A Sanguine Trail To Tread (Closed to Poison, Arphenion, Lyric)

When faced with doubt, people will try to rationalize their thoughts. Rationalizing whatever grievances that they might have from which this doubt sprouts is a natural step in choosing what to do with it. It can be ignored, left to gnaw away at your consciousness. It can be ratified, made to simply live with. Or, it can be analyzed... And whatever conclusion it draws, well, once unearthed it may never be reburied.

One such man, Nigel 'Balthazar' Grent, had his own doubts.

The old hunter was of a aged and endangered breed. These old lands had storied histories, but none quite like that of the Church of Ethereal Sway. Through their righteous guidance, the royalty kept sacred providence. Through their deeds, they proved their divine right with charity. And through their spears, they would purge all the corrupt magic and wicked things from these lands. Nigel was one such spear. Or, at least, he had been.

Trudging through the snow on worn black leather boots, hearing each footstep crunching the snow beneath, a quieter set echoed his own. A younger lady, hardly grown ten years of age, followed him close at hand as they strode into the white forest. She had been appointed his guide in this little venture, cast out as the black sheep that would brave the 'cursed' forest to show the seasoned hunter the site of the terrible crime. Still, she showed no fear. The child had been used to this sort of treatment. A large birth mark covering half her face, to the others, she was already a bad omen. So, who better to go into the dangers of the wild?

It must of been quite the sight had there been anyone to witness it. Nigel was quite a regular built man, yet his attire gave an intimidating aura o those who would recognize it. A tall collared black coat that hid away his tools. A belt that certainly made no effort to hide his arsenal of gadgets. And, a black hat, on which was decorated with a golden eye...

"Almost there." The girl chimed in, joyless, and distant.

"My thanks, missy." Nigel responded, looking her way and giving her a little tip of his hat. "Just ahead then?"

"Mhm. I'm going to go back now."

Nigel seemed surprised to hear that. His face sported a nice moustache that shifted slightly with his expression, curved up and finely shaped with years of training the whiskers to give him the look of always looking at least slightly pleasant. No doubt, when he was younger, it would have looked quite sporting. Yet, as he was now, his hair was a mix of white, grey, and black. Even his cheeks and chin had the clear signs of needing a close shave, peppered with a thin layer of light grey hair that contrasted against his thicker and darker moustache. A pattern that would prove just as true beneath his hat; The very definition of a 'Grey fox'.

"You sure you don't want to wait for me? I can walk you back you know."

"Mom says nothing would want to eat me out here anyway. I will be fine." The girl's tone was so flat and unamused, not even giving his words consideration as she simply spun herself around and began to walk away from where they came. The stigma of being born as a 'bad omen', of being reminded everyday that she was a net negative influence of those around her for the crime of being born, was plain to Nigel as he just watched her take herself away. Such was the superstitious nature of those that lived around here. Nigel didn't have to like it, but behind his otherwise resting-tired looking gaze, he did feel for her. He felt for all of these unfortunate souls bound to misery through no fault of their own. Honestly, this sense of pity was exactly what was the root of his anguish over the years...

But, what was he to do about it anyway?

In silent resignation Nigel got back to what he was doing. There was, sure enough, the sight that had been described to him not long ahead. A grizzly sight... Of corpses, pinned to trees by swords. And another, laying in the snow. A frightful and terrible thing to behold to the untapped, unprepared mind.

The village had sent out word, wanting help, saying it was all the work of a vampire. But Nigel, from the outset, had his suspicions. A vampire that had killed so many? Out here? Hanging victims up onto trees? For as long as he had been hunting the vampire, this... Was unusual. And when it came to vampires, you'd be pressed to find someone more qualified on the matter.

Nigel had his beginning in an era that demanded people like him. The church had been far more powerful than it was now, the spears of it's agents so tested and demanding, that sects within sects were born out of necessity for efficiency in dealing with the many menaces they were so busy expunging from these lands. Hunters set out to kill witch, wizard, and monster alike, and the church was very good at it. Yet, it's enemies were so vast and differing. Killing witches was very unlike killing supernatural beasts, which was unlike killing fae, or wizards. In time, the hunters who had experience in killing these threats became a specialization, which became professionalism.

Some might have devoted their vast experience in rooting out witch covens, but Nigel was made to be perfect for hunting vampires in particular. Back when the unculled population of vampire's was at it's worst, when it truly felt like they were unseen masters of darkness set to destroy all that was good, Nigel would be one of the men that church called upon to bring an end to them.

The things they did, the tools they developed, the vampires they learned to slay... That generation of hunters, his generation, developed methods of perfecting their craft. Methods that, today, would be seen as archaic or even heretical. But, here he was today... Still seeking vampires.

One such tool, the Eye of Denebriel, was Nigel's and Nigel's alone. A truly terrible thing, born from the mind of his age's alchemists in an effort to bolster his guild of vampire killers in accomplishing their sacred duty. Although Nigel alone was all that was left of this organization's existence, this eye would forever be the black mark of days gone by he must carry.

He was silent and contemplative as he went to each body. The villagers had refused to touch anything here after finding what they did. This was useful, as it kept them from disturbing what he otherwise would have missed the opportunity to learn. However, it also confirmed his thoughts that they had made a hasty decision calling this all the work of a vampire. These bodies were not drained of blood, not even close. No fangs marks he could see, nothing of the like. Though this place did have the slight smell of death and a menacing presence about it, this looked more akin to some dark ritual.

It wasn't until he approached the body laying in the snow, the most peculiar one, that the mystery of this place started to show itself a bit. A sword like the others buried in the snow nearby... And the tree, barren of a corpse, had a deep gash within it's bark. What looked at first like dry sap was, in fact, frozen blood. Had this one simply fallen from it's perch? No, it was facing entirely the wrong direction for that to make sense. Additionally, this was clearly a male...

Nigel's old crossbow, hanging from his side, was shifted as he knelt down into the snow beside the frozen corpse. There was no wound from any sword on this man... But, it was also the most curious of them. This one, clearly, was indeed drained of blood. Four fang marks were on his neck; A sure sign that even he would have pinned as the work of a vampire. From where the punctures were, he could take an educated deduction that they were likely facing one another when whatever bit him had bit him. But, where had the blood on the tree come from?

In solemn silence, Nigel started to brush off some of the snow that had accumulated, finding and lifting the poor sap's arm and revealing a lute. Seems the man was something of a musician in life, but that wasn't what he was after. Instead, he lifted the cold and frozen hand and reached for his pocket knife...

It wasn't a pretty process, prying the fingernail off a cold corpse. The sinew and blood kept it clung fast, even after death, yet Nigel made short work of it completely unbothered. Once it came off, he cleaned it off a bit, looking it over before seeming satisfied with his handiwork and slipping it under his glove, making contact with his skin...

To Nigel and Nigel alone, the corpse now held a different hue. A color he could not describe, a sight only he could see. Lifting his gaze, his left eye emblazoned with a runic symbol, a burning red and orange that brought drastic color to his otherwise dour expression and mute colors of his attire. The Eye of Denebriel... His special tool.

With it, so long as he held a piece of someone, he could see and even differentiate their essence with this eye. Be it flesh, blood, hair, or in this case a fingernail, if Nigel could touch it, he could see them through all obstacles. To him, everyone had their own color too, of which he could differentiate between. In a pool of blood, he would be able to say who's blood belonged to whom. A fun little trick, to be sure, but when it came to finding and identifying vampires, it was second to none for a very simple reason: He could see the blood the vampire had drank. He could identify exactly who they had supped from just from having a moment to collect from their victims alone.

So long as he found the vampire's victims, he could find the vampire with this eye.

As he looked around now, rune burning bright, he saw... Nothing. Nothing near here glowed with the same color as the corpse beneath him. Including the blood on the tree... Which meant the blood did not belong to this man. He definitely wasn't pinned up anywhere. On the contrary, between this confirmation and the rest of the strangeness with this corpse, he began to have his own suspicions that perhaps he was looking at some fowl-play gone wrong...

Yet, despite his eye showing nothing nearby, as he looked around, his eye did pull him in a direction. He could feel it, though he could not see. There was yet more of this man's essence somewhere far, far away. Probably the one who took his blood. His vampire was still at large...

