Callous to the bone...

[Rheawien]

((Salvar Adventurers board quest. Closed to Krugor and Run.))

“I think you don’t know what you’ll be dealing with, miss.” a man spoke with an accent so thick, it perfectly reflected his lack of familiarity with Tradespeak. Given the current location, Rheawien wasn’t surprised. Wrapped to his neck in thick, rugged furs of what seemed like some sort of white bear, the man looked like a half-giant to the acrimonious woman, easily a whole foot taller then her and a genuine embodiment of what a Salvarian should look like in her mind. Especially this far north. He was Tarnis Eneth, she found out when she first arrived in the quaint Venthac village, the tribe’s chief or elder or wiseman or whatever the title the head honchos liked to give themselves around here. However, despite his rather impressive bulk, the man was cordial enough to greet her personally and give her a rundown of the entire situation.

Apparently Venthac village had some issues with their newest neighbors; a rather predatory group of vampires that haunted the Hothric ruins. First time Rhea heard about this she was some twenty miles south, where a merchant that just concluded his tour through the northern regions and was running from it like a bat out of hell. He himself wasn’t harmed by these pesky bloodsuckers, but he heard enough stories to ensure him to stick to the south coastal regions, where the competition was stronger and the profit margins were decreased, but at least he wasn’t threatened by the undead. Rheawien usually paid little heed to this blabbering of the tipsy travelers; scared men saw double and tipsy scared men saw triple and the hawker was rather inebriated when he spoke of the trouble in the north. But given the fact she was wandering in that general direction anyways, she decided to look into it.

“Spare me the preaching, pops. I know. They’re fast and strong and almost impossible to kill and a little woman like me shouldn’t be messing with them.” the half-elf responded, her brow furrowed and her tone spiteful as she looked up at the man. Standing in nothing but a rather scandalous tank top and a pair of skintight shorts, Rheawien looked like somebody who just took a wrong detour and wound up in snowy mountains instead of sandy beaches. Tarnis was genuinely shocked by her lack of clothes the first time he set his eyes on the white-haired vixen – though neither him nor any of the male villagers minded much - but after she repeatedly refused any furs he offered her, he stopped offering it. What she didn’t disclose to him – and didn’t deem it necessary to do so – was the fact that barbarian blood flowed through her veins, Dram blood. The immunity to cold was one of the characteristics that her mother’s barbaric heritage granted her. So now the uncanny pair stood in front of the cozy looking cottage that puffed translucent gray smoke that slowly drifted southwards under the effect of the deathly cold northern wind.

“You don’t understand. A couple of our boldest went to these ruins about a week ago. Five riders rode out and five mounts returned with a note of gratitude for the meal. They’re animals.” the burly man spoke, and though there was no fear in his voice, there was utmost respect instead, the kind a person has towards a formidable opponent. Rheawien didn’t blame the man. If the vampires came to the village, he would probably defend it with his life, but Salvar folk learned long ago that poking a slumbering bear wasn’t a wise thing to do.

“All the more reason for them to be put down. Listen, I can handle myself.” the cocky female replied, the arsenal on her body confirming the statement. But Tarnis didn’t seem impressed.

“Why?” he asked in a raspy voice that came from above. “Why do you want to do this so bad? It’s not about the money because you already refused that.”

“I’m just that much of a do-gooder.” It was a blatant lie and both of them knew it, but the half-elf was reluctant to reveal her true reasons for both being in Salvar and accepting to do this task though nobody actually asked her to do so. The truth was, Rheawien wanted to get lost after The Cell. That tournament was a disaster for her in more ways then just one. She tricked the loanshark to whom he owed a fine sum of money and now she had his mobsters on her back. As if that wasn’t enough, she managed to screw up the one relationship that recently meant a damn to her. On that fateful day in the cage, she killed Izvilvin, a drow who was both a friend to her and once even a lover. It was betrayal of them both, him allying with another female and she stabbing him in the gut in order to sate both her thirst for vengeance and the crowd’s thirst for blood. After that, she simply wanted to disappear from the face of the world and Salvar’s endless white plains and the undisputable frigidity seemed like a perfect location for slipping below the radar.

The reasons for taking onto herself to defeat what seemed like a newly formed coven of vampires was a direct consequence of the wandering. Rhea wasn’t just bored, she was being eaten from the inside by the utter loneliness and the fact that she didn’t belong anywhere. In the crowded towns, all she could see was superficial males and females uninterested for female company, idiots and wenches that didn’t want her around. Out here she traded one irksome thing for another, ridding herself of the peculiar, measuring looks but receiving a queer feeling inside her gut that made her feel hollow. So she decided to tempt fate, to go against these vampires just for the sake of fighting them. And if she were to die in that endeavor... Well, she reckoned no tears would be shed over that loss. It would be the final liberation of her unsettled spirit.

“Fine.” the man said, reaching into the interior of his multi-layered overcoat. He produced five metal stakes. “At least take this. These are silver-coated stakes blessed by the Church. One of the five that perished a week ago had it in his arsenal. The poor bastard never got a chance to use them.”

Rheawien was never much into religious nonsense and didn’t particularly care if these stakes were blessed by the gods themselves. If there were, in fact, any gods. It was the metal composition of these simple weapons that intrigued her. She picked up the stakes, felt their weight and the texture of the metal. They maybe were dipped in silver, but there was something much stronger beneath the argent gleam. She could definitely use this.

“If this church cares about vampire infestation so much to bless the weapons, why doesn’t it send some agents of their own to deal with this pickle?” Rhea said with a touch of sarcasm in her voice as she placed the stakes into her satchel.

[Run]

It was a surprise to even him when he found himself trudging through the biting knee deep snows of Salvar. He had an evident fear of water, but snow seemed to be different stories entirely...save for the cold that came with it. He hated being cold, the hot blood in his veins protested against their temperature drop with all the pounding in his heart, which felt like a large, angry man's fist in his ribcage, knocking hard against the bone. The wind, when it came, sliced like a knife's edge right through the fabric of his coat, nipping furiously at his stinging flesh. He was beginning to suspect that thanks to his gift, he was affected more so than the regular man, but it wasn't his place to forsake it. It had kept him alive in this insane, brutal world, nine chances out of ten.

"FINE!"

July was almost spitting as he tore the coat off and gasped at the full cold of the north, grabbing his pre-packed bag roughly from where it hung at his side. From inside, he tore free a cloak, previously carefully folded...and simply held it out before him, glaring at it, obviously agitated, gritting his teeth as one large vein pulsed apparent in his neck.
_____

"That bed felt like a brick," July grumbled, massaging his lower back as best he could as he slumped down the gray bricked path next too a very cheery monk. "I am sorry for the lack of accommodations, young Acolyte Nusquam, but you must show your piety by suffering the discomforts of the material world." The pyromancer almost whipped out a 'fuck you' before he pursed his lips, and took the gloves offered to him. He wasn't sure what the hell they were made of. The boots he was already wearing, he had tested them last night, and found them to hold up well against the fire he'd dashed against them. Just when he though they felt the slightest touches of fuzziness, they took on more of a leather texture, or one slightly scaly. Even in direct light, the color was hard to discern, but if they were as good of armor as they were touted to be, he didn't mind wearing them. He just wished he had more.

"We need you to go investigate the vampires congregating int he ruins of Hothric. We'd send an Intercessor or a Conciliator, but you seemed up to the challenge. By doing well, we may find you a promotion. In addition, you needn't worry about being overrun. It is undoubtable that sellswords and such wandering through the area have answered the call for need. Now then, what would you like for breakfast?" July paused, staring blankly at the pack handed to him, then slung the strap over his shoulder. "Anything fried," he grumbled.
_____

The cloak unfurled and he grinned a bit at its color -- red, the vestige of flames. The Church staff had quickly taken a shine to the "holy flame" he claimed to wield, and it was overtly distinct that the cloak had been given to him with reason. July shrugged it on quickly, eager too have some respite to the hyperborean hell that Salvar was, in his consideration. He thumbed the brass buttons that ran down nearly half his chest, and let the hem of it fall shut...and audibly sighed at the wonderful warmth it gave off. It was light, but something about it insulated well against the cold. Despite how much he hated them, the Salvarians knew how to make warm clothes. "I won't worship their crazy ass gods, but I’ll sure as hell wear their clothes," he mumbled, nuzzling the inside of the hood with his cheek and grinning, snapping open the top of his lighter, and passing his hand over the flame, scooping it up. He tripled its size, and relishing in the act, threw it down upon the ragged coat, setting it ablaze. He'd have been content to simply stand there, and bask in the heat, if the silhouettes of his destination weren't within sight.

"Love thy neighbors" had little standing in the minds of this village's new next-door nuisances. When the bodies had begun to appear, mauled, dry, and pathetic, the people cried out in sorrow and despair, and the Church answered. Though, most certainly, not with the God-fearing, ecclesiastical, Holy Joe they were wanting. "I do beleive they already have," Tarnis said, nodding towards the red garbed young man, he pulled down his hood and glanced about the town with a sour scowl before spying the huge man's eye on him. "You never know what type of powers or magic these Church folk have at their disposal...Ah! Greetings, brother...?" July tipped his head, his ill temper emblazoned across his brow, and stared at him for a few awkward, silent moments. "I ain't your brother," he snapped, crossing his arms across the way. "Where's the ruins? I'm in the mood for a barbecue." The pyromancer flashed him a glaringly fake smile, completely ignoring Rheawien.

[Krugor]

Flesh.

So simple and so easily taken for granted. Until you lose it. Entirely.

How many times now had he craved for it? How many years now had he longed to be covered in the matter? It was a number to which he couldn’t count, and yet, at times like these Krugor was lucky to be stripped off of all of it. Blood-filled arteries he didn’t have. A sensitive skin he didn’t have. A shivering body, ravaged by the freezing cold, he didn’t have. The skeleton could easily kneel down in the ice-cold snow, sinking in way up to his waist, and not feel a thing of the Salvaric cold. His bones would freeze, yes, and his limbs might even fall off if he stayed to long in the white snow, but it wouldn’t hurt. And it was so easy to stay in to long.

The skeleton had been in hiding behind a wooden crate for some time now and he knew he had to watch out. But he couldn’t stop observing the odd couple in front of him. The tribe’s leader was wrapped up in some sort of discussion with an Elven dame, who looked rather out of place. Krugor recognized the woman instantly. It was the female who had been giving a hard time in the Cell, not to long ago. Memories came rushing back and old wounds opened again as he looked at warrior. Softly stroking the steel bolts in his re-attached arm he felt the anger brewing inside of him.

But this was not the place, nor the time to take revenge on his former enemy. Besides picking a fight he would lose before he even started it, it would also be a dishonourable thing to do, to take the woman by surprise. His time would come, and present time asked for a more diplomatic approach than merely bashing in her cute little skull. It was a strange coincidence that he met her here anyway, all the way in the coldest parts of Salvar. In an attempt to get away from his greatest fear, Krugor ended up meeting one of his greatest enemies. Leaving a necromancer behind only to meet a furious Elven warrior. Talidus, the Great Necromancer – as he had nicknamed himself – had really done it this time. The skeletal cook just had to get away, and Salvar seemed like the perfect region to seek refuge. Yes, the cold, snowy region of Salvar. It would have to deal with Krugor from now on.

