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Orensland didn’t sleep all that well that night, worried that Lady Drakh might make her move during the night and catch even the party unawares. But his fears were unfounded, even if it they made his sleep restless. He awoke early and took breakfast, then exited to head over to the main mansion. Two of Captain Gendry’s guards were stationed at the front entrance, but they let him in.
Inside one of the maids escorted him to a waiting room, where he sat and fidgeted until she returned. She brought him to another room where he joined with several of the Maramos coven vampires, including Lord and Lady Maramos. “When the time comes to enter the meeting proper,” the maid said, “head to your right. Your place will be about the middle of the table. You will see your name there on a placard.”
“You have earned your place at this meeting, Orensland,” Lady Maramos said, looking up from where she and her husband were conferring. Lord Maramos was dressed in his fine leather armor, more, Orensland thought, for decoration than practicality. Still, the shadowdancer was disappointed. While he would have found it odd to be the only one wearing armor, it did mean others would be prepared to fight, which would make it all the more dangerous.
“Thank you for inviting me, my lady,” the shadowdancer replied, bowing slightly. He then moved to what he hoped was the back of the room to try to be surreptitious. Nobody paid him that much mind. He was fine with that.
Then one of the double doors opened slightly, and Master Greymantle entered. “My lords and ladies, and master Orensland, we are ready when you are.”
“Let us begin,” Lord Maramos said. Greymantle nodded and exited. After just a few seconds, the double doors swung open and they walked into the main dining room. Orensland found his place at the table with no trouble and noticed that he was virtually in the middle of the two parties. The cult leadership had been escorted in simultaneously with the vampires.
“Please, sit,” Lady Maramos indicated to their guests. The three of them did so, the black dragon disciple at the head of the table, the cleric to his right, Gulnith to his left. Two of the dragon-men took a guard station next to their double doors, and Orensland noted that Captain Gendry and another of the Maramos guards took up place behind Lord Maramos. Lord Maramos sat at the other head of the table, Lady Maramos to his right, one of his sons to his left, and next to his son, Lady Isabelle.
“Allow me to do the introductions,” Lord Maramos said. “You’ve already met my daughter, Lady Isabelle, and my son, Lord Pieran. They have prepared much of our house for the forthcoming move. Our other children will be joining us for that, but are not here for the meeting. May I also present Orensland, one of the mercenaries we hired to help escort my wife through the Deadlands. He is a member of your organization, and took this job to further himself in it.”
Orensland felt like his tongue had grown several sizes, to have all four vampires, the three cult leaders, two dragon-men guards, and two vampire coven guards, all turn and look at him.
“Ah, yes, that is right. I believe in the cause greatly, but have had little contact with others aside from Irina Heppler in Laishtek. I send her a tithe of my earnings for the cause. She was the one that initially recruited me. When I learned of the connection between this job and the Cult,” he paused, “can I call it that?”
The cleric nodded, still hidden behind all of his? her? armor.
Orensland swallowed. “Well, when I learned of the connection, I thought it might be a better way to help the cause than just sending money. I think I turned out to be correct.”
“After my manservant was slain in an unfortunate incident, Orensland served as my source of food for several months,” Lady Maramos said. “His help was invaluable, and I feel to commend him for you for his dedication to your cause. It was above and beyond the conditions of the mercenary contract he had already agreed to.”
Orensland pulled his collar down to reveal the vampire fang marks on his neck. It was apparent by now, according to Khaska, that the scars would never completely go away.
“You have served the cause well, Orensland,” the black dragon disciple spoke. His voice was deep, with unusual harmonics. “I am Rickas Yrthraz, the Supreme Wyrmhead of the Cult of Skyrnyn. That means I am your master.”
Orensland bowed his head in what he hoped was the appropriate gesture of respect, and opted for using his title. “Supreme Wyrmhead.”
“When we are done with our negotiations and reports here, Gulnith,” he indicated towards her with a clawed hand, “will speak with you. For now, be silent and listen. If you speak of anything you hear here to anybody outside of those in this room, I will personally melt the flesh off of your bones, but only after you have begged me for days to end your torment.”
Orensland swallowed, and nodded.
This Mr. Yrthraz was not, he gathered, a pleasant fellow.
He listened to them talk about the work the coven had performed for the Cult. Having looked through the ledger, he was already aware of most of it. Lady Maramos did a decent job of remembering details despite not having access to the ledger. Lord Maramos did have some more recent reports from the living side, and between her memory and the reports had more or less reconstructed the basics of their work.
Most of it was similar to the arrangements the party had broken up in Hammerdine. Vampires enthralled certain key figures to allow smuggling of contraband and slaves and supplies more easily. Orensland didn’t learn much more than he already knew from the ledger from the first hour of the meeting.
Rickas turned to Gulnith. “Are you satisfied?”
“I am, Supreme Wyrmhead.” Orensland was very happy to hear her use that honorific in addressing him. It meant he had done the correct thing. “With their help and the goods we have acquired, we will be able to feed our slaves and armies until well after the Dark Times. The Citadel will remain secure. They have kept their part of the bargain.”
“Then we will honor our agreement,” the Supreme Wyrmhead said. “We have room on our skyship for all of your coven that is here, and will help secure the others who are still on the living side to join us now that their work is complete.”
There was a grunt of dismay from the cleric of Tiamat. Yrthraz glared at the armored figure.
“You have something to add, Hierophant Narvoth?”
“I must once again voice my displeasure at allowing further unbelievers to join us in the Citadel.” A man, then.
Yrthraz sighed. “Your objections have been noted time and again, but I am the Supreme Wyrmhead, and you will obey. You know that these vampires will add to our defenses as the drow have, and their centuries of experience among the machinations of the great houses here in Darkcrest will serve well as we prepare for the Dark Times and the Dedication thereafter.”
The hierophant folded his arms and said nothing.
Come to think of it, Orensland thought, that sentence was the only thing he’d spoken the entire meeting. Gulnith and the Supreme Wyrmhead had done most of the talking, Gulnith the one keeping track of most of the details, and Yrthraz asking clarifying questions here or there.
“Forgive my associate,” Yrthraz was saying. “He has a vision of our organization that is of a more, shall we say, pure than I and the other leadership deem necessary. He yearns for all to worship the goddess Tiamat. His zealousness is simultaneously his greatest strength and his most glaring weakness.” Yrthraz glanced around the room. “Are you prepared to leave?”
“We have made preparations, per your instructions. Our coffins are ready for transport, we have each selected a single servant to accompany us, and have much of our wealth and riches stowed in appropriate magical containers. We can leave as soon as it is all loaded on your ship.”
“Then let us begin loading your things, and we will take you to the Citadel in the Marshes. There you will be safe through the Dark Times, and, I daresay, in a privileged position of power for what will come afterwards.”
“And what is that?” asked Lord Maramos.
“Something we will discuss at the Citadel at a later date. Right now you are concerned with making it through the Dark Times. You approached us, entered into this agreement with us, and are now the beneficiaries of that arrangement. You may join us in our stronghold.”
Just then there was a faint sound, almost like a fizzling. Everybody paused, looking around for its source. Only Gulnith and Orensland, however, noticed the small wisps of smoke coming from under the table.
“It’s coming from the table!” Gulnith shouted, jumping up so quickly her chair fell over backwards with a clatter.
The center of the table began to burn in a particular pattern, a ring with runes and writing strewn about it. This only lasted a moment before the table exploded in fire, sending splinters all across the room, the center virtually vanishing, the two halves falling to the ground, smoke billowing out and filling the room. Orensland was a bit singed, being so close to the center, but didn’t appear to have been injured aside from his eyebrows being singed. He knew that Lady Drakh was about to make her move, but was caught off guard by what happened next.
The arcane circle that had first begun appearing in the table was … still there, hovering in the air, lines drawn with luminescent power, glowing purple, throwing small shadows. It flared and a small burst of purple light flashed just above shattered remains of the table. A winged horror appeared in the light, the arcane magic coalescing into a hideous creature, seemingly a humanoid vulture, but with wicked looking claws and a beak ready to rend flesh. Simultaneously, with a pfft! sound, three more creatures appeared, long and gaunt forms, shrieking and laughing and screaming in a language Orensland didn’t recognize.
Out of the smoke and ash of the partially disintegrated table Lady Drakh appeared, coalescing from her mist form directly in front of Lady Maramos, her sword swinging down and slicing through Lady Maramos’ shoulder, driving the vampire sorceress to her knees. Lord Maramos roared in fury, drawing his longsword, but Lady Drakh just licked her lips at him.
Orensland just had time to draw his sword before pandemonium completely broke out.
Rynn was watching the courtyard from his perch up on the wall of the complex, just sitting with his hood up and observing things. He had sat here a lot during the past few weeks, bored and feeling out of his element in the city. Aside from changes of the guard of the weird dragon-men, nothing had really happened on the ship. He wanted to be close to the Adder Invictus when the fighting broke out. The ranger had designs on burning the ship down and trying to steal some of the skyship crystals before making their exit, whether by stealing the gnomes’ ship back or taking the voidgate route. He liked the parallel justice of stealing their crystals when they had stolen crystals from Captain Botspringer all those months ago.
Orensland had disappeared into the main mansion over an hour ago. Rynn found himself anxious. He hoped Lady Drakh made her move sooner, rather than later. He glanced down to where Ranna was sitting on the ground, down below where he had clambered up.
“I hope it’s soon,” he said. Khaska and Sanjin were waiting in his room, the only one of theirs that overlooked the courtyard. They were ready with spells and preparations for when the fighting started. He glanced up at the window, but the Maha’i and the elf were safely hidden behind the curtains. He was sure they were watching, but they had done a good job of concealing themselves.
A few pfft! sounds brought his attention back to the courtyard, and the ranger smiled. Several creatures had teleported into the area, quickly closing with the dragon-men guards, who drew their swords. One of the dragon-men spat a line of acid, coating two of the creatures in it, and their howls made the ranger’s skin crawl.