Though, that did not comfort him. This... Whole scene. It did not sit rightly with him still, even after confirming this was the work of a vampire. The other corpses, the blood on the tree, and the sword nearby... There was no way this could have been all a vampire's doing. If anything, odd as it was, he could have concluded this even looked like the man failing to kill someone who just happened to be a vampire. Perhaps, this bard barked up the wrong tree...

But, that was hasty. Until he found the vampire, he wouldn't have his answers. He would just need to settle with the unease that this all gave him, for this wouldn't be the only instance he had found where a vampire's involvement necessarily meant inherit guilt. Indeed, presuming guilt simply for being what they were was exactly the sort of thoughts that gave him so much doubt these days...


Before he had even stood, the sounds of footsteps reached his ears. Many of them. Naturally, in such an otherwise secluded place, this would be cause for alarm. Yet, as he stood, he could see a group of others approaching from the same path he had used to get here. Calmly standing, he simply put his hands into his coat pockets. He apparently had company here.

Clad in religious iconography, and armed so boldly, a rather large group of men were traveling here. Zealots... Or, that's what Nigel privately would have thought to himself. It'd be asking for trouble to say something like that out loud. Between their mock-hunter attire and irreverence in the way they were approaching, Nigel could smell bad news before he saw it. These people were not ordained by the church, yet, that didn't stop people from trying to perform their 'holy' duty of witch-hunting.

Still, as they approached, Nigel's moustache curved up into gentle smile. "Gentlemen." He said, the moment they were close enough. Though he was weary of these fellows, Nigel was too experienced to dare show anything other than a calm confidence.

There had to have been a dozen of them, eyeing him down, looking like they couldn't wait to use the weapons they had brought. But, not had said anything in polite response to him. Even these men, seeking blood, would have been able to recognize the old attire of a hunter. Nigel, apart from his jolly moustache and tired eyes, must have looked like the kind of boogyman their parents would have demonized to scare children into behaving well.

The boldest of the group, or at least the first to speak for the rest, stepped forward to meet Nigel. They must not have been expecting anyone else to be here. "You're a hunter of the Sway?"

Well, that was rather forward. "I am." Nigel responded with the tone of being pleased to meet him. Though, this was a lie. He was not technically a part of the church anymore, and hadn't been for years. There was no place for someone as specialized as him in the modern church's spears. Maybe a museum.

"Then you must know of the vampire that did all of this. We're here to do our service as loyal icons of the Sway, and purge the darkness that killed these people."

Icons? That was certainly a choice of word. Did these people believe they were avatars of the gods or something? Icons were things by which people could speak directly with their gods, usually through prayer. Did they think praying to them would act as conduit to the gods of the Sway? Or, perhaps, they thaught of themselves as the Sway's 'Answer'...

"I do..." Nigel's eye faded, not wanting to look threatening to these people. Just looking at them, anyone could tell they were ready for blood. "Always good to see young eager folks like yourself that care so much about your community." That was a lie. "You've not a thing to worry about though. I've got this under control-"

"We were summoned by the village chief to find the vampire that did this and drag them out into the sun. They told us we'd be getting paid handsomely for it. They never said anything about you being here." A little aggressive, but to the point. Nigel's brow furrowed a bit; He didn't realize, though should have, that the village would have already gotten as many people as involved as possible. As Nigel kept his mouth shut in the moment, the group was already fanning out, gawking at the carnage here, and clearly starting to look around for loot...

"Well, I'll step out of you way then. Don't want to get between the Gods and their work, yes?" He chuckled, a practiced thing. He was far from amused, but also not here for confrontation. Besides, he already had what he came for. Yet, as he took a step to move past the one he was speaking to, two of them stepped into his way...

"We already know where the vampire is..." Their spokesperson muttered, surprising Nigel a bit. Did they now? "There is a remote village where we've been tracking for months now. We're sure the vampire is there. Not sure exactly which house it's hiding in, but we'll drag them all out one by one if we got to."
"Bites have been happenin' there for a long time, we're sure of it." Another, finally chimed in.
"And after this? Well... Time to stop waiting and act."

Nigel's smile faltered. They thought they knew where a vampire was hiding... So they were just going to, what? Drag everyone in the village out into the snow? He had seen it before. These zealots essentially pillaging under the pretense that what they did was morally justified, in the name of expunging evil. Banditry if he ever saw it.

"You're a real hunter, yeah?" The man asked. "You should help us on our righteous mission. We're all children of the Sway, yeah? We have a common goal." They said that like this was good natured, but Nigel could see it on their faces. Their shitty 'investigating' had gotten them positioned all around him, and when the man asked that, he could feel them all looking at him now. "We could join you, show you what we know and get that vampire. How does that sound?"

They wanted him to come along and add legitimacy to their lunacy by having someone from the church in their ranks? Oh, if they only knew. Still, Nigel was not a fool, and could see they weren't really giving him much choice. He didn't want to spill blood, even if it was these sanctified thugs... And, honestly, the idea of them going into some random village and disturbing the peace was terrible to him. These people wanted to make him come along, fine. He could perhaps prevent them from causing chaos. And if there was actually a vampire where they say...

"Do you have any bodies? Apart from these, a'cource."

Being given a legitimate question, they collectively seemed to take that as agreement for him tagging along, if not conditionally. "No, this one is crafty. Just scarce reports we've collected over a long time... Probably not even close to all who actually had it happen. Wouldn't of gotten word of it at all if the doctors didn't say anything."

So, this supposed vampire was smart enough not to kill those they bit. Already, probably not the one who supposedly did all this, but Nigel wasn't going to interrupt someone when they were fucking up. "Do you have someone who you think has been bitten?"

"Uh..." He briefly looked to the others; "Yeah, we can take you to one." Another piped in.

Nigel just nodded. This was paper thin, and to be honest, these people did not strike him as being very bright. The idea that they somehow 'Found' a vampire seemed laughable to him, but if it meant perhaps preventing them from terrorizing people who don't deserve it, it was worth checking. "Take me to 'em. I'll help you find your vampire, and you can have your just desserts."

The mood shifted quickly. "Good. We knew you'd see the wisdom of our words. The Sway direct our courses even now to make sure we'd meet, I'm sure of it."

Yuck. Nigel nodded and smiled, channeling his old church-going loyalty he once had as if they were indeed acting like this was a divine mission, but silently cursed these idiots. Whatever; If they could bring him to someone who was actually bitten, he could use his eye to spot the vampire if they even existed. And that was a big if.

With his new unfriendly alliance to escort him, this case was on a strange and rocky start. Without any further to do, he followed them to this remote place, one of them brandishing the sword he had pilfered from the dead bard, a symbol of their true intention if he ever knew one.

When faced with doubt, people will try to hide from it. They will ignore it, bury it, run from it. Anything to keep it apart from them, least it endangers who they set themselves out to be. When your settled in your ways, doubt can feel like a corrosive force that eats away at your very foundations. After all, what did it all mean if the information by which you made your choices were lies? Who is left to blame if all has already been said and done? How long can you ignore that the castle on which you've built your life was made atop pillars of sand?

Bordeux, only one of her name, asked herself much the same.

From her beautiful room in Revellier Manor, she studied the letter she had been given. Something terrible had happened in a very remote place here in the cold vastness of Salvar. Something, they are saying, involving vampires. Her old foe, from by-gone days, had killed so many in a very public and ritualistic manner. She studied the letter's wording, trying to decipher the hints among it's lexicon of what could be true and what could be speculation. Fearful people were not reasonable people, and liable to make false statements. After all, modern vampires did not really do something so brash such as hanging up their kills. Not since the bolder, more powerful and threatening vampires of her own time, had she heard of such a thing happening and being attributed to a single vampire of all things.

It didn't seem right. It tickled her senses, honed from years of experience, and as of yet not dulled from retirement. She had done her service... Lived out her most exciting times. Now, she lived comfortably in this beautiful manor, owned by her patron who's family viewed her as their savior. As a reward for her service to them, they promised her a comfortable life for which to retire. When she finally had, she thought she would feel more at peace here...

So, why didn't she?

Setting the letter down on her bed, she swung herself to the bed's edge where nothing hung off the end. She was a double amputee; Both legs were unaccounted for, ending just above the knee. Her clothing, specially made, fashioned like tights that covered both ends. This was not news to her of course. She hadn't had legs since she was a girl. Indeed, she had spent more of her life without them than she did with.

