Callous to the bone...

[Rheawien]

Even though their safety seemed to be ensured by Altair’s presence, Rheawien couldn’t help but react instinctively once her gaze was met with at least a dozen, all belonging to bloodsuckers. Because there was hunger in those eyes, the animalistic kind that waited like an arrow knocked into a bow, the kind that made it clear that these vampires knew nothing of the alliance forged back at the campsite. Altair obviously saw this tension as well, his voice uttering words that she couldn’t comprehend. It seemed like a form of elven, though archaic and less mellisonant, trading suavity for rawer power. One of the vampires obviously didn’t like what he was hearing and when two others seemed to join him in this debate, Rhea thought that perhaps their introduction wouldn’t be as amicable as Altair’s. Her eyes ascertained the interior just in case they moved from words to swords.

Had she not saw the building from the outside, Rheawien could’ve hardly said that it had been a church once upon a time. There was not a single pew to be seen, no statues decorated the niches, there wasn’t even an altar on top of the dais. Instead, there was a pair of lofty chairs, one large and made of what looked like platinum decorated with rubies, and the other made of ornate polished wood. The larger one was occupied by a woman garbed in a dark purple gown made of velvety, translucent material that spread all around the foot of her chair. Her hair was black, as black as once Rhea’s was, her face pallid save for her thin, deep blue lips. Whether or not she actually heeded the entrants and the argument that unfolded, Rheawien couldn’t cay with certainty for the whiteness of her eyes seemed to devour her irises completely. Instead of the benches for the pious folk, there was a pair of tables by which the remaining vampires rose from their chairs in expectation of the outcome of the dialogue.

It ended only when the Queen of the Lair interjected, her voice curt and penetrating. Whatever she said seemed to reconcile Altair and his comrades. When she spoke again, she used Tradespeak and she addressed the half-elf. “We welcome you to our coven, Rheawien. I am Martea, and I thank you for your help in these dire times for us. Please, take a seat. And don’t worry; you are safe here.” Though she spoke softly, there was something eerily in the words and the manner in which they were spoken. They were both a plea and a commandment, spiced with unnatural charm that surpassed even the melodious voices of the elven bards. It was a voice that made you want to submit.

“Indeed. Come, we have much to discuss.” Altair led the way towards the pair of thrones, handing over the makeshift sack filled with Krugor’s bones about at the same time that the skeleton posed a question. Rheawien, still uncertain about this whole situation and the shifty eyes of the nightprowlers that attended the hall, wasn’t terribly concerned with the undead’s fate for the time being.

“Hell if I know. It’s your body, you deal with it,” she said in an offhanded manner, stuffing the talking skull in with the rest of the rattling bones before slinging it over her shoulder and following the vampire leader. There was grumbling all around the hall, and murmuring, and whispers that probably spoke of the how it would be best to rip her throat apart and feast on her life blood, but Rheawien walked doggedly, pushing aside the fact that they could probably tear her asunder should they decided to attack her. Fear was her worst enemy right now. No attacks came, and when Altair lowered himself onto the smaller throne, the white-haired woman dropped the sack of bones on the table and took a seat took a seat on one of the chairs. The remaining vampires did the same, albeit reluctantly.

“I’m guessing you have some sort of a plan,” Rhea said, keeping one hand on the glaive handle and the other on the table, fiddling around with one of Krugor’s scattered bones that were now spread all over the table.

“Yes, but it rests as much on stipulation as it does on your performance,” Altair said, as solemn as if they weren’t deliberating on the plan that might make his coven or break it for good. It made Rheawien wonder whether you got robbed of emotions save for the dark ones once you became one of the accursed. “These werewolves are far too smart. We’ve seen them deploy advanced tactics, setting up ambushes, luring us with decoys. It is not in their nature to act this way.”

“Maybe they evolved. And now they’re the big fish in the pond.” The vampires didn’t seem to appreciate neither her tone nor her metaphor. Altair continued as if he only heard the first part.

“I doubt it. It is too much of a leap. You humans live what, a hundred year at most? We’ve been around for centuries, some of us for thousands of years. We know how evolution works and this is not it. It is unnatural.”

“What are you saying?”

“We believe that somebody is controlling them, or that there is an anomaly, a leader that is smarter then the rest,” Martea said, her voice more soothing then Altair’s. “We believe that it never leaves their lair. We cannot penetrate their defenses nor can we flee; they track us far too easily. We believe that you might be able to eliminate their leader.”

“You believe a lot of things,” Rheawien retorted, her words acerbic despite her attempt to soften her tone. “You also seem to believe that I can take on an entire lair of these furballs.”

“Not at all. You will not act alone,” Altair again, unmoving in his seat of gold-and-red. “We will feign an assault, drawing most of them out to meet us. Once we do so, it will be up to you.”

“This is madness! We’re placing our fate in the hands of this... this harlot.”

“Do you have a better suggestion?” Martea thundered, reprimanding the vampire that spoke, a spindly, white-haired thing with his ivory fangs clearly visible. Clearly hungry. The silence that took reign was the only answer that she got, the only answer she needed.

“It is up to you. You can walk out of here right now and we will not give chase. Or you can help us,” Altair presented her the choices. Rheawien had another in mind, the one that was never too far when you were surrounded with creatures that looked at you as if you were hors d'oeuvres.

“Or I can fight you.”

“Yes, that too. But why would you do something like that?”

Why indeed? Her mission was to rid the region of vampires and this would achieve the same result as wiping the ruins clean of them. Even better, she would be killing two birds with one stone, because if these werewolves were really such an imposing threat, they would have to be dealt with sooner or later. And later was seldom better then sooner. Procrastination was never something she was fond of anyways.

“Fine. But if I do this, you will leave this area, never to return,” she said, her tone that of a strict diplomat that issued an ultimatum.

“With so many of our kin dead, with so many painful memories, so much of our blood soaking these lands, departing would be a blessing,” the black-haired woman said, and though her voice was icy and her white eyes emotionless, Rheawien believed those words, believed it like a child believed its mother. There was an ominous air surrounding this entire situation, a grim notion of pain that seemed to riddle each and every of them. It was hard for the half-elf to believe that there were such strong emotions – such human emotions – in these things, especially after considering them nothing but wolves in human skin.

“Then it is settled.”

“What about your friend?” Altair asked, a smarmy smirk creeping at the edge of his lips.

“He’ll help as well. If we put him back together. You don’t happen to have something sticky, like tar maybe?” she said, picking up what was probably a forearm bone and throwing it lightly with her hand before tapping it on the chatty skull. “How did you mend yourself back together the last time anyways?”

