It is a time of upheaval and tyranny. Simon de Montfort, the Earl of Leicester, has seized the throne from Henry III in the bloody War of the Barons, taking the crown and the kings head. Simon rewards his nobles with territories and begins to cement his power.
People suspected Simon to be a monster; and it is actually true. Simon de Montfort is a vampire. A vile creature of the night and a servant of Vlad Dracul, a nobleman from Transylvania. Kingdom by kingdom, country by country the grip of the vampire is taking over the world. But as always, where there is great evil there are men and women who stand up to it.
Robin Hood has found out the truth about the Nobles. He and his band of Merry Men run cells of resistance across England and France as they attempt to rid the world of these evil monsters who live in the lap of luxury and rule all they survey. The people are afraid of these monsters in human guise but more afraid of the repercussions if they help the resistance. But the tide is slowly turning for better…or worse.
This is set in the time frame of 1260’s England with smatterings of magic and fantasy. To get a better handle on the feel of the universe you should to READ AND COMMENT on http://comicvine.gamespot.com/forums/fan-fic-8/robin-hood-vampire-hunter-754178/ as it is the inspiration. This is essentially Robin Hood Vs Dracula. Merry Men Vs Werewolves. Pitchforks Vs Fangs in a world where the nights are long.
“Why do you cower, Henry?” sneered Simon de Monfort, the Earl of Leicester and seemingly the man who was going to murder the king of England. Henry frantically looked for an exit but he was cornered in the Great of Hall of Winchester Castle.
“Because you are some kind of monster!” Henry spat, raising his sword as Simon approached pulling several arrows from his body, tossing them aside like they were pieces of annoying straw.
Simon’s canine teeth lengthened as he smiled at the king. “Is it because I was born in France and inherited my mother’s title you call me a monster? Or because I am going to rip your throat open and drink your blood?”
Simon disarmed Henry with a flick of his sword, quickly placing the point under the royal chin forcing him back to the wall. “Well?”
“May you rot in hell!” Henry cried defiantly.
“You. First!” Simon drove the sword home until it stopped against the stone. Henry shuddered as blood gushed forth. Simon de Monfort open his mouth wide and began to feast on the waterfall of red fluid. When the king was all but dry of blood, white as snow and as limp as boiled cabbage, Simon threw him to the floor, laughing.
“Long live the king!”
Young Robin of Locksley watched in complete silence from behind the royal banner as Simon picked up the crown and placed it on his head. The boy, only just fourteen, was serving as page to Henry and was told to stay put by the king as Simon’s forces ransacked the castle. Robin’s eyes burnt with hatred and rage as he watched the usurper prance about. He wanted to dart out and stab him in the back but all he was armed with was the silver decanter of wine that he was pouring when the attack happened just before the evening meal. Simon sheathed his sword and wiped his hands like he’d just finished a meal, tossing the now crimson stained cloth to the floor when he spied a small brown shoe poking out from the bottom of the banner.
“Seems there is a spying rat in our midst,” Simon mused as he threw back the banner. Robin yelled in terror and belted the nobleman across the head with the silver decanter, sending him reeling. Simon clutched his ringing temple as Robin darted out of the hall via the servant’s door, skating past two soldiers like a scalded cat.
“Milord?” they asked unsure of what had happened.
“GET HIM YOU FOOLS!”
“I never knew,” said Little John as he turned his rabbit over the fire looking intently at Robin. “That you were a page boy?”
Will Scarlet spat wine from his nose and the other Merry Men broke into peals of laughter at Robin’s tale. The leader of the band of brigands couldn’t help but smile at his second in commands jest.
“Shall I tell them why you are called Little?” Robin nudged his friend who quickly returned to his cooking. “On morrow we will, God willing, kill another Noble.”
The forest echoed with cheers and huzzahs.
“The more we kill, the higher the price on our heads, the harder we have to work to stay alive. But with every death, every unholy monster we send back to the p…”
The camp went quiet as the sound of horses became apparent. Like squirrels the Merry Men doused the fires and took to the trees. Arrows were knocked, daggers drawn and eyes peeled as the animals approached.
“As a servant of the Lord, I expect a better reception than this!” Friar Tuck declared as he entered the clearing with two mules in tow. A collective groan was let out as the Merry Men descended from the trees and the camp was restablished. Robin smiled and hugged his portly robed friend.
“Safe as Moses in the bulrushes,” Tuck replied as he handed the reins off to a young man. “Your message of rebellion is growing. The Sherriff has doubled the guard in Nottingham and there are troops on the move from London.”
“Seems we best plant some more trees to hide in then,” Robin laughed.
“I best pray for long hot days and rainy nights,” Tuck replied. “Now, I spied some ale…”
“You’ve earned it my friend.”
Robin looked around at the three dozen men who had become more than a band of rebels, but family. A family forged out of mutual tragedy, pain, blood and combat. Many had died but day after day, week after week, people from all over the kingdom came to Sherwood to join the cause. And in doing so the tide was turning against the rulers of England slowly yet surely.
Robin’s ears pricked up at a familiar shing and ducked as assassins blade sailed where his head would’ve been. The leader of the Merry Men rolled to his feet to see a young man weilding a sword.
“David of Cornwall?” Robin asked drawing his sword. “I did have my doubts about you, but Will Scarlet assured me it was just your accent. Seems Will owes me a deer.”
David looked around as the Merry Men surrounded him. Robin lowered his sword and waved for his men to hold on. “Do they have your family David?”
“Yes!” He cried swinging his sword. Robin easily evaded.
“Tintagel,” David said as he circled Robin. “On the Cornish coas…”
“I am sorry, but they’re already dead,” Robin replied as he slashed across the wrist causing David to drop the sword. Robin then stepped in and rammed the sword through the sternum, right out David’s back and brought the pair nose to nose. “As are you.”
Nicholas de Moffat sat in his carriage as it trundled its way up to Glasgow. The Bishop of Glasgow had just finished a week of talks with the King about bringing more of the north to heel. Which was a task easier dictated than done due to the clans of Scotland being uppity, unwashed and savages.
“How long do you plan on being in Scotland, milord?” John de Cheyam asked from his seat opposite in the rocky carriage.
“Enough time to tell Alexander to toe the line in bringing the north to order,” Nicholas replied as he clicked his fingers at the altar boy who sat silently beside him. “Then to Rome.”
The altar boy pulled back the robe to reveal a scarred and bloody arm, liked he’d been ravaged by dogs. Nicholas licked his lips and selected an untouched spot before biting into it as one would an apple. The boy winced as the Bishop sucked blood from his body.
To be continued...