Despite being up in age for a human, she certainly wore it extremely well. Her arms were slender, but tone. Her waist and hips, much the same. Even her thighs, all that was left of her legs, showed the figure akin to a figure-skater with slightly more bulk. She was flexible, and could get around quite well on her arms alone, even in her old age. There was hardly a winkle of her, save for the unmistakable line that curved beneath her eyes. You couldn't find a woman in better shape, and anyone who met her would have no doubt if told she was a hunter for the church.

Piecing blue eyes peered down past her bed, finding her prosthetic legs. Her silver hair was held tight behind her head in a very tight bun, an expertly place crease down the middle of her head that kept anything from falling into her face as she leaned over and took them up, one at a time. The legs themselves were rather ornate, looking like metal greaves, and ending not in feet but pointed ends like that of a deer. A purposeful design done out of comfort. The legs which she would take to work in her past, they were weapons that ended in sharp blades... Granting her incredible balance after a lifetime walking in them. Regular feet, they felt downright clumsy to her now. Even in retirement, she couldn't stand the way they felt. Hence, these unusual, specialized prosthetic legs were made for everyday use that wouldn't poke holes in the nice floor and carpets like her work-legs would.

She slipped into them as easily as gloves, manipulating them like she was born with them attached as she stood up from her bed. Back straight, posture perfect. It always was. Never compromise on posture. Striding over to her bedroom mirror, her mind weighed heavily on the letter as she checked herself. Her collar was high and tight, covering her whole neck, and the finely dressed suit she wore hugged her form right down to her fingers. A compromise between dressy, and comfortable for her. As a result of having such rich patrons, she had been raised in high society, and now as a permanent resident here and no regular job she had taken on the role of teaching younger people etiquette and proper behavior. Dressing and behaving right, it was all a part of leading by example.

As she contemplated the mirror, a gentle knock on her door reached her ears. "Come in." She said, not turning, able to see the door from her mirror. Though, she already knew who it was. As the heavy door creaked open, a short pair of eyes cautiously peeked into her room.

"Is nanny dressing?"

"I am dressed, my dear. Come in."

With permission granted, a young boy gleefully came into her room, needing to crane his neck to look up at her as his joyful green eyes searched for hers. Finally breaking eye contact with her own reflection, she peered down at him from the corner of her eyes and dared the smallest of smirks. To her slight dismay though, he was reaching up with his arms at her, trying to prompt her to lift him.

"Up!"

"Desmond, you are too old to be carried." She had told him as much before.

"But you are the only one who can-!"

"Act your age."

Almost immediately, the annoyed huffing and borderline whining came in a wave. He was young, yes, but... Just barely at that age where treating him like a baby was acceptable. Still, Bordeux was not having it, looking down at him with indignance and a stare that screamed 'Are you done?'. She had become something of a guardian to him, fourth child of her patron. Though she was not blood related at all, they looked at her as their grandmother, and would call her as such. She didn't mind, but the number of times guests had come over, seen her with a child in her arms, and assumed she was their mother was irksome to her. That they would think she looked young enough to be a mother might of been a compliment to most women and a testament to her looks, but she very much wanted to be treated her age.

"But-! But-! M-Mom says-!"

"Did you just come into my room to ask me to pick you up like a baby, Desmond?"

"N... No..."

"Then what's the matter?"

"Mom told me... To tell you... To come talk to her... About the letter-thing." Him trying to speak between little winy gasps was unbecoming of a boy of his lineage, but Bordeux chose not to correct him on it quite yet. He was, in the end, still a child. And, him telling her this, well... Clearly, his patron wanted to discuss what to do about her summons.

"Thank you, Desmond, for telling me. Now..." She turned to him fully. "Back straight; Mind your posture..." The boy did so immediately, jolting almost comically to correct any bend in his spine. This was a practiced routine for him. "Now walk with me." With that, doing exactly as she said, he made for the door shortly after her, all posture he had just forced immediately shattering with the arrival of goofy look on his young face. He seemed ever fascinated by her 'funny' legs, and stared at their every step as they both made their way out.

The walk to the study where the boy's mother resided was a short one. The mother had been the one who took the letter for Bordeux, and had read through it's contents already, so was already very aware of the request that was being made and of course why they would want it given to Bordeux of all people to begin with. It was no secret that an old vampire hunter resided here. It was simply that the people who would truly care or find any reverence in her work were either retired, buried, or waiting to be. The people still alive that would have remembered the guild from which she used to belong, of her family and their old ways, were for the most part right here in this manor.

Demond's mother, a woman of twenty nine, was nearly half Bordeux's age... Yet, was wise beyond her years. She had a reverence and respect for Bordeux ever since she herself was a teenage girl, when her mother had given her permanent residence here for her deeds, and needed to take up full responsibility of the manor and all the family's dealings after her husband and brothers died in war. If left her a single mother, yes, but also one of the singularly richest women in the region, as all their property went to her now. It was in the study where she spent much of her time, handling business and sorting out the long list of responsibilities that now fell to her, where she met with Bodeux... Her son departing, his little job well done.

"So... I take it you read the letter?" The chestnut haired woman, young girl in Bordeux's eyes, asked from behind her masterly carved desk that was probably older than her. She had a look of nervous excitement in her eyes, curious and mindful.

"I have."

"What do you think?"

"I think the people are mistaken, calling it a vampire."

She seemed to light up with interest, leaning forward in her seat. "Oh? Why is that?" Juine, head of the household she was, always had intense interest in the things outside. Getting Bordeux to talk about her past adventures, about witches and monsters, was always so exciting to her. This was simply a wonderful excuse to hear more, an act Bodeux had long gotten used to.

"Vampires of today, they are not like when I was young. The days of openly displaying your kills and brazenly overfeeding is a thing of the past, a remnant from when the vampire bloodlines ran deep and their influence and power was more plentiful. At least, in Salvar..." Memories of the horrors, of wars fought in the dark, came back to her. Truly, vampires in this region used to be far more terrible. "These days, whatever vampires are left here are born of diluted blood... Just... Pests in the night, like rodents, trying to survive. Not even magic can exist here anymore, you think a vampire could ever reach the heights of power they once had in this modern age? No. Nothing will ever be like that again, not so long as the Sway holds dominion. And that is a good thing." And largely why she herself had become irrelevant over time...

"So you think this isn't a vampire? Did you read the part about the bite marks?"

"Animals drink blood all the time. It could be any manner of things."

"But what if it isn't? I don't think animals pin people to trees."

She didn't say that in a frightful tone, rather, an interested and curious one. Still, Bordeux's eyebrow raised, seeing Juine's clear motive, "Are you suggesting you think I should go investigate?"

"Well..." She relented, "I mean... I... Am not suggesting anything. I am curious though, if you... Thought about it? Not that I want you to, or anything, it is not my decision to make. I just never saw anything this odd before in the region, and was interested in what you thought."

Cute. She was indeed very curious. "Yes... It is very odd."

"... You... Don't want to know what happened though? What it was?"

"I would have to see it for myself."Bordeux concluded, admitting a small truth to her. Of course she was curious. It called to her, this old sense of duty... But, it was odd. She was trying to resign herself to her retirement, to not let rampant imagination run wild. Things would never be like they were in her day. People like her, they didn't need to exist anymore. To concede to answering this call when it wasn't necessary, it would only diminish her already faltering self worth.

"... Would you want to?"

The question surprised Bordeux. For being impartial to her inaction, she sure seemed eager and wanting! "Well... I suppose so..." Now, she surprised herself. Why was she admitting this? Yes, okay, she did want to know. It all seemed too strange. But, to admit that to Juine would be tantamount to asking permission to go.

"Granted!!" Juine excitedly shouted, seeming downright gleeful and putting Bodeux in surprised shock. "Just-! Please! Tell me everything about it on your return! I must hear of your exploits!"

Well, she seemed excited after all. So excited, the decision was apparently made for her. But... how could she say no now? Before she had realized it, she had agreed to go and take up this mystery for herself. Juine, her excited patron's clearly willfull egging on aside, she was actually quietly satisfied with this little meeting. She loved her life and the kids here, but... Duty would always call her. Juine must have known this.

"I wasn't sure if you'd actually agree..." Juine followed up, smiling from behind her desk. "But, I'll admit, I may have become a little more invested in the mysteries of this little incident." As if that wasn't obvious to Bordeux. "So... I have already called an old acquaintance of mine for help in this little venture."

Bordeux's eyebrow raised. "Oh? You called hunters from the church?"

