laughs. Davis quickly looks at his driver, already with his sword drawn, also surprised by the nobleman's sudden appearance. From his right eye corner he looks at the men, his hand firmly gripped on his sword. “I have no time for games Sir.”

The man stops. “Ha! games! he says! and that calls himself a sword champion!” The unfamiliar man is clearly trying to provoke Davis temper, not very difficult as many already know. “I wouldn’t try to provoke me Sir.” The man starts to laugh loudly, ridiculing Davis by imitating his reactions. “Are we a little scared, little sword champion?”

“This is your last warning! or I’ll...” The man quickly interrupts Davis, now raising his voice even louder. “Or what?! You’r going to cry? you gonna cry now?!”

Davis can no longer control his temper, his hands trembling with fury as he unsheaths his sword. “I have had it with your childish behaviour, i will not let my noble name be insulted by some idiot like you! Meet the end of my sword, and sudden death!” The man keeps his arms in his side now, laughing absurdly hard. Davis runs forward in an attempt to overrun his opponent with a swift blow. The sound of iron hitting stone shatters across the plateau, followed by that distinct laugh again. “Ha! that calls himself a sword champion? your much too slow for me you fool!” Davis frustration grew as he tries another attack. But blow after blow ends in the hard rocks on the ground. “I can’t believe my eyes... I never faced an opponent this fast, and he hadn't even drawn his sword yet!” he thinks.

“Who are you?!”

The question is answered by a rumbling laughter and a quick blow from the left. Davis barely manages to dodge the attack let alone see it coming. “You proud fool, you can’t even deal a single blow!” Davis concentrates deeply and carefully executes the next attack. Two blows from left and right followed by a slash from above and then a stabb. This time the man doesn’t manage to dodge the attack and Davis sword goes straight through him. The sword however gets no resistance and Davis loses his balance, he miss steps and falls straightforward. “NO!!” his driver witnesses him falling straight through the man, into the dark pit. And the laughter of the man grows and grows. “A Ghost!” Completely terrified the Driver runs off without even bothering the equipment and supplies.

As soon as Davis recovers himself he sees the vague image of a man and now clearly hears him moaning just next to him.

“Ow you fool!” he breaths heavily. “Why didnt you listen! your foolish pride cursed you!” His eyes have now adjusted to the light and he looks at the man a little closer. He notes a leathery skin over weak, crooked bones and two large anxious eyes staring at him from there soulless depths and now slowly speaks again. “They have put me here years ago when they discovered my secret, none of the torture worked, nor did is tarve in their dungeons, me and my childrens children and even their children are cursed for eternity.” He breaths in heavily while talking. A mad weak sinister laughter echoes around the pit as Davis slowly started to realize what this meant. This man is Wladimir, Abbots father and thus his grand father and the exact same horrible faith now awaits him. Davis screams on top of his lungs whom echo around the arid plateau for an eternity.

The informant had led Barbarossa and his men through the small alleys of Madriona town, the largest town in the gardens, straight on the Madinan highway towards what he claims to be Abbots temporary hideout in the poorest neighbourhood of the region. Barbarossa tak a deep breath. “Are ye SURE he is in here?” he says with his distinct old Madinan accent while raising his finger in a sign of warning. “I... ammm sure m’lord, room 6, Ser High Marshal, please spare me life” he says trembling. Barbarossa pauses for a moment. “Tie ‘em up to that palm while we go in.” he orders two of his men. The building infront of them looks like a perfect hideout, an ugly improvised house divided in dozens of little rooms, about 20 families must live here. He will notice us coming early on with many escape routes to flee to. “Spread out! keep all the exits checked, this is where we’ll get him!” His men spread out and Barbarossa himself draws his sword and runs through the main entrance of the building.

Meanwhile Abbot impatiently takes another gulp of rum, spoiling half of its content running down his face, chin and belly. He coughs while he drops the bottle down on the floor and wobbles back into the room on his wooden leg. Abbot had turned bold, his nose and cheeks deep red, his face even more wrinkled and his body even fatter over the past years. A middle aged red haired women lays tied up on the bed with a piece of cloth in her mouth.

“Where is he! the little rat! he ratted out on us, me tells ye!”