But he was already in motion. He drew one of the arrows from his quiver, one he had tied a vial of alchemist’s fire to, aimed at the ship, and fired. The arrow struck the middle of the deck near the main mast, and fire spread across the wood planks. The ranger smiled, and then followed up with two more shots in rapid succession.
“Come on, girl!” Rynn said, and Ranna lept to her feet to follow her master as he dropped to the ground. He moved towards the entrance of Master Greymantle’s guest house, hoping his friends had seen the action start. There was enough shouting and now combat as the dragon men engaged these newcomers … demons, he suspected. A vampire was fighting the two guards stationed at the main entrance to the compound, making quick work of the two of them with his spiked mace.
As Rynn got to the front of the guest house, the door opened. Khaska and Sanjin stood there, several of the servants standing behind them.
“If you leave this place, the vampires attacking can get to you,” one of the maids was saying. “But they have not been invited in here, so here you are safe.”
Rynn glanced back to assess the battle. The guards of the skyship seemed to be holding their own—though two of the ones from the ship were trying to put the flames out, along with the crew. For now, they seemed to be losing that battle.
There was a shout from above them, and the ranger glanced up to see a small figure atop the guest house chanting in an arcane language. Ice and snow erupted in a cylinder around the skyship, centered on where the dragon-men were coming down to join their friends. The spell cut into them, bludgeoning them with hail and slashing them with ice. Rynn looked once more up at the figure and felt his blood run cold.
It was Greydale, the gnome wizard. Lady Drakh had apparently turned him, and now he had joined the attack.
“Killing him is a priority,” Sanjin whispered. “He knows about the voidgates.” He began chanting arcane words and launched a Lightning Bolt that slammed into the gnomish vampire.
Rynn turned to the ship. One of the more finely dressed gnomes, he guessed it was the captain, had come above deck and was shouting orders. It appeared that his leadership might turn the tide of the fight against the fire. Couldn’t have that.
Rynn fired two shots at the dimunitive figure, and they both landed true. The gnome crumpled to the deck. Rynn aimed at another gnome, and dropped him. Then another, who also went down.
Sanjin gave a low whistle. “You’re in rare form today.”
“I just really hate that ship.” Down went another skyship sailor.
Khaska had stepped a few feet away from the building to better see Greydale. The cleric agreed with Sanjin—the newly-turned vampire was a priority. Khaska was holding his hand up and with a prayer, launched a Searing Light spell at the gnome, who glared down at him, red eyes flashing.
Unfortunately for him, they didn’t flash red for long. The spell tore into the vampire’s body, burning it away. With a shriek, he vanished in a puff of smoke that wafted away, moving from the top of the building and out over the wall.
Sanjin gave a low whistle. “You’re in rare form, too, my clerical friend.” The wizard flashed his fingers. “I’d best get to carrying my weight around here,” and then began to cast his offensive spells.
Orensland assessed the situation quickly. It appeared that nobody was really focused on him, which he was grateful for. He felt a little silly, trapping himself in a room with such heavy hitters.
But, he reasoned, all the better for earning the trust of everybody but Lady Drakh anyway. She was the ringleader … it was time to get her! He activated the flame spell on his blade and leapt forward, trying to ignore the unearthly shrieks coming from the demons on the other side of the room. All of them had moved towards the Cult leadership.
“Kill Lady Drakh so she can't summon more demons!” Orensland yelled.
But she didn’t seem to be acting like she would. He and Lord Pieran closed with her as she and Lord Maramos began a furious duel. Though he was not armored as she was, Lord Maramos was more than able to hold his own. However, his wife, curled in pain around the wound to her side.
“I’m not healing!” She screamed. “She’s poisoned me somehow!” Orensland glanced over to, indeed, see Lady Maramos’ veins turning black, slowly moving from the wound she had received.
That must be her plan, Orensland surmised. Kill the power couple of Lord and Lady Maramos. Then … more vampires could enter the house! He shouted his idea.
“Supreme Wyrmhead, this mansion will be swarming with enemy vampires if the Maramos house falls!”
“You dare command me!” he heard Rickas yell. That might have been a mistake.
Just then Lady Drakh landed a blow on Lord Maramos. He shuddered, throwing her off as Orensland stabbed her in the back, Lord Pieran also landing a blow. But Lady Drakh swung around, causing them both to step back for a moment and she slammed her hand into her chest and Orensland watched as magic, a dark, twisted parady of the light from Khaska’s divine magic, wrapped around her body. She healed, laughed, and then winced as a blast from Lady Isabelle scorched her face, causing her to flinch as Captain Gendry landed a blow on her leg.
But Lady Drakh just smiled, and lunged forward, smashing her jagged sword twice into Lady Isabelle. Sure enough. Just like her vampire parents, Lady Isabelle’s skin began to grow dark around the wounds.
“Well,” Lady Drakh said, “That’s about all the poison I could create. Should be enough!” Her gloating caused her to miss another strike from Orensland, even as Lord Maramos again closed ranks. “Now you can’t heal! You’ll slowly die and then we’ll finish you off in your crypt!”
She turned around to see how combat had gone on the other side of the room.
The Supreme Wyrmhead was down on the ground, his head torn off. (At least he wouldn’t get after Orensland for his “temerity,” the shadowdancer thought.) One of the babau was dead, frost coating his corpse from a spell. Another looked incredibly wounded, black ichor staining the floor around him from copius wounds. Gulnith looked about ready to fall over.
“Heal me!” she begged the Hierophant.
“I will heal you if you are not dead after the combat is complete,” Narvoth practically spat at her. “Our master brokers no weakness!”
With that, he waded into the combat, his mace smashing into the winged demon, which, Orensland noted, seemed to be moving slow. Some spell affecting it?
Then Lady Drakh moved to attack again, and he was drawn back into his fight. Her combat skills were amazing, holding her own against Orensland, Lord and Lady Maramos, Lord Pieran, Lady Isabelle, and Captain Gendry and his associate. But she had been wounded much. Her healing had helped a lot, but could she keep it up?
As she laughed, he felt a chill go up his spine. Perhaps she didn’t even care.
The dragon-men guards and the Maramos guards all focused on the demons, who were methodically shredding the dragon-men, their unearthly shrieks and cries rending the air and making the hair on Khaska’s neck stand up. But the dragonmen seemed ineffective, and arrows from the guards flew wide or bounced off the demon’s skin.
There was a whirlwind of melee fighting directly at the ship, and Khaska smiled. Perhaps he could kill two birds with one stone (and he was proud that he think he correctly remembered that idiom). With another prayer to Teresh, he smashed a Flame Strike spell in such a way that it caught a number of the combatants as well as part of the ship.
Unfortunately, the dragon-men were so focused on the demons that the spell completely engulfed several of them, and they dropped dead, charred husks stuck in their heated plate armor.
“I thought we wanted to let them thin each other out?” Rynn said.
“I didn’t think it would do that much damage to them,” Khaska replied, marching forward with Sanjin. Rynn shrugged, and took out two more of the skyship crew. The ship was severely on fire now, and the remainder of the crew bolted, jumping over the side and running away.
However, Khaska’s magic had attracted attention. The vampire wearing plate armor raised his hand and a blast of Searing Light lanced out, coating the Maha’i in its radiance, singing and burning the cleric. He was not undead, so the spell was not as effective as his had been, but it hurt him nonetheless. The vampire up on the wall fired arrows at him as well, but one flew wide and he blocked another with his shield.
Sanjin blasted the vampire with the mace with another Lightning Bolt, and the man took it full on. His face contorted in a rictus of hatred and pain, but then he dissolved into mist and floated away. It was not like Greydale, this vampire was still in the fight, but biding his time.
The 3 dragon-men on the ship jumped off and joined the melee, despite the fact that they were wearing no armor. They were brave, at least, Rynn noted. The demons tore one of them apart in seconds, however. There were only three of the dragon-men guards left, two unarmored.
Sanjin was close enough now to bathe the three demons in a casting of Burning Hands, but the flames seemed to lick around their skin, and the demons chuckled at him. They had taken very little damage from the spell.
Khaska held his holy symbol up and practicaly shouted a command at one of the demons in celestial. “Begone, fiend!”
The creature shrieked and began clawing at the air, as if trying to attack something, but then it moment it vanished, fading back to wherever hell plane it had come from. Arrows from the guards lanced into another, and it was looking pretty haggard.
Just then a shout came from the door to the courtyard, and the Bringers arrived. The party was relieved—with three clerics and a fighter in the mix, things were about to get much better. Then a crossbow bolt lanced towards the ranger vampire, who was still atop the wall shooting (mostly ineffectively, though she had hit once) at Khaska.
It was Greygook. “For my brother!” he shouted.
Rynn decided that the vampire firing shots at Khaska was his next priority. The demons seemed resistant to fire, and since his bow did magic fire damage. He turned and sent two arrows at her, both of which landed true.
“More intruders!” the Maramos guards shouted.
“No, they’re on our side,” Khaska shouted. He pointed at the entering Bringers, who he was grateful were not dressed in the attire of their order, a dead giveaway. “Attack the demons!” He shouted at them. And the Bringers charged towards the melee fighting, one firing a crossbow as he went.
By the inferno of the Adder Invictus the dragon-men and the demons were still locked in combat, but the arrival of the Bringers turned the tide. With the added help, Khaska also joining the fray, the demons lasted only seconds longer.
The vampire firing shots off looked annoyed that Khaska was so difficult to hit, so turned her attention to Rynn. Her first shot hit him square in the chest, while her second glanced off his leg. The ranger stumbled down under the loss of blood, his vision swimming from the first hit.
But with melee combat in the center paused, Khaska, Bringers, and dragon-men all wary, but not attacking each other, the Maramos house guards turned their attention to the vampire archer. Several shots hit her.
She moved, looking like she’d be exercising her “discretion is the better part of valor” tactic and jumping off the courtyard wall, but Rynn was having none of that. He cleared his vision with a quick shake of his head, nocked an arrow, and released it. It landed right in her skull and exploded.
She assumed her mist form, and began wafting away.
Khaska looked from the Bringers and Greygook, to the dragon-men, to the guards. It appeared his bluff had worked. Nobody of the survivors thought anybody else the enemy. (With the exception of that plate-wearing vampire who had vanished into the smoke of the burning ship.)
