The Homunculus Knight

Chapter 19- Arts and Crafts

“The first Homunculi were stitched together corpses, crude attempts by Necromancers to create new life. A natural progression of Necromancy and its techniques involving chimeric corpses. Early successes in this art were catatonic or insane. Falling apart in a few hours as the “salvaged parts” rejected each other and the animating magic burned out. Eventually, certain amoral Alchemists became involved with these projects, and more stable creations became possible.” - Excerpt from the text “ Alchemical Abominations ” authored by Aureolus Bombastus, Master Alchemist of the Salted Citadel.

The central spire of Castle Glockmire reached dizzying heights. Its gothic mass jutted out of the main structure like a jagged lance into the heavens; surrounded by a nest of stone keeps and smaller towers which made up the rest of the Castle. Despite being the largest and most ornate of the Castle’s structures, the central spire had the least inhabitants, reserved only for the Lord and his most trusted servants.

Lord Johan Glockmire, ruler of the town bearing his name, rarely left his spire. Spending most of his nights hidden in its opulent heights. A habit that never failed to irritate Dietrich. While the importance of a good lair could never be underestimated. Dietrich found such reclusive behavior distasteful and worrying. Ancient Vampires like Lord Glockmire faced little danger from the outside world. Their magical and political power protects them from all but the most devastating threats. Yet all that power could do little to prevent them from going mad. A fact that troubled Dietrich every time he visited the Spire.

This night was no different, as Dietrich was ushered inside by a spindly-looking manservant. Sealed doors and guarded corridors were designed to close off the spire from the rest of the castle, a fortress within a fortress. This prevented Dietrich from entering without permission, but he could get permission easily enough considering his position as castellan and executioner. So that led to Dietrich climbing the grand staircase of the spire, a colossal stone structure that snaked around the inner-edge of the Spire’s outerwall. He followed behind the manservant whose practiced steps on his rickety legs betrayed decades of taking this path. He easily led Dietrich past shut doors and dark hallways as they passed by each landing.

Dietrich had visited many of the spire’s rooms, but still, many more remained a mystery to him. Though the floor they finally stopped at was not unknown to Dietrich. “The Studio,” as Lord Glockmire called it, was an entire floor of his spire dedicated to hobbies and crafts. Most Vampires picked up an art or similar distraction as a mechanism to maintain their sanity, with some of the most mechanically talented musicians and craftsmen on the continent being Vampires. Lord Glockmire followed this paradigm but with a small exception. He never stayed with a hobby for more than a decade. Dropping it once it bored him or he became content with his skill.

This is why the Studio came into being. The floor was divided into perhaps half a dozen rooms, each a workshop of different specialty and focus. There were centuries worth of clutter strewn in and around these rooms, the products and byproducts of projects that once captivated the Lord’s attention, but were never finished. Dietrich knew for a fact the servants who cleaned the Spire did little more than dust these piles of junk. They reightfully feared their Master's ire if they were to disturb something he’d “soon get back to” even if it hadn’t been touched in thirty years.

Upon entering the Studio, Dietrich was confronted with a horrible smell. It hit him like a physical blow, a wave of acrid chemicals, rot, and what he suspected was urine. Dietrich covered his face with an armored hand and felt incredibly grateful he didn’t need to breathe. The smell was worse than the Hibernaculum or even a rotting corpse. It was bad enough to make even a Vampire gag, which should be virtually impossible. Growling slightly in disgust, Dietrich turned to the servant who’d guided him here. The wiry man seemed undisturbed by the scent, and Dietrich wondered if exposure had inured him to it or simply burned out his sense of smell.

“Servant. What is the Lord's current distraction?” growled Dietrich, his mouth still covered by his gauntlet.

The manservant paused in his steps and rasped, “The Lord is experimenting with Leatherworking in all its aspects. Including tanning hides.”

‘Well, that certainly explained the smell.’ thought Dietrich as he delved into the Studio’s depths.