Clearly drunk he waves his broadsword around uncontrollably. “Get on yer legs ye filthy swine whore!” He says while gurgling up the slime stuck in his throat. While throwing the women off the bed, he falls on the mattress, belly down, struggling to get back up, cursing. The women also tied to her legs falls down on the floor. Abbot gets back on his feet and kicks the women in the head several times. “Now get up!” He screams while dragging her back up by her hair. The tears stream down her bloodied face and even though she is gagged you can still hear her desperate scream.

When Barbarossa finally manages to get through the maze of hall and stair ways he finally stands in front of door number six. He takes a deep breath and looks down his right arm. His hands are shaking of cheer anxiousness. So much to win or lose in the next few seconds, unknowing of what he will meet at the other side of that door. He carefully tries the doorknob, it’s closed! He proceeds by throwing his body weight behind his boot and kicks straight through the door. It swings open and there his father stands, with a shocked expression in his face, holding a women by her hair. He runs towards him with his sword drawn ready to plunge it into his father’s guts. Then suddenly recognizes the women in his fathers hands. “Mother?”. Barbarossa halts.

Abbot quickly reacts and puts his broadsword on the womens neck. A grin appears on his face. “STEP back son! Or she’ll ‘ave it!”

Barbarossa hasn’t seen his mother ever since his deportation. He never had a clue of what happened to her and self proclaimed her dead. Now she stands in front of him he undoubtedly recognizes her. The love for his mother has overtaken him and he lowers his sword.

Abbot’s thundering laugh echoes through the room. “HA! did ye really think ye could surprise me?! Me knew ye’d come ye son of a whore!”

Barbarossa narrows his eyes in a focused gaze. “Allright take me then!”

Barbarossa walks slowly forward and was about to lay his sword down. “Stay back! Ye sneaky bastard! where are ye men?! where are they! tell me!” Abbot clumsily takes a few steps back, clearly intoxicated barely able to stay on his feet.

“They have surounded the building, there is no where to run to anymore, please, by ‘er mercy spare me mothers life!”

Barbarossa now notes Abbots bottle of rum laying on the floor. Just a few more steps and he may slip over it. The man won’t need to much to fall.

“Ye filthy bastard ye! After ‘em royalist scum took me home, ye took everything me self had left! running hiding, for years now, untill me self could find a chance to kill ye!” With every word he speaks his saliva comes with it.

Barbarossa takes one more careful step forward as he tried to calm his father.

“BACK me said! BACK OFF!” Abbot screams as he starts to press the sword in the womens soft skin, his head turns into a big red balloon and in reflex he takes another step backwards. He slips over the bottle of rum and falls straight on his back.

In a sudden move Barbarossa, while Abbot still lay helpless on the floor, stabs his sword straight threw Abbots chest. He screams like a pig for mercy as the blood gushes out of the large gaping wound. He moves spasticly on the floor untill he remains seemingly lifeless, laying on the floor in a large pool of blood. Barbarosa quickly turns his attention to his mother and unties her while inspecting the wound on her neck, luckily Abbot hadn’t managed to seriously wound her. Tears stream down her face as she starts to realize it is over. She embraces her son trembling.

Then in an instant, Abbot sits up with his sword drawn and throws his entire weight behind a stab straight through the womens body, into Barbarossas chest. Blood pours from the mothers mouth, as Barabrossa screams in agony.

“H... Howw?” He moans with unbelieve, throws his mothers corpse off of him and in that same movement stabbs his pocket knife in Abbot’s neck. The two look at each other in deep agony, mad eyes wide open throwing stab after stabb at each other, unable to scream moan or curse of all the blood pouring from there mouths and necks.

Suddenly the back door swings open and two armed guards enter the room, the two now both lay motionless on the floor covered in blood holding there weapons, still stuck in the opponent's body. The guards check their pulse and looked at each other in surprise. “There still alive!”

Several days later, Barbarossa wakes up in his mansions bedroom room with his healers at his side. He could hear them mumbling.

“He’s waking up.” “It’s truly a miracle!” another one said.

Barabrossa flickers his eyes and opens his mouth to speak, but at first unable to make a sound.

“Carefull Ser High Marshall, you better rest.”

“Wh... where is he?” He says as he tries to get himself up. At the rear end of the room his Captain stood who now walks towards him.

“We threw him in the dungeons Ser, rest now, you will get your revenge later.” The Captain grins comfortably. Barabrossa gradually slips back into subconsciousness and sleeps for another full day.