"Oh goodness, no! Actually, a very dashing half-elf by the name of Arphenion will be arriving here. I can't wait for you two to meet! He is very handsome, I think you'll like him."

Privately, being told something like that, Bordeux pictured something... Incredibly unappealing in her mind. At her age, until she actually met someone, she always assumed they were both younger than her and far less capable or annoying than they may actually be. Essentially, everyone started out already having made a poor impression without needing to say or do a thing... But, she would never say as much out loud. Only quietly dread meeting someone who, as far as Juine had felt she should know, was that he was 'handsome'.

"Arphenion..." Bordeux echoed, feigning interest. "I will look forward to meeting him." She didn't, not really. She was assuming it would be another rich aristocrat who thought they were personally more useful than they actually were. That's usually the kind of people who courted Juine, after all, so she had no reason to believe any differently here.

"Good! I look forward to seeing you two team up in this! You MUST tell me EVERYTHING when you return though, don't you forget it!"

Bordeux smirked. "I won't."

Time to go dust off her old equipment...

Salvar was a harsh mistress. It was a land that would scold an inhabitant for not reading its attitude; punish another for ignoring it outright. Luckily, it was early spring and the long, lonely nights of winter had begun to give way to a mid-afternoon sun that was trying its best to smile kindly. The mistress though, she was not yet done with the flurry of snow or the thunder-storms laced with sleet. Bands of weather pushed through without expectation or prediction at times. For the Northern wastes, as many of the southern Salvic cities called it, it was just another cycle. They did not have aeromancers for weather prediction or control, they were hearty and fully capable.

Arphenion hated Slavic winters, hated the general culture of the people of Salvar hated the awful alcholic drink preferences of the hearty humans, but most of all hated The Sway. Unfortunately, had a claim in the Northeaster portion of the wastes that he had taken over since Damion Shargath had disappeared. The young, psychotic human was amusing in his own way but had been missing for some time – since then the Raiaeran Bladesinger claimed the Shargath Estate, a name he gave since it had no other. However, Arphenion was a broken man who had no true home.

He was a split between his body and soul, and conscious. He had the reincarnated body of a high elven Bladesinger, brought back by the powers of the infamous necromancer Xem’Zund with assistance from his ‘sister’ the twisted druid Pode. The soul was that of a dark elven prophet of the Thayne, Ranger Nailo, who had been pulled from the antifirmament to act as a catalyst for the reincarnation. The problem, with the situation, was that the mind was split with memories of the past life overlapping for both, while Arphenion fought to retain his identity in place of the whispers of Ranger’s life prodding his subconscious mind.

One of the expectations of maintaining the Shargath Estate was presence. Being a prominent figure in the region, both seen and known. Arphenion had met some of the local nobles as they called themselves, people that were kings and queens of their own small patches of nothing. Some had titles they liked to flout, as if they had meaning, but others were more humble and polite in their interactions. Either way, the Forsaken Defiled mage had asked each for their kinship and trust. The sturdy handshakes were laced with the dark magic of the Forsaken, willing hosts accepting the connection between them and the elf.

It was with utmost surprise that the first of the Slavic nobles to attempt contact was the seemingly confident and forward Lady Juine of the Revellier Manor. Arphenion had met her at her estate while traveling back to his own. She had made a slight impression. The woman was a young human, brunette hair and dark eyes, but with a presence about her that intrigued the elf.

Arphenion lounged in his chair and swirled a deep, red wine in a wide glass goblet. The warmth of the wide fireplace fought the stab of the cold. He read the letter again, shaking his head and wondering if it was worth it.

Quote:

---

“Dear Mr. Arphenion De Lecuyer,

I write to you this day to ask for your assistance. It appears that there has been some concern with a local, small village known as Grimsgol. In the surrounding forests a bloody affair has occurred, with the bodies of many individuals affixed to trees. The village is in a tizzy, suspecting the work of vampires, and many avenues of regress have been reached that are paramount to requesting travel protection from a conclave of brigands.

It is not known what the true nature of this macabre spectacle is, but I believe your expertise and understanding may be warranted in this case. I have other personnel that can assist in this venture, but you are one I would like to ask – if nothing else – to please take a look at that situation.

Please accept my gracious invitation to the Revellier Mansion, whether accepting this request or simply for the pleasure of regional discussion, to discuss and have civil conversation.

Sincerely,

Juine Revellier

---

----------------

The Raiaeran elf rode up to high hedges that obviously outlined the entrance to the estates of the Revellier Mansion. They were well-trimmed and seemed to extend the length of the face of the estate, with a smooth cobblestone path that was extremely well maintained since at the mile mark before the beginning of the estate. His horse, a non-descript auburn mare, had been his only companion for the last sixteen hours. The journey, tiring as it was, made Arphenion want to do nothing more than present himself and let them known that nothing was needed of him.

“Good morn!” A cheerful, somewhat wide guard with the Revellier crest called out as the elf slowly rode up to the entrance. Beneath the heavy fur cloak was a cheerful human, with naturally slumped shoulders and a smaller physical build. He had a leather cap on his head, a beard that looked as if it was a few days into growing, and a stupid grin. At the center of his breastplate was the symbol of the house, a shield with gold and black, small rain drops falling in the black section. Above the shield was a simple helm and a boar's head. “How can we help you... sir?”

It was obvious that the man caught the long, sharp ears and pale skin of Arphenion as he looked his direction. The guard put on a placid smile, but one that was accompanied by a quick glance over his shoulder and nod to other guards. Other humans, armor the same uniform but the garment for warmth slightly different, began to rise from small fires and grab their weapons to come meet the elf.

“I am Arphenion De Lecuyer,” the voice of the man was deeper than his natural tone, yet not aggressive. He wanted to impart that he was important without scaring them, or inciting further concern. “I was requested to visit by the Lady Revellier. You can take my reigns and care for my horse and call for the house staff to show me to my room. I have been on the road for some time and need a hot bath.”

“Oooh,” the man said as he, without losing eye contact, used two fingers to summon the other guards. Arphenion was dressed in his common clothes. He had a pair of leather boots, black britches, a long sleeve white collar shirt with blouse, tight black vest, and baroque frock. He was, in his own way, the epitome of non-threatening. The armor and weapons that he could bring to bear were well hidden in his pocket dimension. “I can’t just let any elf... I mean any person in. What’s a Raiaeran want here?”

Arphenion shook his head as he swung his leg over the horse and saddle and held the reigns. He put them forward to an attendant in the black and gold stripes, who looked at the guard for approval. When the guard continued staring at the elf he looked back and sighed. “How about you send someone with this,” he extended the letter he had received, “and while you do so I’ll contact her directly.”

“You’ll what?” The guard took the letter and brought it back to the others.

Arphenion wasn’t sure that between the four of them, including the stable hand, anyone could read. Instead he closed his eyes a second and thought of the young Revellier noble. In his mind a long, broken stream of magic appeared that looked like a novice crocheting of a single line. It was not tight, loose at times, a couple knots incorrect but worked through. With the connection he pulled very gently. He could sense her direction, her feeling of excitement and the word Bordeaux, and that her eyes suddenly were pulled towards him.

“She’ll be here soon. You can send word that I have arrived, or you can wait for her to tell you.” He handed his reigns to the stable hand. “You can keep this one, I just used her to ger here, but I expect a fresh replacement.”

Arphenion turned to the guard and waved his hand dismissively. “Go, why are you still here?”

Being met with such indignance, the guard was rendered temporarily wordless. Who did this elf think he was talking like that exactly? To arrive here and so boldly declare who he will meet? As a man of long-time employ to this family's security, and of course with all the deaths leaving the lady of this estate being the only heir left (Save for her children) he was not about to let just anyone come inside when they insist.

Having had his eyes on the letter, the guard scowled a bit, and the others who had arrived at his summons were looking at him for what they should do. Even the stable hand, awkwardly palming the reigns to the steed, seemed to sense the unease coming from the guard who had greeted Arphenion. With all these eyes on him and the important task of security at his feet, what kind of example would he set in the face of this guest?

"Now see here-"

Cut just short of telling off this foreigner, the main door to the estate opened right before them, large frames cracked open jsut enough for a familiar face to poke out.

"Arphenion!" Came the voice of Juine, stepping out into the cold with excitement in her emerald eyes. The guard was, rightfully, stunned into silence. What was the lady of the house doing here!? How did she know someone was even here!? Before the guard to regain any composure or wipe the confusion off his face, Juine seemed to see him immediately. "Ah, Belgrad, please take his horse!" Immediately turning back to Arphenion, she pushed the door open a little more. "Please, come inside!"