Dimly lit and cluttered, the Studio was also incredibly lavish in its accouterments. Plush velvet chairs, ornately carved tables, and gold-framed paintings filled the space. A ridiculous display of ostentatious wealth, especially for a private workshop. The furnishings matched the rest of the Spire and much of the larger Castle in opulence. Lord Glockmire boasted assets and connections many Dukes would be envious of, despite ruling over a small territory and being practically negligent in his duties. The source of this wealth was something Dietrich was never able to uncover.

Despite decades of investigation, the only information Dietrich gained was vague claims that Lord Glockmire earned Archduke Drakovich’s eternal favor centuries ago. Something Dietirch’s master hadn’t mentioned before assigning him to this task. In fact, Dietrich had been told remarkably little about his assignment beforehand. Instead he was forced to learn through experience and discovering many irregularities he’d reported to his superiors. Including the fact the Lord seemed to pay virtually nothing in taxes and didn’t tithe any of his Risen to the Eternal Legions. Dietrich's reports had been met with laconic responses. Which boiled down to ‘We are aware, and are not concerned. Continue your duty.’

These oddities swam through Dietrich's mind as he walked between tottering shelves, following the manservant. The lack of information itched at him like an annoying rash. Feeding the paranoia innate to his kind. Trying to force back these thoughts, Dietrich centered himself, just in time for the manservant to reach an oddly worn-looking door and knock. A clatter of movement behind the door followed by its opening revealed Lord Johan Glockmire.

Short and thin, with large ears, a short beard, and close-cropped silver hair. The Lord did not look like the classical image of Vampire nobility. The dirty robes he wore and the wild look to his eyes made him look more like a mad prophet than an ancient Child of the Night. While his appearance was deceiving, the sheer pressure of his presence could not be mistaken. Dietrich could physically feel the elder undead’s magical power push against him. Not as an attack or even challenge, but a side effect of simple potency. Age brought power to Vampires, and Johan Glockmire was a millennium old.

Looking at Dietrich, Lord Glockmire smiled a manic grin and beckoned the Scarlet Knight to come into the room. Dietrich entered, listening to the Lord speak in his thick Old Imperial accent. “Ah! Dietrich, it is good to see you. Come here, let me show you something.” Despite speaking the modern western tongue, Glockmire had never lost the clipped tone of Old Imperial. His accent was a memento of his birth tongue, a language he’d managed to outlive.

Dietrich did as instructed and entered the dimly lit workshop. Here the smell was at its worse, soaked into the room like some olfactory stain. Glockmire paid it no mind and bustled over to a central table. Atop the table was the incongruous form of a vase filled with flowers. The Lord gestured at the vase and said. “My latest creation! I know you are no man of the arts, Dietrich, but you must admire the technique required.”

Slightly confused, Dietrich approached the flowers at his Lord's command. He’d never heard of a Vampire enjoying gardening, but anything was possible. The flowers were crisp roses, unusual only in their coloration. Unlike normal Roses, these were dull brown. Looking closer, Dietrich wondered if the fumes of this room withered the plant. The texture of the petals was also wrong, with a slightly bumpy cracked look to it. Dietrich was about to ask if Lord Glockmire was enjoying horticulture when he noticed something else. The flower petals had vein marks. These weren’t roses of root and stem, but roses of flesh and bone; the flowers of the bouquet were made from leather.

Just as that realization set in, another smell caught Dietrich's attention. The smell of dried blood, human blood. One that had been smothered under the stink of tanning hides. Dietrich looked to his left, following the smell, and found its source. Hanging from the nearby wall was a flayed human corpse. Its ruined body, a mess of red, kept upright thanks to the meat hook sticking through its throat. Shocked, Dietrich took a step back from the “flowers” and turned to face the smiling Lord Glockmire.

“For a first attempt, I think it turned out rather nice! I call this work ‘Bloodborn Bloom.’ What do you think?” said the excited Vampire Lord. The eagerness of the artist discordant with the gruesome artistry.