[Krugor]

“Did you just put me away?” Krugor asked when his surroundings turned pitch black. He could feel his bones against his cheeks, almost poking his eyeholes out. It was unbelievable how arrogant the woman could be at times, carelessly throwing away his skull when the tension was rising. She would need his help, he knew, but now he was helplessly laying inside the makeshift bag with the rest of his body. It wasn’t a comfortable place to be in. Krugor needed to be outside, helping Rheawien negotiate with what seemed to be the leader of all those vampires. The skeleton had only seen the pale woman for a quick second, but he knew there was more to it than she let on. “Come on, let me out!” he screamed. In vain, for the situation outside was more pressing than his situation inside.

Then, all of a sudden, light formed at the end of the metamorphic tunnel.

The bag opened and with a giant bang Krugor could feel his ‘temple’ being dropped onto a solid surface. Not being held together anymore the makeshift bag returned to being a simple cloak again and the skeleton could see himself surrounded by vampires. Lots of vampires. He wanted to scream, scream in fear, though he was so afraid he couldn’t. And it was probably for the best to keep absolutely silent, for Rheawien was already in conversation with the Queen and Altair, Krugor noticed. None of the presences in the room were even paying attention to him.

And that was how it always went. The skeleton would always try to do his best, always sticking his neck out for others, letting his body be ravaged by an oversized dog. But did they care? Did she care? Sure, she would pick up the pieces, but only to put them in some awfully smelling cape. She would carry around his skull only to put him away when he needed to shut up. It was horribly disrespectful, though on the other hand exactly how Rheawien worked. And Krugor sighed, knowing he would still had a long way to go if he wanted to break that wall the half-elf had build around herself.

And as if it was destined to be, the many eyes turned towards him when Altair asked about his wellbeing. Apparently they did want to bring him along, even though it would probably only be to play the bait again. But it didn’t matter for now, because Krugor only wanted to be put back together again. He grunted as Rheawien tapped his skull with one of his bones. Not because of the tapping, nor because of the question itself. It was because he strangely enough knew exactly how he was put back together the last time. It was one of those painful memories you can never completely forget, no matter how hard you try.

“Last time I had only lost a single arm, remember?” he said, staring at Rheawien. And that was indeed so, for the last time was in the Cell were his half-elf companion had been the cause of it all. Izvilvin had finished the job by stabbing him in the head and if it wasn’t for a slightly clingy necromancer he wouldn’t be here at all, anyway. But no, Talidus just had to resurrect him once more and screw his arm back on. A thought Krugor had rather forgotten a long time ago, but the pictures of him tied down on that operating bench would never leave again. Certainly not now Rheawien ripped open the old wounds with her question.

“That arm could easily be reattached with some screws, but I doubt this bunch of primitive parasites has any idea what a screw is anyway. And it’s not like I’ll let any of those undead near me again! Just get me some tar and I’ll do it myself!” Krugor said in a way more aggressive tone than he had planned to use. He just so desperately wanted to be whole again and the thought that he might get bolted back together like last time irritated him beyond comparison. Though it was obvious that the vampires were also irritated by his remark as they bursted into loud hissing. Some of them tried to smash the talking skull insulting them, but their Queen quickly intervened.

“Quiet” she said, in soft tone that surprisingly calmed down her brethren “Leave the skull alone, he is our guest.” Some of the nightprowlers that were already on the move towards the table retreated at the command of Martea. “Now, Altair” she continued, facing the vampire that guided them here as she spoke “You take that pile of bones upstairs. Use the liquid inside the barrel you’ll find there.”

Complaints were useless and in that knowledge Altair quickly grabbed the cloak filled with bones for a final time and made his way upstairs. Krugor hated being put together in any way other than the natural one, but being put together by Altair was something he probably hated more. The vampire didn’t want the skeleton to come along at all, right from the start, so the tension between the two was to be felt even outside the church. The old and rotten steps of the stairway passed by in a single fluent motion as Altair moved over them. Not knowing where they were heading was quite disturbing but it didn’t take long before the chef was freed from the cloak once more.

“Here it is” the vampire said, opening a small, wooden barrel labelled ‘Ettermire Glue’. “We found this amongst the goods of a convoy we robbed a long time ago. Thought it might come in handy one day.”

“You got to be kidding me” Krugor replied as Altair grabbed a slender stick and started stirring the contents of the barrel. He couldn’t see what was in it, because the vampire had already spread out the numerous body parts over the floor to make the gluing part a bit easier. Staring at the ceiling and hoping this would all end soon was the only thing he could do at this time.

“Let me just say I still think you’re a reliability, bones” Altair said while he grabbed an upper and lower leg and smeared the glue all over it “But I admire your courage. You helped us with that werewolf and now I’m helping you get put back together. Think nothing of it.”

“I wouldn’t dare. But would you mind using a little less of the stuff? I like moving my joints once in a while, you know!”

After what seemed like an eternity the vampire was done smearing glue all over Krugor’s body and helped him get up. It was a complete disaster to move with several joints also glued shut but at least the skeleton didn’t need to be carried around any longer. “Let’s go!” Altair said, giving the chef a little push in an attempt to motivate him.

“What was that?” Marthea said as she suddenly heard a ‘boing’ sound echoing throughout the entire church. A series of unflattering words followed the bang and with a smile she turned around. “It seems your friend is back again” she said, addressing Rheawien.

[Rheawien]

Meanwhile, while Altair took the bony jigsaw that was Krugor upstairs, the remaining members of the coven scattered around, continuing the debate in their peculiar tongue. Rheawien heard her name spoken several times, never in a very amicable tone, but most were content with making preparations for what seemed like a rather venturesome plan. Few of them had weapons though. She could spot several swords lying in their scabbards, a handful of longbows that seemed to be made out of bone, but nothing formidable. Then she remembered Altair and his metamorphosing magic and realized that perhaps they didn’t need them. When you could turn your hand into a lion’s head, daggers and swords seemed rather redundant. There was another detail the catty half-elf noticed about the vampires; they were diminishing. Despite their undisputable might that was like an aura of shadows the swirled around them, they were growing weak, their skin more callous, their eyes less clear.

“The thirst is getting to them,” Martea snatched the white-haired bitch from her thoughts. “It is getting to all of us. The werewolves seldom brave these ruins, but they prevent us from leaving them. Every time we go hunting, so do they, and less and less of us return.” The vampire with disturbingly white eyes then motioned towards Altair’s chair with her hand. “Come, sit next to me. It is seldom I get a chance to talk with somebody outside my coven.”