The remaining dragon-man still in his full armor began speaking to the other two.
“They want to go find their leadership and report on what happened here,” Sanjin said, translating from the draconic.
“What are your orders, Master Khaska,” asked one of the Bringers.
Orensland continued to press his attack, but Lady Drakh was too well armored. Though she was not wearing a shield, she must have additional magical protection. Even Lord Maramos, whose sword moved so quick it was barely visible, seemed to have trouble penetrating her defenses.
But even armor couldn’t stop Lady Maramos’ Lightning Bolt spell, which blazed into the blackguard vampire with a thunderclap, small sparks of electricity arcing off Lady Drakh’s plate armor.
Orensland felt a cold blast on his back and ducked away, but he could see that Gulnith was channeling some kind of ice spell, but it was smashing into the demons as well as the Cult guards, and Narvoth!
The cleric of Tiamat didn’t seem to mind. “That’s the spirit!” Narvoth roared with pleasure. “Take the initiative! Attack without mercy! Even your allies deserve no mercy!”
“What an idiot,” Lady Drakh laughed. “These are your allies?” Then she smiled. “Well, I came here to do what I wanted to do. Have fun slowly dying. See you in your crypts soon!”
With that, she shoved Captain Gendry aside and sprinted towards the window, jumping through it. Lord Maramos was at it in a flash, but Orensland could tell he was looking for her. She must have flown away in mist form or something. Annoying ability.
On the other side of the room the dragon-men and Narvoth had carved through the babau demons, but the slow-moving Vrock still remained. Making a split-second decision, Orensland sprinted across the room and lunged forward, stabbing the creature in the back.
His sword sliched right through the creature’s head, emerging from its mouth. It collapsed, and he withdrew his sword.
“A good blow,” Narvoth said. “And your tactics were sound to help the vampires first. But come, with Yrthraz dead, I will be the new Supreme Wyrhmead to serve our dark master.” He reached a hand out and divine magic healed Gulnith some. “We will gather our things and leave. I have no interest in continuing the deal with these unbelievers. Leave them to their fate. Come, Gulnith. Come, Orensland.”
“Orensland,” Lord Maramos gasped. The veins in his neck were slowly turning gray, the poison spreading up from his wounds. “At least help Captain Gendry sound the alarm and gather our troops before you go. Escort us to our chambers.”
Lady Maramos seemed to be dealing better with the poison, though with her skin-tight sleeveless dress it was obvious the poison was spreading as well.
“Mother,” Lady Isabelle called. Her skin continued to blacken, the poison having affected her in a greater fashion than her more powerful sires, and the vampire collapsed to her knees in pain. “I can’t … stop … it.” Lady Isabelle succumbed to the poison, her body convulsing on the floor as she slowly dissolved into her mist form.
“Captain Gendry,” Lord Maramos said. “Follow her. Get her to her chambers safely. Orensland, we have bags of gold and gems ready for our departure with the Cult. Ask anything you want, it’s yours, but help get us to our chambers.”
“Come Orensland,” said Narvoth. “Leave these weaklings to their fate. Tiamat does not smile on them today.”
Orensland glanced from the Maramos couple to Narvoth and back.
“Supreme Wyrmhead,” he said, cautiously. Gulnith sucked her breath in. Apparently she disagreed that he would be the new leader—or at least that he was the leader already. “I will gladly join you, but as you are going to retrieve your things, may I go retrieve mine?”
Narvoth nodded. “We will get our things and depart shortly. If you’re not on the ship, you will be left behind. Come, Gulnith.”
Orensland left the way he had come, and he looked at Lord Maramos, whose face was in a rictus of agony as the poison slowly spread. “I will sound the alarm as I go, my Lord.”
Lord Maramos nodded as Captain Gendry and Lord Pieran grabbed him under the shoulders to help him move off.
“To the crypt,” he said, “not our personal chambers.”
“Yes, my Lord,” Captain Gendry said.
Orensland ran. He grabbed his backpack where he had stashed it nearby and took off at a dead run. He was true to his word, though, and alerted guards and servants as he went that Lady Drakh had attacked the meeting. The mansion became a whirlwind of activity as the Maramos servants and milita began scurrying about in response to this information.
He rounded a corner to head down the flight of stairs and almost bowled into a group of dragon-men over. Sanjin was with them.
“Orensland!” the wizard cried out. “What’s happened?”
“Lady Drakh attacked the meeting with a bunch of demons. She poisoned Lord and Lady Maramos and the demons killed the Supreme Wyrmhead.” Sanjin looked at him blankly. “The black dragon disciple.” He looked at the three dragon-men, one wearing armor, the other two not, and all showing signs of combat. “You also get attacked?”
Sanjin nodded. “Demons and vampires as well. We’ve fough them off, but the ship is on fire. It’s not salvageable.”
“I doubt the other cult leaders will be happy with that.” (But Rynn was probably pleased as could be.) “I’m to meet them on the ship.”
“That’s going to be very difficult, since it’s burning down.”
“The courtyard, then. I’ll await the cult leadership there. Then we’ll all decide what to do.”
“Mercenaries that we made friends with,” Khaska said. “When the attack began, I was able to magically alert them. They came to help.”
“Well, I’m glad they came,” the guard was saying. “Saved the lot of us.” He turned to the Bringers and gave a nod of thanks.
“You recognized the vampires that attacked?” Khaska asked.
“Not that one up there,” he indicated the top of Master Greymantle’s guest house. Greydale. “But the other two are from the House of Lancel.”
Khaska pulled out his Hat of Disguise. “Well, I helped repulse the attack, but I’d rather not be recognized if we decide to leave and retaliate.” He put it on, and changed his appearance to a rather average looking human, just as the doors to the mansion burst open. Orensland and Sanjin came running down, and the shadowdancer hurriedly gave his report.
“If the poison works on Lord and Lady Maramos like it did Lady Isabelle,” Khaska surmised, “they will need to return to their coffins or graveyards. I imagine after resting for an hour or so the poison would wear off and they could heal quickly back to full health.”
It wasn’t long before Captain Gendry came out, motioning for the guards to come. He conferred with them hurriedly, sending them all back into the mansion, and then approached the group.
“We have reason to believe that Lady Drakh isn’t finished with her attack. Will you aid us in defending the crypt until our Lord and Lady are hale enough to continue the fight?” He tossed a bag at Sanjin’s feet, he being the closest party member. Sanjin looked in it. It was a bag of holding … and it was filled to the brim with jewels and platinum. He gave a low whistle.
Orensland sidled up to the Captain and whispered. “Did your master and mistress succumb to the poison, as Lady Isabelle?”
Captain Gendry hesitated, but then nodded. “They think after an hour’s rest they will begin to heal as normal. I expect Lady Drakh to attack in the next hour, then.”
But then Narvoth emerged from the mansion’s doors, accompanied by Gulnith and the five remaining dragon-men. The cleric still had his mask on, so his expression wasn’t visible, but he paused for a long moment before descending the stairs, staring at the burning skeleton of the Adder Invictus.
Rynn surreptitiously moved to the back of the group, trying to keep as many people between himself and Gulnith as possible. She was burned and bleeding quite a bit, but he knew how powerful of a magic-user she was. It wouldn’t do for her to recognize him. Luckily, she was distracted by the sight of the flaming skyship and by Narvoth’s walking right up to Orensland.
“Orensland, do you know of any other skyships in the city that we may commandeer to return to the Citadel?”
Orensland blanched, but covered his surprise quickly.
“No, Supreme Wyrmhead.” Gulnith glared at him again for his use of the term, but Narvoth appeared to not notice his deception about the gnomish skyship. “But, um, sir, may I propose a possible course of action?”
Orensland could practically feel the sweat dripping down his back as he waited for an answer. Then Narvoth nodded at him. He tried not to let his relief show as he spoke.
“It is clear that Lady Drakh, the vampire blackguard in the dining room, has challenged the Cult by direct assault on the Cult's leaders and their skyship. It appears to me that her intention is to destroy the leadership of the Cult as well as the House of Maramos. While the Maramos household is likely bound to fall, we yet have strength, and Lady Drakh may have left her own estate vulnerable in her mad efforts to end all in this household. If it be your will, we could strike at the foolishly exposed heart of the enemy and eliminate her household for her presumptive provocation if nothing else.”
Narvoth stood very still for a moment.
“Your plan has some merit. With no skyship, we must wait until tomorrow for me to prepare new spells for us to magically transport to the Citadel. It would be unwise to leave our enemies to return. And an example must be made.” He gripped his mace tightly, and his voice deepened. “Woe betide the vampires who dared strike at us! Do you know the way, Orensland?” The shadowdancer nodded. “Will your friends aid us? We have means to pay them,” he kicked at the bag of holding, “much like the vampires do.”
“If I ask them, they will go,” Orensland said. He was pretty sure that was true.
“Then ask them, and lead on,” was Narvoth’s response.
“Do you really expect me to come assault another vampire house with you with no more healing than what you have given me?” Gulnith hissed. “I survived the combat in the Maramos’ dining room.”
“Do not presume to command your head,” he snapped back at her.
“Heal me, or I’ll stay here and take my chances if this Lady Drakh returns.”
Narvoth hesitated for a moment.
“No, it would be unwise to split our forces at this time. Come, I will heal you.”
This entire time, Rynn had been thinking through the various scenarios in his head. If they went to assault the Lancel coven with Narvoth and Gulnith, they would likely succeed. But there was no guarantee that the combat would eliminate Narvoth and Gulnith. And by then the Maramos couple would have recovered. So, really, only one of their three main enemies would have died—Lady Drakh’s house.
On the other hand, if they attacked the cult leadership now, with the element of surprise and the Bringers with them, they could also likely succeed, but that would leave the two vampire houses still at war, and they wouldn’t stop until one or the other of them was dead. Instead of only one of their three main enemies dead, two of them would be. It was just good math.
Plus, he really hated Gulnith. He wanted her to know that it was him that had ruined her. So he made his decision, nocked an arrow, whispered the command word that activated its fire properties … and fired at Narvoth.
