Chapter 6- The other side of the Coin

“It was one man who broke the siege! Cep’t he was no true man! His armor was red and his sword was as big as me. He smashed through the gate with a single blow, and turned the enemy's own dead against them! I never saw something like it and Gods willing, I’ll never see it again” - Rastko Zebic. (Mortal Levy in the Rolograd garrison)

Dietrich Freymond’s life had been defined by service and slaughter. The son of a Mercenary and raised in that grim life. Dietrich spent his childhood and adolescence fighting in a dozen different conflicts, serving a dozen different lords. Growing up in the war-torn eastern regions of the Holy League. Where petty nobles squabbled and fought with each other as much as they did with their actual enemies. In that bloody time and place, Dietrich learned how to fight and, more importantly, survive. Earning a name for himself among the mercenary companies that wandered the Eastern Marches.

With this success and talent for the art of war, Dietrich’s story might have ended the same as the hundreds of other mercenary captains who’ve lived and died across the Western Continent. Except for one fact about Dietrich, he had ambitions that lay beyond gold and the pleasures it brings, which put him head and shoulders above most Mercenaries. Ambition is not unheard of in those circles, with many successful sellswords ending up as Knights in service to some noble who noticed their talent. But Dietrich desired something different, not lordship or power like some might expect. Dietrich wanted to become a Knight in service to a Lord who he viewed as worthy to follow.

Such a Lord crossed paths with Dietrich in an utterly unexpected manner. In the wake of a bloody battle where almost all of Dietrich’s company was destroyed, the young Mercenary encountered the enemy commander. Duke Drakovich, first of his kind and ruler of the Blood Duchies. Who led an army of living and undead to defend his subjects from invaders. Offering mercy to those who deserved it and grave-cold cruelty to those who earned it. Dietrich had found a master worthy of serving, in that fearsome immortal warlord. That had been over a hundred and fifty years ago, and just as Dietrich’s life had been defined by service and slaughter, so, now was his undeath.

Dietrich Freymond had found his liege, and with it a new existence as a Vampire of the Duke’s bloodline. Becoming one of the most fearsome warriors in the Western Continent. At a hundred years of undeath, he’d been sworn into the Scarlet Knights, the elite martial order who acted as Duke Drakovich’s sword. On becoming one of this elite cohort, Dietrich had been assigned the traditional duty of a newly inducted member. Acting as bodyguard and executioner for one of the Duke’s vassals. The vassal in question was Lord Johan Glockmire, an aloof Vampire, several centuries old, who ruled over the hamlet bearing his name.

As a Scarlet Knight, Dietrich was sworn to serve Lord Glockmire as a valuable enforcer, an enforcer who could as easily enforce the Duke’s will on Lord Glockmire as enforcing the Lord’s will on his subjects. This tenure of service would be for a single century and work to teach Dietrich skills not found on the battlefield but still needed by a Scarlet Knight. The assignment was just barely halfway over, and Dietrich had loathed every minute of it.

As a warrior who’d fought against myriad foes and survived dangers, most folk could not imagine. Spending fifty years as a glorified nanny for the twenty-five Vampires who made up the Court of Glockmire had been his most unbearable challenge yet. Vampires are fickle, arrogant, and paranoid creatures by their very nature. Tendencies that had been quashed in a newly turned Dietrich before they’d even had a chance to form. So to him, the neverending politicking and backstabbing of the Court seemed like the behavior of spoiled, petulant children. Who squandered the great power they’d been given. It painfully reminded Dietrich of the petulant highborn heirlings he’d dealt with in his mercenary youth. Youths born to status and utterly conceited with it.

Lord Glockmire seemed utterly unbothered by his Courts behavior. Rarely if ever, involving himself in the Vampires squabbles and leaving them to their own devices. So it had fallen to Dietrich to enforce something resembling order onto the Court. Aside from himself and the Lord, the court’s membership included twelve vampires of Lord Glockmires blood, sired by either him or one of his spawn; six barbarian vampires who’d migrated to Zaubervold, five native Vampires of differing bloodlines, and Petar the Steward. Dietrich knew little about Petar, other than that he was nearly as old as Lord Glockmire and had served as his aide-de-camp for as long as Glockmire ruled over the town bearing his name.

As enforcer of both the Duke’s and Lord’s will, Dietrich oversaw the town’s defenses and ensured its citizens were safe from monsters other than the Nocturnal Nobility. It had been Dietrich by and large who’d led the fight against the attacking lesser-undead three years ago. Commanding the voiceless legions of the Castle Guards and his fellow Vampires to repulse the invasion. An effort that had been no small feat. The plague that had ravaged Zaubervold that year and the undead attacks that followed it had totally destroyed towns larger than Glockmire. For his efforts, Dietrich had earned a modicum of respect from his subordinates, which had made the last three years of dealing with them relatively painless. This, combined with the action provided by hunting down remnants of the undead horde, had made his service much more pleasant. Which, of course, would not last, as Dietrich Freymond was awoken one afternoon to the news that a Vampire Hunter had come calling.

When he awoke, Dietrich felt two things, fresh blood on his lips and the supernatural knowledge that the Sun still shone overhead. He’d been awoken early from his daily slumber, which could only mean one thing, an emergency worthy of his immediate attention. Red eyes flaring open, Dietrich sat up instantly from his crypt. The clatter of his armor filled the underground chamber he used as a lair. Dietrich only removed his armor for maintenance and cleaning. His undead nature let him spend weeks at a time encased in the dark plate mail he wore like a second skin. This was a strange habit most Scarlet Knights adopted, ensuring they were always ready for war.

