There was a peak many leagues away from the mining fortress that the motley band of Godslaves, footmen, and druids selected as a position for their multi-pronged attack. Given Vontross' proficiency with the use of a thrysteen at extreme range, they thought it prudent to place him and another druid there. He would rather be with those actually sneaking into the fortress. With Carthei. Vontross hated the idea of her being alone with the Godslaves. Of course, the Grue Ko'an were there…but they were no substitute for the presence of a fellow tribesman. In Vontross’ mind, neither were to be trusted.

A Grue Ko'an mounted the hill. Her body was completely obscured by segments of vormata shell armour and combat fibres, making her resemble a knight in full plate. She moved with a thuggish air, something that made Vontross believe that if someone stepped into her path, they would be promptly ploughed off their feet. Painted onto the breast of her strange cuirass was a series of glyphs. It read ‘Hytharrn’, the Jurtir word for ‘immovable’ and a popular name for girls in the Grue Ko’an tribe.

As she approached, Vontross could see the wagon that dispensed her in the distance. It was a completely enclosed wooden box pulled by a pair of horses who were in turn driven by an unassuming peasant woman sitting atop it. Said woman whipped the reins, urging the steeds onward.

Only when Hytharrn was close did Vontross notice the two staves held in each of her hands. By the Lights…

The staves, called rythons, were much cruder to Vontross' eyes than what he was used to seeing in arcane relics. Unlike the smooth, rounded edges of the thrysteens, the surfaces of the rythons were jagged, angular, and sharp. Jutting out of the underside was an odd rectangular box.

I never thought I would ever see one in my lifetime, let alone two, he thought.

Hytharrn knelt beside Vontross and explained, "It is to be handled the same as a thrysteen for the most part. The staff will buck like a mule when you discharge it. Simply anticipate, brace, and all will be fine. There will be no visible trail left by the projectile for the Clthics to track and its sound will be muffled." Her voice was garbled and messy due to the helmet she wore.

Vontross’ face sharpened. “You are giving one to me?” He asked bluntly.

“We are loaning it to you,” Hytharrn corrected sternly as she handed a rhyton to Vontross. Her gaze, denoted by the blank stare of the 8 dim ‘eyes’ on the face of her helmet, only made Vontross feel even more uneasy.

“Of course,” Vontross answered with a huff as he accepted the weapon. He wrapped his fingers around the box sticking out of the rhyton and pulled. It wouldn’t budge. However, he promptly noticed a small button on the rython near the box. When he squeezed it, the container slid out with ease. There were indeed seeds held within, but they were much smaller than the bottle-sized kerst seeds. As large as Vontross’ thumb and with a chrome gold finish, they were certainly beautiful enough to be worn as jewellery.

A seed-spitter… Perhaps the fear of wasting them will make sure that my aim is true.

Hytharrn made some quick visual inspections of her own staff as she said, “You must also aim for the head or upper body. Rythons do not kill as well as thrysteens do. The seeds could even be removed from the injured by a talented surgeon, allowing the wounds to heal properly.”

He said nothing to the Grue Ko’an, and instead slapped the seed vessel back into his rython, and fixed his octhum onto its length.

The mining fortress was a tiny smudge of grey in the distance. The setting sun bathed the countryside in a vibrant orange glaze. They had to act soon. No matter how much the octhum would improve Vontross’ eyesight, it could not give him sight in the dark. He lowered himself onto the ground, lying prone on his front, then shouldered his rython. He peered through the octhum.

Now, the fortress was as large and detailed as it would have been if he were standing at the very gates. Like the Godslave hive of Nernthandil, it consisted of a stone wall pushed against the sides of a mountain, albeit the structure itself was much smaller. The portcullis was raised and guarded by a pair of footmen on the ground. The battlements of the fortifications were manned by four guards armed with crossbows, as well as two Clthic Nuns on the watchtowers.

The wagon that Hytharrn rode in on was now slinking toward the open maw of the castle gate. Vontross watched as the guards atop the battlements cocked their heads and spoke amongst themselves, all while glaring at the nearing vessel.

“I await your order, manhunter,” Vontross muttered. “I fear they may drop the portcullis.”