Rheawien was reluctant at first, not so much because she felt threatened but because she was uncertain whether or not she wanted to palaver with these beasts. They maybe had some semblance with humans, but that still didn’t make her feel all fuzzy and warm inside. Still, the charm in Martea’s voice was like honey, drawing her near and making her stubbornness yield. She got up, climbed the three stairs that led to the dais (making the Queen steady a handful of her minions who thought Rhea was making a hostile move) and sat on the velvety red cushion of the smaller throne.

“So, what does a beautiful woman such as you doing here, hunting vile things far in the North?” the pale-faced vampire asked, a tinge of warmth cutting through the coldness of the atmosphere. Rheawien’s retort wasn’t terribly affable.

“No, that’s not how it works,” she said, uneasy as she sat on the edge of the lofty chair. “Just because I’m helping you don’t mean we get to be best friends. More like...”

“...business associates,” Martea finished for her, the warmth still present. “Pity. You have so much potential, but you let your anger take over, thinking it strengthens you, making you untouchable. All it really does is cloud your eyes.”

Rhea knew what kind of potential the Queen was speaking of. Soon would come the offer she could – or could not – refuse: a life everlasting, if such a wretched existence could be called life. “You know nothing about me, lady.” The words should’ve rang true, but looking in those white eyes made the half-elf feel otherwise, made her feel as if the vampire snuck into her head and rummaged through her memory as if it was an old book. It made her look away abruptly.

“Perhaps,” was the cryptic answer. And then, after a short period of silence, “I have something for you, something that could aid you in the oncoming peril.” With that said, she shouted for a vampire named Ganeth and instructed him to fetch something. Several seconds later the Queen’s minion returned with something wrapped in pitch-black cloth. He handed it to Martea respectfully, sparing a suspicious glance on her current companion before he departed. The black-haired vampiric vixen started unfolding the cloth, her fingers working diligently at revealing an ornate breastplate. The enameled piece of armor was dark red, the color of blood, shaped to cling to a figure of a rather curvy female. There was just enough of it to cover the wearer bosom and end about an inch above the navel. There was a single rune just below the two metal cups.

“I used to wear this when I was younger. It saved my skin more then once. Hopefully it will serve you as well as it served me.” She handed over the breastplate and Rheawien found it was incredibly light and, strangely enough, just about her size. Her fingers passed over the rune, but the vampiress already had an answer to her question. “It is the Lightbane rune. It used to enable the wearer to turn herself invisible at will, but it was centuries ago and the enchantment faded since then.”

Rheawien’s keen eyes studied the reflective surface of the breastplate for several moments before she spoke again. “This is a valuable item. Why do I get the feeling that you want something in return?” Perhaps Martea was a mind-reader and Rhea wasn’t but she didn’t have to be to comprehend that there was some sort of an agenda behind this benevolence.

“No, I do not want anything else from you. But I do need something, we all do, but I will not take without your permission. None of us will.” Somewhere around the need part, the white-haired woman realized what would be her end of the bargain. There was only one thing that she had that the nightprowlers coveted, especially now that they were decrepit and starving. “You are strong, Rheawien. I have lived many a century, and I seldom met such a strong human. A goblet of your blood would be able to nourish us all, give us the necessary strength for the upcoming battle.”

“Hell no!” her mind insisted. She same here to kill these things, not to be their main course. But then Martea put one of her hands on her forearm and to Rhea’s surprise, her touch was so warm, enthralling even. It was so long since she was touched by a woman, even in such a meaningless manner. Her stubborn will resisted a second more, but when the Queen uttered a gentle “please”, she had no defense against it.

“Very well.”

She used her own dagger to cut one of her wrists, and immediately every single head was turned towards the dais. They could smell it, feel it, taste her blood even as it oozed into the large golden cup and permeated a scent that only the vampires could pick up. By the time they all gathered around the twin thrones, their ivory fangs were already announcing the storm that raged within them, their eyes wide and expectant. The Queen took the first sip, sighing in ecstasy before passing the cup to her minions with a strict word that sounded like a reprimand. They drank eagerly, lavishing in the taste of the liquid that brought life to their bodies. It was like a drug for them, Rhea concluded, and they were addicted to it for longer then they could remember.

When Krugor and Altair returned, the feast was done, Martea was wrapping Rheawien’s wrist with fingers that were strangely cold all of a sudden and Rhea felt a bit woozy. The blood loss wasn’t too major, but the goblet was almost as big as the biggest pint she ever saw and it all occurred pretty rapid, so when she tried to get up from the throne, she nearly lost balance and dropped her armor. The world stabilized soon enough though and she made her way to the skeleton that looked even less human now that he had no clothes, leaving Martea to explain to Altair what happened and give him his share of her blood.

“So, back amongst the unliving, huh?” Rhea asked, sporting the usual cocky smirk and slapping Krugor’s side. Unfortunately for the skeleton and his currently very fragile constitution, the strike was enough to detach his arm at the elbow, sending it sliding over the stone tiles. “Uhm... Let me get that.” She picked it up as fast as her rather wobbly feet allowed it, slipping the glue-covered elbow back into its rightful place, completing Krugor’s appendage. “I hope the glue dries by the time we march against those beasts.”

[Krugor]

“If I had any dignity remaining at this moment, I would be ashamed by that” Krugor said softly as Rheawien re-attached his arm, “I’ve never felt so weak as I do right now.”

Luckily enough there was a more strange sensation in the air for Krugor to focus on, so he could ignore his current nakedness. Looking around the room the skeleton could feel a change in the atmosphere, a change in the vampires. They seemed to be more eager than normal, as if they were motivated by something. A couple of the nightprowlers were already grabbing some of the few weapons that lingered about and were making their way towards the front exit. They hungered for battle against a far more superior opponent and Krugor wondered how long he had been upstairs, until a stern voice suddenly broke the silence and forced the already moving vampires to stop. “We need to go over the plan one more time!” Altair said firmly.

The, also partially glue-covered, nightprowler quickly jumped upon the Queen’s throne with much agility. It was clear that even he was now feeling the odds turning in favour of the vampires. Altair took a final sip from the formerly blood filled cup before addressing his brethren;

“My brothers, this will be the last instructions you shall receive before we head out towards those blasted werewolves.” The tension was amazing as each and every vampire present listened to the inspiring words. Few of them would remember precise instructions once they tasted the first drop of blood, but the inspiring words of a leader would always bring out the toughest of warriors inside them. They were willing to bet it all on one final attack, which would decrease their numbers even more, even if they were to succeed. The skeleton listened in awe, as he could do nothing but respect the vampires at this time.

