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.