Magic, Blood & Gunpowder – A Fantasy RP (Closed/TG Approval)

[Sarrin]

The Twelve Hundred Steps, Canary Basin, Garniem – 4E-151

For three nights Leof had travelled through Garniem to the temple at the base of the Twelve-Hundred Steps and for three nights he had been watched. He didn’t know who by nor did he know why but he was no less Garnian than his brothers and could tell the signs of a stalker in the midst. He had sensed the presence at night and during his hunts and knew it to be a man but not whom precisely. Indeed any attempts to find his pursuers identity had failed though he suspected it was a brother or agent of his father’s sent to watch over him. None of that mattered of course, he was at the steps at last and his journey to the mountain would soon to begin, a journey that would likely expose any who sought to chase him.

The Twelve-Hundred Steps were an ancient stairway ascending into the heights of the Borag Mountains. Each stone the size of a child ensured that only adults were able to ascend and legends told they were originally placed by the giants from whom the Garnians descended. At the base of the steps was a temple dedicated to the Gatekeeper and a longhouse for passers-by. As Leof approached the temple the sun began to shine over the mountains and he saw a few of the other Borag participants sitting by a gentle fire. They greeted him and offered food and drink before directions to the Shaman who was concluding his morning rights. The temple itself was a beautiful building with ornate carvings on its walls showing ancient Garnian tales. As Leof opened the door he saw the Shaman collapsed in an almost meditative stance before the statue of the Gatekeeper. He shut the door not wanting to interrupt only to jump as the Shaman suddenly inhaled as if returning to life.

“Leof Hollis of East Acre, I have been waiting for you” he said before rising to his feet with the aid of his staff.

“I’m sorry Shaman, I was delayed... Morgath appears to have sent a huntsman after me”

The Shaman raised an eyebrow though he appeared more surprised by Leof’s observation than by the news of a stalker.

“Perhaps your brother is less quiet than he imagines or you are more observant but I would not fear. Morgath does not send him and the Gatekeeper does not favour kinslayers”

“Kinslayers?” Leof said aghast at the proposal though as it came out the idea seemed far more logical than it first occurred.

The Shaman chuckled “Many use the Borag to kill their rivals and many more wish to ensure the job is done right. I have seen your brother spirit and I have marked him to the wisps if he is wise he will not bother you further.”

Leof gulped at the thought of one of his brothers having been his pursuer this time only to be interrupted as his thought were processed.

“We are not here to discuss the sins of our kin however. Your Borag will begin tomorrow morning and as with all others I will answer any questions you have…though I suspect your may be more advanced.”

He chuckled again, Leof had been speaking to the Shaman for months through messengers and ravens getting all the information, books and tomes he could on the trial. The Shaman had been delighted to see one wishing to be so informed and had responded with due haste each time ensuring Leof was as mentally prepared as he could be.

“I only have a few the tomes were…comprehensive”

The Shaman smiled warmly “Such are the nature of the records of champions but first I will bestow you the necklace that marks to the gods.” He took a small amulet bearing the emblem of the Gatekeeper from the alter on the side of the statue and gave it to Leof.

“Now, let’s begin with your task…”

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Lords Council, High Peak, Garniem

Godfrey looked across the chamber as the Lords took their seats. In a year so much had changed for his Kingdom. Many of the Jarls had been changed, blood had been spilt and relations again forged outside their walls. Indeed Godfrey had dreaded this first meeting since the New Year as he would have to set out the intentions of the Kingdom for the next year and he was far from ready. When Algar Tordrig finally took his place, Grimm being too young to attend the meeting, Godfrey addressed the room.

“Those of you who have been here before will understand what I say when the room feels different.” The older Jarl’s chuckled “Those who are new I welcome you to the council and look forward to ruling alongside you. We are all equals in this room and while I am King feel no requirement to side with me if you think it harms your people, you are here to serve them and not me as has always been our way.

Many of you no doubt wonder whether we will be at war again, winter has broken and Argus is dead. I can put your minds to rest when I say that our armies will march again.”

The Jarls remained silent each clearly more focused on the speech.