“With the help of the half-elf woman and her blood we will finally be able to strike against our arch-enemy. We will make our last stand, now!”

Her blood? was the first thing passing through Krugor’s mind as Altair continued his speech. It wasn’t until now that he noticed Rheawien’s wrist and the goblet in the vampire’s hands. He made an attempt to confront the woman with it, but was rudely interrupted as Altair came to the details of his plan.

“I assume you all know what is expected of you. We will charge towards that stinking hole those beasts call a home and try to take down as many as possible. Our honored guest here will launch an attack at who, or more likely, whatever it is that is controlling them. And I’m sure this poor excuse for an undead here will assist her in any way that he sees fit.”

“Oh, you wanna…” the chef started.

“Anyway! I’ll be dividing us into three groups. The larger, main group will attack head-on, dealing and unfortunately also receiving the most of the damage. The other two will consist of some of the more experienced fighters, as they’ll move around and charge from the flanks once the main group has drawn out most of the lycanthropes from their hideout. It is clear that we need to fight them outside, were we have the upper hand. However, once we’ve breached through whatever means they have of defending themselves one of the flanking groups will escort these assassins into their lair. I’m very sure that the powerful force behind these drooling hounds doesn’t let himself be unguarded so I require of you to take down any resistance you find in there.”

Rumour started amongst the vampires, as the last part of the plan hadn’t been explained before. The ones venturing into the very hearth of the lair would almost certainly die and anyone agreeing to those terms would surely be mad. Objections were thrown towards Altair, who seemed to be unaffected by the words of his brothers. Martea joined him on the throne in an attempt to calm her minions.

“I know this might seem like a suicide mission, but we have no other choice. Living every day in fear and hunger isn’t living at all! Dying for the good of our race is the only right thing to do! And as such…” she started, claiming the attention of all who where present, “I’ll be one of the brave to accompany our guests.”

For a second the entire church was completely silent. An awkward silence, as a tree remains perfectly silent right before it’s ripped apart by an oncoming tornado, but a silence nonetheless. And as expected the entire church bursted into loud comments, demanding an explanation, quickly afterwards. It was hard to accept your destiny when it was so clearly wrong in any way. Krugor sighed as he watched the vampires debating loudly about the plan laid out before them. To his own surprise he even felt sorry for them, even though he knew perfectly well that they would slaughter an innocent human given the chance. This was just something you couldn’t even see your worst enemy going through. The choice between living in captivity, without any chance of ever lowering your guard, or death. Nobody should make such a choice.

“Silence!” the Queen spoke suddenly, in an stern tone that succeeded in doing what it commanded. “I will tolerate no more of your insolence! Either we die from hunger, being hunted down like beasts, living every seconds of our remaining lifespan in complete fear or we go out now and die fighting for our right to live! This our final stand and I’m not wasting any more time!”

Martea stepped down from her throne and descended the steps in front of it, arriving right in the middle of what seemed to be a very angry mob. Her very presence however seemed to calm the nightprowlers and they quickly followed her outside, knowing that every word they heard was the only truth they could believe in. Still, the vampires looked more like a death march than the battle-eager bloodsuckers they usually were. Krugor quickly grabbed Altair by his shoulder just as he was passing by, whispering something into his ear.

“I hate asking this of you, but do you mind helping me get back my clothes and weapons? I’m not entirely useless if I at least have some means of defending myself.”

The nightprowler sighed and the skeleton could see the wrinkles forming on his forehead as he pondered. “Fine” Altair said finally, with a voice that revealed that he was not entirely agreeing to it, but the two of them hastily spurted away from the main group of vampires, moving through the snow as fast as possible.

“I’ll be right back, Rheawien!” Krugor screamed as he moved away from the church.

[Rheawien]

It wasn’t a terribly clever plan, Rheawien thought as Altair and Martea laid it out, but regardless of how much she deliberated on it, the half-elf failed to come up with a better one; she was never one to boast with her intricate knowledge of battle tactics. Her father tried to teach her these subtleties of warfare multiple times, but in that aspect of her demeanor it was her mother’s spirit that prevailed. This uncouth, untamed remnant of the barbarian shamaness Aradiel used to be just a painful memory of her childhood, but with the passing of time, Rhea started to gain more and more traits of her deranged mother. First came the bitterness, then the sorcery, and now there was pride, the unbreakable kind that discarded all paths except the straightforward one, the kind that was borderline madness. The kind that made her lavish in braving the odds.

So while the vampires found a fair share of objections and alternative, half-baked plans, Rheawien merely sat on the sidelines of the argument, doing her best to don her newly acquired armor. The metal item had no clasps or straps, making it look as if it was forged from a single piece of metal, as impossible as it sounded. That forced her to put it on like a dress; she set aside her weapons and belts before placing the armor on the ground, stepping into it and pulling it upwards. Slipping it over her curvy hips took somewhat of an effort, but once that point was passed, the armor wrapped around her figure like a glove. A tightening glove. As soon as the blood-red armor was in the proper position, it seemed to embrace her body like a second skin, fastening itself so tight that she almost had trouble breathing. However, after several moments of adaptation by both the white-haired woman and the semi-sentient armor, the pair seemed to find a neutral ground and her breathing normalized.

She was just about done getting used to her new apparel when Martea demanded silence and descended amongst her kin. The long purplish gown of the vampiress seemed to transform as she walked, shortening at first until it no longer dragged behind the imposing female and darkening in hue until it was pitch black. By the time the evening gown turned into a pair of pants with knee-high boots, the upper torso of the queen was wrapped in spiked armor made of what looked like tangible shadows. Only Martea’s face was a contrast, pale as death with lifeless, expressionless eyes.

“It likes you,” she said to Rheawien, touching the metal of the armor with her fingers. “It fits you better then it ever fitted me. Hopefully, it will protect you just as good. Come, it is time to put an end to this.”

