Chapter Text
In retrospect, Halsin should have known the rats were traitors.
They’re unnatural creatures, far too large and malevolent to be ordinary vermin. Whether the Lord Szarr bred them or summoned them is anyone’s guess—whichever the case, they’re fiercely loyal to him. As soon as they realized Halsin was a wildshaped rat and not one of their own number, they’d turned on him with flashing yellow fangs and outstretched claws and unholy squeaks of rage.
It wasn’t exactly the grand battle Halsin was prepared for.
In fairness, he’d known that infiltrating the Szarr palace would be dangerous. By all appearances, Szarr was an upstanding citizen: eccentric, perhaps, but only in the ways that all nobles were. He kept mostly to himself, save for the handful of lavish balls he hosted every year. He minded his property and obeyed the law and paid his taxes. He was nothing to worry about, as far as Halsin was concerned.
Tav had not felt the same.
“You know,” they had said some weeks ago, squinting up at the great bulk of the Szarr palace, “there’s something weird about that man.”
Much like a hound, Tav was merciless when they’d set upon a trail. Halsin hadn’t been privy to much of their investigation; they’d collaborated primarily with Shadowheart and Wyll, gathering centuries-old records of the Szarr household and seeking out what few testimonies they could find against the man. But they didn’t find much—certainly nothing damning—and Halsin thought perhaps that would settle them. It didn’t.
“I suppose it’s just a feeling,” they said, frustrated, as Halsin held them some weeks into their research. “It’s only that people keep disappearing. I thought it was the Bhaal cultists, before, but we put a stop to that. So it must be someone else.”
“And you think this Szarr has something to do with it?”
“I don’t know. But he’s been in this city for centuries. If anyone knows something, it will be him.”
“Have you spoken to him?”
“I’ve tried. His staff insist he’s booked out until midsummer. I hardly know what’s keeping him so busy. I mean, not to stroke my own ego, but I did kind of save the world? Surely he can spare a few minutes for me. Alas, he’s too busy planning parties, or rolling around in gold, or whatever it is he does.”
Halsin trusted Tav’s intuition as much as his own, if not more. So if they thought this was something that needed to be looked into, Halsin would do what he could to help them. He wasn’t the stealthiest of men, but he did have a few tricks up his proverbial sleeve.
“Well,” Halsin suggested, scratching his jaw, “I could go and look around.”
“You think he’d let you in?”
“I think I wouldn’t have to ask.”
Halsin wildshaped in a flash of light, shrinking to the form of a fat brown rat. He sprung onto Tav’s knee, his round pink ears twitching expectantly. This wasn’t his favorite form—far from it—but it was one he used often for covert missions. Those were few and far between, thankfully, as he tended to find them quite boring. But for Tav, what wouldn’t he do?
“Halsin,” Tav whispered, scooping him up in their palms. “You’re a fucking genius.”
So here Halsin is, some days later, bolting through the enormous hallways of the Szarr palace with a pack of screeching rats on his tail. Ah, the things he does for love. He skids around a corner, his tail pinwheeling for balance and his paws scrabbling against the cold stone below. One of the Szarr rats lunges as he tries to regain speed, and its yellow teeth sink soundly into his tail. He whirls around and rakes his claws across its muzzle, tearing through ragged whiskers and greasy fur. The rat releases him with an enraged hiss.
For a brief—and very tempting—moment Halsin considers wildshaping into a bear instead. He could swat these rats into the nearest wall with a flick of his wrist and be done with it. But a rat roaming the Szarr palace is one thing; a cave bear is quite another. Any pretense of secrecy would vanish at once if he were to be found out as a druid, and he bring Tav under far too much scrutiny. So he resigns himself to this game of chase, bolting forward once again.
“Oh, fuck!”
Halsin darts beneath the polished boots of one of the Szarr staff, tripping them. As they stumble backwards, arms flailing, their heel lands on the lead rat’s head with a satisfying crunch. Given that little bit of reprieve, Halsin leaps down the stairs with haste. He swings his head, looking for some sort of escape—an unshuttered window or a hole in the wall, perhaps. The Oak Father must be looking out for him even here, because a door some distance down the hallway suddenly swings open.
With a desperate burst of speed, Halsin throws himself between the feet of the man stepping through the door. The man shouts and kicks, but Halsin avoids the blow and plunges into room beyond. The rats behind him are not so fortunate. One hits the far wall with a thump, while another shrieks as it’s punted back towards the stairs. Only a pair of them manage to slip by unaccosted before the door slams shut again.
Halsin is swamped by sudden darkness.
Whirling around, he arches his back and puffs his fur up with a threatening hiss. His tail swats the air behind him, his teeth chattering angrily. The two rats who made it in with him stand across from him, their own fur bristling. He can barely make them out in the darkness, so complete is it. Perhaps they can’t see him, either. Perhaps that’s why their eyes dart so frantically around the room. Perhaps that’s why they tremble so fervently.
Oh, Halsin hopes that’s why.
Slowly, he swings his head around. The darkness of this room is thick, suffocating. Even his darkvision isn’t enough to pierce the deepest corners of it. It reeks of rat piss and molding hay. Halsin strains to hear any noise that might indicate a threat, but he can only make out the rapid patterings of three rodent hearts.
So why—
—why does it feel like there’s something in here with them?
Halsin backs up until his haunches hit the wall. He curls his tail around his paws, trying to catch his breath. He keeps himself still and small. Time passes in long, grating seconds. Every instinct screams danger, though Halsin cannot make out what hunts him. One of the other rats begins to move, taking ginger steps back towards the door.
In a flash of movement, it disappears.
Halsin’s heart stutters.
Across the room from him, a pair of eyes has flickered open—midnight sclera and glowing red irises with the pupils blown wide. The rat shrieks in a panic. With a horrid tearing noise it falls silent, and the scent of blood rushes through the room. The second rat scrambles backwards, its eyes bulging in fear. The hungry thing lunges after it, catching it in a thin hand. The rat thrashes and claws and bites, drawing lines of blood from its pale skin. In retribution, the thing brings its mouth to the rat’s throat and tears it out. Blood sprays its face, and it sinks its fangs in. It drinks in deep, thick swallows.
Then its eyes fix on Halsin.
Oh, Oak Father preserve me.
The thing lunges at him, hands outstretched like reaching claws. Halsin crams himself up against the wall, baring his own teeth with a frantic hiss of noise. But the thing draws up short before it reaches him, and Halsin hears the rattle of a chain. It howls in frustration, straining to reach him. It couches low to the floor, its nails scraping the stone as it tries to claw closer to him—but whatever holds it in place does so well, and Halsin heaves in a breath when he realizes he’s not about to be eaten.
The thing looks like an elf on the surface, but the pallor of its skin is utterly unnatural. Its upper canines come to a wicked point, much like those of a wild carnivore. Its eyes glow bloodred, shining in the utter darkness that surrounds them. The trousers it wears are torn, and its shirt entirely absent. Halsin can count every single one of its ribs. Fresh blood spatters its jaw and neck, coats its teeth and mats the pale curls of its hair.
A vampire, he thinks, half-hysterically. Lord Cazador Szarr has a vampire in his basement.