As she herself made way an allowed the honored and apparently expected guest inside, the guard's mouth flapped with movement but for a moment no words escaped. How... Why-!? Why didn't she inform him!? "I-I-! Yes milady!" He finally stammered out, giving the stable boy a signal to take away the horse back to the stables where it belonged. "Welcome to-"

But, the doors were already shutting by their sheer weight. The two had retreated inside, leaving Belgrad flummoxed and beside himself. No doubt, this was intensely embarrassing and unexpected. The lady herself coming to the door? It made him seem lazy, though he was anything but. And again, how on earth did she even know he was here?

Inside, Juine seemed elated as she lead him along the beautiful interior of her vibrant halls. "I felt your presence call to me; What a rush! So good to see you again. Forgive Belgrad, he takes his job quite seriously." Given how rich his employer was, who could blame him? "Thank you so much for responding to my letter. Oh we've so much to talk about! But listen to me, chatting your ear off before you've even warmed up..." She was indeed stepping with a enthusiastic pace, seeming to want to begin talking before they even had settled. "My study is not far."

Leading him up a flight of stairs to where her study was located, the sight of various servants spotting the intruder being lead around by the lady herself had just about all of them pause to stare for just a moment. Pointed ears was not something seen around these parts commonly, and frankly, that seemed like something one of them should probably be tending to instead of the head of household. Still, the smile she wore betray any sense of caution others might of had. Little did they know, she had been eagerly awaiting this guest.

Arriving in the study, the room was warmer than the rest thanks to the sizable fireplace that gave the lightest smell of torched wood in addition to it's glow. Bookshelves lining the walls, she invited him to take a seat near the fire with her where they could talk. But, before that, her curious child had been playing in the very same room. The boy paused his doodling when his mother entered with Arphenion, and the confused pause came with emotion worn plainly on his small face. Kids truly did not understand subtlety.

"Desmond," Juine quickly addressed him the moment their eyes met. "Fetch nanny for me."

For such a young boy, he was quick to respond to his mother's request, staring at Arphenion with apprehension even as he nodded and said absolutely nothing yet getting up from the floor and scurrying away while his mother and her guest made themselves comfortable.



Not too far from the study, Bordeux was finishing her preparations. She had been using the time wisely to do maintenance on her old equipment. Making sure it still worked, that it was well taken care of, that it still fit just fine... Even doing an inventory. Thanks to how well she had stored and treated her old things upon retirement, it in truth needed next to none. It was just as familiar and effective as the day she thought she'd be hanging these all up for good...

She was in the final steps of checking herself in the mirror before the knock came. The familiar pattern, and low on the door origin of the sound. Mommy's little helper was here to call upon her again it seemed. "Come in."

"Is... Nanny dressing?"

A familiar question he liked to follow up with, though even now she could hear the slightly off sound in his voice. Still, she took a look at herself before answering. Her hair was still tied into a tight bun behind her head, but it was below the neck where her usual attire was completely different and yet familiar to herself. A slight metal collar attached to a shaped breastplate that was worn over her skin tight clothing that covered her shoulders and arms right down to the wrist, where old leather gloves covered the rest. Much of what she wore was form-fitting, and the armor itself was sewn in with loops to the clothing itself. On her right arm was a strange looking contraption: A wrist mounted bolt thrower, like a crossbow. But, below her waist, she held the bulk of her arsenal.

Her legs were not like her casually worn pair. She was standing atop curved blades, her legs like swords, who's tips poked into the wood unavoidably with the weight. Around her waist was a thick belt that seemed to hold reeled coils of cable, and cylinders where there was a place for these to be mounted, along with what was clearly a ammunition belt for her wrist mounted weapon. Over her artificial right leg, below where the knee would be, was a shield like guard that extended up to cover her thigh, sporting a metal embossing of an old crest that looked to have signs of repaired damage and many small nicks and scratches, even a shallow handle on the other side with a window to look through.

For as light as she seemed up top, these legs and this gear looked like it must have been very heavy, and very specifically designed. Unlike Nigel who carried all sorts of things, her old equipment was built for a very specific purpose and it left little room for anything else. Still, wearing it again, looking at herself in the mirror, it brought back old feelings of relevance again. Oh the things she did in these legs...

"I'm dressed dear, come in."

But, Desmond did not. "Mom wants you. Someone weird is here."

Someone weird? It must have been this Arphenion she was talking about. Briefly, fleetingly, she considered herself and what she must look like to a stranger's eyes. A woman of many years, dressed in things meant for violence... But, as fleeting thoughts are one to do, it was gone almost as quickly as it had arrived. Besides, part of her wanted to see the look on some snobby noble's face when they saw her in her full former glory.

"... I will be right there."

“Thank you, Alicia. I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

Alicia smiled politely as she carefully poured a dark red powder into a small vial, “It’s a simple matter, Granny Targen. See that James takes this at breakfast and dinner. Only 1 teaspoon, mind! You can mix it in his food or a cup of water. The powder by itself is rather bitter, but it is tolerable when mixed in something else. If he doesn’t start improving by the end of the week, let me know.”

The old lady, bent with age, nodded and put the glass vial into the bag she wore slanted across her chest. She handed over a few coins, which Alicia tucked away into a pouch at her slim waist. Then, with small, puttering steps, she exited the small shop.

Alicia quickly followed to lock the door and begin closing down. With the door locked, open sign flipped to closed and the curtains drawn, she looked around at her little shop. A few shelves lined the wall, each with an assortment of common herbs, spices and various commonly needed antidotes. From the ceiling hung bushels of other herbs. A pleasant aroma filled the shop, though Alicia had long since acclimated to it and no longer noticed.

How long had she been here now? She tried to think, but she hadn’t bothered to keep track of the passage of time for quite awhile now. Being immortal, time had very little meaning to her. Still, it would behoove her to start marking the time, lest the little ones like James get too grown and start pushing about how Miss Silvertree is still as young as when they were children. For now, though, it was still safe enough in this quiet village.

As she changed out of her work clothes in one room apartment behind the shop, she thought about what brought her here. Salvar was not exactly the best place for one like her to live. Vampires were considered evil just for existing. She’d come to Salvar on a job in Knife’s Edge. That had quickly turned into a disaster. It has been the only time in many, many years that she’d abandoned the job. But that had also meant no way home. Not that she really had a home anyway. Radasanth was the closest thing she had, but it was still just another place with bad memories she’d prefer to forget.


Now wearing a form-fitting green dress with a low scooped neckline, she paused at her mirror to make sure all was in place. Her waist long hair now hung loose about her shoulders. She deftly touched up her makeup and looked over the final result. Men would do almost anything for a beautiful woman. Manipulating the male half of the population was second nature to her now. It had been a couple of days since her last feed and it was time to hunt.

~~~~~~~~

“Good evening, Alicia,” the barkeep greeted her as she took a seat, “You look ravishing as always.”

Alicia smiled, “Thank you, Gerald. How’s business tonight?”

Gerald shrugged and wiped out a mug, “Same as always. There’s a new batch of hot heads that’ve come through. Prob’ly to do with those poor murdered souls out yonder.”

Alicia nodded. She’d heard about the mass murder. She’d also heard the rumors of what manner of creature the village folk suspected. She wasn’t overly worried. She’d dealt with over zealous hunters before and it typically took nothing more than getting violently sick to make them go home again. Beyond that, she’d been careful. No one in this quaint village even knew about her black market antics, let alone her other secret. Still, it might be safer to leave town for a bit if things got too close.

She cleared such thoughts from her head with a small shake, then gazed around the room. Sitting around thinking gloomy thoughts was not why she’d come here. All she needed tonight was a wine soaked fop with whom she could have a reasonably good romp and get a drink afterward.

~~~~~~~~

Alicia stretched as she sat up in bed. The night had passed pleasantly enough, but now it was time to get ready for the day. She quickly dressed in her usual close fitting pants, but chose a looser fitting shirt than she wore in times past. Life as a semi-honest business woman had altered her tastes somewhat. She still favored the tight fitting pants (and the lustful stares they elicited), but she’d found that a blouse that was loose in the sleeves with a snug wrist cuff was quite comfortable. Today, her blouse was deep green. As always, the ties were left undone, revealing a hint of cleavage.