“…riders rode out and five mounts returned with a note of gratitude for the meal.”

The conversation between Rheawien and the fur-wearing man started to take on an interesting direction. Mumbling to himself Krugor repeated the latter words, pondering about what might be the meal they were talking about.

“Who are you?”

A voice spoke behind him as another fur-wearing man poked him on the shoulder. It was a harsh voice, what indicated the one talking had to be of age.

“Why are you eavesdropping on them?”

“That’s not relevant right now, good sir” Krugor quickly replied in a friendly tone, “What is relevant however, is that meal they’re talking about. Do you have some sort of local delicacy you’re hiding from me? Tell me, tell me now!”

The skeleton jumped to his feet as he spoke. He needed to know the specifics, the details. They couldn’t be discussing anything even related to a meal without his guidance. The Master Chef needed to be part of this.

“Y-you’re a skeleton?” the man replied as he realised that the pale toned man he had been talking too was indeed an undead.

“Yes, yes, I know. Now, what about that meal?”

“Those two are probably talking about the vampires up north. They’re quite the-“

The Salvar native didn’t even had the chance to finish his story, for Krugor turned his back on him and gracefully leaped over the wooden crate. He didn’t have to listen anymore, the skeleton had heard enough. There were vampires around, and they knew of the delicacy the couple were talking about. Apparently Rheawien was planning going to the vampires for the other man handed her a couple of silver stakes. It was obvious that she planned on killing them. And with that she would destroy all chances for Krugor to get his hands on the recipe of their “meal”. The skeleton had to stop her, before she would ruin all the fun.

His leather boots sank a long way into the snow, even further in with every step he took. Determined to stop the nonsense he walked up to the Elven woman and the bulky man. But as Krugor got closer so did another figure. It was a man dressed in a fiery red colored coat, protecting him from the cold climate of the region.

"Where's the ruins? I'm in the mood for a barbecue."

The unknown man spoke, loud enough for Krugor to hear. The undead was now so close that he could hear every word, every sentence they exchanged amongst each other. And it seemed that this man also knew something about the vampires, talking about some sort of ruin. So, Krugor came to his conclusion. There were vampires nearby who had a delicious recipe for a meal, which needed to be prepared on a barbecue.

“Right, I know you guys know about the vampires and their meal. If you are planning to visit them then you’re taking me with you!” the skeleton shouted as he joined the two men and one woman, shaking his slender plynt staff in the air.

[Rheawien]

By the time Tanis mentioned that the Church might’ve already sent an agent, Rheawien already noticed the alleged holy man. And she wasn’t impressed. If the clergy recruited their kind into their ranks, they were either desperately lacking the manpower or they simply had little wits when it came to picking their acolytes. The acrimonious boy that stepped forwards seemed genuinely overblown to the half-elf, a moody teen that thought having balls coincided with having a bitter disposition. The scarlet cloak was wrapped tightly around his figure, revealing what she liked to call a bookworm constitution. Her first guess was that he was a scholar that dipped into the wine barrel a tad too much and was given a field assignment instead of the usual menial scribe work. And he was going to barbecue some vampires?

“It’s that way.” Rhea said, pointing her finger north and smirking before she continued in a patronizing tone. “But you’re probably going to end up as the main course, boy.” Tanis, who was rather insulted by the curt reply from the newcomer, now allowed a throaty chuckle at Rheawien’s comment. She would’ve added a bit more garlic on that statement, the way she always did nowadays when she dealt with footsure men and those that thought themselves footsure, but the exchange was interrupted by another approaching figure. This time, however, it was somebody she recognized from before. Or rather, something.

Krugor wore a linen vest and shorts but she would be damned if she knew what for. The only thing that the skeleton had to cover were bones as dry as gunpowder. She met the undead in The Cell and the bastard launched a giant rubbery mushroom at her. To that she responded with tearing its fleshless arm off and facilitating to its execution at the hands of Izvilvin. But that was a tournament, a mere contest for glory and personal benefit and she held no grudges against the creature. It seemed that it felt the same way because it insisted on coming with her on what was bound to be a suicide mission. But given the fact that the thing died once already and was probably unable to do so again, Rheawien wasn’t too surprised that it cared little for its wellbeing. Especially since the vampires could suck all they wanted and the only thing they could get from Krugor was a chipped tooth. That thought made her smirk a little bit.

Tanis’ reaction to an undead standing before of them and speaking and waving his staff at them wasn’t as amiable as hers. The Salvar elder was first taken by surprise that something that looked several years dead could speak properly, but when he wanted to make a move to kill it, Rheawien steadied him with an outstretched arm. “Easy there, big boy.” she said before she turned to the skeleton and addressed him.

“Krugor, was it? You’re not going to start throwing cooking pots and mushrooms at me again?” the white-haired vixen said with a sassy smile. “You’re a long way from Corone, thing. And now you want to go hunting vampires with me? Aren’t they basically your kin?”

There was a crucial difference, of course, but the half-elf was in a mood for taking pot shots at all those around her. She also didn’t mind taking neither the skeleton nor the reverend with her. They sure as hell didn’t seem like they could put up a fight, but you didn’t have to have battle prowess to be an effective cannon fodder. And every vampire that crushed Krugor’s bones or sucked the clergyman dry was one vampire less attacking her.

It was at that moment, when Rheawien was about to tell them both that they could join her as long as they could make peace with their probable death, that a terrifying scream broke the serenity of the sleepy town of Venthac. Coming from one of the houses in the outskirts, this yowl of sheer anguish was soon followed by a pair of others, significantly shorter ones, and general commotion followed in their wake. Windows shot open as did the doors that introduced a handful of those who gathered enough courage to defend their homesteads from that they feared for weeks now while others – mostly women and couple of younglings – scurried to their cottages. Because the vampires were hungry and they came to their quaint town to sate their bloodlust.

“It seems that they brought the party to us. Here’s your chance to grill somebody, padre.” Rhea said to the young man of the cloth, brandishing the titanium katana from the scabbards on her back and fleetly advancing through the snow in the general direction of the screams.

[Run]

"Feh...you'd find it best to wipe that slutty little smirk off your face before I melt it off, you sharp tongued Salvic bitch," July growled, his eyes settling firmly on Rheawien's face, any of her looks failing to incite lust in him. Her beauty was superficial, and the flesh could be removed so easily. This one was, indeed, one of the first, certified, grade A, ball busting, tight assed, sharp nosed bitch he had encountered in quite some time. His lips curled back from his teeth in a snarl far unbefitting of anyone claiming to unite themselves with the Church, sliding his hands out from the slit of the cloak, pushing it back. She dressed lightly, in very revealing clothes that would ignite the loins of most any man, but July already knew his first love's name, the glowing beast that consumed all and spat back little of the bones.

And speaking of bones...he snapped around, the action evident he walked on brittle nerves, staring at the approaching, talking skeleton. The glare was wide, wild, and followed the undead as he approached, yelling about the vampires, insisting on his accompaniment. Rolling his eyes back to where they'd been, he settled them on Tanis now. The big fat oaf had dared laugh at the rotten whore's running mouth, and he would pay...in time. Not today, far too soon, and perhaps not this year. But July was intent on letting him dance a frantic samba with his family in a raging blaze. Letting the cloak fall shut again, his mouth opened again to deliver another golden nugget of piquant, biting abuse, when the little village burst into frantic activity.

For an instant, his mind panicked, sure that someone had discovered him, and the Church had alerted bounty hunters or mercenary or some other scum that one of the cloth was intent on riddling his career with abuse of the law and questioned murder. July snapped instantly to attention, eyes flickering around his immediate area. A handful of smoking torches bolted to walls, a few fireplaces whose maw was filled with a beautiful, roaring fire. He reached out to them, pulled it to him, and immediately the cloud of flames swelled in size, hiding him in a brutal blaze the warmth of which instantly put a wide, gleeful smile on his face. His alarm, however, fell quickly as he realized it was not a horde of armed men after his head, but a few crazed, starved vampires.

As soon as Rheawien turned her back, his arms flinched, repressing the urge to throw the fire forward and envelope her. Instead, he watched blankly as one of the vampires, it's appearance savage and feral, eyes far from that of the sane, drove it's body recklessly into a pair of the defenders. A marring spatter of red splashed across the snow, steaming in the cold, and the pyromancer lifted an arm, directing the small storm that danced hungrily about him to its own meal. The monstrosity avoided it at first with a push of its inhumanly powerful legs, launching itself at July. The pyromancer observed the reaction with an exasperated sigh, and stomped his foot forward as it landed before him, startling the beast as a spray of snow struck him. The fire instantly looped around and took the vampire inside of itself, igniting like a scarecrow. It let out
a hriek, and flailed about, trying to put out the fire, but the flesh was quickly dripping from its bones.

Boring.

Anyone could burn to death. With a delighted grin, July directed the fire with a flick of his fingers, and forced it down the vampire's throat, scorching it's lungs to charred black sacks. He beckoned it with a backwards flick of his wrist and it returns, bits of flesh still caught up in its turgid currents before they too quickly turned to ash, sweeping around him lovingly, but never making the mistake of touching him. The movements of the bestial thing had slowed since it lost its capacity to breath, and when its eyes boiled up and popped with a messy, dingy white goo, oozing down it's cheeks before sizzling, July knew the task was complete. He sighed a sigh of content as the remainder of the fire extinguished, the vampire falling to its knees before dropping face first into the snow. Most of the skin on its face had either plain burnt away or melted away in a broiling, hissing, and foul sweet smelling slop to reveal a big, wide skeletal grin. Everyone was in a good mood today!

[Krugor]

Rheawien had responded a lot friendlier than Krugor had anticipated and it was therefore, and only therefore – he wanted to remain friends- that he didn’t made a remark about the “aren’t they your kin” joke. But he was glad that the woman remembered him, his mushroom seemed to have made an impact. Krugor couldn’t help but smile at the thought that this certain impact was a six feet rubbery mushroom that had pinned the woman to the Cell. The skeleton raised his arm and wanted to slap Rheawien on the back, a little sign of understanding and friendship, when horrifying screams and cries echoed through the night, resulting in a battle-ready woman running into town. Quickly followed by the apostle from the church burning a vampire alive.

Krugor looked around as the entire town was in a state of absolute fear. It was a small band of bloodsuckers, not even fully fed, but the townsfolk still had a handful keeping them at bay. Rheawien was already gone and the other man had already taken one down, but Krugor still needed to prove his worth. These vampires weren’t going to give out their secret recipe anyway, so he might as well try to take one on. The bastards couldn’t suck his blood, so there really wasn’t any danger.

And there the skeleton saw his opening.

A rather disgusting looking vampire had taken a shot at a woman, sitting down and curled up against the walls of her cottage. The undead lingered over her, drooling on her clothes, his sharp teeth revealing. He had his arms spread out, preparing for the one, final, bite. Krugor shot off through the snow and quickly took hold of his dagger, firmly grabbing it in his hand. The plynt weapon never looked so dangerous as right now. Only a few paces in the cold, white snow were needed to get close to the leech. The skeleton held up his dagger, ready to take down his first fellow undead.