Dietrich swept his eyes over his lair, seeing the two nervous-looking servants standing beside the sarcophagus he slept in. The servants were thralls of his, bound by his magic to serve him till death. Closer to him was Yara, who’d cut open her forearm to feed him the precious blood needed to awaken him before dusk. Farther away, towards the room’s entrance, was Vichiry, holding a torch, providing the only illumination in his lair. Seeing the worry and fear in their eyes, Dietrich growled.

“What is it? What is the matter” both servants jumped at his growling voice. Unlike many Vampires, Dietrich treated his thralls well. But still, the prospect of waking up an incredibly dangerous Vampire and delivering ill tidings would unnerve all but the bravest souls.

Yara spoke up, wrapping a bandage over her cut even as she did. “A stranger has arrived at the Castle. He’s at the front gate and wants to speak with the Lord.”

A slight growl escaped Dietrich; being awoken early during the day, even the late afternoon, was exhausting for a Vampire. Both servants took a nervous step back at the noise, but Yara continued talking. Partially out of duty, partially to forestall any anger her master might have. “The stranger, he says he’s a Rest-Bringer, and he has information about a rogue Vampire he wants to bring to the Lord’s knowledge.”

That got Dietrich’s attention. Rest-Bringers rarely came to the Blood Duchies, not because their talents were unneeded (the opposite is true) but because they rarely left alive or intact. For one to willingly approach the local Vampire Court was bizarre and worrying. His servants had done well to wake him; this was indeed something he needed to personally deal with.

Rising up fully from his crypt, Dietrich addressed his two thralls. “You did well to wake me. Do you know if any other Nobles have been alerted to this?”

In other parts of the world, Nobility could refer to all manner of people; in the Blood Duchies, it meant only one thing. All Vampires, in the eyes of the local people, were Nobles. A literal breed apart, who ruled over them with supernatural power. Rulership that Duke Drakovich asserted was superior to any mortals. A claim Deitrich agreed with, even the problematic tendencies of the Glockmire Court's younger members, was more than balanced out by the experience and talent of Vampires like himself, Petar, and even Lord Glockmire when the mood suited him.

Yara shook her head as she answered. “I don’t believe so; we got the information first and rushed here as fast as we could. That could change, but you should be the first awakened.”

Dietrich nodded at this and went over to one of the only pieces of furniture in his lair. A weapon rack that held his sword. At two meters long and weighing an obscene fifty kilograms, Dietrich’s blade was a true behemoth of a sword. Shaped like an oversized greatsword, with a dull square tip, it was a tool of execution. Capable of killing through its sharpened edge or its sheer mass. Only a being of supernatural strength could hope to wield this weapon, which Dietrich had put to good use on countless occasions. In a rare moment of humor, Dietrich had named the weapon Lex, an Old Imperial word of Law, which the sword often embodied.

Armed and armored, Dietrich left his lair, leaving Vichiry to lock the chambers while Yara trailed after her master. Moving quickly, Dietrich stormed past frightened-looking servants and unmoving Guards. Yara, to her credit, managed to keep up with the avalanche of polished metal that was Dietrich. Soon they reached the antechamber of the Castle's great hall.

Extravagantly furnished and the size of a small house, the antechamber acted as a less formal meeting area for the court members. A scattering of tables, chairs, and the like filled the chamber. Suits of armor also stood at attention at the far walls, which were far from simple decor; each could animate to defend the Castle at any moment. In place of windows were grand murals of the night sky. The antechamber was like much of the Castle, and anywhere powerful Vampires laired; ostentatious, intimidating, and macabre. Using such subtle power to gain an advantage over this stranger would have never occurred to Dietrich before coming to Glockmire. But fifty years of learning to manage his fellow Vampires had taught him much.

Turning to Yara, who waited nervously by the room’s entrance, the Scarlet Knight spoke. “Have him brought here; I will speak with him.” and after a moment’s thought, he added. “Check him for weapons but do not confiscate any you find.” This Rest-Bringer would not be a threat to him in a place of power like this, and it would be good to subtly inform the stranger of that fact.

A few minutes later, the Rest-Bringer arrived in the antechamber. Flanked by Castle Guards and guided by the ever-nervous Yara. The first impression Dietrich got of his unusual guest was his strange appearance. The stranger towered over Dietrich, two meters tall, with the broad form of a well-muscled man. Clad in worn but well maintained traveling clothes and covered in more scars than Dietrich had ever seen on living flesh.

The stranger looked around the antechamber, his blue eyes noting exits and dark corners. Dietrich recognized the behavior of a fellow professional. This Rest-Bringer was no foolish amateur as he’d initially assumed upon hearing the stranger had simply walked up Castle Glockmire. For a moment, neither man said anything, simply sizing each other up until Dietrich broke the silence.

“I am Sir Dietrich, Castellan of Glockmire. What business do you have with me, mortal?” While it was true that Dietrich held the title of Castellan, it was not how he usually introduced himself. But revealing his formal title of Executioner of Glockmire tended to hamper attempts at diplomacy.

The stranger gave the room one final appraisal before speaking. His voice was the type of rich baritone you’d expect from a man his size and colored by an unusual accent. A lifetime and unlifetime of war had taught Dietrich to recognize regional accents; the Rest-Bringer was from Atreidia originally, but his accent had faded and warped from years of travel, he guessed.

“I’ve uncovered an issue that needs addressing. One of your kind has involved themselves in some very dark magic. The type I doubt even the Nobles of Noct-Bucuros would approve of. “

That got a raised eyebrow from Dietrich, and an itch of concern started to form. While he had no doubt that some if not all of the Court’s Vampires were dabbling in magic a Rest-Bringer would find abhorrent. That this corpse hunter felt the need to approach him in such a brazen fashion was bizarre and very curious.

