The carriage rolled on through the night, the early morning air just starting to take hold. The man within it’s confines stared at the old road which he rode upon. Alone in the cabin, and in the area save for the driver and his horses. His bag laid on the floor, letting out a faint clank each time a bump in the road was struck along the way. This area of the Central States was not traveled very often, a small village left alone in all of it’s internal affairs, as long as they met trade quotas and gave correct treatment to the few travelers which came through.
The village’s name was Briarback, an odd name for a place which wasn’t particularly known for Briars. It’s only claim to fame was housing a seat of power-otherwise known as a place where one of the noble families who had signed onto the contract that made up the Central States lived. For a village this small, this was somewhat odd, but not unthinkable. Briarback was rarely thought of by those outside it’s borders, a footnote on a map, just another dot.
However, to the man inside the carriage, it was now of upmost concern. His face knotted in an eternal worry, as he gazed out the window at the wilderness which passed by quickly. A bit of mist was in the air, obscuring the night even further, even as, over the course of the next hour, the first traces of dawn’s light began to come into place. It brought him no relief, even though it should, given the quarry he so wanted to find. His holy symbol was gripped in one hand, that of a simple triangle, made of iron, with gold tips on each of the three sides. Through it, a depiction of a blade. His thoughts were marred by that of darkness and despair he had no right to hold within himself, as a man of his faith. His reflection in the window, however, brought him no comfort. A greying beard and hair to match, haggard eyes that were once a vibrant blue, and scars to match a warrior of a thousand battles, something he most certainly wasn’t. No joy hid behind his eyes, as his gaze met only the terrain outside.
The only thing pristine about him was his robes, fitting of a member of the clergy, high ranking at that. A steel grey, marked with golden lines which passed down it’s sides. It would look akin to that of a Priest of Ita-Brey, though distinctly not matching upon any kind of close inspection. The misconception would most generally serve him well. His bag of implements would look like the tools of any holy man, at least on the surface, though without a definite divine to hold dominion over them. To an educated but lazy eye he would look like a fool, to a layman, an ordinary priest. It was only the educated and attentive he had to fear, and even then, it was not a matter of wrongdoing as much as it was an oddity in a town where oddities were likely quite rare.
These were the things he always considered when going to a new place. Most peoples of Aulia viewed the divine as a static thing. Five gods, ten domains. He could not blame them. The sixth was not particularly keen on showing himself. Yet all the same, the Father nurtured his world. And as long as he did, he would find those with the loyalty to serve him amongst his children.
The priest clutched his holy symbol with increased conviction, just as the texture of the road beneath shifted from unpaved to slightly paved, a change he noted as a sign he neared his destination. He sat up in his seat, just in case anyone would happen to look into the interior, and placed his bag into his lap with a faint but audible clank. He had packed things in a disorganized manner, it occurred to him now. He would organize once he was done with his introductions, which shouldn’t take that long. No lord would turn away a priest, especially not one on a hunt like his.
After a few minutes more of silence, the carriage would pull to a long stop. The sound of wheels sloshing through mud able to be heard. When the vehicle came to a full stop, the priest reached for the door handle, pulling it open. With a faint splash, his boots landed in a puddle, not that he minded, as he walked to the front with his back. He had prepared something in the front of his robes, a few Salazars, which he handed to the driver. Human currency was most common in the States. Elven and Dwarven currency still existed, of course, it was a trade center, but it wouldn’t get him any eyes. The carriage driver, a younger human, looked over the coins, and gave a nod. The priest spoke to him, in a low and somewhat raspy voice.
“Return in three days, and I will pay you double for the return trip.”
The driver seemed confused a moment, but nodded, happy at the prospect of even more pay for the simple journey there and back, and soon began to turn his carriage to leave the small town, riding back rather then through with his new instructions. The priest turned, and walked along the side of the road and further into the town. It was a foggy morning as the sun crept up through the trees of the wood, and began to bask ever diminished rays into the town proper. Casting a long shadow over the priest as he walked forward with his bag. Eventually, he saw a guardsman taking an early morning patrol, deciding to wave the man over. He seemed to be a dwarf, wearing nice chain mail and carrying a spear and shield along with other pieces of gear. The dwarf moved over, giving the priest a pleasant smile.
“How can I help you, Father?” He asked with patience in tone. The priest’s brow furrowed with a mix of annoyance and other unclear emotions.
“Please, I am but a priest, there is only one father. You can call me Lionel. I have business with the Lord of this demesne, he should have heard word of my arrival. Might you take me to his estate, guardsman?” The priest phrased it like a question, but in truth, via tone, it was anything but.
The dwarf looked confused at the first statement, something which intensified for the second. “I hadn’t heard anything about this I’m afraid, Lionel. I’d be happy to escort you to the Lord’s estate as a guest, but I can’t promise he’ll see you.”