It roared as the sharp blade made its way into his flesh.

The woman screamed, but saw her chance to get away from the thing.

“That’ll teach you, bloodsucking demon!” Krugor said to the vampire with the dagger sticking out of his back. It hurled around and looked straight at the cook with its empty eyes, completely devoid of life. Teeth were showing as it continued to roar, his lips slowly vibrating as it did. Ignoring the pain the beast jumped at Krugor, pushing the skeleton into the snow.

“Get off me, you poor excuse for an undead!”

Placing his feet on the vampire’s chest Krugor managed to lunge the undead into the air. It smacked against the walls of the cosy looking cottage the frightened woman had just run into. Krugor got on his feet again and prepared his staff as the vampire looked a bit dumbfounded at his attacker. But it soon recovered and came back in a full run.

Only to be met by the end of a quarterstaff.

Hitting it right in the face Krugor smiled as the vampire dropped to the ground like a wooden board. Not giving it any more time to recover the skeleton continued smacking it with the sturdy stick, to much irritation of the vampire. It roared as blood dripped from the corners of his mouth.

“Take this!” Krugor said as he hit the undead in the stomach.

“And that!” A hard hit on the head soon followed.

With great difficulty it managed to get on his feet again and pushed the cook away. This resulted in the cook getting a bit of balance and lowering his guard to keep himself standing. Apparently this was an invitation for the vampire to try another attack, for it leaped up in the air and gracefully wrapped his legs around Krugor’s waist.

“What the hell…?”

The bloodsucking undead didn’t even flinched as Krugor kept punching it in the stomach, the vampire refused to move. It looked like a warm lovers reunion, the vampire in hugging position, with his legs around the skeleton’s waist and Krugor with his arms around the undead’s back.

“No! No, don’t do that!” the cook screamed.

But it was to late, for the sharp, pointy teeth had made its way into Krugor’s neck. Or more exactly, the top bones of his spine, were his neck was supposed to be. The vampire made a muffled sound as it realised that he was…stuck. His teeth had sunk deep into the bones and it was impossible to retract them at this point. The skeleton screamed and waved his hands in the air. It didn’t exactly hurt a lot, but it was a rather uncomfortable position to be in.

“Rheawien! Church man! Could you help me out here?” he yelled as he ran around in circles, with the vampire still on his chest.

[Rheawien]

Tanis was right; they were animals, at least this pack that invaded the quaint town of Venthac. She counted three of them in total, all with saliva oozing from the corners of their mouths as if they were rabid, all with psychotic empty eyes that gazed at and through their prey, all as reckless as a buffalo in the middle of a stampede. Rheawien heard quite a few stories about these fabled nightstalkers that prowled through shadows in search of living flesh, and most varied as much as their tellers. Some said that vampires were vain creatures, seldom different from humans except for the blood consumption. Some said that they were ungodly horrible creatures that fed on fear and anguish as much as they did on blood. Rhea, being the cynical bitch that she was, believed none of these stories until she actually met a vampire. And now that she did, the stories about the demonic, malicious creatures seemed on the money.

Seeing her two companions already engaged two of the three intruders – proving themselves to be quite useful vampire fodder – Rheawien was left with the third that the locals managed to surround in what looked like the town square. In reality it was a snow covered clearing with a crummy looking bronze statue of a hero, his name lost with the plaque that got devoured by the rust decades ago. The local men – Bear Men as the half-elf started to name them due to the fact that they were wrapped from head to toe in thick fur – held their weapons brandished, poking at the crazed vampire, but none of them daring to finish the job. She couldn’t blame them; most of them were armed with poles and pitchforks and only a handful of them something that could be classified as a decent weapon. The vampire in the middle stood near the foot of the statue, knees bent and posture as close to the ground as possible, keeping him aggressive as he snatched at the weapons the poked at his flesh. It hissed, it growled, feeling every drop of warm blood coursing through the veins of those around them and coveting for it beyond reason.

Rheawien pushed past the square-shouldered men and stepped into the circle doggedly, holding her blade casually at her side. The vampire jerked his head in her direction, his damp black hair sticking to his cringed face and covering his fanged mouth as he realigned his stance. But it failed to impress Rhea who was assertive enough to tease the cursed thing. She brought the titanium katana to the palm of her left hand and let the edge cut into her pale skin, instantly releasing a faint trickle that tainted the pristine snow. By the time the first drop fell on the ground below her feet, the vampire was on the move, leaping at her like a werewolf with his claws and fangs barred. That was exactly what she was waiting for, for the thing to become wrathful, losing all connections to reason and come straight at her like a bull.

Her execution was flawless. The sidestep towards the left was fast enough to seem like a blur to most present, moving her away from the vampire’s trajectory. And even as the undead was darting past her, the titanium katana spun and came in a downwards slice, decapitating her attacker as smooth as if he was made out of straw. The body pent up with hunger and fury crashed into the snow uncontrollably, headless and lifeless the second it stopped tumbling over the ground. And even as it did so, the flesh below the tattered clothes started to hiss and steam as if it was being devoured by acid, collapsing unto itself until even the bones turned into nothing but a gray smudge on the ground. Rheawien walked towards the spot where her enemy just disappeared in a puff of ash with a cocky smile on her face. If this was all she had to deal with, this would be a walk in the...

Not even her inhuman speed could save her from what followed. From one of the nearby roofs overburdened with at least a foot of snow another vampire pounced on her, making her disappear in the snow as he sat mounted on her. His claws dug into her shoulder, eliciting a groan of pain as the toothy face smiled at her, the misty eyes gaining focus as they saw her milky neck and the jugular that pulsated beneath. The slimy drool dripped on her skin, announcing that she was about to become the main course if she didn’t move. So move she did. Her knee struck the undead in the groin and whether or not there was actually operational equipment there to strike didn’t exactly matter because her attacker was so starved, he was lighter then her. The attack sent the vampire rolling forwards, and Rhea clung to him which consequently resulted in changed positions. Now she was sitting on top of him, and unlike him, she wouldn’t waste time on observing. Her hand moved disturbingly fast, procuring one of the blessed stakes from the satchel and slamming it into the vampire’s chest before the thing got a chance to react. Once again the flesh started to wither and disappear and she rolled away to save her crotch from getting burned by whatever made the creature cave in so rapidly.

There was no time for a breather though. In close proximity, Krugor the Skeleton seemed in genuine trouble, holding one of the vampires in what seemed like a very unaffectionate embrace, running around with the bloodsucker stuck on him like a leech. Rheawien couldn’t stifle a chuckle at both the sight and the panic in the thing’s voice before she retrieved the silvery stake from the ash and sent it flying towards the united couple with a flick of her wrist. The projectile spun unevenly, drifting away from Krugor, but even as it did so, the half-elf put her telekinesis to good use, guiding the missile into the back of the insane vampire. The decomposition process followed, covering the skeleton with ash and making the stake fall into the snow.

“Keep that stake close, thing.” she said to Krugor as she retrieved her sword from where she dropped it after the collision with the vampire and returned it to its scabbards on her back. “It’s quite handy against these creatures and we’ll need all the help we can get if we’re going to their lair.”

She fetched another from her satchel, tossing it towards July who seemed quite satisfied with his handiwork. Rheawien once again wasn’t impressed. “Here, maybe you’ll be able kill vampires faster with this then your fireworks, preacher.” she said to the man, fixing her messy ponytail and hiding none of her usual acrimony. Men weren’t her thing anymore, especially if they were scrawny, quasi-sanctimonious younglings that cursed like sailors and had no balls to wield a proper weapon. Suffice to say, the enmity between the two was fierce enough to light a fire.

However, the animosity never got a chance to grow larger then a mere spark. Because even as Rhea was done with tightening the leather string that held her ponytail fixated high on the back of her head, another vampire entered what should’ve been the calm after the storm. The creature leapt down from one of the roofs, tackling July from behind and slamming his head into the snow. Before the uncanny reverend had a chance to use his magic, the vampire’s teeth tore through his jugular vein, spreading a fresh spurt of scarlet blood in a wide arc. The thing was thirsty, sucking on the boy’s neck and completely disregarding what went on around him. It came as no surprise that the thing never saw Tarnis and his titanic chopping axe coming from above. The crude, simple weapon was effective enough, decapitating the vampire cleanly and covering July’s corpse with a film of fresh ashes.

Rheawien walked next to the fallen lad. Sure, they got off on a wrong foot and dislike was born the moment the two met. But regardless to that, even her icy heart didn’t want him dead, least of all like this. Ambushed by a bloodsucker. To make matters worse, if she didn’t finish the job and end July’s life, he was bound to become one of the accursed. The half-elf stood over the body of the firestarter for several seconds, gazing at the blood that melted the snow with its warmth, gazing at the life that seeped out of him. And then, with a swift move of her blade, she stabbed the steel into his heart, thus ending his misery. It was mercy, she knew, but it sure as hell didn’t feel like it.

“Take care of him.” Rhea said to the bulky village chief before getting up resolutely and turning to the bony undead. “We move north.” she said to him, sheathing her blade and starting her walk in the said direction.

[Krugor]

There he stood. Shivering. Every single bone in his body rattling. It sounded almost rhythmical, with the ice cold Salvar wind cutting through his clothes. But it wasn’t the cold at all that caused the skeleton to shake like a rattlesnake. It was the sheer fear and tension of the situation that got the better of him. For never in his life had Krugor witnessed such a horrible death as the one that just happened before his eyes. No man deserved a disgraceful death like that. Not even an arrogant, annoying man like the apostle was.

“Killed from behind. Bah, such filthy creatures they are.� Krugor said as he passed by the young man’s body, slowly regaining control of his nerves. In the midst of snow and blood it lay, looking rather at ease. Strange how death could have such a calming influence on some. The skeleton smiled a little as he left the corpse to start its naturally decaying progress. It would soon be over, he would find his peace.

“Right, we should be going� he spoke in a serious manner as Rheawien commanded him to get a move on. There wasn’t time to mourn the death.

He was still feeling a little bit uneasy about the whole situation as he moved out of the village. Krugor’s feet sank deep into the clear, white snow, leaving distinct foot prints everywhere he went. Behind him he could still see the male villagers hard at work to restore some of the damage done by the vampires, while the women where comforting the children. The unfortunate couple of younglings that happened to witness the awful battle, that is. Even though he now had more than enough reasons to get to that vampire hideout, he still wasn’t really at ease with travelling alongside the beautiful female warrior. She had saved his life back there, that was true. But Krugor hadn’t forgotten that Rheawien also made several attempts to take his life, in the past. There was no telling what she would be up to now.