Picking his words carefully, Dietrich said. “It is an impressive accomplishment, my Lord. I thought they were normal roses at first. But… If I may ask, why use human skin?”

Glockmire seemed to take Dietrich’s words as a compliment. An excited smile split his face as he answered. “It adds a level of gravitas that pig or cow leather could never attain. It’s a funeral bouquet made of the deceased. That's certainly striking, don’t you think?”

“It…is,” replied Dietrich, the Knight at a loss for words. “Where did you acquire the materials, my Lord?”

Glockmire gestured to the flayed body, his voice taking on a harder tone. “One of our town guards was caught asleep at his post. It was not his first offense, and he had proved himself incompetent. So a message needed to be sent to his colleagues. He and his ilk are this town's first line of defense. My subjects are better off without him.”

That surprised Dietrich. Glockmire usually never showed more than passing interest in his subjects. The gruesome act of turning a criminal into artwork was worryingly less surprising. In the fifty years Dietrich was in the Castle, the Lord's hobbies tended to be on the morbid side. Anatomical drawings, scrimshaw, and ballet were recent examples. But this latest hobby seemed to cross some sort of line, and Dietrich found himself disconcerted. Except he couldn’t exactly understand why it bothered him. The execution of a negligent servant was not unusual, and the use of their remains as the Lord saw fit was standard practice. Yet the use in something as silly art? That irked Dietrich and left him feeling unnerved.

Dietrich spoke up, hoping to steer the conversation in a more productive direction. “My Lord, on the topic of security in the town. I need to bring a matter to your attention. It pains me to say this, but a threat has slipped by my notice until now. It seems one of your vassals has taken worrying steps to gain power. They are binding dangerous Undead as thralls for an unknown purpose.”

Glockmire cocked an eyebrow and gave Dietrich a stern glare. A look packed with all the imperiousness of a great lord and the predatory focus of a Vampire. It caught Dietrich slightly off-guard. It was the type of expression he’d expect from his Master or another Duke, not the eccentric Lord Glockmire.

“Tell me, Dietrich, which of my vassals is engaged in such foolishness? It’s been decades since I’ve had a proper challenge to my authority.” asked the Lord.

Wincing slightly, Dietrich answered plainly. “I do not know yet, Lord Glockmire. They have hidden their tracks, but I am hunting them.”

No scathing rebuke or punishment came as Dietrich expected. Only clipped words. “I trust you will find answers soon? But before you resume the hunt, inform me of what you’ve learned.”

Nodding, Dietrich did as ordered. Explaining the encounter with the Rest-Bringer and his subsequent investigations. He didn’t spare any details, including those about his recent encounter at the Hibernaculum. When Dietrich finished, Lord Glockmire simply stared at his morbid bouquet, processing Dietrich's information. After a long moment of contemplation, Glockmire spoke softly.

“Have someone watch this Rest-Bringer in case he causes more trouble, and continue your investigation. You’ve done well to bring this to my attention Dietrich.” after another moment of deliberation Glockmire added. “Most of the Nobles entitled to a Knightly bodyguard are Dukes and Counts. A lowly Lord in control of a single town and its surrounding region does not merit such a privilege. So why do you think you were assigned to me Sir Dietrich??”

Dietrich had dwelled on this topic many times and never reached a reasonable conclusion. Glockmire was also incorrect about Lords never earning a knightly bodyguard. Some of the more important minor nobles had this privilege as well. Like the Marcher Lords in the northern Blood Duchies or some of the Baron's ruling port cities on the Atreidian coast. So it stood to reason Lord Glockmire was similarly important. His fortune and its source put him in the same echelon as nobles defending key regions or overseeing maritime trade.

“No, my Lord. I’ve had some ideas, but no clear answer has been given to me, nor have I found one,” answered Dietrich. Of all the Vampires in the Castle, the only one he was required to be forthright and honest with was Lord Glockmire. One of the stipulations of a Scarlet Knights' service and something that suited Dietrich just fine.