“Of course. Trust that your Lord will want to hear what I have to say. I bring troubling news about his demesne. Please, lead the way.” The priest gestured down the road. Correctly picking out which direction the estate was in, with a bit of guidance summoned to his mind. The dwarf nodded, seemingly not taking note of the odd bit of clairvoyance, rendering that bit of reservoir use pointless. Ah, well. The guardsman turned, and began walking down that way. The priest followed behind him, bag releasing the faint clinking and clanking it always did.
It was but a ten minute walk before the mist revealed the lords estate, a stone and mortar manor which was on a hill over the town, a wall surrounding it’s exterior, a lot of security for a relatively small town’s lord. Perhaps, he thought, the Central States and the alliance that made it up mandated such security for one of it’s signing members. Or perhaps, something more was at play. Time would tell
The dwarf led him past the gate, up the hill via a cobbled path. The gardens on the outside seemed slightly drooped, but still well tended to, as if factors outside of any gardeners control had led to their decay. Another fact to note. No groundskeepers were out at this hour anyways, something to check with later. Finally, though, the dwarf led him to the front door of the imposing building, knocking twice loudly with a chain gauntlet. For but a moment, they waited in silence, before the door was opened. A half elven man in a servant’s uniform, a house crest on his breast pocket (the crest seemingly depicting a shield with a lion’s head wreathed in flame upon it, he recognized it as the symbol of the Lord of the estate’s family). He gave a tired smile, as if he had just awoken, but his speed getting to the door was quite unmatched. The priest hadn’t even heard him approach.
“Ah, Guardsman Koth, good morning! Who is this?” He said, looking to the priest with a level of confusion. The priest gave him a bow of the head.
“Greetings. My name is Lionel. I am a holy man, here to see your Lord on a matter of upmost importance. I believe he was expecting me.”
Koth, the dwarf, spoke again. “He showed up a few minutes ago. I haven’t heard of him, but I brought him by anyways. Is the Lord truly expecting him?” His voice carried a realm of caution to it, fitting, given the circumstances.
The half elf considered a moment, but seemed to come to a conclusion in his mind, a smile more through coming across his face.
“Ah yes! We are. We received a mental missive the other day about his arrival. Thank you guardsman for escorting him. I’ll take him to see the Lord right away!”
Koth nodded, to the servant, and then to the priest. “Give the Lord my regards. Good day, Sir Lionel.”
Once again a title, the priest resisted the urge to scoff. Giving a small nod to the dwarf, and saying a brief “Good day” before Koth was off down the hill again. The priest then turned back to the half elf, who beckoned him inside.
“Well come in! No reason to freeze yourself out there in the fog.”
The priest gave a thankful nod, and stepped within the threshold. The house was dark, only now being lit up for the day with various forms of candles, it was still early morning after all. The half elf plucked a still burning candelabra from a table near the door, and began to lead the priest deeper into the depths of the house. After a little bit of this traversal, leading up some stairs, and down a hall, the servant spoke again, craning his head back towards the priest.
“You’re in luck, the Lord awoke just before sunrise, he’ll be ready for you now. Will you be needing a place to stay, father?”
“Lionel. Please. There is only one father. And I likely will, I may ask your Lord about that.”
Once again, confusion from the layman, who seemed about to ask further questions when the pair arrived before a regal appearing pair of double doors.
“Ah, here we are. I’m sure the Lord can provide you with accommodations. You need only ask. You are our honored guest, from how I understand it. Go right in.”
The servant gave a bow, as the priest pushed forth the doors and strode into the room with benign confidence.
The throne room itself was relatively simple. A large chamber, lined with banners and tapestries depicting battles and conflicts long past, save for in the center, where a pair of large windows showed the mist and fog swirl around the early morning light. The room would still be dark were it not for torch holders along the sides, kept a healthy distance from the more flammable arts. The banners bearing the same flaming lion crest of the house itself. Guards flanked the room, four in total, each in full plate mail, halberds planted at the ready. Though they seemed less on guard as they saw the old priest walk into the chambers.
The Lord himself sat on a throne, like many Central States nobles, who considered it tradition to hear audiences in positions of absolute superiority over their guests. Hanging above the throne itself, an impressive chair made from seemingly bronze, was a display of a long black metal sword, which seemed to almost look with a sense of malice. The priest was not intimidated, as he walked into the center of the chamber, down a long rug, staring dead ahead at the throne.
The Lord himself was a human man, blonde hair which wreathed his head like a lion’s mane. He had fiery looking almost golden orange eyes, and wore a golden breastplate which the priest could feel the magic from, along with a collection of ornate rings on his fingers, and an amulet depicting an eye which hung around his neck. His skin was pale, though bore the scars of past battles quite gracefully His hand was put under his chin, as he looked over at the priest. Standing next to him was an orcish man in wizards robes, a pleasant smile on his face towards the priest. An odd sight, in a Central States demesne, but not unthinkable. And the priest had more important matters to tend to.