“We should set up camp soon� his cracking voice spoke suddenly. They hadn’t really progressed much after leaving the village, for the thick snow made travelling harder than making chicken pot stew blindfolded –and to Krugor that meant a lot- but it was already getting late and even Krugor’s thin, undead feet were getting sore by now. They were well deserving of some rest. And so, when the odd couple arrived near a lonely tree, standing bravely against the setting evening sun, the skeleton gave order to clear the surroundings of all dangers that might be present. Not that there would be a lot to be weary of here, for the only thing that wasn’t acres of snow was this sturdy tree. It didn’t have a single leaf on it but it still looked very much alive. There was something beautiful about this tree, Krugor knew.

“You go scout the area, while I create a little a fire� he said in a stern voice, but quickly added; “Please.�

The Master Chef knew this wasn’t the time to get into a fight with the half-elf, so anything that might set her off had to be avoided. In fact, he would cook her something nice to keep her satisfied. It would be least he could do to pay her back for saving his life, anyway.
Taking the cooking pot, his old, dusty recipe book and several steel forks and knives from his backpack he sat down in the snow to think of something that he could make. As he turned page after page his mind went to work. To an untrained person his ways might seem strange but to Krugor this skimming actually triggered his creativity and will to cook. It had been a long time since he last cooked something totally according to his recipes. It always ended up being completely different.

“That’s it!� the skeleton shouted without a warning. She has to like this…no doubt about it.

Like a maniac the chef grabbed all sorts of herbs, mushrooms and other ingredients from his backpack and threw them all in the cooking pot. Adding some fresh snow to the mix and he seemed content with his creation. The pot and its contents didn’t seemed to be edible in any way but that wouldn’t stop Krugor. The undead jumped to his feet and quickly broke some twigs from the mighty tree. He just had to get this fire lit before they could enjoy a wonderful meal. Though that was easier said than done, Krugor realised, as he was failing horribly at emblazing the wood.

“Just a second, Rhea. I’ll just have to get these twigs to burn and then I’ll let you taste something magnificent!�

Krugor looked at the half-elf with giant puppy-eyes as he spoke, hoping she would give him any sign of agreement and gratitude.

[Rheawien]

She had forgotten the ways of the North. By birth and blood, Rheawien was a half-northerner, and that half bore the Mal’Ganis surname. Born and raised in the hard and desolate lands of Ferioh – that put even the Salvarian winters to shame with its frigidity – she should’ve felt at home in her current environment. She should’ve remembered how short the days were this close to the end of the world and how gloomy the sunless they could become and how tranquil the pearly wasteland was. But just as she was a half-barbarian, she was a half-elf as well and the days of her early youth – the days during which her mother hardened her, forged the wild, untamed half of her – were long past, dwindled into nothing but a slideshow of vague images. All she was left with was the sorcery of her mother that warmed her skin despite the exiguity of her attire and bits of pieces of her memory.

So in a way, Rhea was rediscovering what it meant to trek through the stretch of endless snowy plains. And while the razor-sharp chill was something she had immunity to, the weariness that trudging through almost knee-deep snow caused was something she struggled against like all others. She was hoping that the scenery would bring her a sense of ease the way it used to all those years ago, that she would find tranquility in a world that seemed to be frozen in time, but times when she was a teen and her mother was alive were many years behind her. The monotonous landscape seemed dreary to her, uninteresting, a blank parchment on which nothing dared to write. Instead of bringing up her spirits, it only succeeded in making her already brooding mood deteriorate, making her clam up even more then usual. Surprisingly, she wasted little thought on July, even though the lad’s blood barely had time to cool down. “Death of a fool is not a loss, but a gain.” her mother, Aradiel, liked to say and she grew a liking to these words.

Rheawien’s companion, though rather peculiar, failed to prove itself intriguing enough to divert her thoughts from the gloom. The skeleton managed to follow her pace despite the fact it didn’t have a single muscle on its body, the perpetual rattling of its bones the only sound besides the crunching of the snow, but seemed to prefer silence as well. That is, until the day started to evanesce into the deeper shades of gray and the night threatened to catch them in the middle of nowhere. Then the undead thing spoke about making a camp, its words sounding a bit too much like an order for her liking, but for the time being she played along. The thing might’ve been queer – and definitely not her first choice as an ally on a perilous mission such as this one – but it was an asset nonetheless, mostly for its utter lack of bodily liquids that the vampires could suck out. She reckoned that the worst thing that could happen to it was a literal breakdown where he would have to get himself together.

“No fire.” Rheawien replied to the skeleton once it practically commanded her to scout the area. She didn’t like to be bossed around, and the added ‘please’ failed to soften what the thing said to her. “It would be seen for miles and attract the bloodsuckers.”

“I would also chase away the wolves.” her mind added as an afterthought, but the half-elf refused to utter it. Instead she left the rather shabby campsite, plodding away through the smooth, untouched snow and keeping her eyes open. There wasn’t much to see though. Same old whiteness, endless, arctic, inevitable. The only thing that deviated from the imagery that she looked at for days now were the remnants of what must’ve been a glade of pines once. The trees were freshly cut, probably by the villagers, and towed away, but there were remnants of the lumberjacking aplenty, from thin branches that weren’t a priority to thorny shrubs that seemed like a waste of effort. The locals weren't usually that unsparing, but the vampire threat probably made them return to the relative safety of their homes as soon as possible.

The availability of tinder failed to make her change her mind about the fire though. What succeeded was a small fuzzy animal, almost as white as the snow through which it hopped. The cony was a sad looking thing, scrawny and sinewy and as twitchy as a hawk on watch. And a possibility for the first cooked food in weeks. Getting to this godforsaken part of Salvar was an ordeal in more then just one way, turning most of her meals into more of the same old dried meat and bread that seemed as old as her. But a freshly cooked stew... Now that could be a feast, even if it threatened their safety.

“Well, the fire will chase away the wolves at least.” she mused with a smirk before she crept closer to the vigilant animal whose long ears turned this way and that as it foraged for anything green to eat. By the time it noticed that she was approaching, it was too late to run for cover. Rheawien’s telekinetic hold snatched the cony with an invisible hand, lifting it in mid air effortlessly, and before the timid beast managed to jerk its way out of the grasp, the half-elf twisted the neck. She made the rabbit hover into her hand. Once that was done, the white-haired half-elf gathered an armload of wood that seemed like it could do more then just smolder and returned to the leaning tree and their campsite.

“Here, maybe this could make your magnificent meal even better, thing.” Rhea said once she was back from her scouting, throwing the dead hare next to Krugor and lowering the wood next to the would-be fire. “I found some firewood as well. I reckon if the fire attracts the vampires, at least we don’t have to search for them in the ruins.” It was a lie, but she doubted the undead creature would see through it. In truth, she only wanted a warm meal in her belly to go against all the hard stuff she had to swallow on her journey to the north. With that said, Rheawien took a few steps back, taking a seat on the snowy ground, supporting her back with the trunk of the tree. In such a position the snow enveloped almost her entire lower body, making her look as if she sat in an alabaster bath, but she didn’t feel even a tingle of frostbite.

Unlike her, the wood that the skeleton tried to turn into the fire seemed unable to break away from the cold. Krugor tried to set it afire, but from what she could see, the best he got were several tendrils of smoke. “What kind of adventurer are you, venturing into the north without the ability to make a fire, skeleton? Here, use this.” Rhea spoke, her tone casually cold, making it uncertain whether her words were meant as an insult. And even if they were, the pack of matches that she threw to Krugor seemed like a good peace offering.

“So how come the likes of you have an interest in this mission? Shouldn’t you be haunting some cemeteries or something?” she added, sitting in her chair of snow, uncertain why she felt it necessary to make small talk. Waiting for a reply, she took out her titanium katana and a sharpening stone, making the latter slide tenderly over the edge of her blade.

[Krugor]

Krugor followed the pale white rabbit soaring through the sky and a smiled appeared on his face once the dead animal fell into the snow. What a wonderful addition to the meal this would be. Fresh meat was the only thing really missing and that was now laying right in front of him. But the skeleton didn’t have the time to sit down and relax just yet, for the elf continued to toss him things of use. A massive bundle of wood was thrown towards him, quickly followed by a snappy remark and a pack of matches.

Krugor ignored Rheawien as she spoke to him, or at least that’s what seemed to be the case. The undead chef couldn’t hear her, for he was to wrapped up in his state of euphoria as he grabbed all the wood and made a professional-looking pile from it. A swift stroke from one of the matches against his bare skull set the thing ablaze and within seconds he had created a comfortable and warm fire. “Nice” he said confident, knowing that the real work was only about to begin.

And with thought in mind Krugor immediately went to work. Quickly grabbing the hare by it’s long, fluffy ears he skinned the animal of its flesh completely, by gently sliding his dagger along its skin. The skin came off easy, like peeling a banana, and right after the entire animal had been separated from its hide Krugor threw it straight into the pot. The skeleton grinned wickedly at the contents of his pot, which now looked more like something you would throw away than something worth eating. Krugor wasn’t discouraged however and positioned the iron pot above the flames. Anyone could put those things together and call it a meal, but only the ones truly trained in the art of cooking would add something extra.
The skeleton crawled closer to the fire and for a moment he stared hard and intensely at the roaring flames. This was the last procedure he needed to perform before they could eat, but it also required the most of his concentration. He could not afford to screw up now, for no one would know what would happen if he did. Not even Krugor himself had ever created something along the lines of this kind of recipe. It was the most dangerous –and yet most rewarding- form of cooking.

From the corners of his eyes he could see Rheawien making herself comfortable, sitting herself down against the big tree. But it all didn’t matter, for even the cranky elf would be thrilled by his creation! She would feel the delicious meal melt away on her tongue, even at the first bite. She would feel the magnificence of it all take control of her body, forcing her to continue eating, her senses tingling with delight. It would be that good. And there was no time to waste.

The fire seemed to be growing larger and the heat was intensifying as Krugor started to chant incomprehensible words. In a low tone the words formed a rhythmical melody, emblazing the fire. It was part of the preparation which now looked more like a form meditation. Closing his eyes Krugor continued, putting two fingers in between his eyes he raised his voice.

“Seven flavours of delicacy, reveal thyself! Imprison this creation into thy eternal body!”

The iron pot trembled upon the fire, as if it was being shaken by an invisible hand. Up and down it moved, only to shoot sideways right after. Mysteriously enough the contents remained inside but this didn’t seem to surprise Krugor who continued his chanting, not allowing anything to break his will to cook.

Nothing except Rheawien.

The elf woman spoke to him as she took out her weapon and started sharpening it, letting a slight insulting remark pass over to Krugor. “Haunting cemeteries!?” he cried out as he whirled around to face Rheawien and turned his back on the fire. The skeleton was about to reply with a sharp comment but he was rudely interrupted by a loud, echoing bang, which forced the man down to the ground. Slamming headfirst into the snow Krugor realised he had lost his concentration, broken the spell and probably ruined dinner.

The iron cooking pot no longer contained delicious ingredients, but was filled to the brim with smouldering ashes. The fire was out and a thick, black cloud rose up from the pot, reaching up to the highest of clouds in the sky.

“Ah, man.” Krugor said as he got himself on his feet again “Look what you did! What are we supposed to do now?”