“Medina is the heart of the Kingdoms and our allies have worked to assume control. We received mixed reports from Jarrick over the winter as to how there takeover was going and Cormac has gone to investigate further. Before we departed I agreed to send a military force alongside our new ambassador to Morthin should a situation emerge. Jarl Greymane has already been dispatched to Carvania on important duties but I wish for a volunteer to serve this new role”

Jarl Roth stood from his chair with a timed authority. He was the oldest Jarl at just over a hundred and has been at times both a thorn and ally to the King. Now however as his grandson reached the age of maturity where he could accept the Jarldom and his wife and close friend Jarl Clew having passed he sought a warriors death.

“I shall go and I volunteer my Housecarl to join me”

Godfrey nodded “Thank you Jarl Roth, your men will be an excellent and welcome force should any problems emerge. We can discuss the nature of the position in more detail after the council but if no one wishes to debate the point we can move onto the arduous task of finances.”

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Zagrotska, Medina

Rufus paced through the former office of Mikhail Koci going through his plan over and over as if eager to uproot any problems. The Zagrotska Gunsmiths was the former ‘Estate’ of the Koci family until their untimely demise and had been taken over by Rufus as a base of operations while his sister and Gideon finalised the agreement. Unlike the Koci however he had no intention of living in the grounds and had largely expanded the gunsmiths to the upper levels of the estate and turned the bedrooms into dormitories for the labourers. When he at last stopped his pacing and looked out the window over his new works he saw a familiar crow perched on a beam watching him. With a curious smile he opened his office door and the bird flew in and landed on the floor smoothly transforming into Cormac’s human form.

“It’s been a while old man, I thought you’d died”

Cormac smiled wryly “An easy mistake to make when you go out of your way to die and come back”

Rufus froze. Knowledge of his vampirism was still contained and there was no reason to suspect him but Cormac spoke with a disarming confidence.

“You know?”

“Your sister told you I was an Everwatcher or did you believe that to just be stories?”

Rufus paused before chuckling

“I guess I can’t argue with that and anyway plans change, he made us a good deal with some lucrative personal benefits”

“And yet still you hold no loyalty to Issillion, will our plans continue?”

“I wouldn’t be the first to take the gift from the void father and neglect to show respect and I can’t speak for Madeline but I see no reason to change course. After all, the entire hunt is already underway why leave the chase because the trail gets weak?”

Cormac smiled at Rufus.

“We’ll be in Morthin by the Spring Festival”

Rufus smiled “I’ll be ready”

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Syliv Common, Syliv, Carvania

Even the sun appeared weary as it rose over Syliv as if fearing what it might uncover. This feeling had been all too familiar for Amelia who since her last meeting with Jarl Greymane had found herself suspicious of her court and its new arrivals. While easily this could be resolved with a second meeting her schedule never seemed to give any time and as such she was perpetually occupied by the matters of the state. Today however she had fought for a break in the Syliv Commons to see Lady Greymane and her new ‘school’ that had been growing with affection among the people. Every morning reports had grown of the shield maiden teaching the art of war to any who wished to learn. Initially the residents were sceptical of learning from a woman but after a pair of guards thought they’d show her a few tricks and found themselves in bandages more and more citizens had come to learn.

“Shields. Hold your position like the tree you must be rooted. Swords. You must strike like the wind toppling the weakest roots.”

Before Lady Greymane were nearly fifty citizens of various skills sparring with one another. In a move that had been controversial both women and men were included and allowed to train with one another with sexist remarks being strictly punished. Greymane herself was walking among the trainees as she barked orders though moved towards Amelia when she spotted her arriving with a warm and welcoming smile.

“Queen Amelia, it is an honour to see you again, have you come to train?”

Amelia blushed slightly. Lady Greymane had offered to train her when they spoke after her father’s funeral but she had declined knowing it would be frowned upon in court though she had remained curious about the road she had not taken. Indeed seeing her people many of whom had never touched a sword now fighting with modest ability was a refreshing sight and did spark a curiosity in her but she knew her place.

“I’m afraid not and I’ve told you before I am only a Lady and the interim ruler”

“Of course, your customs are still somewhat alien to me, perhaps you would like to see the people instead?”

Amelia nodded and the pair walked through the trainers all of whom stopped to give a respectful nod to them as they passed though whether it was more aimed to Amelia or Greymane was unclear. They stopped before one pair where a slender woman squared off against a far larger man.

“This hardly seems a fair fight” Amelia said bluntly looking at the pair though Greymane only chuckled.

“Reap the harvest” Greymane said and the woman approached the man squatting to take dirt in her hand before being within fighting range. As Amelia’s fascination intensified the woman threw her handful at the man’s face and began a flurry of strikes drawing his shield high to block them and then, in a single swift move, tripped the man to the ground subsequently positioning herself to execute and turning to the duo.