From the sounds of rustling clothes and dirt, Vontross gathered that Hytharrn was joining him in a prone position. After a moment, she said, “Take the nun on the left watchtower when I count to three.”

He took one deep breath, then slowly exhaled.

“One.”

Vontross tilted his rhython until the glyph in the centre of his octhum was hovering above the head of the Clthic Nun atop the tower. The next gush of air that entered his lungs was held there. It was crucial that he control the tiny natural movements of his body. At this range, even the smallest sigh could divert his aim by an arm’s length.

“Two.”

The Mnem’non’s figure tenderly curled around the discharge plate of his staff.

“Three.”

Two loud metallic ‘clacks’ sounded and Vontross’ rython was thrusted back into his shoulder. His view shifted by the shaking staff, Vontross furrowed his brow as he fought the kick and brought the octhum back onto the watchtower.

The Clthic Nun was still there. If only for one second more. Surely, the rython seed shattered the animal skull hugging the woman’s face, blasting it into a million pieces. She dropped to the ground. In the corner of his eye, Vontross saw a similar rain of shrapnel, denoting Hytharrn’s success.

“The two men on the left battlements,” Hytharrn instructed cooly. “Take the one on the right.”

Vontross’s voice was rickety as he carefully moved his rython into position. “I am ready.”

“Three. Two. One.”

One of the men dropped a split second before the other, but one thing was certain; their armour was of no help against the seeds as they raced above the plains faster than the wind itself.

Hytharrn’s calm voice commanded, “The other wall, take the right.”

There was no need to count this time. Both druids fired upon the hapless infantrymen and they were dispatched just like the rest.

Vontross brought his octhum to bear on the wagon which was now at the very portal of the wall. The two guards were conversing with the woman driving the horses…distracted and vulnerable.

The two druids repeated their attacks, downing the unsuspecting footmen before they even knew what had happened.

“What now?” asked Vontross as he pulled his face away from his octhum and rose to a crouch.

Hytharrn stood and nodded toward the fortress. “We pray that those fools do not die.”

—

“You must understand. We have made a significant discovery, meine Freund,” Duke Klaus von Talhoffen explained to his guests as he fiddled with the jewels encrusting his goblet. Vilulf, Klaus’ men-at-arms Lazslo, Heinrich, Reynald, and Wenceslaus were seated by Klaus’ sides.

Lord Mattia di Lombardi, his wife Beatrice, his brother Dante, and his entire retinue, lined the edges of the rather long feasting table. “Evidence to support Tehreem’s…outrageous new religion?” asked the noble.

“No less outrageous than some giant man watching and controlling our every move,” Klaus muttered. “If God did exist, how is that I am able to exist? Or anyone else who would work against him? If he is all-powerful, surely he would simply make it impossible to act against him.”

Mattia nodded, rubbing his chin. “I would argue that demons are just as outrageous as God. To be frank, I am of those who believe that there is nothing. No Heaven, no Hell, no God, no Devil.”

“After you see what we have found…perhaps you will change your mind,” Klaus said slyly.

Mattia simply arched an eyebrow and curled his lips in annoyance to urge Klaus to continue.

The Clthic general leaned forward, bracing his hands on the table. “A city buried beneath the mountains. The Nuns are calling it Myrktuul.”

The chamber was filled with awe-inspired murmurs. Beatrice’s brow tensed. “A city…? Built by whom?”

Klaus’ patience was beginning to wear out. Beatrice was an idiot, to say the least. Her mind had to be guided to every conclusion, no matter how obvious they were. With a deep sigh, Klaus replied, “The demons. A vestige of Hell bubbling to the surface of our world.”

Mattia and some of his retainers nearby smiled in disbelief. Klaus thought that the description was rather dramatic, but that’s what the Tethspeakers said to him. He wasn’t the kind of man who could make sense of that dribble.

With a mischievous grin on his face, Mattia asked, “How can you be sure that it isn’t simply some long lost Fald’yn city swallowed by the earth?”

Vilulf answered melodically, “Because the entire city is powered by blood magic.” Mattia squinted at the vampire, cocking his head. Vilulf continued, “That’s why most of the Nuns have gone down to the site; they are working to reimbue Myrktuul’s heart and return it to life.”