Abbot wakes up in his dark, humid cell, water driping from the ceiling the place stinks of mold. He rubs his bandages and then looks at an older scarr. He thinks back about his youth, as a bastard son of his father and how he had to flee after what happened. He was lucky to find a crew in need of another sailor. The crew and boat that eventually brought him to the unknown lands of Dwilight and the isle of Madina where they shipwrecked and made him rich and mighty. He always thought he was lucky, when he survived that sword to the heart as a little boy. But this was not mere luck, how can a man survive mortal wound after mortal wound unscatted? Barabrossa’s sword punctered his lungs and he now breaths perfectly again. “There is something seriously wrong with me...” he mumbles.

The echo of a metal lock beeing opened spreads through the dungeon and all prisoners reach out to see who is coming. It is the High Marshal with several guards swiftly walking towards the back, where Abbot has been firmly locked up.

“Well well, who has come to visit me today? if it isn’t marshal red beard the son of a whore!” Abbot spits at his son.

Barbarossa doesn’t flinch but simply stares at his father.

“Ye fool, ye can’t kill ME! Noone ever could, nor will ye!”

“Me knows...” Barabrossa says without even the slightest expression on his. He gestures the guards to open the gate and the guards proceed bashing there wooden clubs on Abbots skull. The old man quickly loses consciousness and the guards tie him up with a cloth over his face. “There is no time to lose! throw him in the carriage, lets head out!”

Abbot eventually wakes up and notices being moved on by horse and cart. Everything is black and the headache now gradually sets in. A few minutes latter the carriage stops and he feels being thrown out on the ground, he knows he is close to shore, the smell of the oceans wind and the dashing of waves won’t ever surpass him unnoticed. After being dragged for a while the cloth is taken from his face and he scans the area. He is on the edge of a low rocky point stretching out in the ocean and Barabrossa stands right in front of him armed with a strong iron spear.

“Prepare yer self for yer final punishment father! Me self has waited for this moment for years and finally there shall be revange. The world has never known a monster as horrible as ye! If we can’t kill ye, time shall!”

And with all the strength in his being he pierces the spear through his father into the rocks, entering his neck and exiting his left leg into the rocky bottom.

“By ‘er mercy will ye suffer as she takes ye bit by bit, wave by wave untill nothing remains of ye, ye will fade with the the hard rocky edge yer now part of. By ‘er mercy may ye suffer for an eternity!”

And so Barbrossa leaves his father to suffer, giving him one last glance as he walks away. Abbot remains stuck on that rocky edge until time washes him away.

Pierre carefully locks the door to his botanical lab, still haunted by these deep worries. Hard decisions have to be made, but never in his entire life have they been hard. He feels guilty for Shae’s illness. Was it my tonic that actually made here sick in the first place? He used it on her without knowing its dangers, he always presumed that its powers could be consumed and make one healthy. He had tried it on his own scribe for a while too, it worked perfectly and still did. That is what it always did, but now it lost its effect on her.

He holds his hand on the door and sighed. Just as he wants to walk away he hears someone clumsily moving from wall to wall in search of support on the rear side of the hall way. It moans and coughs as it moves. As it came closer Pierre recognizes who it is.

“Shae!” The old man runs towards her and supports her body with both arms. She was a light weight, yet Pierres old arms and back has trouble holding her.

“What are you doing here dear? come, let us get you back in bed.” Shae’s eyes look wild, as if unable to see her eyes roll from side to side, unfocused. “They have spoken to me uncle...” She mumbles.

“Let us talk about this when i get you back in bed!” Shae suddenly goes wild, waving her hands around hitting Pierre several times on the head.

“Calm down dear! Your having a fever, your delirious! Calm down by the gods!”

“Poison!” She screams, but in her attempt to run away she falls on the ground again. She doesn’t move. Pierre carefully approaches her, kneels down next to her and calls for his staff to come.

“Shhh my dear, you need your rest..” He says while stroking her cheek with the back of his hand. She opens her eyes again, wide open, terrified.

“You poisoned me you daimon spawn!” “Murder!” she screams as she manages to get back up. She throws her weight on her uncle and tries to strangle him. Her eyes look unfamiliar, mad and wild, implying insanity.

