The door creaked as Leandre slowly eased it open, the thick fog seemed to spill inside the entrance the moment the door moved, filling it with a chilling, wet feeling. The young man poised on the front porch, the air felt heavier, harder to breathe with. In the distance he could hear the calling of frogs. It was loud and consistent. He pulled his dark cloak closer with his already cold hands as wind blew at his face. It almost felt like the wind was telling him to turn back and return home.
Leandre stepped off the front porch, his shoes already started sinking into the mud as he took his first steps into the mist. It didn't take long for the flickering light from the front window of his home to start disappearing from the view. The sky was already getting darker and the black clouds that gathered above didn't bode well.
Great, the last thing he needed was heavy rain.
Leandre stepped into the narrow, one-person wide path. The trampled down grass was yellow and dying as the young man moved forward. The fog thickened as he moved further from the cabin.
As night approached the noises became louder. Frogs in the distance seemed to be closer now, the wind whistled in his ears and the sound of old trees bending slightly to each stronger blow echoed in the approaching darkness.
The wind picked up, first drops of cold unpleasant rain started falling. Leandre groaned and tightened the hold on his cloak. He cursed under his breath, pulling his hood tighter against the rain.
The feeling of unease started choking him slowly but confidently. In the distance, closer to the point where trees grew closer to each other he could swear something moved. His pulse quickened, breath catching in his throat as he picked up the pace, not wanting to wait and see what creature was hiding there.
The soil grew more and more slippery as Leandre finally saw the iron gates of the cemetery slowly emerge from the fog. For a moment he felt relief to finally reach his destination, but the feeling didn't last long.
He had to be quick and quiet. Being caught sneaking through a cemetery in the middle of the night was the kind of trouble he couldn't afford.
Leandre reached out for the gate doors and noticed the heavy chain bounding the gate. It seemed that if he tried he could squeeze through the iron gates. As he pulled a loud ominous creak filled the air. He cursed under his breath as his hand immediately stilled. Even though he was alone, he felt like the noise could wake the dead.
He bit his lips and with a slow move turned to the side to fit through the gap between the iron gate doors. As he squeezed between the heavy iron doors the old rust started flaking off. The cold metal scraped against his clothes. The rusty gate made another loud noise as Leandre forced the rest of his body through.
He straightened up and brushed off the rusty fleaks from his wet cloak. At that moment Leandre realized that the sky was completely dark with clouds covering up the little moonlight there was. Finding the flower would be no easy task.
He took his first steps carefully, wet soil sliding from under his feet from the slighted pressure, making it difficult to walk. There were many gravestones. Most of them seemed to be old with moss and weeds growing over them. Under closer inspection even reading the epitaphs was almost impossible. But that was not what Leandre came here for.
Carefully he approached another grave, looking for the standing out flower with purple petals.
Oh how he wished he had an oil lantern with him, but it was a risk of being spotted. He had to do it the hard way.
Somewhere in the near distance the rusty gate creaked on the wind, making Leandre's skin shiver. With a shaky sigh he moved to another grave. This one looked like it was taken care of. Maybe a family member visits it sometimes? Or is it the doing of the gravekeeper?... Guessing by the state of the previous graves it's probably a family member coming here.
There were no weeds, no moss and obviously no Gravevine Vesper growing by this grave.
Leandre moved deeper into the cemetery. He knew the flower was somewhere here, after all, he saw it earlier this day.
His eyes slowly adapted to the lack of light, allowing him to spot outlines of the gravestones better. He realized he needed to look for… fresher graves. The flower was growing on corpses after all.
Leandre tried looking for that one specific grave, but at night this place seemed so different… larger even. The young man felt disoriented as he moved between tombstones.
In the distance Leandre could hear the sound of the iron gates creaking again. This time however, the creaking was quickly followed by a loud clattering of the heavy chain.
Leandre's heart dropped, his breath catching in his throat as his limbs froze in the spot at once.
THUD
The metal chain crashed on the ground.