“Sloppy but you have the basics covered, Boris the tree does not protect the branches if it leaves the roots exposed”

She gestured for Amelia to continue and they found themselves a place on the mound overlooking the trainees.

“Your presence here will do them good, I told them you authorised the school and now they see you as there protector doing what is necessary.”

“You shouldn’t have done that it will undermine my brother” Amelia said irritably.

Greymane merely chuckled “I do not know where your brother is Amelia but the people need a leader right now and they are not content to wait. My offer to train you still stands though it would do wonders for morale if you joined the common folk here. Ultimately though you must decide if you wish to be the ruler your people need or a shadow of your potential. Either way I will be here.”

Amelia looked down hesitantly before looking Greymane in the eyes. “I’ll speak to Jacques.” Lady Greymane growled at the name but shook it off “As you will but I would urge caution around that one. His scent is putrid.”

Amelia rolled her eyes at the remark and said nothing instead continuing to overlook the training.

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Syliv Castle Barracks, Syliv, Carvania

“I’m not quite seeing how this helps Jarl Greymane”

“A warrior must know why he fights or his resolve will be the first to fall”

“My men do not lack resolve and philosophy will hardly assist us.”

“Then why did your finest shit his britches when faced with a pureblood’s primal form?”

The Lord Commander paused for a moment looking away from the Jarl to his men who all sat reading copies of an old Garnian tome on war and philosophy. The Jarl’s own pack were sitting discussing the work in what seemed extremely out of character to what his people imagined of the Garnians.

“I think most people would be afraid if a werewolf appeared face to face for the first time”

“That is why most people die. Fear must be contained till after the battle unless there is no escape in which case it must be turned to fury.”

“A direct quote I assume?”

Greymane chuckled “No that’s from our next reading unless you have some books to suggest?”

The Lord Commander laughed too not entirely knowing whether the Jarl was being serious. The integration of the training regiments had been a quickly adopted measure though the effects had already begun to show. His soldiers discipline was unaverred and they had stopped visiting the brothels and bars outside of holidays. With the signs of the physical side showing he couldn’t help but wonder, would philosophy be so bad?

[Cheye]

Syliv, Carvania – 4E-151

“And this is where Vlad’s prisoners were held, the ones he kept to face worse fates than being fed upon.” Jacques explained as they entered the ancient underground dungeon, far below the catacombs that ran under Castle Syliv.

“What did he do with them?” Amelia asked, her face a picture of curiosity.

The two of them had taken to exploring Syliv together in recent weeks, Amelia learning about the domain she temporarily ruled while Jacques used the occasions to teach her politics, history and strategy, subjects she had come to appreciate more and more thanks to his charismatic teaching style.

“Most of them were tortured. The devices used range from instruments you might find in any castle dungeon to some more… specific… to punishing those of a Vampiric nature.” Jacques said, shutting the door behind them.

“What like?” Amelia asked, turning to look at him emotionlessly.

“Vampires can regenerate and recover from most wounds, but there are exceptions, silver takes the longest to heal, and burns from fire can sometimes scar a Vampire forever. When Vlad wanted to punish his fellow Vampires, he was very creative in exploiting those weaknesses.” Jacques explained.

“Remind me how you know all of this?” Amelia asked innocently. “I thought you were the Court Historian at Val Lyonesse, does Franchea also bear the scars of Vlad’s rule?”

“Indeed it does, my lady.” Jacques sighed. “The sun may shine brighter to the west, but Franchea’s beauty is… deceptive… The de la Grey Vampires were known for their ability to manipulate that beauty, catching their opponents off balance.”

“And you?” She asked ambiguously.

“I learnt about a great deal more than just the de la Grey Vampires from my time in Val Lyonesse, many of the histories of the Vampyric Ascendancy were written by Octavian de la Grey; Van Drak’s advisor. They were stored in his library at Val Lyonesse. That’s how I know these things.”

“What’s that?” Amelia asked, changing the subject abruptly as she nodded her head to what looked like a dusty old table, which appeared to have several evenly spaced holes in it.

“That is a device for torturing Vampires.” Jacques explained, stepping towards it. “Silver spikes are placed in the pulley system underneath and are raised and lowered to inflict pain during interrogations.”