The Stranger pulled out a small amulet from his neck and only decades of strict training stopped Dietrich from flinching at the sigil of Master Time. Symbols of the Gods could harm a Vampire; even a tiny bit of intent poured into them was enough to turn even a simple necklace into a lethal weapon. Holding up that amulet, the Stranger started to explain. “I am a servant of Master Time, sworn to face unquiet dead who trouble the living. My travels have brought me to Glockmire, and in the process, I discovered some powerful lesser Undead stalking the nearby wilds.”

Dietrich was on edge now; he personally oversaw the culling of monsters in the region, be they alive or undead. It seemed likely the Stranger was lying, but the question was why. Finally, Dietrich asked the question that had been on his mind since the stranger had not recipcitated his introduction. “These are bold claims; what is the name of the man making them?”

“Cole, my name is Cole,” responded the now-named stranger, who betrayed nothing through his voice or stance. Cole continued describing what had occurred, ignoring the subtle warning in Dietrich’s words. “I put the four Ghouls to rest, found their lair, and discovered someone had been feeding them. The corpse of one of this town's citizens had been left out for the Ghouls to consume.”

Dietrich processed this information and decided to push on this Rest-Bringer. “Leaving the dead out to be consumed by Ghouls is a not unheard of way of disposing of the dead.” This was true, but a practice considered horrific and heretical by all but the most twisted cultures.

Cole did not rise to the bait and instead grimaced. “That may be the case, but I doubt anyone of sound mind would feed Vryko-Ghouls.”

Now, this was ridiculous; something as dangerous as a Vryko-Ghoul would have caught Dietrichs attention long ago. And the idea that this simple priest could destroy four such horrors? It defied belief. Dietrich scoffed and asked. “Well, how did you kill not one but four Vryko-Ghouls?”

That got a thin smile from Cole. “With great difficulty” was the only explanation offered before he got to his main point. “The corpse meant to feed those trapped souls was apparently a criminal in your custody. A criminal that was transported to the lair by Direbats and given a drop of Vampire blood. I’m sure I do not need to tell you the implications of that.”

He did not, even dried and in small amounts, a Vampire's blood could have power over creatures, especially fellow undead. If Cole’s claims were true, a Vampire had been trying to not only strengthen a quartet of dangerous Ghouls but also bring them under their control.

Moving faster than a human eye could track, Dietrich crossed the room and stood in front of Cole. Both men, Vampire and Vampire Hunter, were face to face. Cole’s hand gripping his axe, but no sign of fear on his scarred face. Normally mortals jumped back, screamed, or ran when Dietrich pulled that little trick. That Cole reacted only by preparing to fight earned him some credit in the Vampire knight’s eyes. Dietrich wanted to dismiss this stranger’s words as lies or lunacy but could not do so easily. The unconcerned focus of Cole felt familiar to Dietrich; it was that of a soldier delivering a worrying report to a superior. Still, he wanted to test this man and the unusual problem he represented.

“How do you know this practice is not done with Lord Glockmire’s permission? You risk much by approaching me on the assumption this is the work of a Court member defying our will?”

To that, Cole glanced around the room and gestured around him. “This is a perfectly good Castle, is it not? Filled with dungeons, crypts, and dark magic. Things that would be useful for containing and experimenting on Vryko-Ghouls. No, if this madness had the Lord’s approval, then it would be taking place in this Castles bowls, not out in the wilderness for me to discover by happenstance. Also, I doubt you personally are involved; no Scarlet Knight would stoop to such methods. ”

The fact that Cole recognized his armor’s heraldry was a valuable clue about this Rest-Bringer thought Dietrich. While not exactly secretive, knowledge of his Order was not commonplace. Still, Cole did not take a step back, and Dietrich refused to do so either. Resulting in the two of them standing mere centimeters apart as they discussed this in low tones.

Dietrich then asked. “A valid point, but why come to the Castle with this information? You are a Rest-Bringer, are you not? Yet you provide crucial information gladly.”

Cole’s eyes flicked to the side just for a moment, and Dietrich saw the first sign of hesitation in the man. But Cole quickly recovered and answered, with a low growl coloring his voice. “I despise everything this castle and its denizens stand for. The corruption and consumption of innocent lives by monsters like you. Undead horrors ruling over the living and treating them like livestock. It disgusts me, and if it was in my power to burn this nest of leeches to the ground, I would.”

The brutal words hit Dietrich like a slap, and he suppressed a feral hiss. Composed and stoic by Vampire standards, Dietrich still felt the domineering pride and haughty cruelty innate to his species. To be insulted by a sack of blood too stupid to know its place in the hierarchy of existence. For a single moment, Dietrich wanted to rip Coles’s heart out and drink its lifeblood before its owner’s dying eyes. Iron-hard personal discipline, the product of multiple lifetimes of service, quickly quashed the vindictive rage, just in time for Cole to continue.

“That being said, I lack the power to free this town, and by the standards of the Blood Duchies, the people here live well. I’m not a blind zealot who refuses to see that the Vampires of Glockmire are most definitely a lesser evil in this situation. I hoped to point a lesser evil in the direction of a mutual threat. This feeder of the dead responsible for the Vryko-Ghouls is a problem for both of us. I hoped to ensure the power at your disposal did some good for once.”

Dietrich bit back a retort. He wanted to explain to this stupid mortal how the Vampires ensured the survival and success of their subjects. How the fall of the Old Empire proved without a shadow of a doubt that mortals could not be trusted to rule themselves. Duke Drakovich witnessed the collapse with his own eyes and hoped to rebuild that lost glory as something better in the Blood Duchies. A land where people would be ruled by immortal nobles who could use centuries of experience and skill. But Dietrich also knew his words would fall on deaf ears. Cole was a man of faith, shackled to the dogma of fickle alien minds; it would be pointless.

