Count Veinglorious Bloodpuddings

From Journal of Sir Van Harker the Candycoated

21 February.

Left Sparklespire at 3:00 p.m. (upon waking), arriving at the Glimmer Kingdom early next morning; should have arrived at 8:00, but the man-carriage was an hour late. It seems there had been a small uprising which had to be quashed. How tiresome. Glimmer seems a wonderful place, from the glimpse which I got of it from the carriage, when the humans weren't stumbling, and the little I could trot through the streets, crowded as they were with magical creatures. It was difficult not to be distracted by the various goods on offer in the town just outside of the Great Creamy Castle.

But I had come here with a dark purpose; to pursue rumors originating from this area of a malignant presence. Just like before, the stories had been preceded by an unusual storm. As the fog rolled in, and dusk descended, I decided to seek shelter in a local pub “The Braying Jackass.” There, after I had settled in and ordered grenadine on the rocks from the disheveled donkey barkeep, I began gathering information from the uni‑citizens.

“The storm wasn’t natural. It was a clear day and suddenly, it was as dark as night. There was a loud booming noise, which we all assumed was the end of the world, so we ate our foals in panic and shivered in our houses.”

I put forth that what this old and graceful unicorn was describing sounded an awful lot like thunder.“Thunder? Neigh, we’ve never heard nor seen the like in these parts before. Many is the day that comes we do not even see a white fluffy in the sky.”I let him continue, hoping that my journey was not in vain.

“After the murder booms ceased, a stranger arrived in town, styling himself as The Count. Now, how he got up to the castle so quickly, not being a pegacorn, what with all the man-carriages suspended on account of the storm, is indeed a mystery. It was obvious from the beginning, he was…a little eccentric. But we buried our foalbones and moved on.”

It seemed like I might be on the right track after all.And others:

“The Count keeps to himself a lot. At first he didn’t even realize, as royalty, one is expected to attend the nightly Prance Dance! Now he attends, but eats nary a child. I heard someone finally questioned his odd refusal and he said – I don’t eat…children – The Count has such an eccentric sense of humor!”

“Out of all the empty manses ready for habitation, decorated in precious gems and covered in gold-leafed frosting, the Count chose a rundown estate where the only amenity is its cavernous underground halls. What an eccentric choice.”Said while staring into a mirror and brushing fetlocks into place

“It seems he cannot abide mirrors, which one might consider insanity among a unicorn, but it’s just one of the Count’s little eccentricities.”

“They say ladycorns have been seen going into his manor and then found drained, in fields nearby. Accidental death is common among the nobility and sudden burst arteries even more so, but the company he keeps (or rather seems to be unable to keep) could be deemed eccentric by some.”

“It took a while to notice, because the Count has an amazing way of blending into the background when he wants to, but it seems his feet never fully touch the ground. He just seems to…float everywhere. Which is quite an accomplishment for a non-pegasus, but he is loathe to bring attention to it. It’s quite an eccentric mode of transportation, but it seems to suit him.”

Each related their stories with the air of delicious gossip, their compatriots nervily whickering and rolling their eyes with the complacency of those afflicted with brain mush. I suspected the royal houses had inbred themselves into a corner. And on it continued:“He’s so gaunt when the rest of us grow oh, so pleasantly plump on childlings and sweetings.”

“He sparkles in the sunlight! Oh, but I guess all of us do that…”

All stories highlighted sufferance for the Count’s eccentricities.No one would explain what they meant by “eccentric”, so I asked the barkeep, Bizzlebazzle and he replied, “Oh. The Count is rich. Absolutely filthy with the stuff. So much of the money-having.”

Mystery solved. It appeared the Pegacorns would forgive any trespass, provided it was buttressed by enormous wealth and it appeared it did not take much to buy the graces of those present.I have noted these in my journal to further my claim should I be caught dispatching the evil that I believe had visited these gentle and naïve beings. How they could dismiss so many uni-maidens’ disappearance was baffling, but beyond my scope of duty. No one in the pub seemed to know the Count’s true name. When asked, it was if a veil dropped twixt they and I, one that scuttled any attempts at further conversation. However, I was able to ascertain the whereabouts of the demon’s lair.Up the road.But first! First I must retire to the royal libraries to seek out the devil’s weakness, for I as am yet uncertain of the ways to bring the creature down.Oh, Maremina, my love, I shall find you!

22-28 February.

I have settled myself in the dusty but largely proportioned library. It is truly a shame that our glorious Pegacorn society has no written language. I had to rely on pictures alone. Who knows what ancient civilization had come before us and built these structures, written all the books lining the walls, falling to must before the slow march of time. Even this journal is written primarily with hoof prints, in the hopes that one day someone besides myself might be able to fathom its contents. After long hours sustained only by peppermint milk and roast peasant, trying to parse meanings by lamplight, I am afraid I have come no closer to the end of my journey.