***

Outside, the night welcomed them with somewhat of a cold shoulder, throwing down plump flakes like feathers from a cut pillow. It was a gentle night – probably as gentle as they came this far north – and yet it seemed eerily cold to Rheawien, chilly enough to penetrate her magical resistance. At first she thought it was a temporary weakness due to the blood she donated to Martea and her minions, but there was no wooziness in her head and no fatigue in her limbs. Even when the nature decided to gradually change its mind and throw a fit of rage, turning the feathers into razorblades and the breeze into cracking whips, the coldness was a constant, unnatural thing. It took her a while to realize it was because of the atmosphere in their little sortie, because of the realization in the eyes of her bloodsucking companions that came to terms that most of them wouldn’t survive the ordeal. If life that flashed before the eyes of an average human had more then a handful of both high and low points, it was unimaginable to think how many of those moments flashed in front of the eyes of those that lived for hundreds of years. It was inconceivable to think how much each and every one of them would leave behind. For that reason and that reason alone Rheawien pitied the vampires.

When they reached the outer perimeter of the ruins, the storm was slapping their faces like an angered woman, insisting that they should turn back. The vampire Queen didn’t seem to be touched by it though. Her hair fluttered wildly for a while before it too, just like her dress, moved against all reason, coiling around the woman’s neck and lower face, leaving only her haunting white eyes visible. Still, her voice rang clear despite the benighted barricade that stood over her mouth and the rage of the storm.

“We shall wait for Altair and your friend here. We suspect that their lair is on the other side of the hill up ahead.” Martea paused then, her white eyes looking forwards and seeing something nobody else could see. “I think they do not know we are coming. I cannot sense them yet.”

[Krugor]

“Keep it moving, bones!”

Ploughing through the thick snow was in no way an easy job, as a chilly wind raised its ugly head. The storm was strong enough to lift Krugor up in the air, if he wasn’t so persistent on getting his stuff back. The skeleton had to cover his face with his forearm to prevent the air from fully penetrating his empty eye sockets and raising hell inside his skull. However, through this all, Altair seemed quite unaffected by anything going on around them. The vampire kept a sturdy pace, often leaving Krugor a few steps behind, at which point he would scream and insult the skeleton like he usually did. But it didn’t bothered the Master Chef at this point, for it was obviously clear that Altair felt –with a lack of better words- utterly crap. For the first time since the two of them had met the vampire revealed his true feelings with his facial expression. It was unthinkable that he could fake his emotions at this point. For even if he managed to survive the upcoming battle and defeat the werewolves, it would still leave the vampire community with a massive loss of their own kin. It was impossible that they would walk away with even half of what they came with. And Krugor realized this very well. He could feel the pain as his own. The agony and despair of knowing that everyone you ever knew, everyone you ever loved, would probably die in just mere minutes. And yet, with this unbearable knowledge, the vampires still went to battle. They were a proud race after all. Blood sucking parasites, yes, but with pride.

“Here. Grab your stuff quickly and lets get moving! We’re already behind” Altair screamed, forcing Krugor to a full stop. The skeleton hadn’t noticed the vampire slowing down, as he was to busy forcing himself to keep his feet on the ground, but now he could also see the ravaged backpack in front of him. It was mostly torn apart, with his pots, pans and cooking gear spread out around it. Several piece of papers with recipes scribbled on it lay right next to the cookbook. Such travesty! The skeleton wanted to cry, scream out and kick the werewolf’s corpse. And if it wasn’t for the nightprowler already on his way back, Krugor would’ve probably done so. But one, simple look at Altair made him realise why he was here. Not to moan about his lost, material possessions. No, he was to get his gear and keep the werewolves from slaying the entire vampire society. So, without any more hesitation Krugor grabbed his torn backpack and his quarterstaff, which wasn’t even broken or scratched, due to a fortunate and recent upgrade to a solid, plynt material. “Altair, wait up!” he yelled, spurting after the shadowy figure moving towards the horizon. It was amazing at which speed the vampire could keep moving.

“Got your stuff?” Altair asked “Finally. Now lets get moving! This is taking-“

The vampire suddenly froze in place, forcing himself to not take another single step. He could feel the warm, smelly breathing on his shoulder as he tried to regain his senses. How could he not have noticed it closing in? There was somebody behind him and the lust for blood was so strong it almost forced the nightprowler to his knees.

“Bones?” he asked, knowing perfectly well that it wasn’t Krugor standing behind him. A guttural noise was the only response, confirming that it indeed wasn’t the skeleton standing there. “Bastard…” Altair softly whispered to himself. “So, you survived, did you?” he asked as he turned around. All these lycanthropes looked alike and if wasn’t for some subtle differences in color and hair density they might all as well be clones. Therefore it wasn’t all that strange that Altair thought the beast behind him was the very same werewolf they had slain a while back. After all, there couldn’t possibly be any more of them with the sheer luck of entering the vampires territory unnoticed. But, even this hopeful thought was rudely shattered as two, three, four…up till six even appeared next to the single one standing in front of Altair. “Vampire…” one of them said in a zombie-like tone.

In one fluent motion Altair sped off to the other side, charging as fast as he could. He needed to get away quickly, build up some distance, if he wanted to live to tell the tale. “Damn! Damn!” he kept yelling to himself as he ran, so fast it seemed to be flying. “How could there be so much of them here? Damnit!”

“Now you die!” a low voice spoke completely unannounced. It forced Altair to another full stop, as three more lycanthropes appeared right in front of him. He was completely surrounded at this point. A perfect ten of the monsters were all drooling and slowly closing in. The vampire hissed, arching his back and revealing his right arm, which already seemed to take on the shape of a roaring lion. “I’ll take you all down with me!” he screamed as one of the hairy beasts came forward. The werewolf jumped into the air with agility surpassing that of any of his kin, his fingers clenched into a fist and aimed for the single vampire in the middle of all the monsters. It would surely snap a few bones in Altair’s body if it was a clean hit. The vampire prepared for the impact as he clenched his own fist so tightly it started to morph wildly and more uncontrolled then any time before.

Bang!

The loud, metal-like noise came so unexpected that even the tallest of the werewolves needed to rub his eyes a few times before he could comprehend what happened. Altair still stood upright, but his recent attacker was now laying a few inches in front of him, with a big, red swelling on his forehead. At this time even the mentally exhausted vampire couldn’t suppress a smile as he noticed the iron cooking pot laying next to the beast.

“Excuse me! Pardon me!” Krugor said as he forced himself through the line of werewolves. “It seems you’ve found my pot, good sir!” he spoke again as he grabbed the pot from the ground and rubbed the beast’s head a bit. It took the crowd a while before they realised what happened, showing once more that these lycanthropes really didn’t have the intelligence to organise this all on their own.

“Told you to wait for me” the skeleton said, facing Altair and completely ignoring the others surrounding them.

“Yes, fine. I suppose you want me to thank you now? Well, I won’t do it! You were my only chance, fool!” Altair said, shaking off his former feelings of relief.