Instead, Dietrich decided to try and throw Cole off tempo. “I thank you for bringing this to my attention. It will be dealt with.” When used correctly, courtesy is just as effective a weapon in verbal sparring as insults. What was it that old philosopher said? “The view from the moral high ground is quite pleasant.”

Before Cole could respond, a new voice interrupted him. Feminine, sinfully rich and dripping with a heavy lilting accent, the voice said. “Oh darling Dietrich, why didn’t you tell me we had guests?”

As the newcomer entered the antechamber, both Cole and Dietrich took a step back from each other and exchanged looks. A flicker of unspoken communication passed between the two warriors; an agreement not to involve the woman had just entered. Dressed in a flowing Lusitanian dress and slinking into the antechamber with a deliberate sway to her hips was Dame Lorena Sartori, a powerful Vampire of the Court. It seemed the rest of Glockmires’s Vampires were waking up.

Dietrich gritted his teeth. Lorena was not the worst of his kind to intrude into this mess, but she was close. The use of sexuality as a tool of manipulation and hunting is practically ubiquitous among Vampires. But some breeds of Vampire prefer it to other methods. Mastering seduction as a sinful artform that could ensnare all but the most resistant souls. Chief among those Vampire breeds are the Moroi, which Lorena was. Sired as a Vampire two centuries ago in the southern Blood Duchies, she fled a rather messy situation in her home Court to Glockmire. Where she quickly embedded herself as one of the more powerful and fickle Vassals of the Lord.

Slinking around Dietrich and Cole, like a hungry lioness, Lorena asked. “My, my? Who is this exotic stranger you’ve been keeping from me? A comrade from your soldiering days? He certainly has the scars to match. You must have been incredibly brave to earn such marks of valor Sir?...”

Her voice trailed off with the question, which Cole did not answer. An awkward silence filled the room as Cole refused to take the bait laid for him. Dietrich eventually broke it with a believable explanation. “This is Cole, a Mercenary who is staying in Glockmire. He offered his services, and I had just finished explaining we had no need, but pointing him where he might find work.”

That got a wicked grin from Lorena. “Oh, how thoughtful of you, Dietrich, but I am sure such a strapping warrior could surely find some work here. A tall, brooding man like you must have all sorts of interesting stories. Stories I’d love to hear you tell; after all, a gentleman like you must know how to entertain a lady.”

Cole, to his credit, did not react to the entendre-laden entries of the Dame. In fact, where most men would be flustered or at least surprised by the Vampresses' obvious flirtation, Cole seemed tense and cold. Dietrich ideally wondered if the Rest-Bringer was truly uninterested, or simply experienced enough to handle behavior that would stun most Priests. While only the most extreme sects of the Temple discouraged intimacy in its Priests. Most viewed it as a private affair, something between committed lovers, not something to be flaunted and even weaponized as Lorena did.

Turning away from both Vampires, Cole growled. “I will decline your offer Madam.” and turned to leave. After a half-second of consideration, Dietrich gestured for two of the Castle Guards standing by the entrance to escort Cole out. He did not know what problems this Priest would bring, but he would deal with them when they came. Till then, Dietrich had larger issues to deal with. Investigating the worrying situation Cole had uncovered and, more pressingly, dealing with Lorena.

Like most Moroi, her blood ran hot, an impressive feat for a cold preserved corpse. Passionate, fickle, and extravagant even by Vampire standards, Lorena would certainly try and tease the threads of this situation. While it was unlikely she was involved with the Vryko-Ghoul incident, Deitrich could not be certain. He idly thought that if Lorena made a play for the Lord’s seat or whatever the unknown enemy was doing, she’d strike through more subtle means than cultivating powerful monsters under her control.

That thought led to another about the current predicament. This “Feeder,” as Cole had called the unknown Vampire, had to be working towards something. Even as paranoid as Vampires typically are, they don’t take such extreme risks as binding dangerous lesser undead to themselves unless for a singular purpose. Such preparations would be costly to the Vampire’s strength and would not be done recklessly. The question was, what was that purpose? The most obvious was attempting a Coup against Lord Glockmire. Four Vryko-Ghouls and Shadow knows how many other Undead could prove a formidable fighting force, especially when guided by a Vampire's hand.

Of course, Cole could be lying, that was the easiest answer, but Dietrich doubted it. He recognized a fellow warrior, one with experience and grit. Not the type to engage in subterfuge with any level of success. At the same time, he could be a pawn of another Vampire, convinced of the truth by illusion or other mental manipulation. The sheer number of variables at play was staggering, and Dietrich needed time to think and investigate.

Time he did not currently have, as Lorena stared at him, her hip cocked proactively and a knowing smile on her tan face. Vampires naturally lose their bodies' pigment over the centuries, but with a little effort, it could be maintained. Usually out of vanity or to more easily walk among mortals, Dietrich suspected Lorena did it for both reasons. Tossing a lock of raven hair over her shoulder, the Moroi asked.

“Well now, What was that all about? You cannot seriously expect me to believe your little show?”

Dietrich decided it was best to mix truth and lies together. A spice of truth ensures a lie is swallowed easily. “He is a mercenary, just not one we could hire. A Rest-Bringer in service to the Final God. I don’t know what madness possessed him, but he approached the Castle looking for work, but he did. Perhaps he came looking to claim one of our heads but changed his mind?”

Lorena slithered towards a nearby couch, seating herself like a contented serpent after a meal. Propping her head up with one arm, she said. “That is certainly an interesting story, dear Dietrich. But not what my pets are telling me. Why I’ve heard a most interesting tale about this Cole character. Something about him marching into town with some of our scraps and outrageous claims about us feeding ghouls. Proclaiming for all of Glockmire to hear that he intended to confront the big bad Vampires in the name of his god.”