“Lord Auberon.” The priest spoke in a gravely tone, still seeing it proper to give a small bow to the noble. But he did not kneel, instead remaining standing. “I am Lionel. A priest from the west. I had one of my compatriots send you a missive a few days ago.”
Lord Auberon seemed to shift, leaning forward.
“Ah yes. The Vampire Hunter. Welcome to Briarback.”
The simplification of the priest’s purpose did make him annoyed, though it didn’t really show. He didn’t care that much about what the Lord thought, but a single minded notion of his job might even make it easier.
“That is I. I most appreciate your hospitality, Lord. I hope my task can be completed as soon as possible.” The priest’s words were simple. He felt no need to overexplain anything. He had hoped that would be that, no further questions. Unfortunately, it seemed as if the Lord had other plans.
“Do I have your suspicions correct, sir? There is a night creature running around Briarback? I don’t mean to call the wisdom of the gods into judgement of course, but I must admit myself blind to their signs, if this is true.” The Lord’s brow furrowed, as he leaned ever slightly closer away to the throne.
“Yes. There is divination spells and physical proof of this. The latter being the missing persons coming from this town, travelers most especially. This concerned your neighbors, of course.”
“Well, as I said to the last moo-” The Lord started.
“-You suspected betrayal of the bandit armies. That has been ruled out, by magical searching and the questioning of the armies which operate in this area. They have not betrayed the pacts. Additionally, we managed to locate a few of the bodies of these travelers with the help of some trackers. They were left for animals to eat, we suspect wolves, though curiously, there was no blood on these bones. If there is not a night creature in your town, there is one close enough to it to operate, which is why I am here.”
The Lord wasn’t entirely wrong for his suspicions on paper. Centuries ago, the four largest bandit armies had banded together to threaten the Central States-a pact between and them and the Nobles and the Contract, which formed what was known as the Second Contract. Ever since, both sides had continued to poke at each other, so it was only natural that Lord Auberon would be no different. Even if it disgusted the priest.
Auberon fell into silence after that. Contemplating.
“Compelling evidence. Very well. You will have my full assistance. I faced the same scourge that you now do, back when I traveled our lands. Many night creatures have fallen to my blade, and with luck, many more will fall in their shadows.”
Auberon stood, and put a hand to his chest. A clank of gauntlet against armor echoing out over the throne room. A look of conviction in his eyes, as he looked down to the seemingly unimpressed priest.
“Then would you cooperate with my first step, Lord Auberon?” The priest said, plainly.
The Lord seemed almost disappointed in the lack of a reaction. But he seemed to give an over zealous nod.
“Prove to me you aren’t the night creature.” The priest made a visible display of reaching into his bag, prompting the guards grip on their weapons to tighten, and the wizard’s smile to drop, reaching for a wand.
The Lord, however, seemed all smiles, even as the priest withdrew a silver hand mirror.
“Shall I walk into the sun right now to prove it? You and I both know that vampires have reflections unless they’re of a particular potency, that won’t prove anything.”
Sure enough, as the mirror turned towards the Lord, it showed his full reflection. But that was only half of the reason the priest had held the mirror aloft. He hadn’t muttered a prayer, he didn’t need to, the Father’s energy was already flowing through it. He was ready to cast a spell at a moments notice.
“Older vampires have their true forms revealed within a mirror. And you know damn well the sun is obscured by the mist. Perhaps a magically conjured mist?” He casts a glance to the wizard.
“It’s the time of year for it, I suppose.” The Lord released a long sigh. Either running out of excuses, or momentarily stunned into silence.
“And that blade, above you very throne. That’s a night creature’s blade, is it not?” The priest’s tone was taking a slightly more accusatory edge as he continued onwards. His gaze firmly affixed on the sword hung above the throne. It’s dark edge almost swallowing light rather then reflecting it.
“Yes-well, it’s quite the grim mantle piece, but the blade is a trophy. And a tool, should the night creature show itself. It absorbs the life blood of those creatures, prevents them from utilizing many of their powers along with it. I claimed it from a vampire lord by the name of Kazimir, in my final hunt. One of the eldest vampires still alive at the time. He torments us no lon-”
The Lord’s long speech was interrupted, as a ray of light struck the mirror. Sunlight, the smallest bit of it, from a small bit of cleared away fog. And with the power of the Father running through the pane’s surface, a beam of light intensified, and fired forward in a lance. Striking the Lord through the shoulder. Burning away the top of his flesh, and punching across to the other side, leaving a smoldering hole in the wall. The Priest saw the Lord stagger back, seemingly unharmed outside of the one wound, and began to stow his mirror calmly, as the four guards moved to tackle him-
“Stay your hands!” Shouted Auberon. The guards hesitated, but stopped, drawing out their weapons to angle towards the priest however.