[Rheawien]

The crash-landing of the cooking pot and Krugor’s consequent dive into the snow would’ve been comical if it wasn’t so goddamn depressive. The rabbit stew that smelled almost heavenly mere seconds ago literally went up in smoke when the undead chef found her words so terribly insulting, thus ending her hopes for a warm meal. Thinking back on it now, Rheawien wasn’t certain why in the world she even gave the cony to the skeleton anyways. What could a thing like him know about cooking? It’s not like he needed the food anyways. She could’ve impaled it on a stick and roasted it over the fire that was now also nothing but smoking ashes and quenched embers. To top it all off, Krugor the All-Thumbs Chef accused her of turning their meal to ashes. Rhea rolled her eyes and shook her head, returning the blade into the sheath.

“What I did? Hey, you were in charge of cooking, thing.” she said, getting up from her uncomfortable improvised seat and approaching the scene of the accident. Nothing was left from the boiling stew but a heap of foul-smelling ashes that made her nose wrinkle. “Well, you certainly give the words ‘well done’ a whole new meaning. Unless you skeletons like to eat ashes.” the half-elf muttered, her contempt tangible in her tone as she picked up one of the sturdier branches and poked at the contents of the pot. After several proddings, she pulled the branch out, bringing a headless skeleton of the rabbit in tow. “This certainly looks familiar.”

She failed to stifle a chuckle, the semblance between her ally and her never-to-be dinner far too humorous for her gloominess to cancel out. Eventually, she let both the branch and the skeleton drop back in the pot. “What we will do now I don’t know. What I will do, thanks to your expertise, is unfortunately the same thing I did for every day since the last town with a tavern.” Rheawien said, her face regaining the sternness as soon as the thought of dry meat and bread crust crossed her mind. She pulled the satchel from her back before she took a seat back below the tree, rummaging through the jumbled contents in search for her rations. A square block of bacon almost as dry as leather was wrapped in butcher’s paper and she took it out first. Next came bread that looked like toast, only tasted thrice as bad. But both seemed impervious to the long days on the road, so she opted for them rather then for something that got spoiled sooner. On the flip side, such food seemed almost impervious to the gastric juices as well, so it felt like eating rocks.

Placing the satchel in her lap, she used the rather flat surface of the canvas as a table as she cut the bacon into smaller pieces. “At least we don’t need the fire anymore.” she said, taking a bite of hard bread and forcing it down with a sip of water from her canteen. “What’s with you and cooking anyways? It’s not like you need food. From what I can see from here, you’re one set of entrails short of a full digestive tract.” Rhea said, pointing at the skeleton’s torso with the tip of her dagger.

What she also wanted to ask sounded a bit like: “What’s up with you defying the laws of nature by being alive when you shouldn’t be?”, but she reckoned they didn’t know each other well enough yet to swap stories of days past. Maybe it – Rheawien preferred to refer to the skeleton as It, though it seemed alive enough to be considered a he – was a lich whose mind decayed to the point where it just lost all sense whatsoever and turned to cooking. Maybe it was just a product of a forgetful necromancer that raised a minion from the dead for cooking detail and got himself killed before he unraised his servant. Or maybe – probably – it was some lunatic story that the white-haired woman couldn’t possibly guess. And maybe that was for the best. The way she and Krugor started off in the Cell and proceeded in this little endeavor, it’s not likely that they would become lifelong friends any time soon.

Instead of prodding at the history, Rheawien opted for something more recent. “You haven’t answered my question from before yet. How come you decided to come with me? You have a deathwish or something?” she inquired, placing a pair of bacon pieces in her mouth and chewing the salt out of it delicately. It was like chewing a piece of rubber, but after several bites either she ceased to mind for it actually let out some of the meaty flavor. Waiting for Krugor’s answer, her thoughts started to drift away to the town of Venthac, where she could’ve asked for some provisions in return for her services.

[Krugor]

Wiping some of the ashes from the back of his head Krugor stood completely still, watching the smoking cooking pot. The flavours that had been giving pleasure to one’s nostrils just minutes before had vanished completely, leaving behind nothing but the smell of something overcooked. Like a piece of meat that hbeen laying on a fire for way too long. And it wasn’t at all pleasant, but, thanks to Salvic winds the rotting stench quickly dissapeared. Though all of the meal had been destroyed and their stomachs would be empty tonight Krugor couldn’t help but about why his spell had been a miserable failure. Where did it go wrong, he didn’t know. Was it truly Rheawien’s interference?

The skeleton chef looked at his recipe book. Several pieces of ember had been burning tiny holes in it, penetrating the paper like a hot knife slicing through butter. But it was still very well readable and that was the sole purpose of the book. To Krugor’s knowledge the book didn’t posses any magical abilities whatsoever, so as long as there were distinct words in it all would be fine. He picked it up and flapped through the chanting verse he had been studying. Maybe he had pronounced something wrong? It was his first time using this recipe; it wouldn’t be strange if the fault was on his part.
“Bah! Nothing I did wrong, according to the book. I’m so blaming you for it, you know!� Krugor said to Rheawien a little bit agitated.

He tossed the book away, paying no more attention to it. The chef sat down next to the woman, who was making several attempts of eating something not even worth thinking about. It was a strange feeling that overwhelmed the skeleton at that point, as he took a seat in the ice cold snow. Even in this frigid climate he could still feel warm, like a little stove had been implented in his body. As far as he could feel any sort of temperature, that is. He hadn’t really noticed before, but it could very well be Rheawien. For ever since he joined up with her his hatred towards her, after being smacked around in the Cell, had been melting like the snow would do when the morning sun would rise. His feelings of nausea when he looked at her before had been blown up like the meal he tried to cook. It was all truly and utterly weird. Uncomphrensible for the skeleton. Rheawien was the first woman he had been travelling with for so long, after his demise. Krugor wanted to get rid of those thought quickly, for it was dangerous to think like that at a time like this, but he didn’t got a chance as the elf woman started to inquire about his past. The skeleton had been expecting some questions about his history sooner or later, though the timing of the woman still surprised him a bit.

“Me and cooking?� he said, on that same agitated tone he had been using for a while now. “I have always loved cooking. Even when I was alive. I guess fair Talidus had picked me as a personal servant because of that particular feature. A slave that would follow him around forever doing nothing but linger about wouldn’t be as perfect as one that could do chores around the house, right? Besides, he was obviously attracted to men and there aren’t alot men that can cook, so picking me was rather easy, I presume.�

Krugor looked at Rheawien desperately, looking for some sign of sympathy for his situation.

“How about you? What’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?� he said with a smirk.

Maybe travelling with a stonecold Elven killer wasn’t as bad as it seemed. Maybe he could open up to her a bit more, getting rid of his agitated voice and forgiving her for ruining their meal. They still had a long way to go, after all. Krugor grabbed a piece of meat, attached to a piece of charcoal, laying near him and started chewing away on it. He really needed something to eat and this meat mixed with a disgusting piece of wood would also be good to take his mind of Rheawien. Nothing irritated him more than food that tasted like burned wood. Well, maybe burned wood itself.

“No, I don’t have a deathwish� Krugor continued the conversation “I’m already dead, as you can see. Though being slain one more time would probably be a bad thing for my health, but that’s besides the point. I’m here with you because I wanted to find out what the secret vampire recipe is. That guy back in town mentioned something about a barbeque that sparked my interest. And I’m sure you have a valid reason to be here too, but what I want to know is much more important.�

He stopped for a second, hoping to achieve some sort of dramatic moment that would cause Rheawien to open up to him too. Maybe it would trigger her to stop the snappy comments for a moment and tell him her story.

“I want to know why you brought me along? I’m pretty much deadweight to you.�

[Rheawien]

Rheawien laughed. Perhaps it wasn’t very nice of her to do so, especially not after Krugor dropped the bitter tone in favor of a more affable one, but she simply failed to stifle it. It wasn’t a mocking laughter nor was it mean, but rather a mirthful vocalization of the emotion that she scarcely found in her life nowadays. Luckily, she swallowed her food before this attack of laughter, so no half-chewed bacon came shooting out of her mouth. The reason for this sudden divergence in her dour mood coincided with the skeleton’s reason for joining her. Apparently, he came along because he overheard the freshly dead monk mentioning barbecue and he wanted the recipe for it. The fact that the barbecue in question was actually a snide joke that consisted of figurative vampires roasting humans failed to register in Krugor’s mind, and if that wasn’t hilarious, Rhea didn’t know what would be.

“Ah, well, a noble reason indeed,” she commented in a cryptic tone once she settled down, a faint smile still persisting on the corners of her rosy lips. The half-elf deliberated on whether or not to inform the undead thing of the truth of his search while she took another bite of her food, but by the time she swallowed the tasteless ration, she decided to keep him in the dark for a while longer. If for no other reason, then for her own amusement. There would be another good laugh for sure once Krugor found out the truth from one of the bloodsuckers.

The thing’s question managed to efface the merriment from her face though, bringing up the more serious topic. What was she doing in Salvar? Running away more then likely, though from what, she couldn’t say. Herself, maybe. Her emptiness, her pointless existence, her idleness. “I thought I was here to hunt the undead, but it seemed I managed to ally myself with one. And there’s the answer to your second question. You’re one of them,” she explained, her dagger tapping on Krugor’s hand, the metal clicking against the fleshless bone. “Maybe not exactly like them, but they can’t harm you the way they managed to harm that bastard back in Venthac. You maybe can’t fight very well, you maybe can’t cook very well either, but you’re still handy enough to have around.”

The skeletal creature was never given a chance to retort – though it certainly seemed he had a thing or three to say – because a voice tore through the evanescing twilight, and it didn’t belong to either of the two. “Care for another undead ally?” it said in a whisper that somehow managed to be both hushed and loud enough to be understood perfectly. It came from behind the tree, from the opposite side of their campsite, from above, making Rheawien jolt to her feet and send her satchel and all its contents sprawling through the stomped snow. The most important possession was safely in her hands though, all ten of her fingers holding it tightly as her heart went up in her throat. Her frown was thick, making her visage hard and unpretty, her eyes scanning the encroaching darkness in search of the owner of that voice. But no matter how much she turned and how much she strained her senses, there was nothing to see, nothing to hear, nothing to track down. It could’ve been just her...

“So jittery...” again the same whisper, to the side, but by the time her glance shot sideways, there was nothing but a shadow fading away as soon as she lay her eyes on it. “And so bitter for one so fair...” This time she could’ve sworn that whoever was playing this gave was behind her, his breath lifting the hair on the back of her long, alabaster neck. “Put your weapon down. I wish to have a palaver with you two...” the voice rose and faded, like an echo of a murmur in a spacious cave.

“Who are you? What are you? And what do you want of us?” Rhea growled, irritated by her inability to track down the owner of the voice.

“I am that which you hunt,” the invisible specter said.

“A vampire,” Rheawien responded, words coming out as a verbal spit.

“Indeed. And unlike my cloud-minded brethren, I mean you no harm,” the voice and the owner kept relocating and now it almost look like it was Krugor that did the talking.

“It’s hard to trust the words of someone who refuses to show his face.”