“Where are the spikes then?” Amelia asked.

Jacques turned to look at her curiously. “Why?” He asked slowly.

“Because I have a few Vampires I’d like to torture… Especially after what they did to my father.” Amelia growled.

“I see.” Jacques said, sighing emphatically.

He’d been growing closer and closer to Amelia since she had returned from Ostierre and slowly he had been planting the seeds he needed for his own ends too, slowly he had made himself indispensable to her, but now he was starting to see a different side to the young lady. A side that fascinated him. She wanted revenge, violent revenge, for what was done to her father.

“If you want to torture Vampires, you need to capture them first, I believe that’s what your brother set out to do in the Drak Wood, is it not?” Jacques asked softly.

“It is, but I believe there are Vampires closer to home than that.” Amelia said honestly, smiling to the man she thought was her friend.

“You believe that? Or the Greymanes believe that?” He asked gently.

“They’ve been trying to… help me… make the right decisions since I’ve been serving as regent.” She explained awkwardly.

“Have I not told you the sad story of the Duchess of Zavron?” He asked, watching as her confused expression answered the question for her.

“Duchess Celine ruled Zavron centuries ago, shortly after Van Drak had conquered the Eastern Kingdoms. She was so scared of losing her domain to the Dark Prince that she summoned the greatest advisors from across Minern to determine how she could escape the fate of so many others and spare her lands from certain doom.”

“I don’t see the link?” Amelia let out.

Jacques pressed on; “The Lord from Novaford urged her to conscript an army of commoners to defend her borders. The Lord from Estraliana told her to sell off her estates to buy protection. The Lord from Hoch told her that she should secretly flee and leave her people to their fate. But, it was the Lord from Tabornia whose voice was loudest; and he urged the Duchess to ignore the rest of them because they could be spies; sent by Van Drak. He suggested that she invite the Tabornian army into Zavron to defend the border alongside her own forces. As you know, Tabornia sits just to the north of Zavron so the arrangement seemed reasonable. Can you guess what happened next?”

Amelia furled her brow. “I’m not sure, I’m guessing that she was doomed anyway because the Ascendancy wiped the Northern Duchies off the map?”

“Yes, but that isn’t the whole story.” Jacques smiled. “You see, the Duchess couldn’t make a decision because she began to see every suggestion from the Lords as a possible Vampiric conspiracy. If she conscripted the peasants; their families might revolt and sow unrest, unrest which Van Drak might then exploit. If she sold off her estates to pay for mercenaries; those mercenaries could secretly be on the payroll of the Dark Prince. If she fled and her people found out; they would replace her with another who could easily be a secret Vampire. There was no certain way forward and so she found herself agreeing with the Lord of Tabornia, she arrested all of the other nobles on suspicion of colluding with Van Drak and called the Tabornian army in to reinforce her borders…”

Jacques paused, dramatically, looking deep into Amelia’s eyes as she eagerly awaited the conclusion of the tale.

“The Tabornian Army proceeded to annex the Duchy, the slaughter they unleashed was brutal and the Duchess was thrown into prison alongside the nobles she had dismissed as spies.”

“The Tabornian was the Vampire then?” Amelia asked, a look of revelation on her face.

“Oh no.” Jacques scoffed. “There were no Vampires! You see, the Tabornians were doing what all leaders do; they were looking out for their own interests. The Ascendancy was their neighbours’ problem, not theirs and so they exploited that fear to their own advantage.”

“What happened to the Duchess?” Amelia asked, she seemed taken aback by the sudden twist.

“She was murdered while in prison, by the same Lords she had wrongly accused of being Vampires. Do you understand the moral of the story, my Lady?”

“Her fear of the Vampires blinded her to the real threat posed by the expansionist power to the north?”

“Precisely. But more than that… She didn’t just allow that threat into her castle, she allowed it to get into her head.” Jacques looked at her, his tone suddenly turning from that of the wise historian to a more insidious, commanding one; “Do not let this threat into your head Lady Amelia; the threat posed by the expansionist power to the north of Carvania is a far greater concern than that posed by any surviving Vampires. Don’t you agree?”

Amelia shuddered as she suddenly became aware of the darkness of the dungeon around her. She had heard repeatedly about the Greymanes concerns for her safety and their insinuations that her advisors were Vampires. She had never understood their motives before, but now it seemed Jacques had worked them out for her. But equally if he were a Vampire isn’t that exactly what he’d want her to think?