“A vampire would have lost his top half to a strike like that. You are not the night creature.” The priest spoke plainly. “I will need to speak to your family, and to those around you. You may not be the vampire, but you could easily be under ones thrall. And these creatures are never far from power.”
The Lord seemed flabbergasted, but ultimately gave…a chuckle, and a nod.
“…Which god do you serve? Hysi-dar, I presume? I recognize the approach.” He said, as he nursed the wound in his shoulder, hand placed to it. The fact that it didn’t heal right away was another point in his favor, the priest would note.
“No. I do not serve one of the five.”
A squint from the Lord. “…Then you do not serve a god?”
“No. The Five control the ten domains. I serve the entity which bestowed them onto us, in all of his wisdom. The Father of the world.”
“…I’ve never heard of him.” Continued Auberon.
“And that is his will.”
The Lord took that as a cue to drop that line of questioning.
“…Very well, my friend. Question who you must. I will tend to this wound…and I wish you luck. If you need anything, you need only ask.”
The Priest simply gave him a nod, and turned to leave the chamber, hearing the whispering between the orc and the Lord as the doors shut behind him.
The Priest spoke to the Lord’s wife first. She was a lovely woman, or so everyone around her had told him before he met. The servants and everyone in the town seemed quite fond of her, he’d grow to learn, even more then the Hero-Lord Auberon. Originally, he had suspected her, but when they spoke in a sunlit parlor, he dismissed that suspicion. She was, however, a good decoy for the true creature. She spoke and acted like one, at least like the ones he had encountered which wore the skin of nobles in the past. Auberon had the signs too, though to a lesser extent. He wasn’t methodical enough to fit the bill, he continued to reassure himself.
The meeting with the Lord’s Wife (Chandra Auberon), did give him another lead, however. Even if it was by seemingly coincidence.
“…I do have a question for you, Father” She said, as he had moved to stand, getting ready to move on. He stopped.
“Please. Just Lionel.” He said, before falling into silence to allow for her question.
“…You mentioned you wanted to speak to the rest of the family, is that correct?” She said. He noted the fear in her voice…and sat back down.
“I did, yes. Just to ensure that none close to Lord Auberon are controlling him. Or are our suspects. You mentioned but one other, correct? Your son?”
“Yes. Dallius. Our family here is small…not many are interested in this particular throne. I…was wondering, if you may be able to take a look at him. He won’t be in much state to talk right now, I’m afraid. He’s been sick for days, and none of the doctors have been able to help him.”
Auberon hadn’t mentioned this. And that made him worry. But if he brought anything like that up, he would lose trust the lady had in him. So he stayed silent, and nodded.
“Curing diseases is something I am capable of. What are the symptoms, if you would not mind telling me on the way?” He stood again, and this time, the Lady followed suit, starting to lead the priest down a hallway, and into the hall of the castle proper. They walked by a large window on the way, which allowed him to see that it was nearing midday. He had spent quite a long time with the Lady, including waiting for her to awaken and be ready to present herself. He hadn’t gotten enough done in that time. He had hoped to have more suspects or ideas by this time, but yet, nothing. He’d spoken with a few servants and guards while he had waited for the Lady, but none of them had mentioned the young Lordling being sick…or anything odd at all. Which now, with this information, seemed odd in it of itself. All they would do is wish him good morning, speak his name, and offer small pieces of information. He hadn’t introduced himself to that many, he was sure. Either word traveled fast, or something was wrong.
But then his meeting had arrived. And now it was midday. He aimed to be more timely with his efforts the rest of the day. He did not want to reach nightfall without significant progress.
After a bit more walking, they reached a door, opened by the Lady, who motioned the priest in carefully.
Inside was a child’s bedroom. The clutter of simple toys and trinkets across the floor, with a path through them having been used consistently enough, but no bother being taken to clean the rest. Which meant the servants hadn’t been through to clean it. Likely out of fear of whatever the boy had caught.
The room was dark, curtains drawn over windows, and all of the candles extinguished. The only light coming from the hall, and the small bits which still peaked through the curtains. The boy laid in his bed, seemingly asleep, but tumultuously. He shook back and forth ever slightly. He was sweating, and appeared pale, sickly so, even more then his father.
The Lady turned to him, with an expression of worry on her face. “Every time he wakes, he says the lights are too bright. He says he is cold, and…he can barely walk. The local healer was unable to do anything, could you?”