“Very well,” the only response. And even as the spoken words fleeted from existence, a figure made of condensed shadows appeared before her. Pale of face and serene of stature, the apparition stood with arms behind its back. Rheawien didn’t wait for the introductions. In a fraction of a second she descended on the vampire with a ferocious downwards swing, powerful enough to cleave a man in half. But the dark figure moved in a blur, its eerily cold hand grabbing the half-elf by the wrist and halting her attack. They stood face to face in that moment, with inches between the fair visage of the vampire and the fairer one of the white-haired woman. “It’s difficult to talk with swords. Put it away,” the bloodsucker said with a smirk on his pale lips.

“Will you put your fangs away, thing?” she snapped at him, struggling against his iron clutch.

“Would if I could. As it is, it seems we’ll have to parley with our weapons drawn. All I’m asking you is to hear me out. Then, if you wish, we can proceed with this charming little dance,” the eloquent nightprowler said, gently reducing the pressure of his fingers until their lifeless touch was gone completely. Rheawien considered bringing her blade down once again now that the vampire was unprepared, but she had a notion that the result would be the same.

“Fine,” she finally spat, backing away from the benighted man until her back pressed against the leafless tree. Her blade was held at the ready, her stance vigilant. “Talk.”

[Krugor]

The scene unfolding was very intriguing to say the least, as Rheawien and the vampire met each other. It was rather strange for the vampire to show itself and ask for a conversation, Krugor thought, but the fact that Rheawien backed down from a fight bothered him more. Never in his life would he have guessed that the woman could do something like that. And intrigued the skeleton was as he continued to watch the conversation. He stood perfectly still, knowing perfectly well that at this moment every move on his part could trigger both the elf and the vampire into doing something rash, both with their weapons drawn. If you could label the undead’s fangs as weapons, that is, for Krugor never thought of teeth like that. Uncomfortable they were, but lethal? Not to him at least and he chuckled as he recalled his experiences from the day before.

“Do you find me amusing, bones?� the bloodsucker said suddenly, staring intensely at the master chef. Krugor could feel the lifeless voice piercing through his bones, colder than the coldest of Salvar winds. It became awfully clear that this vampire was no ordinary vampire as the two pair of undead eyes met. For a second Krugor thought he saw something in those serene eyes. Some feelings of pain, something from deep within the creature’s soul, if you could speak of such a thing. But he quickly wove away that thought as the beast continued talking, now addressing both of the adventures.

“I know you’re seeking our hideout so you can kill us…� the nightprowler started.

“I am most certainly not!� Krugor rudely interrupted as he walked towards the vampire. “Not that I don’t want you dead, or something, you guys are quite troublesome. But I’m just here to acquire your secret recipe.�

“Secret…recipe?�

For the first time they could hear a shred of doubt in the undead’s voice, as he was unsure of how to react. It was clear that he hadn’t anticipated something like this and he needed a second to recover.

“Yes, yes. You know with the barbeque and all?�

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, skeleton, and it would be wise for you keep your mouth shut from now on. I don’t have a lot of time and you’re already starting to annoy me.� The vampire replied in an aggressive manner, unlike his calm appearance so far.

“You don’t have to be like that, you…� this time it was Krugor’s turn to be interrupted as the bloodsucking familiar turned to face Rheawien again, obviously annoyed by the mind numbing skeleton,

“Tell your friend to shut up. There are more pressing matters at hand.�

For a second Krugor looked at Rheawien, hoping that she would ally with him and force their prey to talk about the delicious meal. His hope was in vain, he knew, for the elf warrior wasn’t interested either. It seemed she only had ears for what the bloodsucker had to say and not even the slightest bit of interest for what could very well be the most secret recipe in the world. The elf and the vampire were very frighteningly alike at certain moments.

“Fine. Whatever.� Krugor said angry as he folded his arms and sat down in the snow pouting, softly talking to himself.

“Good� was the only reply that came from the vampire as he flashed an insulting look towards Krugor. “Now, I know that you’re seeking to kill us and that you’re hired by those ignorant humans. I should’ve anticipated that they’d make a move like that.�

“Get to the point!� the skeleton shouted, only to irritate the talking bloodsucker. If it could finish its story quickly there might be time to inform some more about the truly important matter at hand. But even though it was very clear that the words hit the vampire in his pride, he continued to explain, knowing that is was foolish to argue at this point.

“We’ve been feasting on their villages more than normally for a while now. We need the extra blood to stay alive as we’re getting exhausted and could be nearing our end.� The story went into a completely different direction that Krugor initially thought and he noticed a slight trembling in the voice of the speaker. This was something he had trouble with.

“We’re being hunted down and our numbers are rapidly decreasing.�

“Hunted down? By who?� Krugor asked.

“Lycanthropes. They’re invading our territory and forcing us to move closer towards the human villages. There weren’t that much vampires in this area to begin with, but this is seriously worsening the situation.�

“Why? What did you do, man?�

“Shut up!� the vampire shouted towards the skeleton as his spit flew through the air. “I didn’t come here to be insulted!�

Then why did you come?� Krugor asked rather straightforward, to both the surprise and anger of the undead creature.

“Because I….need your help.�

The following moments were as quiet as attending a funeral, but when Krugor got over the first shocks of this rather strange request for help he got up an walked over to Rheawien. This was something that she couldn’t have expected either, so taking a minute to collect their thoughts might not be a bad idea. The elf woman wasn’t the kind of person that would easily lend out their services to help another being, especially when that other being was a vampire. But this might be in their best interest, as it would save them the trouble of finding all the scattered, wayward vampires.

“What do you think?� he whispered softly to his companion.

[Rheawien]

“I think you’re both a few cards short of a full deck,” Rheawien responded to both of the undead, answering Krugor’s question but keeping her eyes on the nightprowler that came seeking alliance. As far as she was concerned – and given the extent of her concern, that wasn’t too far – the werewolves were doing the job she was hired for. All she had to do was camp out here in the wilds, maybe stick closer to Venthac to protect it from the stray fleeing vampires, and the damn furballs would solve this little problem. On top of that, this offer for alliance had shaky grounds to say the least. Perhaps the vampires that attacked the village were rather weak, but this envoy that came to settle the matters using diplomacy definitely wasn’t a pushover. There was strength in him, the ominous and ancient kind that surpassed her own. Why would such a creature ally itself with somebody weaker if not to lure it as a prey?

“But more important then that, I see no reason to join forces with your dreadful kind. I was sent here to exterminate you, remember? Why should I fret if the lycans do the job for me?” Rhea said, following the shadowy apparition as it calmly walked through the deep snow, his cape making it seem as if he wasn’t touching the puffy surface. The vampire didn’t seem offended by her words despite the fact that he seemed to grow a strong dislike for her skeletal companion. Maybe because she was a woman; vampires were known to be rather smooth operators.

“Once they’re done with us, who do you think they will come after next?” the vampire said, posing a question to which all knew an answer already in his eloquent, almost gentlemanlike tone. “We kill humans too, yes, but not more then we need for sustenance. These werewolves, they are rabid beasts, and when they come for the locals, you’ll wish you had somebody to help you fend them off.”

“Don’t give me that lesser of two evils horse dung. Subtlety makes you no less of a murderer then them. You all deserve to perish,” Rheawien retorted, still holding her blade brandished and ready to attack.

“Perhaps. And perhaps we will. As it stands now, we are done for and you’ll have a different, much greater threat to deal with in a matter of days.”

“And how would our alliance prevent that? If you and your wretched kin are no match for these monsters, a woman and a skeleton would hardly help your plight,” the half-elf decided to pursue the discussion, though not because it intrigued her. The answer that would follow was bound to uncloak the real intentions of the vampire. If the reason was faulty, this whole thing was a scam, a masquerade to acquire another piece of meat. If it wasn’t, however... Now, there was a thing to wrap her head around.

The bloodsucker didn’t hesitate, however. He was either a good liar or he spoke sincerely, Rheawien thought. “They could help more then you can imagine. The werewolves are not usually our sworn enemies, but these seem to be able track us effortlessly. They are like machines, focused on one thing and one thing alone... Eradicating the kindred.”

The snow-haired woman failed to change her tense posture, but for some reason – perhaps because all of this made sense in some strange way – the grip on her blade relaxed notably. “If we decide help you, what do we get out of this?”

“The departure of our coven from these lands,” the vampire said, then added with a prominent cryptic smile. “And our eternal gratitude, of course.”

“Gratitude is cheap, overrated, just like promises of a nightprowler.”

This seemed to be the drop that spilled the cup. The vampire took all insults in stride so far, yielding in front of the barrage of them, but when she brought his word in question, the stifled anger became unhinged. The shadows around the vampire expanded, its cloak fluttering and growing in size until it seemed to devour every bit of light in the proximity. It was a dreadful blackness, the hollow kind from which only a pale face frowned down on Rheawien and Krugor. “Foolish girl!” the metamorphosed thing growled. Rhea, who liked to deem herself dauntless, felt gooseflesh covering her body all over, lifting the hair on her skin, the voice nearly pounding her into the snow. “Enough with your insults. Our word is our bond. Take it or use that thing you hold in your hands!”

A stare contest ensued. The brown eyes of the woman clashed with the dismal black ones in front of her. She hoped that she could read something from them, but there was nothing to be read, an abyss that swayed her neither this way nor that. This was a decision she had to make without outside aid. Take arms or concede to the offered alliance. In the end, it wasn’t the fear that affected her decision, but nor was it her reasoning. Instead, it was sheer curiosity. The only way she ever looked at vampires was down the edge of her blade. Perhaps this alliance would give her a different insight in their accursed existence.

“Very well,” Rheawien replied, not clarifying what was her decision with words, but rather with the act of sheathing her blade. “You better not turn on us or I’ll unleash Krugor on you. You’ll find it that you’re no match for his lich powers.” Two could play mind games, though hers was more of a jape.

“I am sure of it,” was the undecipherable response as the undead shrunk back to his original size. “Now, follow me. We lost too much time already.”

“Well, I guess you’ll get a chance to ask around about your recipe after all, thing,” Rhea said to Krugor with one of her smarmy smirks, the woman collecting her items and striding after the benighted figure that glided across the landscape.

[Krugor]

Krugor’s bones made a clattering sound as the skeleton stood shivering, watching the odd couple walking away from him. He couldn’t do anything but stare at them with his mouth wide open and his jaw almost dropping to the floor. The skeleton’s right arm and index finger were completely stretched out, pointing towards Rheawien. “Uh…what?” was his only response to the entire physiological battle that had just ended. The vampire had shown them a hint of his true powers and almost caused Krugor to run away in fear, but the elf maiden hadn’t even blinked when the undead completely darkened the area. At least not in a way that was apparent to Krugor. And while it was now perfectly clear that this vampire was a foe to be reckoned with, Rheawien still continued to fuel his wrath by insinuating that the skeleton was some sort of powerful lich. A truckload of thoughts went to Krugor’s head as he tried to make sense of it all. How could that vampire possibly believe that he had super powerful lich powers? The only thing that remark had accomplished was one more pair of eyes watching his every step. It was all getting out of control, and it was only just a recipe…

“Wait up!” he screamed suddenly, breaking out of his glued state. Grabbing the remainders of his stuff he spurted after the two titans, that now both had earned his respect.