The sun was fully up, but that didn’t matter. She’d made sure the only windows in this place were on the north and south sides. Even so, those windows were heavily curtained. After a quick brush of her long silver hair, she put it up in its customary pony tail and went out to start a day of work.

"I've told you already, it wasn't from no vampire-"

"Shut it!" The zealot barked, not wanting to hear any of it as the man was forced into a chair and held down appropriately. The gent in the chair, cheeks a little red from his boozing, struggled a little more from the discomfort rather than pure resistance. They had made it pretty clear that wouldn't be tolerated. Nigel, seeing more than enough out of the goon squad, pushed his way past the loud idiot to get in personally with this 'captive'.

They had been travelling to this back-water little town. Quite a few villages that seemed so neatly tucked away into the north here, some he was pretty sure didn't even have any names. But, apparently, according to them, this was where the 'vampire' supposedly was, and this man had been bitten. Again, supposedly. Nigel didn't have any confidence in these loons and, at this point, felt like he was just here to minimize damage. This poor man clearly didn't want anything to do with them after all.

Upon stepping forward, Nigel looked over the man. Fair age, maybe in his twenties, and a slightly darker complexion that he usually saw around here. Apparently a frequent traveler through these parts. He had visited the medicine man here for some unrelated problem when the good doctor thaught he saw the fang marks. Naturally, kneeling before the held down man, his eyes went to his neck...

The tiniest, faintest little dots of slightly lighter pink skin were indeed there. Had it not been for that darker complexion, it'd be easy to miss.

"... It's just a love bite. I told you." He chimed in again, seeing Nigel looking at the mark. To that, Nigel's eyes went to his, and he offered a little smile.

"Aye. A love bite." He nodded, seeming to reassure him with agreement. The others in the room, of course hungry for vampire blood, looked at one another in confusion. Clearly, they weren't sure what to make of Nigel's response here, gauging each other's reactions to see if someone should do something. But, before they could get any ideas, Nigel reached out past the man's head. With two gloved fingers, he pinched a bundle of hair...

And plucked them from his head.

"AGH!?" The man in the chair yelped from the sudden unexpected pain, Nigel having ripped some hairs out from their very roots. "W-What the hell!?"

But, Nigel's moustache kept curved into a gentle smile, tucking the hair away under his glove alongside the other little bounty he had picked up from the killing site. At once, he could see the man's colored essence now... And, briefly, he just took it in. He was a different color to the owner of the nail, obviously. This man was certainly not the vampire, not that he thought he'd be to begin with.

The others had fallen silent watching Nigel with curiocity even as the old hunter stood back up and seemed satisfied with what he had done despite, to them, not doing much of anything that made sense to them at all.

"Alrighty sir. You're free to go."

What? All of them seemed to pause at that. Even the man in the chair. It didn't take long though for him to try and pull away from the zealot's grasps though, and this time, they didn't fight it. He stood up from the chair he had been forced into and, with a bit of a drunked stumble, gave them all hateful looks as he brushed on by and made his way out. The others, well, they seemed upset.

"What the hell was that hunter?"
"You're not really from the church are you!?"

So quick with the accusations! Nigel turned to them calmly though, "I've got what I need. If he was bitten by a vampire, and the vampire is indeed here, I'll be able to find them don't you worry."

"How? All you did was pinch off some tuffs. You think we're stupid?"

Nigel frowned. He didn't want to explain to these idiots how his eye worked, or even that he had it. Such a thing these days looks an awful lot like heretical magic, and trying to explain how it's a relic of a time when the church was a little more liberal with how the tolerated and ordained things so long as it was their own creation was not a nuanced conversation he was prepared to have with a bunch of weapon wielding thugs.

"... Are you not confident your vampire is here?"

"What? Of course they are!"

"Then please..." Nigel straightened his jacket, shooting the accusing zeolot a look that told how serious was his conviction. "Let me work."

"Work how? What do you do now?"

"Simple. I look for the vampire, and I'll know it when I see it."

Perhaps it was the attitude Nigel had with saying that, or that it was clearly he was withholding information, but they all seemed more visibly aggravated at that. "So, okay, what then exactly? You're just going to go to each building here and fuckin' take a peak?"

Nigel shrugged; "Why, yes actually. Figured I'd start perusing the fine establishments around here. Think I saw a cute little café on our way in."

This answer, apparently, was unacceptable. Without warning, one of the many people surrounding him swung their metal club down at a chair, obliterating it and sending splinters scattering across the floor. An intimidation tactic, meant to represent what might happen to him next, maybe hoping it would make him flinch as another one of them got right into his face, hardly an inch away from touching noses as furious eyes glared daggers into his own.

"We didn't drag you all the way out here for fun, hunter!! Where is your pride!? Your zeal!?" Another quickly jumped in.
"We will be going with you, and if you don't find our vampire, or turns out you were pulling our legs, we'll grant you a trial of your faith by way of pain! Do you understand!?"

Nigel took a deep breath, a scowl on his brow. These guys... "Fine. Just do me a favor and wait outside, right? I don't need your 'zeal' getting in the way." Or, terrorizing people without reason. He wasn't going to back down to a bunch of ruffians half his age acting like they could just break some things and make threats to get their way.

"Whatever you old fool. We'll be watching you."

What kind 'Partners'...


From here, Nigel began his little tour of the village. Accompanied by six of them, his job was supposed to be simple: Check for vampires, come back outside, and let them know if he found them. Apparently, the rest was going to be handled by them. He got to 'help', and they got to take credit for bagging a vampire. In theory anyway. This whole thing still felt like a farce, but Nigel was in a odd position of both wanting nothing to do with them while also trying to find a way to resolve this without them dragging people out into the snow like savages.

So, door to door he went. Much of the time, he didn't know if he would be entering a business or a place of dwelling, as it seemed many people made their homes the places they worked. Barring the rough posy that followed him, the place was rather quaint. Had he found this place without them, it might even seem downright pleasant. He visited the mill, the tailor, the smith... Each nervous at the sight of stranger, but warm in their reception as Nigel warmly greeted him. He even got to see that café he mentioned, so curious how something like that could be found all the way out here.

Still, of all the people he lay eyes on, he never saw someone carrying a matching essence. Not to the hair owner, and especially not the dead bard. It was beginning to seem like there was indeed no vampire around here, and he was going to need to think of something clever to get the violent goons on another path away from this peaceful quiet place. They were kind enough to wait outside for him with each place he visited, but that wouldn't last if he couldn't find something. It wasn't until he asked after an apothecary in polite conversation with one of the locals that he learned they even had a potion shop...

"We've been searching for hours..." One complained as they all came upon the potion shop. To them all, indeed, it was just one shop of many. Though, Nigel, he could tell something was a little different about it here. Though he could not put a finger on what. Maybe it had to do with how separate from the rest of the village it seemed, or how it looked to have been perhaps a newer building than the rest... Or, maybe it was his eye, pulling him.

"Patience lads. We've nearly covered everywhere." Nigel reassured them, though he could tell he was testing their patience. They were so eager to find this 'vampire', and this was taking so long for a supposed 'professional'.

"Whatever. Just hurry it up. You talk too much to everyone."

"Gotta be sure I cover all my tracks." Nigel responded with a little wink, a smile tugging at a corner of his mouth, but the scowl of the man told him the enthusiasm wasn't appreciated. Still, without any more chatting, Nigel approached the quaint potion shop and casually let himself inside...

Within, he was immediately inundated with the smells of herbs and spices, a nice warmth that greeted him from the cold outside. The size of this place, like much of this village, was small but so brimming with vibrant homely little touches he quickly felt a sense of ease. And it being a potion shop, just scanning around and seeing all manner of medicinal supplies was quite something... Until his eyes, naturally, fell upon the shop keep at her counter.

And Nigel immediate paused.

He could see it, the faint color of the man with the hair's essence within her. Their 'vampire'... Was real. And here she was, at a potion shop. Not only that, but just looking at her, his experienced age told him many things. She was stunningly beautiful, for one, a fact any man could appreciate. The fact that she had this shop alone must of made her extremely capable... To exist for a long time in a single place, as a vampire, who must feed off of others, makes creating a long term home difficult when the goal is concealment. And this place was gorgeous! She must be very smart to have been here, built this place, and skilled enough to operate a business like this...