He moved up to the child’s bedside, placing his bag down, reaching in and withdrawing a small brass rod and a collection of herbs. Giving a nod, he spoke in a grave tone of voice, even more then before. “I will do my best. Can you tell me when these symptoms appeared?”
“He became too unwell to stand a few days ago, but before that he was complaining about brightness, and eating more meat then usual…even before that he had seemed pale. I didn’t think much of it until it was too late. Is it possible that…” She began to trail off, a choked sob in the back of her throat.
“Your son is well on his way to becoming a vampire, Lady Auberon. Had it been caught sooner, it would have been simple to cure. Now it will be harder. Tell me, and answer honestly, why did not suspect it sooner, and who would have access to your son for more then a few hours at a time without supervision? This could not have been brought on by a short encounter. Had he gone missing at any point?” The Priest’s voice raised slightly, almost accusingly, akin to the tone he had taken with Lord Auberon.
“I…had no clue much about vampires outside of Edward’s stories, I hadn’t suspected until…well, you told me you were looking for a creature like this…one which feared the light…” She cast a fearful glance to her son’s bedside, as the priest began doing work with the herbs, spreading a few across the boy’s face, and tracing some kind of symbol into it with the rod. “Oh-and as for who…there’s me and his father of course-” Both already ruled out as suspects, for the priest. “A few of his friends, we let the boys have their run of the manor on days where they are not training…and then his tutor, of course. He’s a family friend, tutored Edward when he was a boy. He hasn’t gone missing, not that I can ever recall. He had a tight schedule…” She clutched the hem of her dress, almost fearfully. The information did give the Priest some pause in what he was doing, however.
“You say his friends. Have any of those boys also been sick, recently? Or at all, like this?”
She seemed to think, but shook her head. “I can’t recall, I’m sorry-you would have to ask the local healer about that.”
“Where does he stay. And where does the boy’s tutor stay? I assume neither live within these walls?” The Priest said, standing. Tucking his supplies back into his back, with a prayer given in the depths of his mind, for the Father to protect him.
“Doctor Crane lives in the town square, he also runs the apothecary and alchemist’s shop as well…not much business only with the sick I’m afraid. And his tutor…Valdemar stays on the outskirts of town, has his own personal library that he likes to keep secured.”
He nodded, and moved for the door. “Do not let your son out of your sight until I return. I can cure him, but not today. I must save my magic for the vampire. But you have my word, when I leave this town, he will be cured.”
“Oh, thank yo-” She began to cry.
But he had already set off, at a quickened pace down the hallway.
Doctor Crane’s alchemist shop was a smaller building, nestled between a butcher and a general store. It’s sign was in faded elvish, reading “The Bandit’s Brew”, a name which had somehow no consequences on the store’s well being. Ah well. The Priest walked inside two hours after midday (delayed by a lack of clear directions, and a few guard stopping him to ask his business, as an outsider), the area empty save for an attendant, a teenaged lionfolk girl, who wore the gloves and general outfit of an apprentice of some kind. The Priest gave her a nod.
“I need to speak with Doctor Crane, urgently. Is he in?”
She gave him an odd look, but ultimately nodded. “He is, shall I fetch him?”
“Can you take me to him instead? This is a matter best discussed privately, I’m afraid.” He tried his best at a smile. But it wasn’t all that reassuring. Either way, the girl shrugged.
“I suppose so, follow me, Father.”
“Just Lionel is fine.” He corrected, as he walked after her, into a back room stocked with various components and finished brews, and up a set of stairs. The apprentice knocked on the door, calling out into the chamber.
“Doctor! There’s a man here to see you, he says it’s urgent!”
A moment, before a reply came through.
“Thank you Lannaa, please return to your duties.”
The girl headed back down the stairs, and the priest walked inside. A small workshop which could likely double as an office, and another door which likely led to a living quarters. Sitting at a workbench, working with a pair of vials and components, was an older appearing human man, perhaps about the Priest’s age, wearing fine robes. A druidic stave hung over his back. That ruled him out as the night creature, not that he could be a suspect outside of in the most conspiratorial circumstances.
“Doctor Crane. My name is Lionel. I am hoping to ask you a few questions about a matter of grave importance.”
The Doctor turned in his chair, looking to the Priest with concern. “Well, how can I help then? Are you sick?” His voice carried the same concern and almost trepidation.
“No. I am not sick, but someone else is. Lord Auberon’s son?” The Priest said, raising an eyebrow. The Doctor looked a bit melancholy.
“Ah…yes. Poor boy. Whatever he had was beyond my means to fix I’m afraid. It’s sad, but my skills in magic and medicine aren’t as they once were, my connection to the wilde has faded and my hands…” He looked down to his calloused and worn digits. “Are not what they once were. I began training a successor too late, it seems.”