“I don’t quite follow…”

“We’re going to die here! We’re surrounded! You need to warn Marthea, for these vile beasts are attempting a counter-attack! Can’t you see? There are too much of them!”

“Now you listen to me!” Krugor said in an unexpected wave of rage “I came here, risking my own life to save yours and now you’re blaming me for wasting a last chance? I don’t know how you vampires usually operate, but I’m not usually on my best when I’m running through a thick layer of snow, butt-naked and glued together by some crazy Elf’s mixture! I would die before I even started walking, idiot!”

“Well, that-“

“No, now you listen! The only reason I even joined that nutcase of a Rheawien was because I needed your barbeque recipe! And what did I get? I got used as bait, got my limbs torn off, glued back together, forced to co-operate in some losing battle to save some tribe of people I don’t even like and the only thing you can do is insult me? I have Rheawien for that, you know. Now I’m going to save your ass and warn that Queen of yours at the same time, just watch me!” the skeleton screamed in rage.

“Krugor, they are coming!”

The hand-lion shot through the air as two of the lycanthropes came charging for the skeleton. They obviously had heard enough babbling and wanted both of the undead dead. The beasts retreated for a second as they noticed one of their kin dropping to the ground with a giant hole in it’s chest. But not for long, and the vampire was quickly drawn into battle once more.

“Do what you have to do, bones, but make it quick!”

Altair’s words were in vain though, for the squishy mushroom on top of the plynt staff had already dropped to the ground. Krugor smiled as he saw three of the drooling beasts coming towards him. They grunted when they saw the thing grow to the size of a horse, but didn’t hold back, unaware of the damage that a massive mushroom could do to a charging attacker.

Eat mushroom, suckers!

Like a pair of bowling pins the lycanthropes were knocked aside as the humongous fungus blasted them aside, leaving one of the three laying upon it. It left a trail mark in the snow as it continued to charge towards the horizon.

“What, in the seven layers of hell, was that?!” Altair asked dumbfounded.

“Oh that? That was a mushroom” Krugor responded smiling.

“Yes, I saw that. Where’s it heading?”

“It’s heading towards Rheawien. She’ll get the hint”

((I liked the idea, but Krugor isn't the type of skeleton to leave somebody behind. So he just sends out his giant mushroom. I reckon Rheawien still knows the thing from the Cell, so she'll know what it means Plus the werewolf laying on top of it should give some insight too!))

[Rheawien]

“Let me just reiterate that I think that this is a very bad idea,” one of the vampires said, holding to a two-handed sword as if he was holding to his life. Though Rheawien was by no means an expert when it came to vampiric genealogy, this particular bloodsucker looked rather young to her, and not just by looks. While the majority of others had their sullen, focused faces on, this blonde lad was as jittery as a maiden on her wedding day. Obviously young the first time he died, the boy certainly wasn’t too keen on dying young the second time too. Unfortunately for him, his desires differed from what the fate had in store with him.

No sooner then he uttered his complaint and jerked his head backwards to inspect a peculiar sound, a huge object emerged from the dark, sweeping him off his feet before it, the vampire and a large pile of silver fur crashed through the wall of the ruinous two-storey building. “What the hell was that!?” another member of their little sortie asked, peering through the hole in the crumbling wall just like the rest of them. Only Rheawien recognized to object; it was rather hard to forget a titanic mushroom that Krugor used against her during the Cell tournament. This time the surreal weapon was launched at one of the werewolves that recovered from the impact just in time to tear the young vampire to shreds with his paws.

“Who cares? They are here,” Martea said, the only one present with head cool enough to go help her comrade that was being decimated by the beast. Utilizing a technique very similar to Altair’s, the black-attired vampire Queen turned her hands into liquefied shadows. These macabre tendrils darted from her palms like snakes, striking the werewolf in the chest and exiting out his back only to wrap themselves around both sides of the beast’s ribcage. The creature growled and howled in pain, tearing the grim strings that tore through its flesh, but for every one that was broken, two more slithered from Martea’s hands. Finally, the undead woman whose eyes shone like sun-basked pearls spread her hands in one rapid motion, tearing the werewolf in half like a sack filled with blood and guts. The tendrils receded just as fast as they came to existence.

With no time to be amazed by the dark magics, Rheawien turned to rationalizing the existence of an enormous fungus. “Krugor! He and Altair must’ve been attacked by the werewolves while they were gathering his things! He uses this thing in battle,” the half-elf’s voice struggled with the whipping wind of the blizzard.

“Then they anticipated our move and brought the battle to us,” Martea said, her voice reaching each and every member of the group despite being serene and low in volume. She turned to the white-haired bitch next before she addressed her kin. “The two of us shall proceed to their lair. The rest of you have to go and help Altair. They probably meant to take us from the back. But they made a mistake of challenging us on our terrain. This is your town. Defend it! GO!”

They were reluctant, even fearful to proceed without their Mistress, but her white eyes were unyielding, sovereign, demanding obedience, striking them like a slap of a grouchy sergeant. It took only one of them to make the first step and the rest followed with their weapons ready, disappearing into the black-and-white of the snowy night. “This is not our battle, Rheawien,” Martea said to her solitary companion now. “They will buy us time to do what we must.”

Even though it felt wrong to the bitchy half-elf – after all, she liked to meet things head-on – she followed the vampire queen in the opposite direction. They walked past the last line of the houses, threading thought the unremarkable vastness of the white that seemed to lack both the beginning and the end. More then once Rhea was positive that they were lost, that they were walking in circle as the snow caked both of their feminine forms, but Martea led decisively, as if she had a compass in her head and the needle constantly pointed in a single direction. Rheawien admired this resolve, this steely certainty that permeated confidence like an aura. She wanted to be like this woman... No, she wanted to be this woman, to be so sure in every decision, to be able to lead and instill fragments of your confidence in others. It was then, in the benighted waste of Northern Salvar, with the howls of the wind mixing themselves with the howls of the werewolves that clashed with the vampires behind their backs, that the half-elf started to actually envy the vampires.

They swung around the foot of a small hillock, fighting the wind that stabbed at their eyes and the snow that swallowed their feet, but soon enough they reached an archway that led into a pitch-black cave. Bestial footprints were abound in the snow here, the most recent ones heading out of the cave mouth and over the hill in the direction of the ghost town. Rheawien wanted to comment on this finding, but Martea pressed a finger against her lips and gestured that they should proceed stealthily.