The conflicted lord leaned back into his seat. His eyes drifted down, indicating that he was lost in thought. “I have seen their sorcery at work.”

“If you are worried about persecution by the Thestors, you needn’t," assured Klaus. "We have seized their local fortress monastery and the good Sir Havar Vilulf saw to it personally that those of their Order still in the county were hunted down and killed.” He gestured proudly to his right, where the aforementioned Vilulf sat with one arm hanging from the top rail of his chair.

Vilulf gave a slow, proud nod. “I have been blessed with great power by our creators. I shall use it to dismantle the lies of the Church and wrestle control of the people from their shrivelled hands.”

Klaus decided to withhold the fact that the vampire was mere steps away from death when he arrived two days ago. It seemed that the only thing capable of scaring the night creature was magic.

Mattia finally felt comfortable enough to smile. “Great power?”

The vampire cocked his head and arched an eyebrow. “Have you ever heard tales of the vampires, Lord Mattia?”

“You are one of them?” Mattia asked with a laugh.

Vilulf started rapping his fingers against his chair. Klaus sighed to himself. He had started to get a sense of when Vilulf began meddling with the minds of others. It was made even more apparent by Mattia’s reaction. His lips quivered and a bead of sweat trailed down his face.

Nudging Vilulf with his elbow, Klaus thought to himself, What in the world did you show him?

“What he needed to see,” whispered Vilulf.

Mattia took a rickety breath inward as he anxiously reached for his eating knife.

“I hope that Vilulf has not…startled you with his mind games,” said Klaus scornfully.

Chuckling nervously, Mattia waved a hand dismissively. “No, no, of course not. ‘Startled’ is not the word I would choose. In one moment, you have done more to convince me of your doctrine than God has in my entire life.”

Vilulf winked at Klaus, who groaned and rolled his eyes.

The feast continued with the entrancing melodies played by a flute and hurdy gurdy providing relaxing ambience. Everyone at the table took to the lavishly cooked dishes with fervour. All except for Vilulf, of course. He eyed all of the patrons the way they eyed the food.

There are quite a few of his host that I would like to get my hands on, Vilulf thought. Klaus always hated it when he did that… His own ruminations were enough for him, let alone those belonging to a depraved pervert.

If you’re going to do anything, please make it normal for once. Make it appear as if one of these brainless wenches fell for your charms and bedded you. Also, stop sharing these disgusting things with me, Klaus thought, hoping that the vampire would be listening.

Around two hundred people filled the great hall. Klaus’ knights and men-at-arms and the castle’s garrison all partook in the celebration. They could afford to; no one was left to stand in their way in this region. Klaus had to admit, he was surprised that Vilulf had chosen to help with the delegation. The Duke made it abundantly clear that he was to be present at the table, but such commands had never made Vilulf show up to things in the past.

Lord Mattia possessed a mighty retinue and a great deal of territories that could be used to fund Clthic military expansion. Klaus felt that someone needed to be thinking practically of achieving the Assembly’s goals. Tehreem was too preoccupied with fostering the religion, Mother Xal’tn was obsessed with digging up relics, and Lady Viktoria…well, she was probably off engaging in the same kinds of things Vilulf did in his spare time. If the Clthic Assembly was to spread itself, it needed practical means, not just sorcery.

Mattia gently laid his knife down onto the table and licked his lips. “Very pleasant food.”

Klaus nodded humbly. “I am glad you approve. It was the best we could do with what we had in our stores.”

The visiting lord suddenly grew much more sombre in his mood. “I must apologise for my hesitance, friends. Surely you understand my suspicions. I thought that this might be some kind of ruse to trick me into revealing my feelings toward the Church.”

“Nonsense,” started Vilulf. “You are right to be wary. So tell me, Mattia, do you subscribe to the Clthic doctrine?”

Mattia sighed and looked at his wife. “What do you think, my love?”

Beatrice shrugged.

The lord was left to make his own decision. Just in case, Klaus made the point of thinking to himself: Do not interfere with his choice, Vilulf. It seems that whenever you vampires compel someone to act, they are free afterwards to reflect upon their actions and can recognise them as someone else’s. He must be committed.