Krugor believed it to be wise to keep his mouth shut for a while as his companions eased their emotions a bit. It was quite a story that the vampire had told them and it wasn’t one that pleased Krugor in any way. Hunting down vampires was one thing, maybe even too much already, but hunting down werewolves who were hunting down vampires is just too much hunting. The skeleton wasn’t even sure if he had the strength to stand up against one of those lycanthropes. Having heard the frightening tales about those hairy men that could completely dismember somebody within the blink of an eye made him all the more insecure about his own skills. It was definitely one of those situations that called for a little thing named ‘strategy’. And strangely enough, Krugor felt like he was the one to come up with some sort of plan. Rheawien was the most experienced one, but at the moment the skeleton guessed she would just charge in with her blade drawn, eager for blood. Not that there’s anything wrong with such an approach, but that would leave Krugor completely open for any remaining enemies and he needed her to defend him. Maybe he would just cling to her as she did all the fighting. “That might work…” he whispered to himself.

And just when the skeleton had raised his self-esteem a bit by revising his former battles they arrived at the vampire’s lair. They hadn’t walked for that long, so logic would conclude that the both of his superior comrades would decide to move on without resting. Krugor however thought it more wise to take a moment and scout the surroundings for something felt chilly. And it wasn’t the cold wind or the very fast approach snowstorm that would reach them within mere seconds, but something else. There was something out of place. And as they moved on it became clear what was bugging Krugor.

Just moments ago he thought the vampire’s lair was a simple cave, as they moved towards a relatively small mountain. But as they got closer to the top of, what could better be labelled as a ‘hill’, he realised they weren’t going to stop. The vampire walked on, until they reached the very top of the hill and they stood overlooking an enormous valley. And unlike any valleys he had seen before this one wasn’t filled with all kinds of exotic animals and trees. No, this was valley with a completely ruined city! The snowstorm had now taken them all in it’s icy grip and rapidly decreased their vision, but Krugor could see the distinct shapes of several houses and a large church in the middle of it. There were houses without roofs and with giant holes in the middle of their walls. Rubble lay everywhere, covered in a thick layer of snow. Apparently this city had a couple of roads connecting the main buildings, for the skeleton could see dark stones on places where the snow was less thick. And while it was really creepy, the ghost city also had something beautiful. A dark, ruined city in the middle of a snowstorm was not something Krugor would’ve thought to ever visit, but yet he was here.

“We move on” the stern voice of the nightprowler said softly, “That church in the middle of this godforsaken city is our lair. For many years it has been our refuge, but now it looks like those damn lycanthropes even had the nerve to enter the sanctity of this city”. Krugor followed the vampire’s eyes as they pierced through the storm, watching a lone figure walking towards the town.

“Are they here…already?” Krugor said.

“Looks like it” the vampire said calmly, but with some disturbance in his voice “but it’s only one of them. My brethren will take care of him. We should move now.”

[Rheawien]

Though a moonless night was gradually descending upon them, there was still enough light for the ghost city to be visible. It stretched beneath them for miles, a collection of edifices forgotten by the locals, abraded and torn down by the harsh winds and harsher snow. Most of the houses lost structural integrity centuries ago, mostly the weaker wooden constructions of which only rubble and brick chimneys remained. Others were roofless, doorless buildings in which only the snow found a permanent habitat. The church in the middle failed to deviate from the general state of things, its bell tower slightly slanted and chipped at the top. It was also robbed of all pious details, Rheawien noticed as they advanced down the slope and towards the outskirts, such as motifs and statues of the revered deities. She reckoned that time did most of the job there and that the vampires just added the finishing touch, turning what was once a place of purity and light into their benighted lair.

She meant to enquire the nightprowler – who during the rather silent walk identified himself as Altair – about his home, maybe take a jape at the irony of accursed creatures settling down in a holy place, but by then the bad news were in. Apparently, one of the werewolves was already lurking through the city, but the vampire assured them that it was a matter which his kind would take care of.

“Only one? What is he, a scout?” Rheawien asked, walking rather leisurely, sticking to her position diagonally behind Altair and keeping a watchful eye on both his movements and the stationary environment. Her hands were where they always were when she ventured into the unknown; one resting on a handle of a damascus glaive, the other itching to move from its spot on her hip and draw a blade out. They passed the perimeter of the city, probably what might’ve been the outskirts once with all the lack of glory that the outskirts usually possessed, from unpaved roads that rested beneath the snow to the small white mounds that concealed the debris of what probably used to be a house.

“Unlikely. As I said, they are beasts, and as such have limited capability when it comes to planning. It is probably just a stray that got hungry and decided to act on instinct,” Altair explained, his gliding pace unchanging. Though he wasn’t gliding, that much Rhea was certain about. Now that she was this close to him, she could definitely hear the snow crunch beneath his feet just as much as it did beneath hers and Krugor’s. Well, probably not as silent as Krugor’s; the skeleton was, after all, substantially lighter then the other two members of this temporary party.

“Hmm... Not that much different from the four that came to Venthac earlier today.” Rheawien stated with a cryptic tone, insinuating the similarity between the belligerent demeanors. It was enough to deter the vampire’s eyes from the road ahead and towards the white-haired woman, transmitting what might’ve been pure hatred.

“Those four were young, far too young for these dire times. You were their murderer?” he asked, turning his wan face away, faking lack of interest.

“I was their executor if that’s what you mean.”

“One of them was my...” Altair stopped both his speech and his advance instantly, his head snapping sideways and directing his eyes to what looked like just another alley that led down just another stretch of vacant homes. “He’s here. The damn beast breached our perimeter.”

“What perimeter?” Rheawien asked, straining all of her senses in an attempt to track down this alleged beast. It was to no avail; even at her best, her senses were no match for the ones enhanced by vampirism.

“Silence, there is no time. You two need to hide. He will come straight for me,” the black-haired vampire responded in a hushed, tense tone. Rhea’s mind worked frantically, estimating the surroundings, taking into account every variable in this particular formula. Her eyes stopped only when they fell on Krugor. Yes, she could use the undead in this instance. After all, what could a werewolf do to him? If any of his bones were detached in the strife, they could probably reattach just as easily afterwards. The half-elf knew this for a fact, actually, tearing the thing’s arm during the first round of the Cell tournament. His indestructibility made him the perfect bait.

“Alright. I’ll try to get up to the second floor of that house over there,” she said, pointing towards the crumbling edifice that might’ve been a manor of sorts once upon a time. “Krugor, you stay with Altair. Try to lure the beast to me with its back undefended. Maybe they’re strong, but I bet they don’t have eyes on the back of their heads.”

Not giving either of them a chance to rebuke her, Rheawien scurried away from the two, jumping through the window of the ruined building and disappearing into the thick shadows.

[Krugor]

“Excuse me?!” Krugor shouted at the top of his lungs, trying to stop Rheawien. But she was already disappearing in the shadows and had left the skeleton alone with the bloodsucking leech that named himself Altair. Apparently the vampires had been unsuccessful in stopping the lycanthrope on his rampage, and now it was up to Krugor to play live bait in another one of Rheawien’s cunning plans. Although the ‘live’ part could be discarded with two undead filling the roles, it bothered him that she still couldn’t put her trust in him to discuss any battle strategies. He started to feel more and more like she only took him with her to be one of her tools. Handy enough to have around? was the only thought on his mind.

“I even tried to make her dinner! Why does she keep treating me like this?” Krugor said more to himself than to his undead ally, who was still trying to pierce through the darkness, hoping to see any sign of the werewolf. “Could you shut up?! He’s coming!” Altair quickly snapped at Krugor before he could ramble on any more. From the other end of the alley they could hear footsteps coming towards them, echoing in the darkness. Both of the non-living turned their faces towards the origin of the sound, hoping to have at least any way of knowing when the beast would strike.

“You fought any of those hairy men before?” Krugor asked Altair. But the vampire ignored the skeleton completely and spurted off towards a nearby building, following Rheawien’s train of thought. “Oh, yeah, sure. Leave the skeleton alone, eh? So that’s how it is? Well, we’ll see who manages to defeat that poor excuse for a-“

Oh shit!

The skeleton couldn’t finish ranting as the werewolf suddenly jumped from the darkened alley, moving headfirst towards Krugor. ‘DéjÃ* vu’ would best describe the master chef’s feelings as he flew backwards into one of the already crumbling stone walls. Why did they keep insisting on hitting him in the stomach? But this was no ordinary lycanthrope, as the simple, yet powerful headbutt was enough to send the skeleton even through the other wall of the building, leaving Krugor laying in the cold snow with only a single house between him and the werewolf lusting for blood.

“Ouch.”

He could feel the pain passing through his entire body as he crawled to his feet again. Debris and rubble lay on top of him but his anger was enough to quickly dispose of that hindrance. The age-old stones weren’t really what they used to be anymore either. Krugor felt a bit dizzy as he tried to locate the werewolf. It was crystal clear that the attack had made an impact on the defenseless skeleton, for he realised that his right arm wasn’t moving. A fast look around his surroundings made him realise that the blow had severed his arm from his body. However, having dealt with such a situation in the past he ignored every remaining bone in his body that was acing and stepped forward through the two Krugor-shaped holes in the building and onto the road in front of it. The drooling werewolf was still standing on the same spot, showing a sinister smile on his face as it noticed Krugor coming back for more. “Fool…” it said with a low, almost guttural tone and came charging again, hoping to have history repeat itself.

But Krugor was no fool, for the skeleton wouldn’t be headbutted in the stomach a second time and quickly unsheathed his plynt dagger. She’s watching…I just need to show her I can fight too! With or without my arm! The lycanthrope came forward, stomping on the white snow beneath him and while he was gaining momentum to smash the one-armed skeleton Krugor grabbed the blade by it’s pointy tip, holding it up above him and let it fly with a fluent throwing motion. As any scholar could explain in much more detail, two objects charging towards each other with a steady movement speed will cause one hell of a bang. And so happened for the werewolf roared loudly as the knife went straight through his shoulder. Once again the snow was colored red with blood, but unfortunately for Krugor it wasn’t enough to stop the beast. It still came for the skeleton, only more aggravated then before. Realising it was time to take a step aside the chef forced his legs into moving and let his body drop to the ground sideways, barely escaping the attacker’s charge.

The werewolf whirled around as he noticed the skeleton dodging his charge and took a more direct approach to slaying his foe. Its hairy fist came swirling down and Krugor had no chance to dodge another attack even though he desperately tried to crawl away from the area of impact. He could only scream in pain as the powerful strike severed his lower leg from the rest of his body as it tried to move away. “Argh! Damn…” Krugor shouted as he lay on his belly in the snow with no more left lower leg. Laughing at his prey, that was now unable to stand up again, the lycanthrope realised dismemberment was actually a lot of fun and tried to grab the skeleton by its skull. Krugor’s answer however was the sturdy quarterstaff slamming against the side of the beast’s head as he rolled over on his back. “This fight’s not over yet, you monster!” he screamed at the infuriated animal.