The Priest shook his head slightly. Giving what he thought was a reassuring smile, though the Doctor’s expression did not change. “I can cure him. But I want to find the cause of his sickness. So I must ask, as I understand you are this towns only doctor: Have any of the other children in this town come down with this sort of sickness? Ever, at any point?”
The question was pointed. He’d learned that this man was the town’s only doctor from one of the guards who had stopped him. They had at least been useful for something.
The Doctor gave him a confused sort of look. But seemed to understand somewhat of the logic behind asking it, giving a long sort of nod as he pondered. “Now that you mention it…I haven’t seen anything like it, not in this town. The only other times I saw it was when I was in Phirine…a group who came through the docks had symptoms like this, after a voyage south. Thankfully, someone managed to cure them then, someone a bit more magical then myself.”
That did not particularly impress the priest. All of the continents south and north of this one had far more vampires and other pests of the night, for one reason or another. But that was the information he needed. No child in this town could have contracted the illness without it being reported by their parents or, in the case of any urchins, a guard finding an incapacitated child would surely raise questions. So Lord Auberon’s son was turned by someone else. The tutor. He must have charmed Lord Auberon, and turned his son…though that wasn’t confirmed yet, it seemed likely.
“One final question. I am searching for a man named Valdemar, do you know where he is?”
The priest rode towards Valdemar as the third hour since midday past, and the fourth was soon upon him by the time he arrived at Valdemar’s home. The tutor lived outside of the city, in a cleared segment of the woods. The fog had thankfully mostly cleared, by the time he stopped his steed in front. No need for a tie or a stable. The creature was magically conjured, a gift from the Father, so as he dismounted, he feared not it running off, as he simply willed it to stay. He withdrew the silver mirror, and held a silver blade in the other hand, as he walked up to the door of the relatively small two story building, rapping twice on the door with the hilt of the blade.
He waited in long silence within the confines of the forest. Before he heard a noise behind the door. He used a bit of magic, hiding the blade from view. To any who saw him, he would only be holding the mirror.
The door was opened, by a high elf, with pointed ears and no visible sign of age to punctuate. Blonde hair was in a mass which was tied up behind his head. He wore the robes of a wizard, and had a wand in it, along with a spell tome, but neither were withdrawn. He gave a wary look to the priest as he opened the door in full.
“…Can I help you?” His eyes settling onto the summoned steed, it’s white coat a bit too flawless. He likely recognized the magic.
“Yes. My name is Lionel. I am a priest, and I’ve been sent by Lord Auberon to check on you.” Technically a lie. But the Father would forgive.
“…What for? Is his son well enough for me to return? Or…?”
“Or?” The Priest raised an eyebrow.
“…I thought perhaps he’d succumbed. My understanding was it was quite the serious ailment, and Crane could do nothing. I feared the worst, in truth…”
“He is still alive.” The Priest confirmed. The elf seemed to release a sigh of relief.
“That’s good. I feared-“
“That the transformation wouldn’t take?” The Priest cut him off.
The tutor gave him a confused look.
“What-“
The Priest gave him barely any time to respond, his silver blade appearing in the same stroke that he lunged. Blinding the man with a flash of light (sadly not sunlight) from the mirror, before using that arm to pin the man to the wall, before he could reach for a wand or focus. If he was a vampire, and the Priest believed he truly was, he wouldn’t need one,, use malificarum or similar arts and could easily throw this off. But this was one final test. The man squirmed with a bit more strength then the average person would have, but not quite vampiric strength either. He planned to summon a stronger spell, one which could scour him to the abyssal planes, once he got even the smallest physical proof.
Sadly enough, the proof didn’t come. Instead, the man struggles, trying to reach his spell focus. Either he hadn’t been a vampire long enough to have the instinct down, or…
With a swipe, the Priest brought the silver blade down. Slicing open the man’s cheek, as blood welled to the surface.
The Priest looked at the wound intently. He released a long sigh when he saw that the wound wasn’t burning in response to silvered contact.
He released the man, who crumbled to the ground. He stowed the blade…looking to him.
“It appears I was mistaken. You have my apologies…”
The Priest wracked his brain. That was all of his suspects…he looked to the Tutor again. Not even a twinge of regret behind his eyes, even if he had spoken what was supposedly one of them aloud.
“…But I need your help. When was the last time you saw the Auberon heir?”
The tutor gave a slightly confused look.
“Maybe a month ago? That was when he began to feel sick, I think?”
The transformation should have reached completion by now. Unless…
“Do you know of why?”
“Why he got sick? I don’t know…what has he contracted?”
“Vampirism.” The Priest said, gravely. The Tutor’s eyes widened.
“Is that why…” He made a motion towards where the blade had been stowed. And to the cut on his face.