She needed to decide who around her she could trust, and fast…

The Wilderness, North of Kislev, Kislevstierre, Golgotha – 4E-151

“Say it again.” Desdemona Von Richter barked, once again cracking the whip against the man’s back, leaving him screaming in agony.

Two skeletal zombies held the man in place as he whimpered and tried to keel over.

“It’s only a rumour!” The man cried out.

“I want to hear it.” She whipped him again, her Vampiric strength cleaving flesh from bone as the man almost passed out.

“They’re planning a counter-offensive. A big push north to catch you off-balance.” He let out wearily.

“Good man.” She said, dropping the whip nonchalantly and drawing a knife from her belt.

“Please just release me. I won’t go back to camp!” The soldier pleaded.

“No, you won’t.” Desdemona cackled as she reached down from behind and slit the man’s throat.

When she was done laughing she grunted and put the blade away. If the mortals were about to make a push then Hans needed to know immediately. He had stopped, a day’s march behind her to raise the dead of the town of Kisholt to his ranks.

She hadn’t understood the need to stop for a full night when they were so close to Kislev but Hans was apparently convinced that Kisholt had been the site of a battle centuries ago in which several of Vlad’s Varghulfs had taken part. Hans seemed to think a few Varghulfs might make a difference in the battles to come and more importantly to him, seemed to think that he could use the magic from his special page on the long-dead beasts and wanted to test the theory.

Desdemona wasn’t even sure she knew what a Varghulf was, but if the rumours were true, she might be finding out sooner then she’d anticipated…

[Sarrin]

Gorski Woods, Komovi County, Carvania – 4E-151

The realm of the spirits was a strange place. While the Church of the Holy Flame described the horrors and demons within the Garnians knew the true horror of the spirit realm was not its occupants but its lack of. The realm itself appeared as if the normal world and indeed living beasts could be seen though any attempt to interact with them would be folly as spirits can only have faint echoes of their actions occur in the physical realm. Beyond Garniem however the spirit realm was twisted and corrupt as the victims of the Ascendancy still roamed the land unable to defeat the Gatekeeper but denied reincarnation so long as their Vampyric masters still lived. With the purges and hunts against the vampires freed many of them many still roamed waiting for release.

Cormac walked cautiously through the realm having allowed his lycanthropic spirit to hunt while he ventured away. He was not merely exploring however and instead sought out a powerful spirit that had existed since the early days of the Ascendancy and now traveled Carvania awaiting his inevitable resurrection.

“It is not easy to find you” Cormac said calmly as he approached the spirit resting by a tree before him. The spirit was a fearful sight its body bearing a multitude of scars scarcely covered in the tattered rags he wore as he died and his face disfigured beyond recognition.

“Perhaps I did not wish to be found Everwatcher” The spirit replied still speaking with the thick Franchean accent he held in life.

Cormac nodded squatting down next to the Spirit whose head was still lowered to the ground.

“Perhaps you should be more aptly called the Everwatcher or do you remember your real name?”

The spirit raised his head to look at Cormac revealing the full atrocity of his mutilations as the wounds appeared to seep open as if still fresh. His eyes echoed the tortures inflicted on him as if the memory was replaying time and time again in his mind.

“You know who I am or you would not have come” He breathed and looked around him before continuing “This land is dying Everwatcher. The darkness returns and with it my home once more returns to the Vampires grip.”

Cormac didn’t need to ask what the spirit referred to as it was all too clear from an outsider how Carvania had changed since Francis’ death. Where once the communities had hope they now seemed disunited and fearful. Children no longer roamed the streets playing games and villagers found themselves at each other’s throats over minor quarrels. The beasts of the forest had begun to migrate away and predators increasingly attacked humans for loss of their natural prey. Even the few trees which had freshly blossomed for spring were a fraction of their total beauty.

“You believe he is responsible?”

“Jacques de la Grey is a plague on this land. His very presence is an offense to the landscape and now he masquerades as the steward denying finances to the very people who need them most. Worse still that he does so with my name.”

“You are sure it is de la Grey?” Cormac asked firmly.

“I saw him with my own eyes Everwatcher, his vacuous presence, a body without a spirit speaking and talking as if he had not destroyed me. I would crush him if I could but without physical form I am but a gust of wind.”