Pierre can’t breath and he desperately fights for his life as he tries to scream for her to stop. When eventually an opportunity arose, he manages to hit her niece in the head. Shae falls over motionless. Right at that moment her guards run towards them looking at the passed out duchess. “What happened?” Pierre still recovering from the struggle, rubs his neck. “She is delirious, lets get her to in her room and guard it well.” When they lay her in bed Shae carefully regains consciousness. The wild gaze in her eyes is now gone, yet still clearly weak. Pierre seems at ease, glad it is over.

“My dear, how do you feel?”

Shae now notices her uncle standing next to her with a slightly shocked expression on her face. She quickly turns her attention to the guards. “Arrest this man!” The guards look at each other confused, as if trying to find confirmation from each other. “You heard me, arrest this man! your are my guards and you do as i say!”

Pierre is baffled and mumbles. “B... but, Shae! what are you doing...?”

The guards are equally baffled and still stand motionless across the room.

“I said ARRRRREST that man! I know very well who he is!”

The guards slowly execute the order. Pierre does not resist nor did the Guards really hold him they simply gesture him to follow them.

“Shae? its me Pierre, your uncle!”

Shae stumbles out of bed, now seemingly sane yet extremely upset. “You poisoned me Pierre, for all those years, you were poisoning me!” She screams with a trembling finger pointing out to him.

“What on earth are you talking about Shae!” Pierre says annoyed and confused.

“The tonic you fed me so much! I went sick and you only gave me more, my trusted servant informed me that even while i was unconscious you gave me the tonic. The more you gave it to me, the worse it became!” Her whole body is trembling, struggling to overcome her sickness.

“The tonic is your medicine, you know i always gave it to you when you were sick or weak! stop this nonsense and calm down, you need your rest!” Shae sits down on the edge of her bed, holding her self with two hands, preventing herself from falling down. She has to use all the muscles in her body in order to sit straight.

“The more you gave the tonic to me the sicker i went! why didn't you stop uncle?! I had my servant investigate the tonic and he couldn't identify it, what poison have you used? some foreign snake poison!?”

Pierre, unknowing what to say of these sudden alegations tried to reply. “Shae! you know i care about you more then anything i else, i wound’t...”

She shook her head in disbelief and interupts him right away. “You hold many secrets from me uncle... Not only does my servant not trust you, so do I. The gods have spoken to me at night Uncle, your holding much bigger secrets from me then i could ever imagine.”

Pierre anxiously looks up quickly trying to process what was going on. What does she know?

“I used that Tonic for your health, i am completely honest to you about this. It always worked but now... it losses its properties on you, and just you. And Yes, it could have caused your fever... i simply do not know!” A desperate look in the old mans face appears accentuating his freckled heavily wrinkled skin.

“So i was just a guinea pig for your crazy alchemistic experiments? Tell me, how did you make the Tonic, what did you put into it!”

Pierres eyes fall down.

“A rose”

He instantly says.

Shaes eyes widen, and her pupils narow down to a tiny little spot.

“Go on...”

“It... it is a special rose, with the ability to cure”

Shaes visions flash in front of her eyes again and she remembers the image of her uncle and Grand father around a rose. Wladimir was handing it over to Pierre and spoke those odd words. Could this be the very same rose? Was this what the gods where telling me? where is this leading?

“Where is it?” She asks impatiently..

“Wh... where?” Pierre replies terrified.

“Yes where!” Shae says, now clearly annoyed.

“My dear you must understand that this rose is of extreme value, I kept it a secret from everyone, you included for good reason.”

He looks at the guards on his right and left flank.

“I can only show it to you alone, no one else, not even your guards.”

After she agrees they both walk down the hall ways untill they reach Pierres locked indoor greenhouse. With sweat dripping from his forehead as he opens the door. Eagerly Shae steps into the room, it is very humid and the sweet smell of flowers greet them.

When they finally arrive at the back of the room, she saw the rose. It is the exact same rose in her dreams, and when she looks at Pierre, he has that same obsessed look in his eyes. It attracts her unlike anything, it feels like being overtaken by a higher power and quickly turns her eyes away from it. “Is this the rose that doesn’t age, which you got from your father when you were but a young man?”

Pierre freezes and abruptly turns his gaze away from the flower.

“H..how did you know?!”