Glockmire nodded at his bodyguard's words and cupped one of the leather flowers in hand. Stroking the treated skin gently as he spoke. “Centuries ago, I dealt with a problem that threatened my liege. A threat to Archduke Drakovich’s vision and the lands he rules over. In ending that threat, I acquired an asset of considerable power. Which I have never used against the Archduke despite many opportunities to. For this act of loyalty and the subsequent centuries of consistent service I have been rewarded handsomely.”

“Archduke”. The old Imperial title for the heir to the throne. A title Duke Drakovich purposely eschewed, but one used by Vampires old enough to remember the old Empire. By using the title, a Vampire recognized Drakovich as the rightful restorer of the Empire, and pledged their absolute loyalty to him. For prideful beings like Vampires, such an act of submission and subservience is not easy. Glockmire did it without any hesitation.

Continuing his words, Glockmire said: “The problem is this asset is still a threat. If it were to leave my control or should I go mad, the consequences would be dire. So the Archduke assigns me a newly minted Scarlet Knight every century; to watch me and watch over me.”

Pondering this, Dietrich asked the obvious question. “If this asset is so powerful, what value is my presence here? If someone is capable of taking it from you, or you decide to use it, even I would fare poorly.”

Snorting slightly, an unusual sound for a creature who doesn’t need to breathe. Glockmire replied. “You, my good Knight, are the Songbird in the Shaft. Whose chirps, or lack of them, will alert the Archduke. You’re here to watch, warn, and potentially die in a heroic final stand delaying whoever is foolish enough to unleash what I keep sealed.”

Dietrich started to ask the next obvious question, but Glockmire saved him. “You also were never informed of this duty to prevent temptation. It would be easy for a steadfast knight to decide they were better suited to holding this power. Justifying usurping me through claims of greater loyalty and service.”

Part of Dietrich wanted to rise to the subtle insult in those words. But instead he ignored it and made an educated guess.

“Telling me this means you think the asset is in danger. You think the events I’ve uncovered suggest someone seeks to steal it from you.”

Glockmire’s face didn’t change, but he did grip the flower he was caressing with sudden, brutal strength. Reducing the carefully folded leather to a crumpled scrap of skin. “Exactly. This usurper is smart enough not to challenge me in the typical means. If they attempted to dominate or devour me, it would end poorly for them. I may not unleash the asset, but I’ve learned to use it in some ways. I am immune to the usual methods a Vampire would use to defeat me. And no thief can claim their prize before I am ash. Leaving an army as the best method to wrest the asset from my grip. This “Feeder” knows this and is building their strength to take what is mine.”

Glockmire dropped the ruined flower to the ground and turned back to Dietrich. “You have proven yourself competent and capable, Sir Dietrich. Do not make me reevaluate that assessment. Continue your hunt for which of my disloyal vassals seeks to dethrone me.”

Bowing deeply, Dietrich felt a strange sense of pride at Glockmire’s words. He’d never thought much of Lord Glockmire. His normally negligent attitude irritated Dietrich. But seeing this more commanding regal side to the Lord forced Dietrich to reconsider that attitude. He also was surprised by how intelligent the old monster was. Quickly deducing the presence of a threat and moving to face it. Still this new display of intelligence and will didn’t fully placate Dietrich, and he asked an impertinent question.

“My Lord, while I hunt your enemy, what will you be doing to resolve this matter?”

The question was layered with unspoken accusation and doubt. It bordered on insubordination. Asking a superior to divulge details he’d chosen to keep secret, while at the same time questioning his actions. Dietrich knew the old Vampire understood the implications, but Glockmire showed no anger, nor did he push back at his disrespectful servant. Instead, he spoke very quietly, with a hint of exhaustion to his words.

“I will be busy keeping the asset contained. We face more dangers than a simple usurper. My treasure wants to be free and will use any opportunity it can.”

Those words made Dietrich pause in momentary surprise. Whatever power Glockmire kept for himself was not a simple artifact or treasure. It could think, and act. Abilities which made it infinitely more difficult to deal with.