The first shot landed in a nook in his armor, painfully scorching his left shoulder, but the second shot ricocheted off of his right arm. Narvoth cried out in pain and whirled, bringing his mace up. “I will flay the flesh from your bones, in the name of Tiamat!”
Orensland sighed. Well, the jig was up. He grabbed his sword, ignited it, and lunged at Narvoth in one fluid motion.
And totally missed as the cleric brandished his two-handed mace above his head. He turned to Orensland and roared at him.
“Get Narvoth!” Khaska said to the Bringers, as Sanjin and he cast spells at the enraged cleric.
Then sheer pandemonium broke out.
“Retreat!” Captain Gendry cried out just as a loud cacophonous sound blasted the area around them. Khaska’s Sound Blast spell caused several of their ears to begin to bleed, but unfortunately nobody seemed affected by the stun effect. The Maramos militia members all, as one, began to run to the entrance to the mansion. Greygook merely backed away, firing from his crossbow at random targets in the melee.
As Narvoth brought his mace to bear on Orensland, the shadowdancer vanished. Three of the dragon-men moved to attack Khaska, but he was too well-armored and skilled. Their attacks were ineffective. The Bringers all converged on Narvoth per their orders, one casting a Searing Light spell, and the remaining the dragon-men joined that fray as Rynn and Sanjin continued to back up and fire arrows and spells.
Gulnith shouted some arcane words and a Chain Lightning spell erupted from her outstretched palm. It arced towards the Bringers surrounding Narvoth and one of them immediately went down. The lightning then jumped to the others and then to Khaska, the sparks of electricity playing around all their armor, the smell of burned flesh filling the air.
Meanwhile, Narvoth held aloft his shield with the five faces of Tiamat. It glowed with a black light for a moment, and then the divine magic raced over his body, coating him in a layer of darkness, making him seem as if he were in twilight, seemingly dimmer than his surroundings. The attacks of the Bringers were stymied. Sanjin unleashed a Lightning Bolt, catching Narvoth as well as two of the dragon-men. One of the dragon-men went down, the other was wounded, but the lightning bolt seemed to vanish and dissipate as it impacted the darkened area around Narvoth. He began to laugh …
But the sound vanished as Khaska finished his Silence spell. It was unnerving to see such ferocious combat playing out with no sound.
Orensland, seeing his enemy surrounded by the brave Bringers and feeling a little foolish at having struck and then retreated immediately, jumped back into the fray and began to attack Narvoth, seemingly materializing next to the dark cleric. But his attacks glanced off of the cleric’s armor, and the shadowdancer was dismayed to realize his worst fears. Narvoth immediately began to focus on him exclusively, the large mace smashing into him once, crushing bone and puncturing skin.
Gulnith was left alone, everybody seemingly focused on Narvoth. She grabbed a potion and drank it before running away from the melee combat. One of the Bringers, seeing her, ran after her, barreling into her with his sword, cutting into her arm. She reflexively cast another spell, but by this time they were too far for the Chain Lighting to jump to anybody else. The fighter caught the effect full on, and dropped.
Seeing the combat playing out the way it was, Khaska called upon Teresh with a Prayer spell, blunting the efforts of their enemies and aiding the efforts of his allies.
The sounds of melee combat and shouts of alarm came from the mansion. The armored vampire from before appeared just in front of the doorway, attacking Captain Gendry and the others. Khaska and Sanjin both attacked Gulnith. Sanjin hitting her with another Lightning Bolt, catching one of the unarmored dragon-men as well, and the cleric casting Spiritual Weapon, a Maha’i-style scimitar appearing in the air next to her. Before the dragon sorceress could cast another spell, the scimitar cut deeply into her neck, and she dropped to the ground, clutching it, blood spurting from the wound. In a moment, she collapsed.
Rynn, in the meantime, shot arrow after arrow after arrow after arrow at Narvoth. Between his efforts and those of the Bringers and Orensland, Narvoth, too, went down, a pair of arrows from the ranger puncturing his armor where he collapsed.
The vampire up by the mansion door cast a Searing Light spell through the door just as the militia members all shut it. He whirled, assessing the situation below.
He didn’t like what he saw, turned into a bat, and flew away.
Orensland reached down and shoved his sword into Narvoth’s neck. He wanted no chance that cleric could come back to haunt them. He flicked blood from his sword and moved out of the Silence spell. “Where to now?” He asked, as the Bringers worked to stabilize everybody. Rynn indicated they should do so to Gulnith, and one did. With her stabilized, they had options with the sorcereress.
“If we wish to send Lady Drakh to her crypt, our chance is now, while she assaults the House of Maramos.” Khaska said. “She will be fighting many opponents, with no possibility of reinforcements.”
“I don’t know if I like the idea of taking on the crazy blackguard vampire,” Orensland replied. “She more than held her own against several opponents just ten minutes ago.”
“A surgical strike,” one of the Bringers said, a woman by the name of Sarah Milner. “She knew she had to get in, poison them, and get out. She’s surely healed to full by now, while they are crippled and helpless.”
Rynn looked towards the mansion. “I could apologize to Captain Gendry for fighting them. Just say we were fighting the cult.”
“I don’t know how plausible that will seem,” Sanjin said. “You just started shooting at their cleric. For no reason.”
“Speaking of which,” Rynn said, glancing over to the still form of Gulnith. “I have unfinished business with that one. Could we bring her along?”
“You wish to carry her comatose form into battle?” Sarah said. “That will be less effective.”
Orensland’s face lit up.
“Can we fit her in one of our haversacks?” A quick check showed that no, they could not. But she would fit into the bag of holding! Orensland quickly began dumping some of the coins out, haphazardly trying to keep the platinum and gold over the silver and copper.
“Frankly,” Rynn said, “I’d rather the House of Maramos survive. I vote we move on Lady Drakh’s lands and try to wipe out her coffin and graveyard dirt. Then escape using the skyship.” Greygook nodded at that.
“We can consecrate two areas,” Sarah replied. “Could be the crypt of either coven.”
“What happens to Lady Drakh if we destroy her resting place?” Sanjin asked.
“She would die, eventually, but over a few days,” Khaska replied. “Imagine you were force to go without sleep, permanently. You wouldn’t just die the first night, but eventually, it would get to you.”
“So,” Orensland said, “head over, take out the crypt and coffins of Lady Drakh… “
“And my brother,” said Greygook. “I will not leave until he is at rest.”
“I agree,” Khaska said, exchanging a knowing look with Sanjin. “That is a priority as well.” A vampire wizard with knowledge of the voidgate system would be a dangerous adversary.
“Well,” said Orensland, who was now tying and gagging the comatose form of Gulnith. “I’ll run ahead and do some quick scouting. Just to see if I can get the lay of the land before you all come in to murder them.”
“The vampires there usually stay in the lower levels,” Greygook said. “There is one that stays in the upper levels. If we want to wipe out the entire Coven It might be nice to know how many are there, but don’t push your luck. And be prepared … the smell down there is awful.”
“Don’t forget to assess the skyship,” said Rynn. Orensland nodded, then sprinted out of the courtyard, vanishing as he exited.
Khaska was looking at Gulnith. “How should we go about … ?” He was cut off by Sanjin unceremoniously dragging the bag of holding over to her, opening it, and dumping her it. It was a little weird to see her limp body disappear into the small bag, but it did, and the wizard closed it up.
“We’ll have to open it every few minutes, to make sure she has enough air, but she’ll be fine. And there’s still plenty of money in there, if we care,” he said.
“I’m sure Orensland cares a great deal,” Rynn said, to brief laughter from each of the rest of them. “Frankly, I think we’re good on money with the money that the House of Maramos already paid us. Not to mention the new weapons and armor they procured for us. Now let’s get out of here before the situation changes again.” '
Orensland had quickly assessed the situation at the House of Lancel. The skyship remained behind the main mansion, and seemed untouched. Good.
There were many guards out and about in the courtyard, but he saw no vampires. He managed to sneak into the house itself through a window and first went to check upstairs. He found a vampire strumming a mandolin on a large couch with several different women surrounding him in various states of undress or with scanty clothing. There was a bed behind him. Orensland then snuck away and then got down into the basement area. He first encountered a vampire walking down a hallway. The shadowdancer quickly backed away and waited for him to pass. He found another vampire in a room standing over a dead body (no idea how recently dead), and passed several rooms with coffins in them. There were few guards or others on this level. It seemed most of the servants and vampire worshippers were upstairs.
There was a door that led down to a further sub-basement, but there were two guards stationed by it. He didn’t feel like pushing his luck, so he went back upstairs and went to find the others.
Once he found them, he described what he had seen, and between his recollections, Greygook’s time there, and Khaska’s single visit to the sub-basement, they had a decent idea of the setup. The vampire upstairs was likely Lord Jacen Lancel, a bard, the only Lancel vampire remaining from before Lady Drakh’s purge. The vampires downstairs were in the first level of the basement—where they all slept. Below that were the cells for prisoners and unwanted slaves. Lady Drakh, near as the Bringers had gathered information and Greygook had seen, slept below that first level. Speaking of Lady Drakh, they were on the clock, so to speak. There was no telling when she and the other vampires at House Maramos would be returning.
So they went in, quickly, and with no mercy. Khaska and the Bringers had healed most everybody up, so they were in better shape than when they had started their quick jaunt across town. The guards in the courtyard put up an honorable fight, but between the four members of the party and their powerful Bringer allies, the situation was quickly dealt with. Orensland and Rynn led the charge into the house itself, throwing the double doors open with a flourish and seeing … nothing.
“Welcome,” came a smooth voice. The group looked up to see the vampire Orensland had seen upstairs slowly descending the stairs. He was wearing a robe, and it was open, showing off his lithe chest. A smidge of blood ran down from the corner of his mouth, and he licked it as he held up his glass of red liquid. “I assume you are here in retaliation for my Lady’s attack.” He shrugged, and drank deeply from the goblet. “I’m surprised we’ve lasted this long under her leadership. Though we might prevail with what forces we have left. You’ll find them downstairs in the first level of the basement. Lady Drakh is not my sire, so I have no loyalty to her. I wish you the best of luck.”