Dietrich gritted his teeth; he’d rushed to this meeting right after awakening and had not learned of the day's events. He’d met with Cole, not knowing the foolish Priest had apparently made a spectacle of telling everyone in Glockmire his intent and purpose. This was sure to get the livestock anxious and cause trouble. His moment of surprised hesitation was exactly what Lorena had been hoping for, and she pressed the advantage.

“Oh, was that a surprise to you, dear Dietrich? I do so hate to be the bearer of such dreadful news. But I am sure you have a solid grip on it, being our noble protector and all that. Why, surely you must have been aware of the terrible scheme darling Cole was ranting about. Or at the very least ready to deal with such a rabble-rouser. We can’t let the mortals run around spreading such nasty lies about us after all.”

In response, Dietrich gave the perfidious Vampress a glare that could instill terror, a glare that had stopped trained soldiers in their steps. While most Vampires preferred to use their arcane talents of mental manipulation for subtle work, Dietrich had found a more appealing use. Lorena shivered slightly and bit her lip as the weight of Dietrich's mind slammed into her. She apparently found the whole ordeal titillating, or at least she’d like Dietrich to believe. Her free hand tensed in fear and put holes in the couch’s fabric, showing she was not immune to such a psychic assualt. This was Vampire politics encapsulated, clever words, dark powers, and a mixture of subtle and unsubtle intimidation.

Dietrich turned away from Lorena, which in itself was a display of dominance. Exposing his back to a fellow predator, certain she dared not strike. “The additional information you’ve provided is most welcome, Dame Lorena. It will make investigating and dealing with this incident go more smoothly. I am sure you will gladly inform me of anything else your agents learn.”

Recovering, Lorena smiled sweetly at Dietrich and said, “Well, of course, dear Dietrich, are we not all just one happy family united in undeath?”

As a Moroi, Lorena’s supernatural talents lent themselves to subtle manipulative powers. Changing into different forms, controlling servants, both living and dead, or manipulating the minds of weak-willed mortals. Dietrich, by contrast, traced his bloodline to Duke Drakovich himself and the Vampiric breed the Duke had sired. The Wyrmoi follow their founder's example and are meant for war and rulership. Strong, Fast, and dominating, Dietrich had risen from the grave, ready to lead armies from the front. That power was put to use as he moved to loom over Lorena in less than a second. Large, heavily armored, and grim, his presence pressed on the Vampresses senses. Dietrich had long learned the value of quickly overwhelming and intimidating the fickle Vampires of Glockmire.

“Of course, but I need not remind you that as the Executioner of Lord Glockmire and Duke Drakovich’s will, any interference with my duties will be treated as an act against our liege.”

Lorena moved back slightly onto the couch and smiled. “But of course, I wish you good hunting, Sir Deitrich.”

Just as the Vampire Knight was hoping this little detente was over, yet another voice intruded into the antechamber. “And what might our esteemed Knight be hunting?”

Petar the Steward had arrived. You would never think Petar was a Vampire; of average height and flabby build. He’d been turned in his early sixties, with pale stringy hair and a collection of liver spots that contrasted with his alabaster skin. To be turned into a Vampire at such an age was virtually unheard of, and he’d survived for untold centuries appearing like a sickly old man. The only real indication of his nature and age were his eyes. Waxy blue, they were the eyes of a corpse. Petar never blinked, always staring unsettlingly at the world around him. Of all the Vampires in Glockmire, Petar was the only one Dietrich found worrying. He presented too many unknowns and dangers for the Knight to ever be comfortable with.

Fixing those disturbing eyes on the pair of Lorena and Dietrich, he asked again. “Well, what is your quarry? Surely you will need resources and aid in this task, which I will happily provide Sir Knight.”

As steward, Petar controlled much of the court's night-to-night mundanities. Much of the administrative staff of Glockmire was composed of mortals enthralled to him. Poor souls whose life consisted of never-ending streams of parchment and paper. Worked to a slow death by the mind-numbing bureaucracy of running a town. Such a waste of life had shocked Dietrich, and he'd asked Petar why he didn’t treat his thralls better. In response, the Steward’s thin lips had just tightened in a cruel smile, and he said, “Why waste the resources on maintaining easily replaceable tools? I can take any random fool, stamp the required knowledge into their mind, and set them to work. It yielded a four-point six percent increase in general productivity.

Those three sentences encapsulated the steward and why the rest of the Court treated him with a mixture of respect and fear. While Dietrich found such practices distasteful, it was not his place to countermand the steward. It was, however, well within his right to not share every detail about his current challenge. No one was above suspicion, even this old monster who’d served the Lord faithfully for centuries.

“Ah, Steward Petar. There is a Rest-Bringer in town who is making some extreme allegations. Allegations that I intend to investigate.”

Petar’s expression did not change, and his words were the same dusty monotone Dietrich knew to expect. “Well then, I trust you will have matters well in hand. Inform me if that changes.”

Dietrich nodded and left the Antechamber and the two scheming Vampires. While Lorena’s motivations were easy to decipher, mainly power and pleasure. Petar, by contrast, gave little away and was utterly inscrutable to Dietrich. The Knight needed to keep his fellow Vampires at a distance while he investigated the matter. Having a Rest-Bringer loose among the townsfolk could prove troublesome, and if his claims had any validity, that would open up another mess of complexity. Dietrich resolved to get answers quickly and have something to tell Lord Glockmire, assuming the Lord was even interested in potential dangers to his fiefdom.

Cole returned from the Castle unscathed. Much to the surprise of the town’s people. Ignoring their shocked looks, he headed to the Silly Goat. Wilhelm and Natalie had heard about the whole ordeal and were both surprised Cole returned to the inn. For different reasons, of course, Wilhelm didn’t expect Cole to survive, and Natalie assumed Cole would attempt to avoid her.