She also, clearly, was no threat. A vampire who carved out a peaceful living here, harming no one, was not at all something he'd actually ever find. Not just that, but he could also clearly see she was not the vampire who killed the bard. The zealots, unbelievably, were right. There was a vampire here, but it was not the same one who killed all those people. Not that it would matter to them...

With so much to take in, Nigel realized he must have stood there just staring for a little while, gawking at the beautiful woman across the room. Without a word, he took his hat off his head, holding it to his chest as he took slow strides forward into the place.

"Forgive me, miss..." He began, short silver speckled hair combed to one side in a slight wave without the hat to hide it on show. "I had come inside hoping to find a remedy. The old 'Tool' does not stand to attention as quickly as it did in my youth, you see, but I-... Well... After laying eyes on you, it suddenly seems to have resolved itself."

Cheeky. Nigel offered a small smile, trying to be his typical cheery self he presented before everyone he met. Hell, he even lead with a crass joke. Complementing a woman's looks while masking it with a self-deprecating compliment? He would be a hit at the retirement home, had he not been slightly too young to belong in one quite yet. It betrayed the gravity by which his meeting her meant.

He, unbelievably, had found her.

The guards seemed to have a concern with the Raiaeran, far more so than he felt towards the guards. The cautious face of the once cheerful guard had shifted as if gauging the danger of the man before him. Arphenion had seen the expression many times. It was the look of a mindless wolfhound slowly brining its haunches up and realizing it should have begun growling much sooner; the beast it had come into contact with being one to intimidate instead of greet. His lips had pursed tightly and his eyes squinted as he glared at the elf over the letter in his hand. As he began to speak and the others thick gloves found the pommels of their weapons, the lovely lady of the house appeared.

For a human of the frigid wastes of Salvar, Juine was a burst of spring energy. Her voice carried on the breeze with a subtle warmth, her tone and words a melody that made the Bladesinger smile despite himself. Her bright emerald eyes were piercing but invitingly so. Juine’s slight frame was not one that Arphenion would have associated with the cold winters. She loosely wore her thick fur, open cloak that billowed as she hastily walked towards the scene.

The elf swiped his black cavalier hat from his head with a thinly gloved hand to behind his back and began to bow. He was able to get only a very curt nod before the hostess was on top of him. She swept between Arphenion and the guard Belgrad, and a thin arm was wrapped under his. He rose as he felt the tug and found his feet. It looked as if she was being lead in a courtly fashion by the Raiaeran, but it was very much the opposite as he felt her tugging him along and chatting away.

Before the dumbfounded Belgrad was left behind entirely, Arphenion snatched the letter from his hands. The guard’s head turned with his mouth a bit agape. The defensive dog had become a confused pup. The elf was not going to leave his invite with dumb brutes who could not read anyway. Before he turned to move into the small mansion, he gave the posse of guards a cheeky wink. The door closed behind him, and he was on his way.

Arphenion could feel the eyes of the help on him and the Lady Juine as they flowed through the stone halls and ironwood floors of the Revellier Estates. A few of the attendants began to bob in the wake of the pair as they made their way up a flight of stairs and into a study – he assumed there were others but the one she had brought him to was the primary of the estate. As he entered the room, he was engulfed with a blanket of warmth that felt as if he had walked through a portal to another world. Juine was gently giving orders to a young man, asking for nanny and the boy was gone.

The servants of the estate came in politely with platters of fresh roasted meats, smoked Slavic fish, an array of different breads, honey, and other dried fruits not native to Salvar much less the north. As they arrived the elven visitor found his baroque frock was handed off, his cavalier hat was whisked away alongside, and he was seated in a plush chair. The array of hors d’oeuvres was being politely arranged on a sample plate for the pair as they faced each other before the fire.

“It is fantastic to see you again, and thank you for coming,” Juine said with a pleasant smile and a gentle hand extended to the elf. He took it and kissed the back of her hand with a gentle squeeze on her fingers. “How was your journey here?”

“It was long, but pleasant,” he replied, his voice clear and crisp with the distinct accent of a high-elven tongue.

“I’m so happy to hear.”

“Salvar can be such a beautiful land when you have the time to appreciate it.” The pleasantries as sweet as honeyed wine and stained with lies. If the Lady Juine noticed she did not flutter an eye. Instead, she laughed coyly behind her hand. “Your letter said you were having some concerns with a local village?”

The pair took a prepared plate of finger-foods and sat back. “You are eager to jump right into business, aren’t you?” Juine took a bit of a fig drizzled in a balsamic reduction. “I have another I would have you meet to discuss that particular piece. Until then, let us enjoy each other's company.”

She raised an empty hand and a frosted, fluted glass appeared from a gloved hand of an attendant. As a decanter appeared Arphenion raised a hand. “If, Lady Juine, you would permit I have brought a gift,” she nodded politely with an inquisitive smile.

The mage opened his black vest and at first put just two fingers into the interior pocket, then the tips of all fingers, then his entire hand. As if impossible, a quarter of his arm was gone without a single indication as to where from the outside. He absently looked up moved his head about, as if rummaging blindly and seeking his query by feel alone. A moment later, with the wide eyes of not only the lady of the house but the servants too, he pulled out an old bottle. The neck had a green tint of the glass, a red wax seal covered the cork, and the label was weathered with age but showed the image of a griffin.

“Lady Juine,” Arphenion said with a flourish and presented the bottle, “may I offer an old vintage I have recently discovered at the Shargath Estate? It is a well-aged, yet simple fruity vintage from the south of Salvar near the border of Raiaeara. If you could please?”

A servant took the bottle and worked to open it. “Dear Arphenion, please just call me Juine, and I would be delighted.” She looked to either side, as if checking for prying eyes and ears (as if the servants did not count). Then, in a hushed tone she questioned, “And you must tell me how you did that little trick...”

Juine was, naturally, smitten by the half elf. She rarely had visitors whom she actually was looking forward to, but Arphenion was one of those few exceptions. She was delighted by his unusual little trick pocket that could hold so much, and the wine itself held far more value from having come so far from Raiera, how could she not be impressed?

As she enjoyed their shared company, Bordeux was putting small holes in the floor with each step. The blade-legs unfortunately would do that... If not for the fact that she was expecting to need them, she'd wear her far less damaging ones. Or, hell, walk on her hands. She didn't like the indignity of being put in a wheelchair, feeling she was more than capable of getting around without it. Not to mention, if they had guests... It wouldn't leave much of an impression, would it?

Danien, following behind her, tried to step on every hole she left behind, finding her strides were much longer than his. Not long into the little walk, Bordeux could hear the tiniest of murmurs coming from Jiune's most favored study and came to a stop. She turned her head, and peered down...

"Damien, go be with your sister."

"Nan, I don't want to-"

"Just for a while, it won't take long." It quickly occurred to Bordeux that, depending on how this went, she was probably going to end up leaving not too long after this meeting. With, or without, this 'Arphenion' fellow. "And do be good. A little gentleman, even when you are alone."

The child, being so young, perhaps didn't read between the lines in her tone of voice, nor detect any subtle connotations with Bordeux's words. It was just the same face-value words of wisdom she had told him more than once before. Just regular old 'nanny' talk, always worried about his manners and things. "I will..." He said, dejectedly stopping his following.

"Good. Go then." She said, waiting to see him leave. Damien, purposefully looking sadder than he was, turned and began his little trot away...

When the door to the study opened, a servant stepping out carrying some silver tray. The moment Bordeux turned her head to see them, the servant had done the same, and perhaps a little spooked at the sight, lost all composure in a panic. "Eek-!" Was all the servant mustered, accidently flinging the tray up and out of their own grip.

Without a word, Bordeux bent forward quickly, one leg back outward acting as counterweight as the extra reach allowed her to swiftly catch the tray before it dare hit the ground. She was remarkably flexible to so easily end up in such a ballerina like pose...

"M-Ms. Bordeux-!?"

"Hush," Bordeux quickly ordered, returning her leg to the floor and holding out the tray. She must have been serving Juine and the guest. "Compose yourself." She said, waiting for the servant to take it back. Was her get up so striking?

Apparently. The servant humbly seemed to realize their mistake, nodding quickly and taking the tray from her, thankful but obviously flustered. They didn't dare make a peep as they simply hurried off. Silently, she cursed. This having happened just outside the doors to the study, and the servant being quite noisy, she worried now that this panicked tone would be her introduction to the guest.

Well, no need to dwell on it then...