“Lord Lancel,” said Greygook.
“Greygook,” the vampire inclined his head. “I am pleased you survived the attack on your brothers.”
“I’m here to make sure they have their eternal rest.”
“Well, Greyran has that. Lady Drakh was uninterested in another bard as long as she had my considerable talents at her disposal. No offense intended, of course. Greydale has a coffin on the first level of the basement, but he has joined the Lady in an attack on a rival coven. Such a distasteful waste of resources.”
Rynn noted the melancholy from this vampire, and the way he said Lady Drakh’s name spoke volumes of his distaste for her. If he didn’t know better, he’d say this vampire was world-weary. He wondered what kind of hell it would be like to be eternally trapped by a more powerful and violent vampire. No wonder this Lord Lancel hated her so.
“Well, we’re here to end her,” Orensland said. “Where is the crypt and her coffin?”
Lancel smiled, a happier smile than any of them had seen on any of the vampires in all their months in this city. “Well, that is intriguing. Her coffin is in the crypt itself, down in the second sub-basement. Disgusting place. I'd not be caught dead there with what she's done with it. That’s why I sleep upstairs in my private quarters. She’s allowed me at least that much dignity.”
“What kind of resistance can we expect?” Sarah asked.
“I am unsure how many of our vampires are with the Lady, but there are usually at least six guards downstairs, a pair for each level of the basement.”
“And what will we find in the crypt?” came Rynn’s inquiry. He was wary of what they might find there.
“Nothing dangerous, but you will find all the reasons that I care not to visit. But I suggest you go quickly. If she catches you here, it may not go well for you, and I know not if she will return sooner or later.”
“Traitor!” Two guards appeared from around a corner up above, near Lord Lancel. The first of them fired a crossbow bolt at the vampire, but it went wide. The vampire turned and, with a speed that surprised everybody, closed the distance between himself and the guards, locking eyes with the second, who went slack. His partner was re-arming the crossbow, but just as he prepared to fire again, the second stabbed him in the side of the neck with his sword. The man dropped to the ground, gurgling, and Lord Lancel slowly closed on the other, grabbing his head and jerking it back, exposing his neck. He drank deeply, and in a matter of seconds the other guard collapsed. Lord Lancel wiped his lips with a silk handkerchief from one of the pockets of his robe.
“Like I said, I suggest you go quickly, and now I wish you much success, moreseo than even before.”
They needed no further encouragement.
“So what’s the plan?” Fynn asked as they headed down. “We just going to go barging in?”
“Orensland is particularly good at sneaking, obviously,” Khaska said. “Perhaps we should let him go first to try and stake some vampires. Be prepared to rush to his aid if needed.”
“Sounds good to me,” Orensland said. “There’s a door at the bottom of these stairs. I’ll sneak in like before, but if you hear me calling for help, come get me!”
“Please, if you find my brother,” Greygook said, “let me be the one to …” he gulped, “to do it.” Orensland nodded, listened at the door, then opened it and vanished as he moved forward.
The shadowdancer found the same vampire standing over a dead body. The vampire was … eating it. Absolutely disgusted, Orensland staked the elven vampire with no problems (he was not wearing armor) and chopped his head off with a single blow.
He moved to the next room, and gently pried open the coffin lid. Inside was one of the vampires they had killed back at the Maramos household, the ranger. She looked serene, at peace. He staked her and chopped her head off as well, though that was a little more difficult since she was in the coffin.
The next room had a coffin, but it was empty. The next room’s coffin held … Greydale. He left the room intact, to honor Greygook’s request.
However, a moment later he heard a gasp and turned to see a new vampire having discovered his handiwork with the first. This vampire had red skin and horns peeked out from under his black hair … a tail swished back and forth behind him. Actually, Orensland wasn’t even sure it was a vampire, despite the fact that there were prominent fangs.
“Intruders!” The newcomer yelled. Another vampire came, one that Orensland had seen before, came around the corner as Orensland heard the door to the upstairs slam open. Rynn and Khaska were the first ones to arrive on the scene seconds later.
“There they are!” The human vampire called out.
“I don’t see … ah, a dwarf to play with,” the demonic-looking one responded as Fynn bounded down the stairs.
Orensland smiled. Khaska’s Hide from Undead spell had apparently affected the red-skinned one. But just then the two Lancel guards arrived from their spot by the stairs to the basement. The easy part had ended—they’d have to fight from here on down.
Rynn drew his sword and advanced quickly on the red-skinned vampire, who was extremely surprised to get hit by an invisible opponent. The ranger’s quick swordsmanship severely wounded the demonic-looking vampire. But with a cry of dismay the two guards closed the gap and began frantically trying to keep Rynn from the vampires.
It was simplicity itself for Orensland to stake the human vampire from behind. That vampire collapsed, completely disabled. The guards didn’t even notice for a few seconds, busy with Rynn and with Sarah, who had closed to fight as well.
Fynn grabbed one of the other Bringers and sprinted away, trying to move around the corridors to flank from the other side, as Sanjin ensorcelled one guard and the two vampires with Crushing Despair, wondering if it would even effect a staked and disabled vampire.
A crossbow bolt from Greygook and Khaska’s Searing Light, however, simply obliterated the tiefling vampire—the cleric knew enough about planar beings that he had quickly identified the original species of this red-skinned vampire. After Rynn’s surprise attacks, the vampire simply didn’t have much strength remaining. The holy light burned the vampire fiend to ash. Its mist form began moving down the hallway, turning into one of the rooms.
Orensland parried a quick attack from one of the guards and then shoved his sword right into the man’s jaw. It jutted out the back of his head, killing the man outright. The other guard, however, managed to pull the stake out of the heart of the remaining vampire just as Rynn stabbed him in the back. The man went down, dead, but the vampire jumped to his feet. Fynn rounded the corner and also blasted the vampire with a Searing Light spell of his own. The vampire wasn’t destroyed instantly, but the Bringer’s fighter followed up with a few savage blows. The vampire couldn’t recover in time, and in moments was also misting back to his coffin.
“Well, that was easier than expected,” Fynn said.
“We suspected the heavy hitters would be over at the Maramos lands,” Sarah said. “Let’s destroy their resting places before they return. I don’t much fancy a fight with Lady Drakh.”
The Bringer’s fighter was already summarily decapitating the vampires in their coffins, each body dissipating into ashes after his strikes. Then he hacked at the coffins until they were nothing but splinters.
Greygook entered the room Orensland had said Greydale was in, and the gnome tossed aside the lid of the coffin. He was all business, decapitating his brother and then dousing the coffin in an alcoholic beverage from a flask. A few sparks later and the coffin was in flames.
He pushed past Khaska, who saw tears in the gnomes eyes. “Let’s go,” Greygook said.
They appeared to have attracted no attention, and it took Orensland just a moment to pick the lock leading to the next basement level.
It was as Khaska remembered, though this time illuminated by Sarah’s Light spell, cast on her mace. There were various cells, some with solid wooden doors, others with bars, leaving them open to the hallway. When it became obvious that there were armed intruders, the people in the cells began clamoring for help. Dirty, outstretched arms grasped at the party from behind barred windows and cell doors.
“Sarah!” Came a voice. A haggard elf, chained and nearly naked, sat in one of the open cells.
“Kivessin!” Sarah cried out, and with a quick few blows she smashed the lock and opened the doors. The elf began to cry and she grabbed him and held him close. The two of them spoke through sobs of joy that made it difficult to understand. The clamoring of the other prisoners grew louder.
“You’re alive!” Sarah gasped.
“I don’t know how long I’ve been here,” he said. “I had given up hope long ago.”
“You’ve been missing for years. A decade!” she said. “Have you been here all this time?”
He nodded. “Lady Drakh keeps me here and forces me to make holy water for her. She takes it downstairs, and I no not why!”
“Greygook,” Fynn said, “could you assist with opening the locks and freeing these prisoners? Sarah, remain here in case he needs any help.” He hefted his mace. “The rest of us, let’s go to the sub-basement and finish this.”
Orensland once again picked the lock and opened the door, and Fynn knocked a sunrod against the wall, emitting more light. The Shadowdancer nodded, asked to go ahead just a bit, and then walked down, vanishing into the darkness.
At the bottom of the spiral staircase was a large room with four large stone sarcophagi, and many different grave niches along the walls. None were occupied. The smell was horrifying—Orensland gaged a little, and wrapped a cloth around his face (though that helped little). Several rotting corpses were on the ground in various states of disarray and decay.
Across from the stairway were two items of note. The first seemed to be an altar, with two large icons on it. One was a lightningbolt, the other a large disk with a disfigured face adorning it. Both were coated in dust and looked as if they had been tossed onto the altar.
The other item was a cross. Hanging on the cross was a naked human woman, her arms cruelly wrenched to hang her from the nail marks in her wrists. Jutting from her chest was a large wooden stake. Her skin bore many burn marks, and at her feet were shattered jars and clay urns. Orensland crept forward and peered inside, but even with his darkvision, he could tell that the liquid inside was merely water.
It appeared that, other than the incapacitated vampire hanging on the cross, they were alone.
“Everybody come on in,” the shadowdancer said. “I don’t see any traps or anything. We’re alone.”
“Good, let’s consecrate the tomb and then get out of here …” Rynn stopped upon entering the room, just behind Fynn. His eyes went to the tortured vampire hanging across the room. Then his eyes dropped to the ground, embarrassed by her nakedness.
“Do we need to physically destroy these sarcophagi?” Sanjin asked.
Orensland looked at his sword. “I don’t know if our weapons will work.” His face brightened. “Maybe we could stuff them in our bags of holding and then drop them on the house as we fly away!”
Fynn looked at them, inspecting them. “They’re part of the crypt itself. Moving them without shattering them into pieces is impossible.”
“Then consecrating the crypt itself is all that we need to do,” Khaska said. “Anything else we need to do we can do so after the spell is complete, thereby assuring Lady Drakh’s eventual death. Though,” he walked over and grabbed the plate with the disfigured face, “best to get rid of this symbol of Erthynul.” He slammed it on the ground, bending it, then slashing it several times with his scimitar, eventually splitting it.