Leandre's breathing quickened, the first thing coming to mind was to hide. But where to hide in a place like this?
He crouched down behind one of the gravestones. His limbs shaking slightly, one hand covering his lips. He was convinced his breathing was loud enough to hear from the other side of the graveyard.
Slowly, he slightly peaked from behind the tombstone. His eyes blinked fast and hard, trying to see better through the dark and fog. Somewhere there he caught a dark figure. It was standing there, seemingly observing the surroundings.
"WHO THE HELL IS OUT THERE?!" The gravekeeper's shout ripped through the cemetery.
"I KNOW YOU'RE OUT THERE, YOU FILTHY GRAVE ROBBER!"
Leandre eyes widened. The sound of keys jangling as the old man rushed forward between the graves, searching for the intruder.
"I'LL BREAK ALL YOUR BONES AND LEAVE YOU IN THE DIRT WHERE YOU BELONG! Crows will peck your eyes out!" spit was flying out of his mouth as he shouted. His head was swinging in all directions. His good eye observed, looking for the slightest movement like a hawk looking for its victim. The man held his shovel tightly, close to his chest, ready to weaponize it at any moment.
The wet splashing sound of approaching steps made Leandre's heart beat faster. This was the moment he had a decision to make. Stay as still as possible, maybe the gravekeeper won't notice him… or run.
His legs moved faster than his thoughts. Leandre rushed out from behind the grave. With a rush of adrenaline he ran deeper into the cemetery, the wet sound of his steps getting the attention of the gravekeeper.
"I'LL MAKE COMPOST OUT OF YOU!!!" The old man took the chase, his figure moved through the fog with surprising smoothness, as if he didn't need clear vision to follow Leandre's tracks. Looking behind his shoulder, Leandre yelped in surprise as he noticed the withered man was not so far behind. His lungs were burning as he took a sharp turn.
His leg slipped on the mud and his whole body collapsed. His front got completely covered in mud and some grass.
Just in time Leandre rolled to the side. A loud splash of mud echoed right next to his ear as the gravekeeper swung his shovel down.
"This old man's going to kill me!" Leandre's thoughts erupted as he threw himself behind another gravestone. The shovel made an impact on the stone with a loud CLANG. Small pieces crumbled, flying in all directions.
"That could have been my skull." Leandre's thoughts raced.
How did this man know someone would be out here at that hour? Does this man have no other life than the graveyard?! Leandre picked himself up, his feet sliding on the mud almost making him slip again. He sprinted into the fog, hoping to lose the maniac. This man is half blind! He shouldn't be able to find him so easily.
But even so, Leandre heard the gravekeeper spout out more curses not so far behind. He was running on pure instinct now, his heart pounded and lungs burned from the cold air. The cemetery, with its rows of decaying tombstones, felt like a labyrinth, a maze that only grew more confusing in the dark.
The voice of the enraged gravekeeper seemed to be further away now. It seemed Leandre successfully lost him between the graves. His legs burned as he finally allowed himself to crouch down, closer to the ground.
He took a deep breath, trying to even out his heartbeat. The pounding in his ears slowly died down but even then he knew it was not over yet. Slowly, almost hesitant, he peeked from behind the stone. The gravekeepers figure could be seen in the distance, looking from one direction to another in search of the intruder. The man walked between the rows of old graves, taking the wrong turn, away from Leandre.
The younger man sighed out with a shaky breath. His body relaxed slightly, sliding against the old, wet tombstone. His head turned back, looking forward. Leandre squinted his eyes and there it was, just a few meters ahead, a grave almost completely overgrown with what looked like Gravevine Vesper. Leandre squinted his eyes more, trying to sharpen his vision. The shape of the plant looked a lot like the one he saw earlier. From this distance it was hard to tell if it was really the right plant, he had to make sure, move closer and take a look before he could decide.
Again, he made sure the gravekeeper wasn't moving towards him. The old man was still searching, gripping on his shovel.