Apparently, the humans have had their own version of such a creature, illustrated in some of the thick texts I have come across. I keep seeing wood block prints of a long piece of sharpened wood, garlic flowers, silver instruments, and scattered seeds, but I do not know how these all work together. A shiver possesses me as I feel the looming of a fated doom on the very near horizon. I fear that my work here is useless and so I resolve that tomorrow I shall rescue my fair one, my wife from his demonic hooves. Even now I hold out hope that she is not dead…or worse. Tomorrow. Tomorrow I shall confront the Count.1 March. Tomorrow has become today. My destiny has come for me and I greet it with grim determination. It has been a cold, depressive kind of morning. No rain, but somehow everything is layered with a fine sheen of moisture.

I trotted over to the Count’s manor, prepared to kick down the door, only to find the entrance strangely unlocked. I entered, calling out “Hallo” before realizing I would be better served with stealth. Everything seemed still and unused – dust motes floating in the weak sunlight. Then I recalled what one patron of the The Braying Jackass had mentioned – the estate’s one grand feature was its underground halls. Of course. How could I have missed it? I descended the grand staircase leading to the basement floor and immediately came upon a parlor. Here, there was evidence at last of life. And death.

One section was surrounded completely by standing mirrors. The one thing no unicorn could resist. Especially not young females. Some have ventured to call us a vain species, but have you ever tried to resist staring at a unicorn or pegasus? Do not be so quick to judge. In the middle of the mirrors were traces of shimmering blood. Surely, this was the Count’s infallible trap. The monster.I suppressed a shudder of horror and continued, deeper and deeper, to the lowest point of the residence and was brought to a golden door. It was massive, even by Pegacorn standards and looked to weigh many tons. Again, thankfully, it was left open and I gained access with no real effort on my part. It was darker here and my eyes took some moments to adjust to the gloom when shock! Horror!

There lay my Maremina on a large feathered bed which took up most of the room and there was the Thing hovering over her, horn pressed to her throbbing neck.For another long moment, I could not speak, not even whinny. But something must have given me away, for the Count suddenly ceased his feeding and slowly lifted his head in my direction.

I found my voice.“Count Veinglorious Bloodpuddings!” I shouted, as in accusation.He let out a long sigh.

“Yes. It is I. You have finally found us, Van Harker. I tried to spare you, for I have admired your bravery and fortitude, but those things which have become your downfall, as they led you to pursue us to this very place.”

He followed my gaze to the beloved Maremina lying on the bed, in a swoon.“Oh, do not worry,” he assured “she is yet alive and will not turn. But as I had sensed your nearness, I decided to be done with her tonight. She has become a liability. It is a shame. She is so lovely. Most Pegacorns these days are vile, selfish, fat creatures who taste of saccharine meats, but Maremina – her taste is of lovely unfiltered cane sugar.” He floated slightly closer to me and I reared in revulsion.

“So. You have come to kill me, Harker, and take your bride, though I would make her mine. How exactly do you plan on accomplishing this task? I am weary and no doubt easier to kill than centuries ago when I was newly turned. But I cannot simply lie down and let you stab a silver dagger in my heart.”

I responded with the force of true love’s conviction. “I could not find a way to defeat you in any book or tale, so I thought to beat you to death with my hooves.”

He considered this, turning his dark velvet head back and forth. “I do not know if that would work. It might, I suppose. At the very least it sounds quite unpleasant. But I have a proposition for you.”

Foam flew from my mouth “You think to bargain with me, devil? What could you possibly offer besides the love of my good wife, whom I plan to take home after I finally end your unnatural wickedness?”

Count Bloodpuddings shook his mane in frustration and for the first time I saw traces of the terrifying beast lurking just beneath the unicorn’s hide. “Be silent!”

He calmed and his voice fell back into his precise apathetic accent. “You’ve perhaps heard I have money.”

I scoffed.

“I could give you some of that money. Enough to buy yourself an estate and a title. You would never want for anything in your lifetime or even your grandchildren’s lifetimes. In return, you leave Maremina to me and my desires and never seek me out again.”

“How could you think I would ever agree to such a deal? I would be trading my great love away for nothing more than idle treasures. I would surely lose my soul in such a transaction!”

“When I say I would give you money, I mean a LOT of money.”

I began another protest, but he cut it off.

“A LOT of money.”

I hesitated.

Maremina stirred and softly whimpered “Husband?”

“How much…is a lot?”

“Like, a lot a lot.” His cape suddenly fluttered behind him, as if moved by the ghosts of the many he had slain in this dark and rotting place, reaching out for deliverance.

“I would have it delivered to your accounts by day’s end.”

I turned my gaze from Maremina and slowly backed through the golden door. “My, what an…eccentric offer.”

He smiled, horn glinting with blood in the candlelight.

“Excellent.”

Editor’s note: This is the last entry of Sir Van Harker. From here, he disappears into the mists of history (colloquially referred to as the Hist Mists). However, within the same year, a Marquis rose to some prominence seemingly from nowhere. His name? The Marquis Han Varker.