“Could we unstake and ask her about this crypt?” Orensland asked, looking up at the crucified vampire.
“It’s lucky there’s now an altar here to Heironeous, who I serve,” said Fynn as he straightened the lightning symbol on the small altar, then bowed to it. “It will make my Consecrate spell all the more powerful.” He grabbed out a bottle of holy water and a small pouch of silver dust. “We know Lady Drakh makes her bed here. I don’t know that it’s worth the risk to wake up the vampire. What could she tell us that we don’t already know?” Then he began sprinkling them both around the crypt, muttering a prayer. In a matter of moments, he was done. The area seemed to glow momentarily with a holy light, and Khaska felt his connection with Teresh strengthen.
“Well, then I’ll finish looking around,” Orensland said.
In one of the sarcophagi he found elegant silk blankets and sheets, with down pillows to match. The Bringer fighter whistled. “She sleeps well with these,” he said, pulling them up, and running his fingers over the soft cloth.
Another of the sarcophagi yielded nothing. A third held some old moldering clothes, things that looked like they might have been elegant many many years ago. Orensland didn’t even want to venture how long they had been in there. There were some jewels among the clothing, however, and Orensland retrieved those items and put them in his haversack.
The final sarcophagus was where the surprise lay. Inside was a suit of armor, laid out as if for burial (though empty), with a gold-laced shield with a symbol of Heironeous and an elegant jeweled longsword. The armor was polished and meticulously kept. “Wow,” said Orensland. The others came to look.
“Woman’s armor,” Fynn said.
“There’s an inscription here,” Orensland said, noticing something on the bottom of the sarcophagus’ lid. He ducked down to see it better, then pushed the lid off and laid it on the ground. “Here lies Knight Vitoria Moretti, of the Order of the Silver Dragons, Baronessa of Cyriest.” He became a little quiet. “I wonder if this is Lady Drakh’s original armor.”
“I was told that she was a paladin before she was turned,” Khaska said.
“Perhaps, then, her attack on the Maramos Coven was a twisted way of holding on to her old beliefs,” Rynn said, running a hand gently over the armor’s gauntlet. “Or maybe exacting her revenge against those that turned her.”
“She got all her scars before she was turned, right?” Sanjin asked.
Khaska nodded. “Had she been tortured after becoming a vampire, they would have healed. Those wounds were received before she was turned. But she wasn’t turned by the Maramos Coven, Rynn.”
“I meant vampires in general,” the ranger replied. He reached down to scratch at Ranna’s head, as the wolf was pawing at her nose from the smell of the rotting flesh.
“Ah. I suppose that is possible,” the cleric somberly stated.
“Cyriest is in the Tlerian empire,” Fynn said. “We dwarves do much business through there.”
“Perhaps we should take this armor and return it there for a proper burial,” Khaska said.
“How do we know it’s not her armor?” Orensland said, pointing to the crucified vampire. Rynn was, at that very moment, draping the corpse with one of the blankets from the first sarcophagi, affording the woman at least some measure of modesty, vampire or not. “I still think we should question her? She poses little danger, injured as she is and tied down.” He glanced at her wounded wrists. “So to speak.” He smiled. “Though maybe we could take her with us. Stuff her in the bag of holding. I would love to see the look on Gulnith’s face when she wakes up in a pocket dimension with a dead vampire next to her!”
“You have a very odd sense of humor, my roguish friend,” Fynn said, looking at him sideways.
“We can question her if you want,” came Sarah’s voice as she entered the chamber. Kivessen followed her, moving slowly, his wounds and time in chains still evident. “But she doesn’t come with us—re-stake and execute her when we’re done. And cover her eyes at least. So she can’t try to ensnare one of us with her gaze.” She glanced around. “Everybody upstairs is free, and we’re ready to go.”
“We’ve consecrated the crypt,” Fynn said. “The House of Lancel will perish within days.”
“After we kill that vampire upstairs,” she said. “I suspect Lord Lancel’s coffin isn’t down here.”
“It’s not,” said Greygook, coming down himself. “It’s upstairs in his private quarters.”
“Then we have unfinished business before we depart,” Sarah said. “And if Lady Drakh’s coup against the Maramos coven is successful, we will have dealt a huge blow to the vampire reign of this city.”
“I also want to ask her about this,” Orensland said, indicating one of the crypt’s grave niches. A series of bottles and beakers and pestles sat there. “It looks to me like a combination poisoner’s kit and an alchemy set. I wonder what it was used for.”
“Have you heard of a ‘Vitoria Moretti,’ Greygook?” Sanjin asked.
“Can’t say that I have. Why do you ask?”
The wizard indicated the inside of the sarcophagus lid, now on its side. Greygook inspected it. “Yeah, I don’t know who that is. It never came up in our time here. Sorry.”
Fynn and Khaska lifted the cross up from its base. The bottom was quite rotted, but the wood was still strong enough to keep the cross upright. Upon closer inspection, there were several nail marks on the crossbeam. Either this woman had been recrucified several times, or she was not the first victim of this cross. Fynn made sure the blanket covered her well with a nod to Rynn as Sarah wrapped a torn piece of one of the silk sheets around her eyes. Fynn still had to reach in towards her chest to prepare to pull out the stake, slightly exposing her chest. Everybody in the room readied spells or prayers or weapons. Fynn glanced around to make sure all was in readiness, then yanked the stake out.
The vampire’s eyes immediately snapped open and she began snarling and yanking back and forth, attempting to wrench her arms free of the spikes in her wrists. It became obvious that both arms had long since been popped out of their sockets by similar actions in the past.
“Who are you?” Orensland asked quickly. She snarled more and gnashed her teeth towards him, causing the shadowdancer to involuntarily jump back. “Are you Vitoria Moretti?” At this she got even more enraged and shrieked. Foam formed on her mouth, and Orensland noted that her various scars and wounds were beginning to slowly close up. He held up a few of the jars from the alchemy set and poisoner’s kit and clinked them together. “What are these for? What poison or potion was being made?” She had been struggling to get up, wrenching herself away from the cross and lashing out futilely at those surrounding her, but when she heard those items she grew quiet and pulled away, trying her best to get as far from the items as possible. She began to whimper and babble. “Poison, poison, poison.” She said nothing else, just continued to say that word over and over, while shying away from where Orensland had clinked them together.
“Stake her,” Sarah ordered, “whatever’s been done to her, she’s too far gone, and I don’t fancy an actually insane vampire running around.”
The vampire screamed as Fynn plunged the stake into her heart. The sound echoed in the small chamber for a moment as the Bringer’s fighter brought his sword down and decapitated her in one fell stroke. Her body melted into ashes, turning into a mist form and moving towards one of the sarcophagi—the one that had held the old clothes and jewelry. The mist fell in and as everybody watched, tried several times to reform into a body before it simply disippated.
“That’s what will happen to Lady Drakh soon,” Khaska said. “I don’t know how long it will take, but that’s what will happen.”
“Lord Titanius will be very interested in this process,” Fynn said. “I don’t know that any Bringer alive has seen a vampire die this way—unable to find rest and simply …” he searched for the right word “… dissolving.”
“Then we’d best make sure we can report back to him,” said Sarah. “Let’s go.”
“Let me gather this armor,” Orensland said. “I think we wanted to take it back to Cyriest for proper internment, correct?”
Khaska nodded. “It would be fitting. And may give us some knowledge of the past history of events here in Darkcrest and this vampire coven.”
“You are all more noble than you first seem, Orensland,” Sarah said. “You would make a good member of the Bringers of Light.”
Orensland wasn’t sure what to say, so he said nothing as he gathered up Baroness Moretti’s armor and stowed it in his haversack. He also gathered up the various poisoner’s kit and alchemy set pieces. Perhaps, with study, he could figure out what was being made. With that, the party headed upstairs, bringing the seven different prisoners from the cells on the second basement level. Khaska grabbed Greygook and held him back, letting the others go first.
“The ship can’t take all of the prisoners,” Greygook said. “We might have to divide and conquer a little bit to get them away safely.”
“A concern I had as well. But I wanted to ask if any of the vampires here knew about your research. Had you told them anything?”
“We had not. You are the only ones aware of the work we were doing,” he said. “Obviously I don’t know what my brother did once he was turned by Lady Drakh. But she had been planning on attacking the Maramos coven for some time at the right opportunity. She wasn’t targeting them because of our research.”
Khaska nodded. “Let’s go before the others notice we have hanged back.”
“Hung back.”
At the main level, they found Lord Lancel, sitting on a couch in the front foyer, a young woman with diaphanous clothing cuddled next to him, both drinking from a wine glass. Lord Lancel unceremoniously pushed her aside as the party came into view. She curled up to his leg and didn’t move much, obviously drunk or drugged, contently smiling through the haze of her drug-induced state. He slipped a small open box up to his mouth and sniffed deeply, then snapped the lid shut. He looked at them with wildly dialating pupils.
“Thank you,” he said, “for finally freeing my mother. It has been well over a century since Lady Drakh’s coup against her.” He sighed. “I assume that you wish to dispose of me as well? I don’t suppose I could convince you to destroy my coffin upstairs, like you have the others, instead of killing me outright? Allow me a few days to continue to enjoy the pleasures of the flesh before I pass on?”
“I don’t think so,” Sarah said.
He sighed. “I suspected as much.” He raised a hand. “There’s no need for excessive violence. Come with me.” Everybody was wary of a trick, but there was none. He led them up to his quarters, an extremely decadent room that was basically one big sleeping area with pillows and blankets and soft furniture all over the place. The smell of various drugs wafted through the air, and to the side was a large bar stocked with various alcohols. There were several different humans, some completely naked, some merely high or passed out.