The skeleton was a little surprised at his ability to still wield his quarterstaff with only one arm, but he knew better than to dwell on it and used the slender stick to get up on his remaining leg. It was an awful sight to see; a skeleton with one arm and one leg, using a stick to keep himself from falling over backwards. But that didn’t kept the lycanthrope from attacking, quite the contrary even, he launched another punch at Krugor. And with his only arm occupied to keep himself standing he couldn’t block the charging fist and accepted a hard blow to the face. Bones were cracking and now his head was severed from his neck. This is getting ridiculous Krugor thought to himself as he saw the ghost city moving by.

Now his skull lay several feet away from his body, which had dropped to the ground as it had no more brains to guide it. Apparently the ice cold environment of Salvar had worked against Krugor. Even though it had no real consequences for his body temperature, it had slowly started to freeze his exposed bones. No man would have any trouble dismembering Krugor now, as proved to be in this rather silly battle. The frozen bones could break off with the slightest of touching and it was sheer luck that the master chef had managed to survive for so long.

“I should’ve guessed walking around in shorts in the coldest place on Althanas wouldn’t be without some sort of penalty” Krugor said as became clear to him too what was going on. He sighed heavily as he watched the werewolf tear apart the remainder of his body. The lycanthrope screamed in joy as it ravaged Krugor’s ‘temple’. Arms, legs, shoulder bones, ribs and many more pieces of body parts were flying through the air.

“Err…anytime you’re ready, Rheawien!” Krugor yelled “He’s distracted now…”

[Rheawien]

It worked better then she could’ve even imagined. Not only was the werewolf temporarily distracted by the skeleton and his usual antics, but the damn beast found some perverse pleasure in pulverizing the undead. Like a mischievous child with a new toy, the furball was tearing and smashing and scattering bones all over the street, making the entire scene almost humorous. It didn’t seem very funny to Krugor though. The skeletal being was both determined and desperate, the former buying him a rather savage dismemberment and forcing him to the latter. At the end of the ordeal, Rheawien couldn’t say where his voice was coming from, but the feeble chef was screaming that there was no time like the present to strike.

The half-elf didn’t need the advice though. By the time the skeleton’s voice came to her spot in the shadowed loge on the second floor, her plan was already in motion. The damascus glaive moved first, the spinning projectile thrown completely off target and to the right. It whizzed and rotated like a propeller, moving akin to a boomerang as it circled above the crumbling homes and around the werewolf in a wide arc before coming straight at his face. By that time Rhea took flight as well, the white-haired woman leaping from her perched position with her katana held upside down. The heap of muscle and gray fur below took notice of the glaive, ducked below its decapitating movement reflexively, but by the time its ears perked and take heed of another movement, Rheawien landed on his back. More importantly, her katana made a landing at well, penetrating the nape of the beast’s neck and sinking into the torso all the way to the hilt. It was a strike that would down a young dragon.

The werewolf didn’t even stumble.

With an agitated growl, the creature snapped its wolfish head backwards, its clawed paws trying to grab a hold of the pesky vermin that clung to its back. Twice the razor-sharp claws came at her as the beast below her reeled and growled, and twice she managed to evade them, clinging for the hilt of her katana and twisting it even further. Instead of coming at her the third time in the same manner, the werewolf threw its back against the nearby building, but Rheawien was ready for such a move as well, pulling herself up on the thing’s shoulders and making a leap forwards. Her movements were fluid, her reaction fast. But the beast was faster.

It swatted her with the back of its mighty paw, sending her twisting uncontrollably in mid air before she came tumbling through the deep snow. Her entire left side flared in pain instantly, the bludgeon power of the impact nearly crushing the bones in both her arm and her ribcage, making her each inhale shallow and painful. She had to get up, she knew, and fast, before the smelly heap of fur was on top of her with those huge dismembering paws and deadly fangs. Rhea managed to prop herself up on one elbow, but by then it was...

“Too late.”

The werewolf was already on top of her, looming like the very embodiment of doom with its greedy eyes and hungry mouth that drooled saliva on her fallen body. Her left hand tried to find the hilt of her dagger, her right the handle of a glaive, but by the time she grabbed a hold of the weapons, the beast grabbed her by the neck and lifted her up effortlessly. All it needed to do was squeeze and she would be no more. Unlike all these undeads, Rheawien was just a woman. And it seemed soon she would be just a meal.

And then a deafening roar, that seemed to stop time itself, brought an end to the ordeal.

It was Altair that made a move, the vampire scuttling from the shadows and coming at the werewolf from behind. His right hand had its fingers splayed, but by the time he reached the furry behemoth, it didn’t look like an appendage anymore. Instead, it metamorphosed, compressing the shadows in a head of a benighted lion with a wide open maw, the roaring beast a shadowy extension of the vampire’s arm. It tore through the beast’s back, snapping bones and flesh and tendons and bursting out front. In its jaws, the bloody heart of the wolfthing gave one last beat before it disappeared in the blackness.

With the heart gone, the werewolf collapsed like a bag of bones, taking Rheawien down with him. She had to struggle against its deathly clutch for several seconds, but after that she was able to crawl away from the defeated beast and breathe freely. The carnivorous lion faded away slowly, its red eyes extinguishing as it turned back into nothing more then a gloved hand of the vampire. A gloved hand that he offered her as help in getting up.

“It didn’t fall down,” she said, pushing the hand away and getting up on her own. She approached the cooling mountain of fur tentatively at first, then planted a foot at it and pulled her titanium blade out. “I stabbed it right through the spine and it still came at me.”

“Only the heart counts. Everything else they can regenerate, and they do it extremely fast. You humans need days to heal a wound. We need minutes. They need seconds,” Altair explained, dusting off the sleeve of his pitch-black attire. “We should get off the streets. Others could be on their way.”

He would’ve moved on towards the church had Rhea not stopped him. “Wait. We need to collect Krugor.”

“I advise leaving him. He’s nothing but a nuisance, all jabber and no prowess.”

“He did his part. We can’t leave his bones for the dogs.” And when Altair made mo motion to come help her, she rephrased it into an order. “We won’t leave him for the dogs or I’ll leave you wretched bloodsuckers for the furballs.”

Rheawien expected another display of anger from the vampire, but after short deliberation the vampire merely chortled, his pale face obviously amused. “Well, now, who could say no to such charming words?”

Collecting Krugor was easier said then done. The werewolf wasn’t terribly considerable when he tore the undead apart, so the bones were scattered all over the street, some hidden in the snow, some lying in the rubble, some almost invisible under the silvery moonlight. Rhea collected as many as she could, placing them all in her folded cloak until it was full with femurs and ribs and pieces of spine and collarbones. She held Krugor’s head in her left hand, her right doing the acquisition and placing the renegade bones into the makeshift pack held by Altair who handled it with lack of gentleness it seemed.

“Next time you should try doing a better job at holding yourself together.” She simply couldn’t resist the jape and even the vampire with his almost non-existent sense of humor had to snicker at it.

[Krugor]

“Oh sure, here we go” Krugor said frustrated as the snappy comments started once more. Rheawien was holding his detached skull in her hand, so there was no escaping the rain of ‘humorous’ attempts that was about to follow. Even his fellow undead seemed to enjoy the jabs the elf took at Krugor.

“For your information, miss ‘you-fight-him-while-I-hide-over-there’, this was all planned! It’s going exactly according to plan”. The foolishness of that comment couldn’t be more apparent but it didn’t bother Krugor. He had to show at least a hint of backbone or the two of his companions would walk right over him. But either way, he knew, his backbone was laying several feet away and it was undeniable that he had made quite a fool of himself by being torn apart so easily. His facial expression was one that could kill as Rheawien dragged him all around the area, looking for the remainders of his body. This was a pure disgrace and a story he would hear for at least the rest of their journey. But, the fact remained that she couldn’t leave him behind and even that was enough to make it all worth it. Maybe he had even gained a little bit of respect in her eyes.

“There!” the skeleton shouted suddenly when he saw a bone sticking out of the snow. “Run over there!” he screamed only moments later. “No, that way! Come on, keep it moving”.

The elf woman followed Krugor’s commands as they searched for his body parts. Altair was always a few steps behind, carrying the bag that would hold his limbs. It wasn’t a comfortable thought that the vampire was holding his very being in its grubby little hands, but there wasn’t anything Krugor could do about it. Expect for finding the remainders quickly and ending this misery, which also seemed to annoy Rheawien a bit as she was ordered around. It couldn’t be that the seemingly independent woman didn’t have a problem with it, which only caused Krugor to shout more and more commands.

“I see my pinkie!”

The skeleton could see several more of his fingers laying spread out between the rubble of a nearby building. Forcing Rheawien over there he quickly counted the number and came to shocking realization that one of his fingers was missing.

“Hurry up, pull my finger!” he screamed when he noticed the elf woman had some trouble picking up the things from the debris.

After a short while of running around the three of them had gathered of all the remaining bones they could find. The bag had grown to a reasonable size, even though Altair hadn’t taken any precautions of keeping the contents inside. The nightprowler was constantly swinging the bag around, as if it was something that had bitten its hand and needed to get off quickly. His face revealed how gross he thought carrying around Krugor was. However, they were still missing some parts, Krugor knew, and the situation was about to be more gross.

“Rheawien” he started; “I’m betting the rest and my last finger are beneath that”. Directing his eyes towards the dead body of the lycanthrope caused the vampire and the elf to look in such a way that undid all the insults that they had made before. This was his revenge, he knew.

“You’ll have to move him” Altair said, placing the responsibility of completing the skeleton’s body with Rheawien. “You wanted to find his bones, you move the corpse.”

One could feel the suspense as the two of them looked at each other intensely. But in the end it was Rheawien who budged and unsheathed her katana. Within mere seconds she had reduced the massive pile of deceased werewolf to nothing mere than several slaps of hairy meat. Blood flowed richly and almost engulfed Krugor’s head, which was laying nearby. “You could’ve put me a little farther away, you know” he said, knowing some sarcastic remark was bound to follow.

“Now, if we have everything, could we please move on?” Altair insisted, but didn’t wait for a response as he already started to walk away.

The half-elf grabbed the, now bloody, skull of Krugor and quickly followed in the vampire’s footsteps. They had lost precious time battling this stray werewolf, so it wasn’t strange that Altair moved in a quick pace towards his lair. It wasn’t far, but they still needed to make haste for all three of them knew that the dead lycanthrope behind them could very well be a scout, or at least the first of a much bigger group. But without Krugor holding them down now they arrived at the church within almost no time. And it was clear that Altair wanted to keep up this pace, for he immediately threw open the two massive wooden doors at arrival.

Dozens of piercing eyes were moving in their direction as they stepped into the hallway. They had reached the vampires hideout, that much was sure. And if they hadn’t been travelling with one they would surely be sucked dry by now. But Altair motioned for Rheawien to follow, as he continued walking straight ahead.

“Uh, Rheawien?” Krugor asked unannounced, “This might not be the best time to bring this up, but do you have any idea how we’re going to put me together, because I sure don’t.”

[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 :p 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.

[Letho]

EXP/GP added!