Vampire Wakes You Up and Confronts You in the Night (Steamy Curse of Strahd) - ALL PARTS

Transcript

The first time is good, no? A stranger, a brand new body, an unfamiliar mind, who knows what they will do or say? But then it passes, they are gone, they leave eventually.

You could find another, begin again, perhaps if they were not to your taste, you will. But what if they were? When your first bite leaves such a rich sensation, does it not make the second all the sweeter? You slumber, mercenary, but you leave your dreams painfully unguarded.

You are trying to survive in this dark land with magic, monsters and nightmares, are you not? Does the fear not enter your mind at night that they might manipulate you when you are at your most vulnerable? Some might say I know that the real monsters are actually awake at day, a poetic attempt at trying to turn you humans against each other.

But here, in my Barovia, I am afraid that the poet would be wrong. Humans are flawed, yes, filled with their greed and lust for power, but the night here brings beasts that you have only heard of in dark tales. The skeleton rising from its grave or the similar corpse with still some flesh, the zombie come to seek the life it lacks and rip it from your body.

The man turned wolf under the full moon, unable to control his urges and not like the kind that beg him to drag a woman to bed. For after the miserable transformation, he only hungers for meat and blood. And of course, perhaps the most dangerous, not because of his barbaric ferocity, but of his ability to convince you he means no harm and seduce you to a dark corner before burying his fangs deep into your lifestream.

The lone vampire, though you seem to know enough about him already, don't you? You listen, you nod your head in simple compliance, yet your eyes are vacant, mercenary. Your mind is elsewhere, wandering in your dreams.

Instead of fear, a worry of the darkness and what might stalk it, I sense excitement. Your pulse increases, your eyes flitter under their closed lids, a blanket smile resting on your sleeping face. Why? Is it because you know I have returned, eager and filled with anticipation at the idea that I am here to fulfill my promise?

Is that why, then, you have been so hesitant to voice your opinion among your friends? You do still use that word for them, don't you? Are you worried that if they knew you view me in a different light than they, that if they knew I had come into your room that night and left more pleasantly than I had arrived, that if they knew they might call you a traitor?

Suddenly, a quiver, mercenary, have I struck a chord, one that was missed by my words earlier. A worry, a fear. You know exactly what I speak of.

I know that you do. I can see it, the way your mind twists and turns. I am here with you, in your dreams.

How else would I speak with you while you sleep? You have let me in, to walk among your subconscious. Your memories, dear mercenary, you should guard them better.

A sentence that you have heard before, no? Not for memories, of course, but comrades. Once, soldier, such as yourself, but you were relinquished from your duty.

Because theirs ended with violent abruptness. You should guard them better. But because you still have not learned this lesson, and your memories are as open for me to the file as a vacant cathedral, I see another reason for biting of your tongue, when my name is on the lips of the new friends you have.

They hide something, do they not? You try to fit back to our last meeting. You have noticed their covertness.

The things they hide, the little white lies they tell to cover their tracks, the darkness around those white lies. But what if, mercenary, I told you that they each held another secret? One that you have not seen.

You see, I have come to each of them, in the dark, in private, just as I came to you. I sense your hesitation, a bit in your stomach. It is upsetting, no? To believe you are unique, privileged, a treasure placed on a higher pedestal.

But do not fret so. When I say I came to them, that is the extent of it. They were not pinned to the wall, they did not blush or beg or spread the leg.

So keep your pride, precious mercenary. That encounter that we shared was for you alone. But I did come to them, and they have not spoken of it, have they? A meeting that sits with them so disturbingly, they dare not voice it.

Perhaps out of the same fear as you. To each I offered my treasures. Power, alliances, titles, land.

I am not king of an empire, but I am not without my resources. Of course, you wonder why, I know. You worry of the words they spoke, that I seek to turn you against each other.

But tell me, girl, are you even so truly banded together? There is nothing for me to tear apart. No, you must understand, I do this out of my own wish for preservation.

I do this because all of you want to fucking kill me. Even in your dreams you stutter, your brows knit, your breath hitches. You don't, you say, you say you don't, of course you do, each of you did.

On each night I have come. But you are a sellsword by trade. There have been hundreds of you, and hundreds of others, just like these companions laying about your camp before any of you were even born.

They rise, they learn, they struggle. And when they come to Barovia, they each have one of two final ends. Either they crumble and fall prey to the perils of this cursed land around us, becoming fucking pathetic pawns of their own fate.

Or they band together and try to fucking kill me. Do not speak those words, not like the others. Not like the others.

Perhaps if I had seen but twenty of your kind, I might believe the pattern can change. But mercenary, do you understand how many lives have crashed like waves upon a rock, trying to end my rule? Even in the largest battle you have fought, if every single man had one target, and that target was you, it might only give you a taste of the blood that this fucking curse has forced me to shed.

To shed. Or to lose my own life. Forever.

So you say that you do not think to fall in line. Yet the phrase has already crossed from mind to mouth with at least three of the others. All of you, you have left the village of Barovia proper, and for the first time, the first time since perhaps your title was raked, you feel moved by the tales of the people around you.

You bring with you the fucking sob story, brother and sister, reassuring them with your vows of protection. Surely that must give you a feeling of knightly purpose. Mercenary.

Then you go, you go to get your fortune read like every other traveler I watch from my castle. You treat it like some kind of souvenir that must be collected. To give in to your fate.

And of course, the only topic afterward, for any of you, is the enemy which you have been foretold will come your way. But you did give brief mention to the ally also foretold in this fortune. The greatest weapon against this creature of darkness that awaits you, which all of your compatriots assumed to be me.

Even you bobbed this fucking mug of yours in agreement. But the ally you gave pause to. A second thought when the others had moved on.

The ally. Someone from beyond. The other side, perhaps.

Not of Barovia, but of this vale. The curtain of life and of death. You were the only one who thought that perhaps I could be that ally and that somewhere else in this dark and cursed world is the true enemy.

The one who keeps me trapped, same as you. You are doubting that now, of course. But you had the thought, no? I know that you did.

That is why I have come to you tonight. You and only you this time, dear mercenary. Not your friends.

Those other bodies breathing around the campfire. Only you. The girl who thought deeper than the surface layer.

I can sense the question brewing in your mind. I keep speaking of you and of them as if I were there. Perhaps that is because I am so struggling fighter.

Why don't you wake and see for yourself? Stir from your slumber. Come and find me in the night.

I promise, I am close. I know you are curious. Curious and perhaps angry with the insults I have thrown.

Though, true as they may be. You approach, mercenary. Walk in the dead of the night.

Left your camp and come to me. You speak true. It is what I asked of you.

But to ask is one thing. To follow through on the request is another. Especially when done at the lengths such as yours.

I saw what you did. Your friend valiantly standing guard. Wondering why you rise.

I did not know it would be so soon. That you would lie for me, mercenary. The way he swayed the bags under his eyes.

It is no surprise he did not object when you offered to take over. Of course, I knew you would take your offer without hesitation. It is why I woke you when I did.

Though, I expect he will not be as grateful. If he learns that the camp was actually left unguarded. When he lay his head to rest.

For despite your words. Here you are before me. And not them as they sleep.

History is bound to repeat itself though. This is the saying correct. Do not turn to go ridden with guilt.

You knew this is what you were doing. From the moment you woke, I did as well. Still, I asked and you obeyed.

What? Does me speaking the words out loud suddenly make your blunder all the more real? Or does it simply drive the guilt like a stake to the heart? But is the guilt enough to return?