Cole, to their shock, simply walked back into the Inn, approached both of them, and asked. “I assume you are both aware of what has occurred?”

Natalie bit back a few blistering comments on the idea of subtly and just looked away from the scarred man. Wilhelm simply nodded shakily and asked. “I assume since you’re breathing, the meeting went well?”

Cole didn’t respond right away and quickly changed the subject. “That’s up to interpretation. But not what I wish to discuss. I would like to continue to rent a room here, but I understand if that is no longer possible.”

Wilhelm and Natalie looked at each other, and the Innkeeper spoke up before his daughter could. “Where would you go? This is the only place to rent a room in town?”

Cole shrugged, “I’ve camped worse places than outside a town’s walls.”

That answer incensed Wilhelm; he came from a family that had provided shelter for travelers for generations. Hospitality and honesty being the watchwords of the Strigas. While not having Cole under his roof would probably be a better option, the idea of turning out a paying and courteous customer went against everything Wilhelm believed in.

“As long as you have coin and proper manners, I see no reason for you not to stay at the Silly Goat.'' was Wilhelms’s answer, and despite himself, Cole felt a slight smile touch his lips. Honest, decent folk like Wilhelm are part of the reason he fought to help make the world a bit better for good souls in both life and death.

With that settled, Cole returned to his room to rest, and more importantly, tend to the skull. It was still hidden under the bed; Cole hadn’t bothered to move it, even after Natalie had found it. Fishing it out of its bag and then sitting on the bed. Cole held the haunting piece of bone in his hands and stared into its eye-sockets. Memories of the woman the skull once belonged to drifted into his mind. His mind imagined her smiling face where now only a grinning rictus remained. But that wistful image quickly bled away to another more bitter memory. Of first time Cole had seen the skull. Ashen and worn atop a pike in the middle of a ruined hamlet. A grim reminder to anyone who might repeat her crimes.

Tracing the skull’s cheekbone in a morbid parody of how he once touched her, Cole let out a pained sigh. “I’m a hypocrite, aren’t I, Isabelle?” he asked the skull. It didn’t answer, but that didn’t stop him.

“A champion of the God of Death, who helps the dead rest and the grieving move on. And yet, I can’t let go of you.”

Still, the skull said nothing, even as Cole held its fangs to his neck. More than a decade old, yet the serpent-like teeth slid through his skin with ease. Cole didn’t react to the twinge of pain and simply shut his eyes, remembering happier day. Blood should have flowed down his neck, Cole’s heart forcing blood out of the two incisions. Not a drop left the wounds, all of it greedily devoured by the skull. After maybe a minute, Cole pulled the skull free and clasped a hand to his neck. The bite mark was already scabbing over and would soon join the myriad scars around his throat.

Holding the skull up like a sacred chalice, Cole looked into those empty eyes. A few lingering drops of blood fell onto his hands, not that he noticed much. At that moment, Cole felt what he’d been hoping to experience. A feeling of soft coolness on his skin, like fresh sheets or, more accurately, an inhuman lover’s embrace. She was still there, or at least part of her was. Isabelle was dead, but when had that ever stopped a Vampire from persisting?

Downstairs, Natalie and Wilhelm threw themselves into chores, both falling back on the distractions provided by labor. Wilhelm was nervous that he might have made a grave error letting Cole stay; he’d followed his heart but worried that had been foolish. Natalie was worried about it as well, and a bushel of other stresses to boot. How would she tell her father she wanted to leave Glockmire? What had happened with the Varcolac? Why had Cole bloody walked up the Castle? And what was going to happen next?

While Wilhelm worked on that evening’s supper, Natalie found herself cleaning the Inn. She had long learned to not be surprised by the sheer amount of dust and grime that could accumulate in the Silly Goat. Having a never-ending stream of customers of all walks of life ensured that cleaning the Inn was an eternal battle that Natalie would not miss when she left. Natalie winced when that thought entered her mind. She was doing this drudgery to avoid thinking about it!

Letting out an annoyed sigh, Natalie turned to wet the washcloth she was using to clean tables when she knocked over a bucket of soapy water. As the dirty and sudsy water spilled onto the floor, a moment of irrational anger surged through Natalie. With a ferocity that surprised even her, she threw the washcloth onto the ground with a resounding splat. Grumbling, she bent over to pick up the poor rag that received her wrath and upright the bucket.

She’d need to get a mop to clean up this mess, but just for a moment, Natalie wanted to sit and just not think. Slumping onto a nearby stool, she rubbed her forehead absently. Her father’s amused voice interrupted her attempt to relax. “You know we just finished cleaning the floor?”

Natalie snorted at her dad’s attempt at humor and looked up at him. Leaning on the bar, Wilhelm had a sad sort of smile on his face. A mixture of resignation and care. He knew his daughter well and could guess what was giving her so much stress.

“You’ve made up your mind, haven’t you? About leaving Glockmire, that is,” he said gently.

Natalie looked up with the startled eyes of a child caught pilfering sweets. Wilhelm sat next to his daughter and reached out to hold her hand. “Part of me hoped you’d stay. But the better part of me is glad Natty. You have potential and deserve to have it realized.”

Natalie said nothing; she was focused on holding back tears. Even if she wasn't crying, she wouldn’t know what to say. She didn’t know how to explain how Glockmire felt like a trap, how she didn’t want to be afraid anymore. Natalie Striga didn’t want to live as livestock, but she also didn’t want to leave the world she knew behind. Not simply out of a fear of change, but because she knew they deserved better. The people of Glockmire deserved lives outside the Vampire’s shadow, and while she might be able to escape it, they couldn’t.