The darkness devoured them as they crept deeper into the cave. Even though they were sheltered from the wind and there was little draft in the half-circular passage, the chill was so prominent that it pricked Rhea’s skin. It was as if darkness itself had teeth and it bit into her flesh, penetrating all the way down to the bone. There was something wicked in this place, and once they finally came out of the darkness and into the dim azure light of the room beyond the tunnel, they found out what.

“WELCOME!!!” the voice boomed, its echo adding another bite of chill.

[Rheawien]

((Krugor went AWOL on me, so I'm wrapping this up on my own.))

The room in which the darkness ended looked like a natural formation to Rheawien, but there was a touch of something other then nature present. Even though there seemed to be no visible source of illumination, the icy azure walls of the cave seemed to be glowing with a mystic soft glow. The stalactites were looming forebodingly from above, like teeth in the maw of a dead dragon, completely enveloped in ice, just like the rest of the room. The stalagmites that were supposed to form the “teeth” of the bottom jaw, however, were cut, forming a wide array of semi-conical platforms. Five of these platforms were occupied. On each of the lower four that surrounded the center one stood a beast encased in a suit of armor. Given their constitution and their peculiar posture, there was little doubt that all that metal concealed four werewolves. The growl with which the four greeted the intruding pair only further confirmed this suspicion.

The fifth platform was higher then the rest, with two sets of stairs winding around it in a shape of a double helix. Though it wasn’t unnaturally high – some twenty feet at the very most – it was dominating the scene. Perhaps that was why its denizen selected it as a perfect spot for his throne. The chair was entirely made out of metal. Uncouth and gray, it was of the kind that the barbaric kings with no panache chose for their royal halls. But there was no king sitting on this particular throne – not even a prince. Instead, Rheawien’s eyes could see a diminutive figure of what looked like a child that sat wrapped in bearskins and furs. For a moment the half-elf thought that the child was a prisoner, but that doubt was soon shunned away when he got up from his perched throne and walked up to the ledge. And it was then that Rhea realized that this boy wasn’t a boy at all.

Even though he had the body of a wee lad of some eight or nine years of age, the face of the cave-dweller was callous and wrinkled, the face of an old man. His hair was thin and gray, his hand finding support in the ebony cane. His attire was one usual for northern folk; tanned animal skins and furs that made him look short and chubby. But it was his eyes that disconcerted Rheawien the most. She was barely able to get used to the utterly white eyes of her vampiric companion and their phantasmal gaze, and now she was looking at the complete opposite; the inky abyss in the eyes of the boy.

“Who are you?” Rhea demanded, taking a bold step forward, but the only reply she received was a twitch of the boy’s lips that might’ve been a smirk. He wasn’t about to disclose them his story. He wasn’t about to tell them about the memories of the past that were slowly fading out of his memory, pictures of a time where the only coldness was the morning water with which he washed his face. He wasn’t about to give them the doleful litany of the times when he was born into a family of aristocrats down in Knife’s Edge. He wasn’t about to tell them how that dreamy life crumbled in one single night, how the vampires massacred his family. He wasn’t about to tell them that they left him a gift that kept on taking from him, plaguing him with vampirism and sentencing him to an eternity spent in the body of a child. He wasn’t about to speak of the loneliness, desperation, wrath and the uncanny game of chance that brought a powerful magical item in his position. He wasn’t about to reveal that he took control over a lair of werewolves with the sole purpose to kill vampires. He wasn’t pretentious enough to think that he could get them all. But he hoped that he could at least kill enough to satiate his craving for retribution.

But he wasn’t about to tell any of that. It was several decades too late for negotiation. Now was the time for carnage.

“Time to die,” the boy said and the armored werewolves moved in unison, all four of them leaping from their platforms and landing on the cavern floor. They didn’t have any weapons. They didn’t need any weapons. Their menacing claws were out, a foot long and glittering as if they were made of metal. Their growls and the clanking of their armor took over the spacious cave. Like their master, they too were out for blood, the boy’s anger and hatred channeled into their simple minds.

“Go, take care of the master while I deal with his pets,” Martea said, her white eyes locked on the four impressive enemies as a veil of shadows started to form around her hands. Rheawien was reluctant to obey; as strong as the vampire Queen was, she stood little chance against four foes. And yet, even though she probably knew it as well, there was no uncertainty in her eyes, her posture calm, her face resolved. Debating with her now was like trying to talk a rock into not being a rock. So Rhea did what she was told.

She dashed to the right, but one of the werewolves was already en route to intercept her. But before he even got a chance to lay one of his paws on the white-haired woman, ropes made of blackness wrapped around his meaty ankles, forcing him into an uncontrolled dive and skid over the glazed surface. By the time Rheawien jumped to the first platform and looked back, Martea was already involved in a heated skirmish, moving like a blurry shadow between the mountains of flesh and metal. Though they never established eye contact, Rhea could almost hear a voice in her head, and it said: “You do your job and I’ll do mine.” It was all the incentive that the half-elf bitch needed.

Leaping from one of the lower platforms and onto the small staircase, Rhea soon found herself on the main platform, face to face with the tiny old man that would’ve looked comical if not for the hateful look in his eyes. Now that she was so close to him, she could see an amulet he wore, the enchanted piece of jewelry decorated with a massive opal that shone as if it reflected a sunray. However, despite the obvious height difference and the pair of swords that found its way to Rheawien’s hands, there was no panic on the boy’s visage, and when he spoke, he spat the acrimonious words.

“You’re not a vampire, but you’re helping them,” he said, drawing phlegm from his throat and launching it towards the half-elf. The mucus came out short, landing just before Rhea’s boots, but the message was received. “A familiar. You’re even worse then them. And you deserve the same fate.”

With a flick of his free hand, the aged lad put his magic to work. Some of the ice that seemed to cover every surface in the cave broke free from the stone, shattered into a myriad of frosty jagged blades that were launched at Rheawien. But despite their obvious sharpness, most of the shards seemed to deflect off of Rhea’s skin, partially countered by the power of her northern blood and partially by the power of her protection amulet. It was her time to smirk. “I don’t think so,” she said, and even as she did so, the three glaives that she wore at her belt sprung to life, levitating above her head. With a motion of her sword-hand, she sent them darting at the boy, swirling and zigzagging as they traversed the distance. When the kid didn’t move, she knew she had him. But when her glaives struck a sphere of energy that materialized out of nowhere and fell to the ground, she knew otherwise.