He didn’t have to look at Vilulf to feel his disappointment.

Finally, after a long pause, Mattia replied, “I shall lend you my support, but I am afraid I must be convinced of your faith. You make a lot of sense, but I believe in what I see with my own eyes.”

Klaus took a sip of wine before answering, “Of course. The Mythar would be delighted to take you on as an apprentice. This night though, we shall celebrate your devotion to our Assembly.”

For whatever reason, a tiny glancing shape in the window snatched Klaus’ attention. His neck stiffened as he squinted into the dark. Another one. A shadow…moving outside.

“Vilulf,” he muttered. “Do you hear anything?”

Vilulf swallowed. “N-No.” Standing, the vampire waved at the band and said, “Stop playing.”

The woman with the hurdy gurdy stopped her cranking, but the bard with the flute seemed to have missed the request. After clenching his fists and twitching, Vilulf promptly roared, “Stop with that fucking flute!”

Conversations still continued, despite his outburst. “Shut up! All of you, shut up!”

Only then did silence consume the great hall. Vilulf’s face dropped.

The doors to the hall were kicked open by two towering knights clad in plate armour. Upon their bodies, the white surcoats of the Order of Saint Thestus. Dozens of them came pouring in, with pollaxes, maces, and swords in hand. The patrons closest to the doors stood no chance. The wave of armoured men crashed against them, driving their weapons into their unarmoured bodies with the greatest of ease. Helpless, the Clthics were skewered, hacked, and bludgeoned into paste.

N-No. They’ve found me!

It took Klaus a moment to realise that wasn’t any thought of his…it was Vilulf’s. And it had betrayed him. The coward never finished the job. He ran when they managed to wound him with their newfound druid comrades.

Mattia sprung to his feet and drew his arming sword, as did Klaus and the other men-at-arms at the table. All about the room, the fighting men shot upward, but their time was rapidly waning.

Despite his doubts, Vilulf vaulted over the table and threw himself into the fray.

If we survive this, I will have your head, Klaus thought.

An answer, though unwanted, came to him nonetheless. Not if I take yours first.

Klaus found himself behind the first line of Clthics as they struggled against the fully armed Churchsworn. The Thestors were complimented by the Knights Correntis: the combat surgeons that Klaus had learned not to underestimate in the field of battle. Most of them were not clad in full plate harness, instead having only vambraces and/or cuisses to cover the limbs. Many opted for brigandine armour; a textile vest with an inner layer of small, overlapping steel plates. The rivets holding these plates could be seen from the outside, making it resemble leather with small metal studs scattered along it.

These Correnti were formed up behind their heavily armoured counterparts wielding spears, halberds, or billhooks to keep the enemy at bay. The Thestors mainly brandished pollaxes, warhammers, and maces. Not a shield was in sight among their ranks, made unnecessary by their comprehensive armour.

Klaus could feel an unnerving sensation begin to swirl upward from the pit of his stomach. Every single one of his men in the hall was wearing regular clothing and only had access to his sidearm, a sword. With so many adversaries, grappling a Thestor to the ground to jam a blade into his armpit would only result in death before you even got close enough to deal a fatal blow. It was suicide. They had to find another way.

Vilulf, using his bare hands, had seized the sides of a Thestor’s helmet. All the while, he was being slashed at by his victim’s comrades. Klaus watched wide-eyed as the vampire grinned and licked his lips in response to the blades burying themselves into his body and the hammers mincing his flesh. The helmet popped and flattened, blood shooting out of its sights and breaths. The Thestor went limp and all holy knights in range sent their attention to Vilulf. Klaus could tell from his lip-biting and the way his eyes rolled back that he enjoyed it.

Klaus saw the opportunity; the Thestors and Correnti had singled out Vilulf and were prioritising him. Klaus spun his sword over, holding it with both hands on its blade. He pinched the blade with his fingers in order to keep its sharp edge from sliding against his bare palms. The Duke lunged forward and swung the weapon with every ounce of strength he had. With its balance tipped, the arming sword had been turned into an improvised mace.