Trying to force these thoughts into words, Natalie croaked out. “Dad, I…”

But before she could say anymore, the Inn’s door opened. Both father and daughter looked to see who had arrived. Standing at the entrance, looking unsure of himself, was a boy. He couldn’t be much older than ten and had a nervous air about him. Natalie went to the boy, fishing his name out of her memory. “You are Filip, right? Matko’s youngest? What brings you here, child?”

Filip looked around anxiously like he expected the shadows to swallow him up. Mustering up all of his courage, the boy entered the Inn proper and shut the door behind him with the type of desperate energy only a scared child could manifest. After another furtive glance around the room, he asked. “Is the Rest-Bringer here?”

Wilhelm and Natalie exchanged worried looks, and Natalie answered. “Yes, he’s here. What business do you have with him?”

A look of pained determination filled Filip’s face; it would have looked comical on him except for its intensity. “I want him to destroy the thing that killed my big sister.”

That got a reaction out of both Natalie and Wilhelm. They had heard Cole had offered his services to the people of Glockmire, but they hadn’t expected anyone to actually approach him. Well, at least anyone other than herself, thought Natalie privately. Soon enough, Natalie headed upstairs to collect their controversial guest and introduce him to his young petitioner.

Cole heard a knock at his door and pulled himself out of the chair he’d been dozing in. While not properly asleep, he’d lost a fair amount of blood and quickly sank into a stupor. Rousing himself, Cole got up and answered the door. Natalie was there, looking perturbed. In an attempt to ease tension Cole said, “I see you’ve learned to knock, Miss Natalie.”

His attempt at humor fell flat, and Natalie gave him a neutral expression. She was still upset he’d locked her out of his plans after dragging her into this mess. “You have a visitor downstairs, someone who wants your help.” was her only response.

Raising an eyebrow, Cole followed after the curt young woman. She led him to an unused room where to his surprise, a nervous-looking child sat. The youth’s eyes widened in shock at Cole’s appearance. The large man filled the door frame, and the tapestry of scars decorating his skin was harrowing. Cole looked at the boy expectantly, and for a moment, both the small child and towering warrior looked at each other, both expecting the other to speak.

Natalie broke the silence. “This is Filip; he wants you to destroy an Undead that attacked his family three years ago. Flip, this is Cole, the Rest-Bringer.”

Filip reached into his pockets and pulled out a handful of coins, all bronze except a single silver. He put the coinage on the small table in the room and started to speak.” I don’t know how this works, but here’s the offering. I hope it's enough?”

The coins were barely enough for a good meal and drink. Cole didn’t even bother to look at them before he answered. “Yes, they will be enough. Take them to the altar of Master Time when the deed is done. But to help you, I need to know whatever you can tell me about the Undead that hurt your family.”

A look of relief washed over Filip, and Natalie couldn’t help but be impressed at the Paladins' generosity. With his nerves starting to calm, the boy started to tell his story. Filip’s father was a miner working in the shaft mines that dig into the mountains around Glockmire. His family was large, with six other siblings, which had originally been seven until three years ago. When the gates of Glockmire were breached during the Undead Invasion, the family had hidden in their home. One of the worker houses built into the mined-out sections of the quarry in the town's southwest. Far from the densely populated parts of town, few Undead had entered the area, and they’d been safe.

Their house's sturdy door, their father’s trusty pick-axe, and his sister's religious training had been enough to ward off any Undead that got too close. Apparently, Filip’s older sister Lina had been an Acolyte of Mother Earth, getting close to her ordination as a full Priest. Her faith had been strong enough to keep away any stray Ghouls or Rattlers, and it had been, for the most part. Until a ‘thing’ as Filip was insistent on calling it attacked. A pile of human bones formed into a vaguely bipedal shape had smashed down their front door, pushed through his sister's miracles, and crushed her to death.

Filip was reduced to a trembling tearful state at this point. Cole was impressed with the child's strength, and Natalie gave the boy a gentle hug, her own terrible experiences of that night flashing through her mind. Eventually, Filip recovered enough, and Natalie poured some water out for her and Filip. Cole gave them both a moment to center themselves before saying.

“I am sorry for this terrible loss you experienced, Filip, and I wish there were other options, but I need you to tell me more. I need more information about what killed your sister to destroy it.”

Filip flinched at that but took a deep, rattling breath before looking up at the towering warrior across from him. Aborted tears still glistened at the corners of his eyes, but the child showed a mettle that even some adults fail to develop. Willing himself to focus on the trauma and pain, not fleeing from it in denial or fear. Filip nodded at Cole’s request, and the Paladin started his questions.

“You said it looked like a pile of bones shaped almost like a person, correct?” Filip nodded again, and Cole continued. “Was it made up of certain bones, large ones, small ones, skulls, or just a random collection?”

Filip shut his eyes, summoning up his frantic recollections from that night. Flinching at the painful memories, he replied. “It was random, I think, but a lot of them, just all piled together, I think there were a couple skulls where a head should have been, but I don’t remember how many.”

Cole nodded at that, and Natalie’s thoughts idly went to the skull Cole carried around. She quickly shut it out of her thoughts and listened to the strange interview. “You said it was large; how big? Larger than me?” was the next question the Paladin asked.

“Yeah, like twice as big as you, it had to… squeeze itself to fit through the door, when it… got my sister.” was Filip’s response. “It was dark, and I only saw glimpses of it, but it shoved part of its body through the doorway and grabbed Lina.”

After a moment of consideration, Cole asked. “The doorway, did you have salt or anything to block it?”

“Yes!!! People say we didn’t because the monster got through the door, but my Sister put salt at the door and windows. She blessed it herself; I saw the glow of the magic. She did everything right!” it appeared Cole’s words had touched on a soft spot for the boy.