“Yes. I suspected you the culprit, but you did not burn in response to silver. It was not one of the boy’s playmates, none of them have been sick. It could not be Lady Auberon, she passed by a window with sunlight through it. And Lord Auberon was struck by sunlight. None of the servants had the grandiosity. The Doctor practices druidic magic, which is incompatible with the talents of the Vampire. I know that a Night Creature roams, and has infected the child, but I do not know how.”
The Tutor stood up fully. The pain on his face gone, now replaced by curiosity, as he seemed to ponder.
“Is grandiosity truly a factor?” He questioned, a quizzical look to the Priest.
“Yes. Vampires are creatures of Greed. They would not lower themselves. They are likely in the creature’s thrall however, along with the Lord and Lady. It is odd that it did not attempt to turn them however, the child is an odd choice for a thrall.” The Priest seemed to not mind this change in tune from the Tutor.
The tutor stops. A look of horror coming over his face, as if recalling something.
“…What if it wasn’t given a choice?”
The Priest looked to him, not catching his meaning.
“The Lord’s blade. The Sword of Kazimir. It contains the life blood of vampires. The boy was always fascinated by it, I told him not to, but what if…”
The Priest’s mind raced with the possibility he had not even considered. Such a weapon, with that much lifeblood…the Lord likely wore a gauntlet, the child would not know to. But a drop of lifeblood, and the child would be addicted. Enough…and he’d start to turn. It wouldn’t be as fast. A true vampire would never do it this way, it would be too risky. But a blade? The blade wouldn’t have a choice.
“How would he even reach the blasted thing?” The Priest questioned, hoping to find a hole, a flaw, to hope that he was wrong. “Without his father noticing at that-“
“I was training him in magic. He’s no true mage, but a hand to reach is no massive feat. The guards don’t patrol that area. No thief would ever reach the throne room undetected. But the Lord’s own child…”
“Could do it easily. Even get repeated doses when his mother was not at his side, especially after the Doctor had given it up. I had hoped to the Father that I was wrong. But it seems there is nothing else to explain. I will return to the town. And ensure this evil goes no further. Thank you for your help. My apologies for the intrusion.”
The Priest gave the Tutor a stiff nod and began his exit, the man calling out to him, causing him to stop.
“Good luck-“
“-The Father does not deal in luck.”
And thus, he took his exit.
The ride back to town passed in silence, as the Priest urged his mount there faster and faster, the steed going as fast it possibly could down the old road back to Briarback. When he eventually reached the town, he blew past the town guards watching the gate, hearing their shouts behind him but not caring. He quickly moved up to the manor, dismounting once he reached the gate, and hurrying up the front path at a run. The sun was setting as he ran, he only had minutes of daylight yet, the early winter air starting to chill rapidly the more he walked. He threw the door open, past a servant who looked bewildered, saying a faint ‘good evening’ in a hardly shocked sort of way. The Priest kept moving forward, through the halls, up the stairs, and to the large doors to the throne room. The windows, open, trickled in the last remnants of the light as it quickly began to recede. He looked up, to the space above the throne.
The blade was still there. The light swallowing Sword of Kazimir resting where it had the same morning. The Priest dropped his bag, withdrawing a set of ritual chalks from it, and started to draw out his diagrams. Defenses against the undead. One stick was inlaid with silver, the other salt, full coverage against the unholy. As the light began to fade, the diagram of the full symbol of the Father was made, covering most of the room, and as light fell completely from the throne room, the Priest stood within the center of the diagram, feeling closer to his god then ever. And for the first time today, began to audibly pray.
“Father, deliver me from this threat. Allow me to ensure the Lord only loses one family member today. Allow me to preserve this unholy blade and ensure wrong hands do not fall upon it again. Allow me to right the mistakes of the men who surround me. Allow me to make your world pure, as your children have failed you. Let me purify Shie-Kar’s earth, Vina-Otris’s waters, Ita-Brey’s power, Hysi-Dar’s conquest, and Xani-Uphion’s flesh. Let me act as your conduit, Father, for I know your hand. I know you, Exemplar. Savior. Protector. Father.
He closed his eyes for the duration of the prayer. But he knew the Father had been here. Heard him. He always heard his name.
And when he opened his eyes, Dallius Auberon was standing in front of the diagram. He hadn’t heard him enter. The Priest spoke, in a heavy and weighted tone.
“Boy. You have been caught. Leave this room. And I promise you, come morrow, you will be cured.”
The boy took a step closer instead, staying silent. A maddening hunger in his eyes. The transformation was nearly complete. One more dose of lifeblood, or a few more days may complete it.
“I know your hunger eats you from within. You feel you must act. But I promise, this is not the only way. You can return to how you once were.”
Another step closer. The priest held two items close to him. The silver blade, and instead of the mirror, a lantern that was yet to be lit.