He dismissed the vampire worshippers that were semi-coherent and they all stumbled out of the room, either too high or too drunk to put up any kind of resistance or even to notice the weirdness of their vampire master bringing in an armed party to this den of vice. He took one look around, wistfully. “Even the pleasure of the flesh grow boring after decades and decades. Perhaps it’s for the best that you will simply end me. Please don’t harm my worshippers.” With that, he lay down in his coffin and removed the box of drugs from his robe. He brought it up to his nose and inhaled deeply for several seconds. The smell of the drugs, whatever they were, wafted over to the party and the Bringers. It was nearly overpowering. “My apologies for the smell,” he said. “The potency must be very high to have an effect on a vampire. But even then I fear,” he shook his head. “I’m still not sure it’s possible for me to … to overdose.” A trickle of black ooze emerged form his right nostril. “That much might have done it, though.”
Orensland walked over and peered down, his weapon at the ready, but Lord Lancel was completely unresponsive. The shadowdancer grabbed his stake and jammed it into the vampire’s chest. Sarah cut his head off right then. The vampire dissolved into mist form and then dissipated.
Khaska was almost as horrified at this den of vice as he was at the torture chambers below. If he never encountered another vampire, it might be too soon. With the vampire dispatched, they made short work of the coffin just in case. The sleeping/high/drunk vampire worshippers didn’t even respond. One looked like he might actually try to interfere, but Fynn knocked him out with a single punch.
It took just a few minutes to gather supplies and to properly clothe the prisoners from downstairs, and then they left the Lancel mansion. Orensland noticed several scouts from other coven militias watching them through the gates.
“Do we need to be worried about retaliation?” he asked Sarah.
“I think as long as we get out of the city soon, we do not,” she said. “The covens have a long history of using outside mercenaries to attack each other. If we don’t attack any other covens, they probably won’t come after us. This whole day will likely look like a war between the Maramos and Lancel covens.”
“Now the question of who is coming with me,” Greygook said. “There’s not enough room for everybody.”
“I’d like to stay,” Orensland said.
“Are you crazy?” asked Sarah.
“The city will begin to tear itself apart with such a power vacuum, right? I mean, you’ve indicated the Maramos and Lancel covens are the two most powerful.”
“Seems likely. I don’t think there are any individual vampires as powerful as Lord and Lady Maramos, or Lady Drakh.”
“Then the wealthy are going to fall, chaos will ensue, and there’s going to be much looting to be had!” The shadowdancer was basically beaming. “Why would I not want to stay?”
“Well, for one, we’ve got a psychopath vampire blackguard who will find out she has days to live,” Fynn said. “Who knows what kind of bang she’ll want to go out with.”
“She has to find me first.” Orensland smiled. “I’m not concerned.”
“I can remain, but to help some of these people leave the city,” Rynn said. “If there’s not enough room on the skyship, they’ll need help surviving in the Deadlands. I don’t expect any of you all want to stay in the city?” Several shakes of their heads were more than enough to demonstrate that he was correct about the newly freed prisoners.
“Then I offer up my spot on the skyship as well,” said Khaska. “But we need to leave immediately. And I would be more comfortable if one of us stayed with Greygook.”
“I have no intention of betraying you,” the gnome said. “I assume you’ve investigated the items that my brothers and I came here to investigate?”
The party glanced at each other. “We have.”
“Then that’s a longer conversation than we want to have here, waiting for Lady Drakh to drop in and skin us all alive.”
After a quick discussion, Greygook took Sanjin, Kivessin, Sarah, and the six remaining prisoners. After a few moments of the gnome barking orders, the skyship lifted up and sailed away.
Rynn, Khaska, Orensland, and Fynn with two additional Bringers all remained. They left the Lancel Coven’s lands in a hurry, but it appeared that they had missed the window where Lady Drakh would return.
Their strike had been successful.
The Bringers were able to grab travel gear from their various quarters and were ready to go. Orensland was completely dismayed.
“Come on!” he said. “If Lady Drakh was successful then there’s gobs of money just sitting around. And in bags of holding! It’s perfect!” He glanced at the two Bringers (Fynn had already disappeared, moving back into the anonymity of being a “homeless bum” after congratulating them on their success and wishing them well) and pulled Rynn and Khaska aside. He whispered to them. “And we have the perfect place to hide it. Nobody else even knows about the voidgates. I can sneak in, scout it out, and if it’s safe, do some looting. Easy peasy!”
Khaska was very wary of the danger Orensland would be walking into, but was seeing the wisdom in a limited scouting run. He pointed emphatically at the elf. “Okay. Go and scout it out. Even steal some loot if possible. But come back to us and let’s decide what to do then. All our allies here are headed to the rendezvous point we agreed upon. Perhaps we can come back to explore the voidgates, but we aren’t going to do so now.”
“I had just planned on using them as storage space,” the shadowdancer replied. “We want Sanjin there when we do our full exploring.”
“Yes. That seems very much up his lane,” the cleric responded.
“Alley,” Rynn corrected. “I agree with Khaska. Be. Careful.”
“Who me?” said Orensland. “Always. Now,” he said, surreptitiously pulling out the voidgate control rod. “I’ll need at least one spell here so I can open the gate in case there is any loot I can toss in.”
“I think I have plenty,” said Khaska. “I was perhaps too cautious with using my spells, but we ended up in one less fight with a major player than I expected.”
“That’s probably for the best,” said Rynn. “If Lady Drakh killed off the Maramos coven, and we killed her off, and together we all killed off the Cult leadership, then we did everything we came here to Darkcrest to do. I also think it would be good to know how Lady Drakh did, and Orensland is quite good at such things. Let’s give him some spells in the control rod and then let’s all meet at the eastern market.”
Orensland made sure that the Bringers weren’t able to see the rod as Khaska cast spells into it, filling it up. Then he took off, vanishing into the shadows as he went.
When he arrived at the Maramos lands, he had to smile a bit at the carnage in the courtyard. Nothing seemed to have been moved. There were no attemps to clean up the blood or clear away the bodies. He saw movement in Master Gendry’s place. There were probably a bunch of survivors in there, hiding out in terror.
He snuck into the mansion easily and took just a few steps before he saw the first body. One of the Maramos guards, burned and stabbed, lying facedown on the ground, his blood pooled around him on the floor. A little ways later he saw another. And then two others. He listened carefully and heard … nothing. He moved carefully, sticking to the shadows (even while blended into them), trying to be silent.
Everywhere he went there were bodies. It appeared that Lady Drakh had not only killed the vampires, but the servants, the militiamen, the cooks, the maids, the butlers. Everybody.
He made his way to Lord and Lady Maramos’ chambers. Their bed and other furtniture was destroyed, the dirt underneath it scattered around the room. He poked through the wreckage of the room and his eyes lit up as he discovered several bags of holding. He looked into them and found that, indeed, they were full of coins and gems. He hoisted two of them and snuck out, still listening for anything.
As he moved downstairs he did finally hear something near the kitchen area. The door had been thrown ajar and, once again, bodies were strewn about. Lady Drakh, he saw, sat slumped on a chair, drinking from a bottle of wine. At her feet was a set of armor. He peered hard, unwilling to get closer, but he was pretty sure that it was the armor of the vampire cleric that had participated in the attack on the courtyard. It was empty. Had she killed him? Why would she kill one of her own coven? If he had been inside the building when she killed him, that would confirm that the building was “public.” Lord and Lady Maramos would therefore be dead.
Regardless, he wanted no part of whatever melancholy victory celebration she was holding. Alone. In a mansion full of her dead victims. He snuck away.
Down in the basement he could either go left, to the library, or right, towards the crypt. His curiosity got the better of him, especially when he noticed bloodstained footsteps leading towards him from the left and up the stairs. He went towards the crypt.
The battle here must have been tremendous. The walls were coated in sprays of blood and the floor was piled high with dead bodies. He saw Captain Gendry's dead body back against the door to the crypt. The door itself was shut. Lady Drakh must have slaughtered the remaining Maramos guards here and then entered via mist form to destroy the Maramos couple. He wondered what it would be like to participate in such a futile battle. The guards had died defending their vampire masters, fighting hopelessly against a vampire lady with prodigious skill with the sword and dark magic besides. It must have been a sight, but in the end, Orensland was glad he missed it.
The library was empty, left as it had been before. He stashed the bags of holding in a corner and crept back upstairs to retrieve the others. In the end, there were five he could find before he decided that he no longer wanted to press his luck.
Lady Drakh had finished in the kitchen and left. She was making no attempt to be silent, and he tracked her by the sound of her clanking plate armor. He watched her examine the courtyard, curious at the situation. She kicked Narvoth’s head several feet and then left. If he didn’t know any better, he would think she was walking slowly out of some kind of disappointment. As if she didn’t quite know what to do next.
Alone in the mansion, he searched all the rooms he could for more bags of holding with money and jewels and art, but the five in the main chambers of Lord and Lady Maramos were all that there were. He also grabbed one of the bodies of the dead dragon-men, one of the unarmored ones with the most intact flesh. He went back to the library, opened the voidgate for one minute, threw the bags and the body in, and then waited for it to close. Then he left, satisfied that the Maramos coven was decimated, the Lancel coven would be soon, and the Cult leadership had been annihilated (except for Gulnith, but that was another matter). They had done good.
He made his way through the streets, listening to the buzz growing about the fighting between the two covens. Many people were scared. Some were excited, playing up the chances that their vampires would rise to power. Some were confused at the presence of the skyship, unaware of who had brought it to meet with the Maramos couple.
Rynn and Khaska (disguised as a human) were relieved to see him, as were the two Bringers. He quickly reported on the Maramos coven, mentioning surreptitiously that his personal objectives in scouting their mansion had more than been accomplished. Khaska and Rynn knew what that meant.
“I think it best that we leave now,” said Khaska. “The city seems to be growing more and more agitated. I don’t like the feeling I’m getting from the crowds here.”
“Agreed,” Rynn said. “To the rendezvous.”
They made their way to the eastern gates, Rynn looking forward to being on the open road again. Ranna grew excited, her magic bond with the ranger communicating his excitement at finally being rid of this city. However, there was one surprise left. As they approached the eastern portions of the city, they began to see several people on horses headed in their direction. Then they began to see militiamen and armored vampires headed in the other direction. Eventually, Orensland decided to ask one of the men running away what was happening.