“Your weapons can’t hurt me,” the boy said with the cocky arrogance that drove Rheawien forward almost instantly. She brought her twin blades in a double slash, but she felt as if she was striking a stone wall. Her slashes bounced off the sphere harmlessly, even when she called forth her inner energy to amplify the strength of her blades. Inside this globe of invulnerability, the old man smiled like a child. And then he countered. Rhea could see it coming, but there was no defense against it. What looked like shackles made of white energy burst from the inside of the sphere and infallibly found her wrists and ankles, wrapping themselves around them and the proceeding to propel Rheawien’s body through mid air until her back struck the far cave wall. Pinned to the wall, the half-elf could only watch as the eerily boy formed a spear out of the same white energy.

“You fought with them. Now it’s time for you...” but he never got a chance to finish. To both his and Rheawien’s surprise, a quad of black tendrils erupted from his chest before hooking onto his flesh. “No!” the boy screamed, reaching for these shadowy deathbringer and trying to tear them off. “NO! THIS CAN’T BE! I WILL HAVE MY...” The word vengeance was only bawled in his mind, because the rest of his body was unable to speak it anymore. Just like they tore a werewolf in half minutes ago, the tendrils split the boy’s body in two, sending his legs and waist on one side, the upper torso on the other and blood and entrails all over the floor and walls. Behind this gory scene, kneeling on the last step that led to the platform, the battered form of Martea was retrieving her deadly mystical weapons.

[Rheawien]

With the vengeful lad dead, the magic that restrained Rheawien was gone as well. The shackles vanished as abruptly as they came to existence, releasing the half-elf into a free fall towards the cavern floor. No sooner then Rhea’s feet touched the ground, she was running back up the stairs and towards the fallen form of the vampire Queen. The jaded vampire was back at her feet by then, but they were so wobbly that she fell into Rhea’s arm as soon as the white-haired woman came close. There were wounds all over Martea’s body, tears made by the claws that went deep, marring the perfect body of the vampire. The ivory white of her eyes faded to a hue of washed out linen.

“You’re wounded.” Rheawien said, trying to lay the majestic woman on the ground. A calm voice stopped her from doing so.

“Yes, but that is a small matter right now,” Martea spoke, coughing weakly.

“No, it’s not! I’m not going to let you die,” Rhea spoke, holding the woman in an embrace and gazing into the eyes so nondescript and yet so alive. She knew what she had to do, what would rejuvenate the vampire – any vampire. Tilting her head sideways, the half-elf exposed her long pale neck to Martea. “Here, take my blood.”

“Do you know what will happen if I do?” the Queen asked. Though there were no irises in her eyes, Rheawien knew she was looking at her, digging deep beyond her browns. And what she found was understanding and willingness. Rhea knew what would happen; she would become what she came here to hunt. It was a great price to pay, and yet she felt so connected to Martea, so enthralled by her, that she was willing to do anything. So she nodded in response.

Martea brought her lips to the soft skin of Rheawien’s neck. The touch alone made the half-elf sigh and embrace the vampire even closer, preparing herself for the bite. But the bite never came. There was only the softness of the caress of a woman that almost made her dizzy, that made her feel warm in all the right places. And then Martea moved back just enough to look into Rhea’s eyes once again.

“I don’t need your blood, Rheawien Mal’Ganis. I’m a vampire. These wounds will heal with time,” she spoke in that same steady, dominating voice that seemed to conquer Rhea’s will effortlessly. Martea’s hand touched the face of the half-elf with a velvety caress. “But to know that you are willing to make that sacrifice... That is something else. That means you don’t loathe us anymore, and that maybe you can understand us one day. But it is not your time to join us yet.”

With a warm smile, the vampire queen untangled herself from Rheawien’s hands, but when she tried to descend down the spiraling stairs, she once again lost balance. “While I don’t need your blood, I could use a helping hand getting back to town,” she said, her tone less serious and more jocund, almost inappropriate for somebody so high-esteemed. “I’m afraid playing with those pets of his took its toll on me.”

***

There were no celebrations once they returned to the ghost town. Though Altair, Krugor and several other vampires survived the onslaught and the remainder of the werewolves scattered after the death of the deranged boy, the vampires paid respect to their comrades with silence, collecting a portion of their ashes in ornate urns. And after the mourning period, just like they promised, they departed from the ghost town, determined to leave Slavar and find a less turbulent place to rebuild their coven. The goodbye was harder on Rheawien then she ever imagined it could’ve been. But where they threaded, she couldn’t follow.

Not yet.


((SPOILS:
Lightbane Armor –Rheawien received this enameled prevalida plate from the vampire Queen, Martea. With its hue as dark as blood and a seemingly unimportant rune positioned between the breast cups, this majestic piece of armor clings perfectly to a feminine figure and ends about an inch above the wearer’s navel. Its magical abilities are currently locked, but they could be unlocked later on if the circumstances are right (abilities have to be earned as a spoil in a quest).))

[AdventWings]

Mmm... Interesting... Very Interesting...

Well, due to time constraint on my end, I will address only a few parts that really needed attention. Overall, both Rheawien and Krugor did fairly well through the progress of the story. I would have liked Run to be more involved. It is such sweet sorrow to know he could not follow through in the journey...


Story
Continuity - 6
Setting - 6
Pacing - 7

Writing Style
Mechanics - 6 ((Krugor has a good deal of trouble with similar-sounding words, so you need to be careful about what you say. Liability and Reliability are quite the opposites of each other, so be careful with your word choices. Re-reading your posts from time to time also helps.))
Technique - 5
Clarity - 7

Character
Dialogue - 5
Action - 6
Persona - 7

Miscellaneous
Wild Card - 6

I like the direction Rheawien is developing as a person and Krugor's antics are blessed distractions from the serious undertone through the entire quest. However, the vampire NPCs were portrayed rather differently between your two writing styles. In Rheawien's posts, Altair came off as aloof, classy and "gentleman-like." In Krugor's posts, though, the noble-looking vampire came off much more lively and humorous. That may be a good thing, but the diruption in personality flow can irritate the reader and the image linked in their mind. It is often said that First Impressions are the strongest thing people will remember each other by. Of course, changing the label in which we put on others can be changed - when it is done gradually, it is easier to be acceped in comparison to contiinually switching from coyly dangerous to being emotionally unrestrained and goofing off sometimes.

Final Score - 61!

Rheawien receives 2240 EXP and the Lightbane Armor. However, seeing that she had only recently acquired it, the potential powers of the Prevalida Armor is temporarily hard for her to control. It will take her some time to bypass the armor's anti-magic properties, but not impossible.

Krugor receives 1020 EXP and 200 GP.

Run receive 500 EXP and 100 GP.