“You must travel to Syliv and watch him. I sense he will play a great role in the events that are to come”

The spirit stood up and bowed to Cormac “As you command”

Cormac smiled tapping the hilt of his staff on the ground and watching as the spirit began the long walk to Syliv. As if summoned his physical form burst through the trees clearly having recently feasted and fully embraced in its lycanthropic form. He placed his hand to its head and entered his body once more swiftly transforming to a crow and beginning his own journey.

[Greater Latica]

Hochstierre, Golgotha-Carvania Border 4E-151

The steam locomotive shuddered to a halt as it reached the station, this was as far as the railway reached, roughly half a mile from the border between the Golgothan Empire and Carvania. Prince Marius disembarked from the carriage and onto the wooden platform, to considerably less fanfare than he was used to. The ongoing fighting in Kislevstierre was drawing much of the attentions of the Elector Council, and particularly after the death of Prince Xander stringent austerity and security measures had been imposed upon them. He hadn’t been given access to a royal train to conduct his duties, he had been forced to have his own personal carriage hitched to the back of a number of regional trains to arrive here, making his journey much slower. Prince Marius had to fight long and hard to be allowed to return to his previous task in Carvania, he had been accused of chasing dead ends, the real threat was in the North. However he figured that if the Elector Council had been wrong before they could be wrong now, Carvania had always been the ancestral home of the Vampires, for them to not try something there had been an unfathomable thought to him.

But the Vampire threat wasn’t the only reason for his return to Carvania, during his absence he had realised how much he had actually missed the Princess Amelia, he had initially tried to court her purely for political reasons and to increase his influence within the Elector Council, but he actually liked her, it was an interesting feeling.

A military officer was there to greet him on the platform, Prince Marius noted that he was wearing his brown ‘service’ uniform, rather than his blue ‘dress’ uniform, as he would have done in much less uncertain times. Prince Marius strongly disliked the brown uniforms and had personally voted against their introduction, they looked so uncivilised, unlike the original blue service uniforms, which he felt encouraged discipline and looked much more intimidating.

The Officer led him off the platform and towards a waiting column of steam wagons to take him the final distance to the Garrison in Carvania and then onwards to Syliv. Prince Marius tried to hide his disdain, he hated steam wagons. He had been forced to use one the last time he went to Carvania, it was so backwards, they had no railways and the roads outside of the cities were mostly dirt tracks. He hadn’t been granted permission to get the railway extended across the border and onwards to the garrison, there were fears within the Elector Council that extending the railways over the international borders would allow others to use them against the Empire, and that was deemed to be an unacceptable threat. As such now Prince Marius was bundled into the front of an eight wheeled wagon. The heat in these things was always unbearable, they were loud and uncomfortable, it would still be days before they reached the garrison across rough and bumpy roads. He settled in, to try and tolerate the journey as much as possible.

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Kislev, Kislevstierre 4E 151

Kislev had transformed dramatically from the silent city of the last week, it had suddenly become a hive of activity. The Golgothan army was heading north, partly due to the efforts of the Inquisitor and partly due to the news coming from Kisholt. The Undead were slowly making their way south, taking their time to raid each of the villages and towns along the way, each time expanding their numbers. The flaws in the defensive strategy adopted by the Golgothan Army had now become apparent, it not only made a battle in the streets of Kislev a certainty, but more importantly, it made sure that this battle would be on the terms of the vampires, their undead army would fight that battle at its strongest, at a time and date that would be unfavourable to the Golgothans. This was deemed an unacceptable state of affairs, and so the Army had been sent north to try and engage the undead on the steppes of Central Kislev.
The open undulating grasslands made the battlefield ideal, there were no trees to conceal the undead numbers and to protect them from shrapnel like there were at Davenfall, and no cellars or sewers for them to infiltrate like at Donastierre.

The Golgothan army planned to advance in three columns, trying to draw the undead out into battle with one whereupon the other two columns would close in and attack from the flanks. The defeat at Davenfall had shown how important flanking, and protecting one’s own flanks could be. The Golgothan commanders had been persuaded, but this was largely by the desire for an ego fuelling victory, rather than for any genuine concern for their men or the fate of the Empire. The Inquisitor was content with his small victory, he was unconcerned about their motivations, as long as they danced to his tune, he needed the army to take on the undead and draw out the Vampire in charge. Cut off the head of the snake and the body dies. Clearly to raise an army of that size there had to be an incredibly powerful vampire in charge, controlling undead uses up part of their power, admittedly making undead march in straight lines wasn’t hard, it used up a miniscule fraction of power as they could then be commanded as one, their fighting left up to their unnatural instincts. However commanding a grand battle may be taxing enough on the Vampire to weaken him, make him more susceptible to a killing blow or capture. Another one for the Inquisitor’s collection, one stronger than he’d ever collected before... a fine addition indeed.