“There’s some vampire that’s gone crazy and is massacring everybody she can see. She’s set fire to shops and destroyed a contingent of city guards by herself! I’m getting out of here, and you’d best as well!”
“What vampire lady?” Orensland asked.
“I don’t know her name. Got once glance of her crazy eyes from that scarred and burned face and decided to get out. Left my cart of goods there, but it ain’t worth my life.” He pulled away from Orensland. “Now let me go!”
Khaska was horrified. “With nothing to lose, I guess she’s decided to end her life in a rampage of violence.”
“Then I really suggest we leave now,” one of the Bringers said. “Without your wizard and Fynn and Sarah we can’t hope to take her on.”
Khaska looked at Rynn and Orensland. “I feel some responsibility.”
“She’s slaughtering vampires, vampire worshippers, and people who do business with vampire worshippers!” The Bringer replied again. “’By the evil are evil punished.’ You can go on a suicide mission if you want, but we’re leaving and heading for the rendezvous.”
They made good on their statement and turned to leave. “You coming?”
Khaska looked at the other two. “I have many spells prepared still,” he said. “Perhaps we can lend assistance to the efforts to destroy Lady Drakh from afar, but not try to kill her ourselves.”
Orensland rolled his eyes. “I’m more of an up close and personal kind of guy, so I wish you all the best. But I can go scout ahead to see what’s up.” He turned to look and noticed for the first time smoke rising in the distance. “But, one thing first.” He turned to Rynn. “I wanted this to be a special present later on, but I guess you’d better use it now.” With that, he swung his haversack around and reached into the main pocked, drawing forth a large white wood bow—Lord Maramos’ personal longbow. “It was in his room and I thought, since he’s dead, perhaps at least you could put it to good use.” He also drew Lord Maramos’ quiver and arrows out and handed them over. “Happy Lady Drakh Death Day, or whatever we’re going to call this day from now on.”
With that, he took a deep breath, turned, and then vanished into the shadows. Rynn hefted the bow, admiring it once again. “Bonestrike,” he said. "That's what Lord Maramos called it."
“Fortune favors you with such a weapon,” Khaska said.
“We’ll find a way to redeem Kvanir yet,” the ranger said. “Now, if you’re serious, then let’s go see if we can help.”
It was not hard for Orensland to find Lady Drakh. He just followed the smoke, screams, and trail of corpses. She didn’t seem to be picky at all about who she killed. Shopkeepers, militiamen, guards, mercenaries, civilians, vampire worshippers, and he even saw a few sets of empty armor or robes, indicating a vampire had dissolved and left behind their belongings. He was tempted to try to snag some of those as he went, but decided against it. He had plenty of money from looting the Maramos coven. No need to endanger himself just for a few more items.
When he finally caught up to her, he was astonished. She stood in a square atop a fountain, fighting off an entire militia. Literally. It seemed one coven had thrown their entire forces at her, Orensland counted fifty men led by a captain and an armored vampire.
She carved through all of them. Even when they did land a blow (a rare occurrence given her skill and armor), she healed very quickly. In a few minutes the entire square was slick with blood and dead bodies, the vampire retreating before Lady Drakh's onslaught, turning into a bat and flying away. She, too, turned into a bat, flying to a new location. That was wise, Orensland thought. It prevented everybody from converging on her at once. He tried to follow as best he could, but eventually had to wait until there were more visible signs of fighting. He followed, jumping from rooftop to rooftop.
There were a group of people hiding in an inn. Lady Drakh cut some civilians down as they tried to retreat into the building, reaching the door of the house and being thrown backward, unable to enter for not having been invited in.
She grabbed some materials from a nearby cart, took a few seconds to light them on fire with some flint and steel, and then, when she had a pretty good blaze going, tossed them onto the roof.
If she couldn’t enter, she would at least try to burn the place down.
Magic attacks smashed into her from behind, as well as a few arrows. Two vampires atop a nearby building were attacking her. She bolted towards them, turning into a bat once again. The two of them moved back to back, a defensive posture. Lady Drakh erupted from the floor below them, tearing through the wood roof. The magic user vanished into the building with a shriek, and after a few moments Lady Drakh’s mist form emerged from the new hole. The other vampire turned into a bat and though she got a piece of him with her sword, he managed to get away. The house across the street now engulfed in the flames, Lady Drakh turned, smiled, and once again turned into a bat.
Orensland was impressed. If she wasn’t stopped … she might very well burn the entire city down! She was savvy, intelligent, used her surroudings well, and retreated and moved as necessary to keep the fight alive. She must have been quite a lady paladin before she was turned.
It was obvious to the shadowdancer that tracking her would be useless. They would have to wait for her to come to them. He had seen some coven militias setting up in defensive postures here or there. It might be best to join one of them.
It took him a few minutes to locate Rynn and Khaska, and he told them his thoughts. They agreed, and found a marketplace where a group of soldiers from two different covens, with their vampire masters, had set up a defensive position, throwing tables and carts and stands to create barriers.
Of course, when she dropped right into the middle of them, the barriers functioned more to keep them all trapped, giving her a target-rich environment. She went after the vampires first, killing one of them very quickly with a series of savage blows and then engaging the other two. The militiamen stabbed at her with pikes and spears, wounding her, but Orensland was quite confident that she would prevail even against these numbers. She was simply too powerful and too skilled.
But then he heard chanting from below and saw a human next to Rynn holding up a holy symbol.
Fire blazed forth from the human’s palms, lancing forth across the marketplace and blasting Lady Drakh, coating her in flames and scorcing her armor, which began to glow red. The human turned to run, moving around the building as Rynn fired two shots off with Bonestrike, but landing with thuds into Lady Drakh, who screamed and lashed out, killing yet another opponent, a dwarven vampire dissolving into mist.
An elf rounded the building from the other side. Where had the human gone? And where was Khaska … oh. Orensland smiled. Clever. Worried he might be easily identified, the Maha'i was using his Hat of Disguise to change appearance between attacks.
Khaska cast another Searing Light spell, and Lady Drakh’s skin burned away under the onslaught. She continued to fight with the others, but was severely wounded.
“Hit her again,” Orensland called out. “Before she flies away!”
Lady Drakh whirled with her blade, causing most of her opponents to jump back and she began to morph and turn into a bat once again … a second too late.
“The day comes for darkness!” Khaska shouted as he extended his arms to the sky and brought them down in a swift motion. He looked like himself this time, though Orensland didn’t get a good look as he glanced over to see the results of the spell.
A column of fire roared down from the heavens, completely enveloping Lady Drakh and the vampire fighting her. There were two shrieks from both of them and the vampire worshippers nearby shied away from the heat and light. Lady Drakh screamed, a high pitch scream full of anger and rage which suddenly cut off.
When the fire cleared, and Orensland could see past the purple afterimage, he noticed two vampires in mist form. One flew away, but another stayed, moving in and out of Lady Drakh’s armor, trying to resume human form. After a few seconds, however, the mist dissipated. Lady Drakh was finally dead.
Orensland blended into the shadows. He wasn’t quite sure how the vampire worshippers would react given than their vampire had also died (though was headed back to their coffin and would presumably be okay). But then Khaska stepped forward from where he stood in the alleyway, and the Maha’i had transformed.
He stood erect, regal, one of his horns broken, with a gleaming scimitar that looked like a righteous version of Kvanir, and in plate armor. On his shield was the emblem of the Knights of the Silver Dragons, and his entire body was wreathed in shimmering white holy energy.
Khaska had gone full Tawru.
And when he held aloft the faux-Kvanir, he had everybody’s attention.
“People of Darkcrest! Too long have you labored under the weight of murder, of greed, of lust, of oppression and exploitation. Behold before you the only fruits they ever bear: terror, pain, death. You cannot make alliance with such and hope for peace. Cast away your shackles of evil! Shatter your chains of darkness! Look to the sun in the west, and I say: if you so choose, even Darkcrest shall come to be known as Dusklight.”
Rynn had backed away after the final moments of the fight, content to let Khaska have his moment. Orensland clambered down the back of the building. As Khaska finished his speech he turned to leave, dismissing the Dispel Evil spell that shimmered around him with holy power. When he rounded the corner, he changed into a grubby-looking human.
“Khaska, my friend,” Orensland said, jaw hanging open in astonishment, “you are the stuff of legends!”
“Now let us leave so that the legend may grow in the fertile ground we have made here, but without our interference. Best to leave quietly. And quickly.”
“You get no argument from me,” Rynn said. “Let’s go.”
There were many people leaving the city given the circumstances, but after a few miles Rynn was able to pick up the trail of the two Bringers and they had caught up by that evening. The Bringers were surprised they had survived, and fascinated by the tale Orensland eagerly told of how Khaska had turned the tide and then used the moment to sow the seeds of doubt on the vampire’s reign and perhaps begin the process of ending it. As they went to sleep, Khaska looked to Darkcrest, still visible in the distance, as sunrise twilight hit it. He couldn’t help but think of the symbolism of seeing the sunlight hit the city. Perhaps he and his friends had done much good here. Despite the evil they had been surrounded with, and even temporarily allied with, they had struck several decisive blows for good.
As he lay on the ground, attempting to sleep on the cold earth, he thought again on his friends. The shadowdancer who could sneak past powerful vampires and who fooled the leadership of the cult before betraying them. Rynn, who grew more prodigious with combat as their adventures continued and now with Lord Maramos’ personally made bow, a tracker capable of finding the Bringers easily even among the hubbub of the exodus from Darkcrest. Sanjin, a seeker of ancient forbidden knowledge and now in possession of many spellbooks of ancient and great (and sometimes terrible!) wizards.
Orensland’s words came to him unbidden as he lay on the ground in his bedroll. “You are the stuff of legends.” He didn’t feel like the stuff of legends. Then again, he hadn’t felt like he was in an ancient tale when they had found Kvanir, on the other side of their moon fighting undead and creatures of darkness in an ancient crypt. Perhaps it was time to re-evaluate yet again his role in these stories.
But as he thought on his actions, and the skills and triumphs of he and his friends, a thought came to his mind as he fell asleep.
Perhaps they were all becoming the stuff of legends.
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