Slowly, carefully, Leandre crept forward on his hands and knees, each movement deliberate and slow. Mud spilled from between his fingers and he felt his knees sinking slightly as he moved. His breathing picked up on speed slightly, he was so close, only a few meters away from the flower.
His hand reached out to examine it. The flower's petals were a deep, bruised purple, almost black at the edges, rough and jagged like they were trying to say not to pick them up. They are thick and coarse to the touch, not the soft delicacy of a typical flower, but more like a resilient weed.
From what he learned, every part of Grapevine Vesper was poisonous, from the root to the petals. Leandre grabbed the weed at the base, his hand tightened around it as he pulled. The ground shifted as he tried pulling on it again. Slowly but successfully the plant came out all the way along with its long white roots. Carefully, Leandre secured it underneath his cloak, behind the belt.
It should be enough, it had to be. The longer he stayed here the harder it would be to get out.
Now that he had what he came here for, should he just make the run for the gates? Or rather, should he sneak there quietly, carefully not to get spotted again.
The gravekeeper was nowhere to be seen. It was suddenly so quiet, it filled Leandre with a sense of unease. He got so busy examining the flower that he lost the old man out of sight.
Leandre heard a wet slap of a shoe behind him, but it was already too late. A sickening thud filled the air as Leandre lost his breath on the impact. Cold steel came across his back, close to the back of his head. His legs almost gave out as he stumbled forward, barely catching balance.
"There you are, hiding, dirty rat~" The voice of the gravekeeper croaked from behind, dripping with malice.
It was the only thing Leandre heard before the old man swung again.
Just as the shovel was going to make an impact again, the younger man managed to stop it with his hand. It felt like the wrist bone almost gave out on the sheer force of the swing but he had it, he stopped it. With an angered roar the gravekeeper pushed forward, making them both slip on the wet soil.
Leandre fell first with the older man on top of him. Without a moment of hesitation the gravekeeper began to force the handle of his shovel against Leandre's throat. The boy choked, his eyes widening as both his hands immediately grabbed the handle from below, trying to push it up, away from his larynx. His pulse banged loudly in his ears, blocking out any other surrounding noise. The gravekeepers face above him, twisted in a horrifying almost maniacal way, shouted something. With each move of his lips, spit hit Leandre in the face. His eyes instinctively closed as he pushed against the crazy man.
With all his force, Leandre shoved the man off of himself. The gravekeeper rolled to the side but he didn't let go so easily. His wrinkled hands grabbed on the boy's cloak and started to jank him.
With a sudden surge of adrenaline, Leandre punched the man in the face. A disgusting crunch was heard the moment his fist made an impact with the man's nose. The gravekeeper groaned out loud, his hands let go of Leandre's cloak to cover up his broken nose. The man rolled to the side and Leandre wasted no time in jumping to his feet and taking the chance to escape.
He ran fast, there was no time to waste. His body moved between rows of graves, he wasn't sure if it was the right direction but he couldn't wait any longer, the gravekeeper could recover from the blow at any time.
Leandre could sigh with relief when the old gates emerged from the fog, now wide open with the chain laying on the ground.
The young man ran past the gates and didn't stop at that, he continued to move through the tall grass and mud until he was sure the graveyard was far behind. His legs trembled once he slowed down, his soaked wet cloak pulled down on his body, the mud on his face and clothes made him look unrecognizable, like a monster from the swamps.
Leandre lifted his cloak, the flower was still there, slightly damaged but mostly fine. Finally, the adrenaline wore off, leaving him tired and cold in the dark fields of tall grass and trees. The way back to the cabin wasn't a pleasant one but the worst part had already passed, leaving the young man alone with his thoughts.
What a terrible night, could it have gone any worse…? Of course, the old man could have actually killed him!
Leandre slowly massaged his wrist. It stung once he put pressure on it. Could it be that when stopping the attack he fractured it?