The sword’s hilt curved through the air and its pommel slammed into the helmet of an occupied Thestor. The blow filled the air with a loud ‘crack’. The knight stumbled to one side, wobbled, then ultimately fell. As he did, he dropped his pollaxe. Wenceslas and several other men-at-arms swarmed the fallen knight and finished him off. Laszlo snapped forward, scooped the pollaxe up, and brandished it with a snarl before charging straight into the new opening in the Churchsworns’ first line. Klaus, Heinrich, and Mattia joined the surge.

The Correnti levelled their polearms at the approaching fighters. Klaus managed to weave free of a billhook and grab the shaft of the weapon, but he caught a glimpse of Heinrich being skewered on the tip of a halberd before the heat of battle wiped his mind clean.

Laszlo barged into a pair of Correnti, one of them was the one wielding the billhook that Klaus had grabbed onto. With its wielder struck, Klaus easily pulled the weapon free, dropping his sword in order to grasp it with both hands. A Knight Correntis advanced towards him, urging Klaus to respond. He swept his billhook across the knight’s groin in a blind strike. Inadvertently, the attack tore the leather strap that held up the man’s right cuisse. With the armour’s weight no longer suspended, it dropped downward, locking his knee and obstructing his articulation. As the Correntis stumbled, Laszlo swung his pollaxe at his lowered head with a heart-wrenching ‘crunch’. The knight dropped dead, tumbling over the bodies of his brothers.

The Clthics took full advantage of the gap in the Churchsworn line, swarming over the outnumbered knights. Overwhelming them with sheer volume, the Clthic soldiers could then force open their visors to stab their faces. The Thestors and Correnti wise enough to pull back filtered back through the doors and slunk back outside as the Clthic battle cry reverberated through the hall.

Klaus joined his men as they stomped over the handful of Thestor and Correnti corpses and stormed towards the door. Suddenly, just as the Clthics started through the door, Klaus’ heart stopped. “Hold! Fall back!”

Only Mattia, Laszlo and a handful of others heeded his warning. When the soldiers left the building, the all-too familiar sound of thrysteen discharges filled the air. There were dozens of them overlapping each other, a symphony of black magic. Blue lightning poured in from the windows as well as the doorway.

Klaus sent his eyes back into the hall. The non-combatants had crowded beside the fireplace. Lords, ladies, pages, and the elderly. Of the two hundred people that had moments ago been basking in celebration, there were now roughly fifty still standing. Thirty of them were non-combatants. The fools that rushed outside were all dead. Vilulf was covered in blood, most of it his own. His doublet had been torn to tattered rags and his hose was not in much better condition. Open, wet wounds could be seen beneath his clothing. His face was also heavily mutilated, but each of these injuries were in the process of mending themselves.

Before Klaus could think any further about their predicament, more Churchsworn men bolted into the great hall. Thestors, Correnti, as well as men-at-arms and footmen did not allow the Clthics another moment of respite. They rammed head first into the Clthic defence. Klaus, swallowed by his men, made out some additional enemies behind their infantry line.

They wore strange, chitinous armour and had eight-eyed helmets masking their faces. Druids…all of them. They held thrysteens and rhytons at the ready. However, they were the least of Klaus’ worries. A Thestor marched into the great hall. A thrysteen in his hands. A Thestor…commanding magic?

More pressingly, there was a large druid at his side. He had a kerst resting upon his shoulder. Klaus wanted to scream, but the sound never left his throat.

When the Churchsworn line crouched, the druid aimed his kerst at the crowd of unarmed Clthics at the rear of the chamber and squeezed the arming key.

The sound, heat, and smoke shook Klaus to the core. By the time he shook himself out of the disorientation and glanced back, he saw only carnage. Body parts, innards, torn clothing, and shards of bone showered down and painted the wooden flooring of the hall.

“V-Vilulf! Take them now!” Klaus roared.

However, his eyes saw not the vampire knight. Among the crowd of furious and frightened Clthic soldiers, Vilulf was not there. On the floor though, were the remaining scraps of his clothing. Klaus turned back to the Churchsworn just as their infantry took several steps back and the Thestor druid and the other druids readied their staves. What followed was an onslaught of magical energies; the last thing that Klaus ever saw or felt.