“It doesn't matter, what matters is that there is something deeply wrong with this rose, i know it and i can feel it standing here, it has an evil charm and i can see that it has already effected you severely. We should destroy it uncle...”

Pierrre is shortly overtaken by hate and the idea of escaping from this castle with his beloved rose. He quickly suppresses it however and replies, knowing that right now is the time to break his oath with his father and tell her the truth. There is no way to keep this a secret any longer, somehow, someway, she already knows more then I could ever fear for.

“Shae, there is more you should know about this rose. You see the faith of this rose and ours are intertwined. My grand father, and your grand grand father was a famous gardener back in his days. He grew the most beutiful rose in the entire land. He won every competition there was and brought great fame to his name with this very rose. However he couldn’t accept the faith of that rose alike any other living creature in this world, death. He turned to dark magic and the rose lived for ever.”

Pierre paused for a moment.

Shae, still weak, and trembling on her feet leans over as close as possible, focused on her uncles words.

“You would realize this eventually when you turn as old as i am. He him self and all generation’s to come after him of his blood, were cursed with the inability to die. Shae, we are immortal.”

Shae stands frozen, unable to react, completely baffled, staring at her uncle. This was exactly like her dreams, the man with the rose, the murder of his daughter. All the pieces now come together, the hubristic nature of her Grand Grand father has cursed her entire family. Yet the gods in their irony showed her the story from start to end. Was this dream also part of my punishment? to suffer for eternity and know that there is no way out? why me? Her headache grows as she lets herself fall to the ground, where she remains sitting motionless. Pierre sighs while holding his hand on her shoulder.

“I have learned to accept our faith Shae. I kept you safe from your illness, knowing you’d suffer for eternity, the Tonic was the only potion that used to work. But somehow it lost its effect on you.”

Shae looks up astonished.

“You mean to immply i might never be able to cure myself from this?”

Pierres voice trembles.

“I.. don’t know my dear...”

He turns his gaze back on the rose.

“For almost my entire life i have lived to do the best thing by my judgement, i have offered to the gods and lived my life by their tenants. I have learned that what my grand father did was wrong, but the gods are unforgiving.”

Shae notices his uncle’s attention drawing back to the rose again.

“You have not.” She replies firmly.

“What do you mean? i have not?”

“You are just like him, unable to accept your faith, the faith that the gods have had waiting for all of us. You are afraid to die.”

As soon as Pierre tries to reply, Shae interrupts him.

“Then why have you not cut that rose down?”

Pierre slowly walks closer towards the altar upon which the rose stands.

“Do you even know what that would mean for us Shae? if you cut that rose down and we will perish!”

Shae slowly manages to climb back on her feet. “And that is exactly what we should have done long ago. We do not deserve the life taken out of greed with the tools of evil! You and your nonsense serving the gods, we have a huge depth to pay them, which can only be payed with our lives if we want our souls ever to be saved! The gods have spoken to me last night and i saw how that man killed his own daughter just to keep his rose! I saw everything even how Wladimir passed the Rose on to you! No, uncle we must destroy the rose in order to find salvation for our souls! Their message is clear!”

Out of deep instinctive behaviour Pierre now stands with its back against the altar, his arms covering its entire width.

“Your delirious, Shae, this is insane!”

Shae reaches out for his uncle and grabbed him by his tunic.

“No, THIS is insane!” She says as she raises her other hand to the sky. “Living like this is!”

“STAY AWAY!” Pierre now draws his knife.

Shae releases the tunic and relaxes.

“The curse has gotten deep in your soul uncle. You are the one thats delirious, and not from knuckle fever like me, but from rose fever. You are enchanted, you are bewitched!”

In a scream of desperation Pierre stabs the knife threw Shaes stomach and turns it 90 degrees to the right, further opening the wound before he pulls it back out. Shae falls forward on the altar, right next to the rose.

Pierre looks at the sight, his niece heavily bleeding on the altar as he comes back to his senses. What have i done?

He reaches out for his niece, turning her on her back. As he flips her over, a deadly knife becomes visible in Shaes right hand, and before he could react she stabs it right in his heart. With blood pouring from her mouth she mumbles. “Don’t worry uncle, I shall set us free, once and for all..” And then with the last strength in her body she reaches out for the rose and in a single movement she cuts thei rose from its bush before falling back down, lifelessly on the ground.

The end.