“This is your last chance. Turn back. Or I will not stay my hand.”
The boy just held his hand out. He heard a noise behind him, and moved just in time.
The Sword of Kazimir had flung free of it’s mount, and had landed in the waiting grasp of the boy. It was almost comically too big for this boy who could be more then ten. Yet, he swung it with perfect strength, within one hand, and with perfect form. His former blank face turned to a grin.
“A shame it has to end like this, old man. I was hoping you would leave.”
The voice was too grandiose for a child, too confident.
“I do not know which manner of night creature you are. But you will be slain. I do not care what form you take.”
“What a bad servant of the gods you are. Striking down a child? Surely you can find another way, can’t you?” His voice was taunting, as he began to try and walk to the Priest’s side, the man’s gaze followed him.
“I do not serve gods you know.”
The vampire turned up his nose. “I know. I can smell him on you. The dollmaker” Ah, good, he knew.
“Then you know why I am here.” The Priest said, resolute.
“Yes.” The vampire said, as he vanished from view. “To die.”
The blow came fast, and the Priest’s reflexes were not what they used to. A cut down his side as the creature effortlessly walked over the circle.
He winced, as the creature was visible again, the child’s body taking up a blade stance, attacking from the front. This time, however, the Priest was ready. Parrying the blow with a weighted strike from his own blade, the vampire’s increased strength compensating for a clearly poor form. This creature would not be used to conflict in this form. That would be his advantage.
Kazimir backed off but a step, before swinging again into another parry, the pair going back and forth, the Priest mostly being defensive, before he began taking his magical advantage. With a word to the father, empowered by the circle, the silver blade ignited into flame, the light blinding the night creature long enough for his strength to falter in the wrong direction long enough for the Priest to swipe beneath his guard. Inflicting a cut on the midsection. He stumbled back, wound sizzling from the silver and fire. The blade extinguished, and the Priest took a moment to gain some distance.
The creature gave a howl. “I’ll boil you like a maimed rabbit-” He extended a hand, blood welling to his fingertips, preparing to use Malificarum to his advantage, using the lifeblood within him and the blood for some form of arcane feat. But instead, his arm collapsed in on itself. Another howl of pain.
Seamlessly, the Father struck down the spell, and reflected it back. The Priest gave a smile.
“Did you think I drew this to ward you? No. A vampire of your potency would never be repulsed by so little silver and salt. Instead, it is an offering. To the dollmaker, as you so aptly named him. And now, that I borrow even a fraction of his power? And you’ve made yourself known to that power? Spilled my blood, a Sentinel’s blood? You’re going to wish I had simply cured this vessel.
He snarled, and lunged. And that’s when it occurred. That was when his mind erupted into it’s own internal hell. A psychic technique, borrowed from the Father himself. His mind would melt. Or at the very least, his hosts would. He still lunged, in a feral frenzy, but it was an easy dodge, the priest able to slice open the child’s neck, blood spewing forth from that wound, along from his nose and ears. The creature landed in a heap, starting to push itself up, now crumbped just before the throne.
“You’re nothing but a lapdog. Your so called god is a miserable excuse for a man, who-“
“Tell it to the Five.” The Priest said, as he ignited his lantern.
And the entire room was bathed in sunlight. As he funneled the energy of the Father, and the energy of the divine into the one simple artifact. It was a lot of magic to conjure true sunlight, but he carried the favor of the Exemplar.
And so the night creature, the demon, the vampire, Kazimir, and Dallius Auberon, was reduced to nothing but a burned and cut body. Collapsing to the floor. The blade clattering just outside his grasp. The Priest extinguished the lantern. Magic having mostly run out, with that feat. Summoning the presence of a god and the light of the sun were two feats he was lucky to survive. The symbol had lit aflame and seared itself into the floor, a sign it’s magic was gone. But he would likely be unable to access his truly divine reservoir for quite awhile. But it was worth it.
He took a moment to breath.
And that was when the door swung open. Lord Auberon stormed into the room, armor fully on. The Priest turned, ready to explain, when the Lord shouted, without hesitation.
“Guards! Father Lionel has murdered my son! Come quickly, he’s armed!”
A look of betrayal flashed across the Priest’s face, as Lord Auberon held out his hand. The Sword of Kazimir flew from the ground, and into Lord Auberon’s hand.
It just so happened the Priest was in the way. Kazimir smiled, at the skewered priest on the end of the blade.
“And so you die like a dog.”
The Priest would reply, but his blood was gone first, before the guards would even arrive, and before even the explanations of the child murdering vampire hunter. And how Lord Auberon had gotten there just in time. The symbol of his strange occultist deity carved into the floor of the throne room.
It should have been obvious, said the Lord, in his mourning. There was no god called the Father.
Kindling And Miscellany 