Moments later a faint light tore through the fog and the cabin emerged shortly after. That was all Leandre needed to feel the tension fall off his shoulders. He took a deep breath, the cold air biting into his lungs, mud squelched with every step as he approached the front porch and climbed up the steps. His dirty hand reached for the handle, leaving smudges all over it as he pushed the door. Leandre stumbled through the cabin door, each squelching step leaving clumps of wet mud on the worn wooden floor. His cloak clung to his frame like a second, soaked skin, and strands of damp hair plastered to his face.
Mira, who had been idly poking at the embers in the fireplace, turned at the noise. Her eyes widened, lips parting in shock. "Leandre?! What the hell happened to you?"
From the corner of the room, Edwin slowly looked up from a pile of handwritten notes. For a moment, he seemed frozen, his eyes sweeping over the dripping cloak and the mud-streaked face. A small, involuntary snort escaped his nose, quickly muffled as he clamped a hand over his mouth. He looked away, his shoulders beginning to shake with silent, breathless laughter. He looked over again to convenience himself it really was Leandre standing there before turning away again and wheezing out a shaky laughter.
Leandre shot him a death glare, but Edwin's wheezing only grew louder, his attempts to hold it back making it worse.
"Did you fall in a pigs pen on your way back, boy?" The man teased, his face turning a shade of red from laughing.
Rolling his eyes, Leandre crossed the room, leaving muddy patches behind. With a cold, trembling hand, he reached underneath his cloak, fingers brushing against the crushed flower. He slapped it down on the table with a wet, unpleasant thud.
Edwin leaned over the table, his eyes scanning the plant. "Did the pig try to eat it?"
"Stop teasing him, can't you see he's half dead?" Mira shot Edwin a sharp look, her hands already working to peel the soaked cloak from Leandre's shoulders. A dark puddle had begun to form beneath his chair, water dripping steadily from the hem.
Mira huffed over him, trying her best to clean his face from the mud but it only made it smear around more. She finally groaned and helped Leandre get up.
"That won't do. You are completely covered in mud. I'll boil you some water"
She helped him walk to the corridor and from there Leandre stumbled towards the bathroom. It was a small, dimly lit space. The wooden floor, worn out and darkened from years of use, was creaking low under the pressure of footsteps. A medium sized wooden bowl stood in the corner, it was deep enough to sit in but not big enough to comfortably lay down.
Leandre approached the small mirror hanging on the wall. He frowned at his reflection, the face staring back at him felt like a stranger, skin smeared with dried mud, previously golden locks now tangled and dirty and his eyes tired with dark bags underneath. He sighed and started undressing his soaked clothes. A shiver ran down his body as the soaked fabric peeled off his skin, revealing the aftermath of his exhausting night.
It wasn't long and he already spotted bruises forming on his pale skin, a few scratches here and there and the unmistakable stinging pain in his wrist made itself known to him.
Even though he had the victory over the gravekeeper it didn't mean the next task would be easier. Clearly Edwin will show him how to prepare poison out of the flower, but how effective could it really be? Is it able to kill a vampire as they say? Leandre never witnessed a human or a vampire be poisoned by Gravevine Vesper. What would it look like? Would the target just… drop dead? Or rather show symptoms beforehand?
A knock on the wooden door brought him back to reality.
"Are you decent?" Mira asked on the other side.
"Yes, only my shirt is off" He said as he helped her open the door. Mira had a bowl of hot water with her. As she stepped in she glanced over at him and her expression turned sour.
"That looks nasty…"
"You don't say… I feel worse than I look. I thought the crazy man is gonna get me at one point" Leandre groaned, he could feel each and single one of his bones as he tried to stretch his back.
"So what got you? Was it the old gravekeeper or something different?"
"You got that right… I would never expect such commitment. He thought I was a grave robber."
Mira chuckled. "I don't blame him. Probably would think the same if I saw a man break into a graveyard in the middle of night… especially since a fresh corpse was buried there not so long ago."
Leandre pinched his nose bridge. 'Right… makes more sense now that you mention it."