For a moment, Filip looked frightened and shocked, surprised at his own anger. Cole didn’t let him have time to stew on his fear. “I believe you, but I take it others don't?”

Nodding vigorously, Filip spat out. “My Dad told the Daymen, and they called him a liar and a fool. Saying we should have followed the Lord’s orders and went to the Temple. But if we had, we’d been torn apart! I saw the corpse-tide, all those Ghouls marching down the main streets. We did the right thing, but they said we deserved what happened because we didn’t follow orders. They said my Sister got herself killed and almost the rest of us with her!”

The boy fumed, angry at the injustice and blame heaped on his family. Natalie took the opportunity to interject. “Filip’s house is about as far from the Temple as you can get in town. It was a gamble to not evacuate, but it makes sense.”

Cole took all this in, and asked his final major question. “How do you know, the Lord’s soldiers didn’t destroy the Undead?”

Filip looked down, his anger fading into exhausted sadness. “When the attack was over, my Dad joined the clean-up. He said it was because it was the right thing to do. But he really did it to find what killed my sister. I overheard him telling my Mom one night. He searched every burn pit; he didn’t see the monster. It must have gotten away when the Castle Guard fought back.”

The boy answered his question before Cole could ask how Filip’s father was sure. “It had multiple skulls, but the main one was a Dwarf skull with gold teeth. Bright yellow teeth.”

With a more pronounced brow ridge, denser bones, and generally larger, A Dwarf’s skull could be easily told apart from a human’s. The Dwergaz, as they called themselves in their own tongue, were not common in these parts. Only two Holds existed in the Dragon Tail Mountains, and they were small things. Far from the mighty subterranean city-states, you might find in the Holy League’s White Mountains, or the Giant’s Keel of the distant north. Still, the distinct dense, and compact forms of the Dwarfs were recognizable to all but the most ignorant people.

So a distinct skull with golden teeth, that was the sort of thing Cole was looking for. A way to tell he had the right Undead. He also had a good idea about what exactly had killed Filip’s sister. A Walking Charnel, another type of rare and dangerous Undead. The perfect sort of thing, Cole's unknown enemy, would be looking to get under its control. This Feeder had been working on binding four Vryko-Ghouls; a Walking Charnel would not be out of the question. Cole glanced at Natalie and dwelled on a thought that had bothered him since he first realized the complexity of this situation. A Varcolac, like what killed her mother, would be another prize for the Feeder.

By offering to help the citizens of Glockmire and hunting down the Undead that terrorized them, Cole hoped to hit a whole flock of birds with a single stone. He would be completing his duties by freeing trapped souls. Helping the people of Glockmire get closure with their grief. Hopefully, put a significant dent in the local population of horrors. Gather information about the town and its struggles. While also taking the pawns and potential pawns of the Feeder off the board. To his own mild surprise, Cole had managed to devise a fairly solid plan by simply doing what he already intended to do.

Returning to the conversation before him, Cole said, “The information you have provided will be valuable. Filip, I will do everything within my power to ensure no one else suffers your sister's fate.”

That did it; that broke through the surprising strength Filip had mustered up. The boy broke into tears. Cole reached out a large scarred hand to set on Filip’s shoulders. Cole said, in a whisper barely loud enough to be heard over Filip’s gasping sobs. “You did the right thing. It took strength to come here and relive that night. I never met your sister, but I can confidently say she’d be proud of you. Now run along kid. When the deed is done, I’ll let the Priests at the Temple know.”

Shakily Filip got to his feet, gave the strange duo of Cole and Natalie a final grateful look then scampered off. Natalie shut the door of the room behind Filip and turned to Cole. “So, what was it? What killed his sister?”

Cole just blinked at her in surprise; Natalie scoffed at his surprised reaction. “You aren’t going to take me with you when you kill the Varcolac, and you’ve shut me out of whatever mess you got into up at the Castle. But not this, I can help you with whatever weird Rest-Bringer charity act you’re trying to do.”

Now it was Natalie’s turn to cut off Cole before he could ask more questions. “It's a small miracle; Filip even came to you at all. The rest of the town is scared, scared of you, and whatever mess you might bring down their heads. You need someone who knows these people and knows who you are to help.”

Cole pondered her words and felt competing desires war inside him. He’d greatly enjoyed Natalie’s company, and having someone to talk to and help him would be incredible. At the same time, he’d already done his best to disentangle her from all of this; letting her help would be the exact opposite of what he’d tried to do. After a moment, Cole decided to try and get a better understanding of this fiery young woman. “Why do you want to help?” he asked.

Natalie just froze for a second. The entire time Cole had been questioning Filip, she’d been concocting her own plans. She wanted to leave Glockmire to escape the Blood Duchies. But leaving her family, friend and community behind felt wrong. Sure she could escape, but would her conscience ever sit right again? Cole had helped open her mind up to leaving Glockmire; now, he offered an opportunity to keep her conscience clear. If she could help him defeat whatever threat he’d uncovered, Natalie could leave Glockmire with her head held high. The only problem was convincing Cole to not shut her out again.

Picking her words carefully, she made her argument. “I want to leave Glockmire. I don’t want to spend my life here. And I think I could do it, escape and have a better life. But I know I’d be leaving good people behind. So by helping you, I could help make life here a bit better, make it so when I left my hometown, I’d leave it a bit happier and safer than it was for me.”

Cole smiled at that, but as he did, he let out an old Atredian curse. Natalie cocked her head at the unfamiliar language. She’d exceeded his expectations, and he couldn’t turn her down at this point. Scratching at his head in an uncharacteristic display of nerves, Cole sighed and spoke. “Well, I guess we’d better get to work then, shouldn’t we?”