What do you think, Trevor?
I think I hate everything and everybody,
so I'm going to get drunk on beer
that's been brewed in an old sheep carcass,
and then I'm going to stick my tiny penis in a dead dog I found in a ditch
to make hate-babies or something
because I am actually more stupid than mud.
You are a horrible, terrible person,
and many other words for horrible and terrible,
because I know all the words, because I am smarter than everybody,
and one day I will go back to live with my flea-bitten family in a cart,
which makes me better than everyone, and you will all die in a fire.
A big one.
Oh, my God. I am losing my mind.
It's only been a month.
I think.
I think it might actually be a nice night, for once.
I hope so. Your feet get so bloody cold at night.
Don't they, though?
It's supernatural.
Like death, rubbing up and down my leg.
Even I don't want to be near them,
and they're attached to me.
Do you think we'll make the next town before we lose the last of the light?
With a bit of luck. If this doesn't take too long.
Do we need to make more noise?
No. They can hear us.
They need to hurry up. I'm hungry.
And I could use a drink.
It should start any minute now.
Let them get in close and get confident.
I know.
Here they come.
Oh, no! Night creatures!
Whatever shall I do, out here alone in the forest,
with only my brain-damaged servant who talks about nothing but beer?
I am certainly doomed.
Oh, God, not this again.
Doomed, I say.
Defenseless and frozen to my seat with fear!
Laying it on a little thick, aren't you, Sypha?
It's always easier
when we let them get in range.
Four. Yep.
Doomed.
Really are.
Poor beasties.
Easy there, boys. This will all be over in a minute.
What if I said I was sorry?
Sorry I took so long. I couldn't let the forest catch fire.
It's fine. I wasn't waiting long. Really.
That was pretty fast, though, right?
Yeah. Easy.
They weren't expecting Belnades and Belmont!
So...
I've been promoted from "brain-damaged servant," then.
Did you know that the original meaning of the word Belmont
is "brain damaged servant?"
It is not.
I am a Speaker. I know many things.
What are you doing?
Buying some insurance.
Between the wandering packs of night creatures,
and the brigands and opportunistic criminals,
and that one guy with the horse-drawn sailboat on wheels
that called himself the Pirate of the Roads...
It's best to look like useful friends when we arrive at new towns.
You're catching on.
Well, it's been quite a month.
We'd almost given up hope.
Thirty fucking days, Lenore.
We were lucky to march for eight hours a night.
I'm sorry.
Why were you marching?
You were given horses for a reason.
Well, you didn't give me immortal vampire horses of death, did you?
Eight hundred miles, and every inch of it infested with bastards.
We lost the horses to arrows and swords in the first week!
It's absolutely bloody chaos out there!
Humans fighting each other, night creatures gone mad,
even vampire packs trying to set up kingdoms.
There is literally no one between here and Braila
who I don't want to murder.
So what do you want to do first, Carmilla?
I want to get in a bath for at least a day.
And then I want you to bring a cartographer to my chambers.
I may have a plan.
Oh, yes.
Striga. Take this to a cell and lock it up.
Throw it food once a day.
What is it?
It's a whining bag of shit
that I would have happily have dropped in a ditch
at any moment over the last month.
But it is also a Forgemaster.
So keep it alive. My plan includes it.
Take this to the western cellblock. Don't kill it.
And throw some water over it.
It stinks.
If there's nothing else urgent, I suggest we get you indoors
and give you a proper welcome.
My sisters.
I've spent the last ten days of that hell march
wondering if I'd die of hunger or sheer bloody rage before I got home...
and wondering if you'd still be waiting for me.
Where's Morana?
She awaits us inside. Come on.
There you are, Morana.
It's good to see you again.
You're late.
Thirty days slogging through...
To make terrible time.
We stationed our forces within a day's ride of Braila.
Where are the horses?
Killed by insane humans with pointy sticks.
And half a dozen packs of starving night creatures.
And eaten. And every other fucking thing.
The plan couldn't have gone more wrong.
You'll be wanting a drink, then.
Virgin's blood.
Oh, bless your dead little hearts. You do still love me.
Welcome home, Carmilla.
We're all so glad to have you back with us.
The plan didn't matter a whit compared to your safety.
Welcome back to your castle and your realm.
It's us against the world, Carmilla.
Same as it always was.
Mister Saint Germain.
Just Saint Germain, please.