Mira didn't linger. Once the door closed behind her, Leandre took a deep breath and turned back to the steaming bowl. Finally being able to wash his face and hair, it felt so much better already to get all that dry mud off of his skin. Next, he cleaned his body. The bruises stung each time he put pressure on them. The biggest one was on the top of his back, close to the neck. That was where the shovel reached him. How lucky that he got away with minimal damage, though the pain will definitely linger for a while.
He eyed his filthy clothes, clumped in a wet heap on the floor. There was no way he'd put those back on. Instead, he reached for the folded, slightly too-large shirt and pair of worn trousers that was left on a nearby stool. The fabric felt coarse against his skin, but it was dry and far cleaner than what he had been wearing.
Once clothed, Leandre returned to the room. Edwin was already looking through some old books. His eyes scanned the titles before picking one with a brown cover. He placed it on the table next to the plant.
"Here. You will find everything you need to know here." Without saying anything else, Edwin left Leandre alone.
The young hunter sat by the table and pulled the book closer. It had a leather cover and now that he could take a closer look, it looked more like a journal. He flipped the first pages. The whole thing was hand written and the more he read and the more pages he flipped, he realized it was written by multiple people. The handwriting was different and the pages were more or less worn out by time. He saw some poorly drawn sketches on some pages, portraying either plants, weapons or vampire-like creatures.
This journal must have been handed down from hunter to hunter. Possibly it was Edwin's father who worked on it and maybe even his other family members had it before him. The older hunter did mention once that he belongs to a blood line of vampire hunters, though that's all he was willing to share. It seemed he wasn't very fond of speaking about his relatives.
The next page Leandre flipped got his attention back to reality. "Gravevine Vesper" he read out loud.
He squinted his eyes. The handwriting on this page was absolutely horrible. He could barely figure out what some lines said.
"This plant is very rare, found only in graveyards and church yards. Grows directly from corpses and its hard stems twine around anything nearby. The petals are eye-catching, dark purple shade. The plant produces a weirdly sweet scent, however the bugs don't seem interested in the nectar which causes the plant to eventually die without being pollinated."
Leandre took the flower and slowly brought it up to his face. With a slight hesitation he took a whiff and immediately pulled away, his nose wrinkled in disgust. The scent really was sweet, the kind of sweetness that turned the stomach—cloying, thick, almost rotting. There was something else. The scent was followed by a feeling of unease, making Leandre regret he even decided to smell it.
The young man pushed the flower aside, his attention going back to the journal.
"All parts of the plant are poisonous. Consuming any part of it will cause vomiting, foaming at the mouth and slow agonizing death. If the poison gets to the bloodstream death will occur faster. The antidote is yet unknown."
As Leandre kept reading his frown deepened to the new information he learned.
"Gravevine Vesper is effective on vampires but unlike humans it's not fatal in all cases. Stronger vampires may still survive in some cases, even be able to keep attacking. It's best to keep distance."
So… the poison is not as effective as he expected. It could greatly weaken a vampire which is still very helpful… but in case of a stronger opponent things still may not go as planned.
Flipping to the next page, Leandre found what he was looking for.
"Methods of preparation."
The young hunter carefully studied each way of making poison but only one seemed to be the best fit for the current situation. Making a paste out of the petals would be the easiest and most effective way of preparing it.
Leandre carefully separated the petals. Sweet intense scent filled his nostrils and he turned his head away, trying to escape the suffocating aroma. The rest of the plant got carefully stored away for later use while Leandre took the mortar and a pestle.
With slow but firm motion he began to grind the petals. After the petals started turning into a thick paste, Leandre added a little bit of water to dilute it as it said in the journal. From dark purple it turned into a black a little watery paste.
Leandre carefully stored the poison in a jar. With a sigh he placed it down and leaned back against the chair. His eyes closed and his shoulders slowly relaxed. The tension slowly faded and left his body exhausted. Until now the hunter didn't even realize how tired he was.