Bordeux gently pushed open the door to Jiune's study, letting it swing naturally as she strode inside, the sound of her gear lightly rattling, punctuated by the soft sound of metal scoring the wood beneath her with each step as she walked into the gentle warmth of the room. The sight that greeted her was an... Unexpected one.

"Ah!!" Jiune exclaimed, seeing Bordeux finally stepping in from the comfortable seat she had taken to converse with Arphenion. She often did that, pretending to be pleasantly surprised every time someone she wanted to address appeared, but this time might have been slightly more genuine. Actual surprise. She had never seen Bordeux wearing her old hunter gear before, though had always expressed curiosity for it. She must have been more delighted than normal at the sight, but still had to actually address her in front of a guest. "Bordeux! I'm so glad to see you!" She said, getting quickly to her feet.

Bordeux of course saw her, but her gaze was fixed on Arphenion in that moment. She was expecting some pot-belly noble man with a bad haircut, but instead she was looking at... An elf? What was a Raieran doing here? It was such an unusual sight. Not only that, but he wore relatively uncomplicated clothes, and his physique was plainly athletic. Not exactly what she came to expect from nobility. And, yes, as Juine had mentioned, he did have a rather young and handsome look to him.

How... Unexpected.

"Lady Juine." Bordeux quickly addressed, already familiar with her.

"Bordeux, this is Arphenion. He's been so kind as to respond to my summons."

To that, Bordeux put one leg ahead of the other, bending both in a curtsy to him. It was the equivalent to a bow for women, at least in this house, and the most gently polite way to greet him. "Arphenion. Pleased to meet you, sir." Her tone was flat, unwavering. She was curious of the man, no doubt, but ever cautious until she was sure of his motivations.

Pulling up from the curtsy, Jiune wandered closer until she was between them both, symbolically acting as the medium to introduce one another. "Arphenion, this was the vampire hunter I told you about. She's been an honored guest here for many years."

((this post worked out jointly in a gdoc))

Alicia looked up from behind the counter where she was carefully measuring a powdered substance into small glass vials. and smirked, “Good morning, sir, glad I could help. Was there anything else I could help you with today?”

Nigel smirked. Quick witted, this one! “Well, I was hoping for something a little more convenient. Something I could take back home with me.” He said, continuing to stride closer to the counter with his hat on his chest. He had to keep the conversation going while he figured out how he was going to tackle this.

Alicia tapped her chin thoughtfully for a moment then pulled her recipe book out from under the counter and began flipping the pages.

“You’re not from around here, are you? I’ve seen your type before.” Her eyes narrowed for a moment as a memory of dealing with past hunters flitted through her mind. “Your…services…are unnecessary in this little town. The people here are in no danger other than what they cause for themselves by stepping off a ladder the wrong way or getting into a fight with their neighbor.”

She made a mental note of the recipe she’d found in her book and went around the counter to a shelf of various dried flowers. “As for your ‘issue,’ I do have a solution.” She gathered a few blue flowers then returned to her side of the counter. She dropped the flowers into a small stone bowl and began grinding them with a pestle. “This should do the trick, but it’s very strong. Add three pinches to your food or drink about an hour before activities.”

Nigel tried not to react. She was as intuitive as she was intelligent, unfortunately for him. “Ah, you’ve got me there, miss.” He said in defeat, but with a light smirk. As she put together the concoction for him, he put his hat back onto his head, freeing up both his hands to pull out his coin pouch. “Thank you kindly. How much do I owe you?” He asked, opening it a bit and seeming to thumb through. Though, it was just to buy a little more time for a bit more ‘small talk’. “You hear what happened with those killings recently by chance? So many women pinned up on trees. What a world we live in, right?”

“Four gold pieces, please,” she answered as she placed the powder into a small glass vial with a cork. “I heard. I’ve also heard the rumors. They’re wrong. That kind of carnage speaks of either something or someone beastly, out of control, or simply cruel for cruelty’s sake. If such a person or creature is still nearby, they are hiding extremely well.”

She looked up and saw one of the other hunters peering in through the window. “On another note, if any of those zealots outside my door harm any of these innocent people, they will regret it for the rest of their miserable, severely shortened lives.”

"You promise?" Nigel asked, failing to hide his amused smile. "I'll hold ya to that miss." He said, feeling satisfied with this encounter. So sharp witted, nothing got by her, and he couldn't of agreed more. It was refreshing to find someone else who saw this chicanery for what it was. Not to mention, she would have to be, to get these leeches off his back without causing chaos to these otherwise innocent people.

He happily put his money on the table, tossing in an extra gold for her time. He also pulled out a small paper he had at the ready from a pocket. "Thank you for your time miss, this old geezer certainly appreciates it. Sway knows I'll be getting use out of the medicine." Geezer was perhaps being needlessly cruel, but the self deprecation was all in good fun. With a small piece of charcoal, he etched into the paper in his hand. "If you don't mind, I've got a prescription I could leave with you I need filled out. Can't say I know what it's for, but I memorized how to spell the thing." He said with another smirk, folding it up and sliding it along the table beside his money.

He waited until he for sure had eye contact with her before taking his hand back, a knowing and thankful nod to show his appreciation to her. She was about to do him a big favor, and he just hoped she wouldn't hold it against him for it. Or, maybe, she already knew he could see her for what he was. She seemed sharp like that.

"Till next time."

With a final polite nod, he turned to leave, moustache curled slightly with a pleasant smile all the way out like she had made his day. And, certainly, she had. A real vampire! A strong one that could hold down a quiet life here no less!

These goons wouldn't stand a chance.

Within the note left for Poison, the somewhat hasty scrawlings Nigel made onto the paper into the palm of his hand was written. It was not some cryptic prescription like he had alluded to, but instead, just a short, simple sentence. A little message meant for her that read:

'They are not with me'


Stepping outside, his outrageous little entourage had been waiting on him with great annoyance, looking at him expectantly, probably expecting much the same shitty news all these visits had done. As Nigel met eyes with them and kept walking by, one of them dared ask: "Well??"

"Walk with me." Nigel asked quietly, striding a bit further from the shop. Their frustration with how seemingly poorly this search has gone was very apparent, and they were just itching at the bit to take it out on anyone. Probably Nigel himself, honestly.

They made it roughly fifty feet away before the loudest of the seven zealots lost patience. "You didn't find the vampire in there either did you, you old fraud?"

To that, Nigel stopped and turned to face them. Seeing all the malcontent on their faces, ready to bash skulls in by now, he couldn't help bur frown a bit. Ah, he hoped that nice shop keep would forgive him for this one. "Your vampire is in there."

That seemed to have surprised them. After hours of wandering around and visiting all the local establishments with zero luck, actually hearing what they wanted was probably quite the surprise. "What? Really?"

Nigel nodded. "Aye. She's in there."

For a moment, they seemed to just look at one another, confirming it among themselves if they were all hearing the same thing. Then, after some silent nodding to one another, they seemed to come to an agreement, a few of them brandishing their weapons with a new serious look on their faces. Seemed they finally were going to have their little 'Hunt' like they wanted so bad.

"... You wait here."

Nigel's brow raised. He wasn't expecting that. "Hm? You don't want me to come? I could help you, you know-"

"It's OUR KILL old man!!"
To that Nigel feigned disappointment. Him coming along, he could of helped prevent any property damage, but their greed to take the credit demanded he stay outside apparently.
"I'll watch him." One of the seven said, grimacing at Nigel, implying he was going to keep Nigel from leaving or interfering. Cute; As if he could...

Still, Nigel just sighed, and falling silent just scowled at the lot of them. He was treating them like they were actually a threat, though in truth, he saw them for what they were: Untrained, opportunistic leeches. They thought they could bully people around with violence? Nigel had been overly kind to them all this time. They couldn't make him do anything, and certainly didn't stand a real chance against the vampire in that shop.

Nigel was simply waiting.

As his little handler stayed with him, the rest walked back up to the shop. Nigel and the man 'guarding' him watched on as the six others all opened the door and strode inside...

If they were trying to come off even a little like customers, they did a incredibly piss poor job. They all entered wordlessly, spreading out over the small shop, brandishing weapons. Naturally, they all looked like bulls, glaring at the only person in the place: Poison. Though none of them spoke a word, their body language told all there was to tell: They were here for violence. And, though they didn't attack immediately, it was certainly eminent. Perhaps, they thought, that the woman behind the counter was going to have been easier pickings than they thought.