[Cheye]

The Bloody Peak, The Borag Mountains - 4E-151

The Vampire had disappeared what felt like days ago now. Gone to check, no doubt, what its evil dread master wanted done with the noble Lord of Carvania who remained a prisoner in his dark lair. The creature had at least untied Josef and brought a barrel full of water and a crate packed with old manky bread into the cave-like cell before departing.

Josef had been quick to explore the room, hoping to find some way out, though his efforts turned up nothing. Josef had since turned his attention to the food and water, fumbling about in the darkness to work out how many days’ worth he had to try and get a sense of how much time was passing.

Counting in the dark was not an especially easy feat however, and as he tried to work out how much bread was left for what must have been the hundredth time, the thick wooden door burst open and a bright light illuminated the cell.

"Here he is!" The gruff voice of Maximillian Gerhardt let out.

Josef struggled to look at them, the light from their torches felt like it’d blind him.

“You alive Josef? You don’t look too good.” Dieter Schultze let out.

“Don’t smell too good either.” Gerhardt added, lowering the torch and stepping over to where Josef sat to examine him.

“I… How long have I been gone?” Josef mumbled.

“He’s been fed upon by a Pure-blooded Vampire. As I feared.” Gerhardt sighed, ignoring the question.

“Will he turn?” Schultze asked, looking over the cell.

“Doubtful, if the blood kiss had been performed he’d already be trying to drink our blood.”

“We better get moving then.” Schultze turned and stepped out of the cell as Gerhardt lifted Josef to his feet.

“The food!” Josef pointed back to the crate in the cell.

“Food? Dieter, get back in here, there’s food.” Gerhardt barked, propping Josef up against the wall.

Schultze reappeared and the two witch hunters began taking what rations they could from the crate, taking a few bites of bread themselves and packing the rest into their packs.

“Where did you two get too?” Josef asked, summoning strength into his voice.

“After we got separated we assumed the ferals had dragged you deeper underground. We ended up trying to find you by going the wrong way. Found a new way out though.” Gerhardt explained.

“Oh really?” Josef asked.

“The tunnels lead into the old Dwarvern Roads, a major causeways runs straight under the mountains.” Schulzte answered as Gerhardt opened the water barrel and filled his leather bottle. “Once we cleared out the ferals and realised they hadn’t got you, we figured you’d been taken into the lair of the big beast so doubled back, we’ve marked our trail though so we can get back to the Dwarf Road now.”

Gerhardt looked up, having finished drinking; “Did you see the beast when he fed on you?” He nodded to Josef as Schulzte went and filled his bottle.

“Yes, he’s enormous, bigger than any man I’ve ever met and sporting a beard, I told him who I was to try and get him to stop torturing me. It worked, but I’ve not seen him since.”

Gerhardt nodded. “He’ll be back soon then, we should hurry.”

Donastierre, Golgotha – 4E-151

Helena Von Richter smiled as she looked into her sire’s eyes. He stood in miniature form, in the fire that filled the brazier in front of her. The dark magic that allowed them to communicate still amazed her, when she had been a mere mortal she would thought such magic impossible even, but now she wielded the power that her darling Hans had bestowed upon her, she knew this ancient magic was but the tip of the iceberg.

“It seems we will meet them on the steppes, if the rumours are true then we will face greater numbers than we did at Davenfall.” Hans explained.

“Will you win?” The Arch Duchess asked, brazenly.

“I wouldn’t meet them head on if I weren’t certain of victory.” Hans replied confidently. “My forces have tripled since Davenfall, when the mortal cowards see their fallen comrades in the vanguard, their morale will falter. My officers will do the rest.”

“I wanted to ask about that. This Desdemona? Are you close with her?” Helena snapped, a little more aggressively than she’d have liked.

“Are you jealous?” Hans asked, an angled brow quirking with what looked like amusement in the flames.

“You know such mortal feelings are beneath me.” Helena asked, pausing thoughtfully. “I just want to make sure you remember our promise to one another. If you are going to become the next Dark Prince, then I will be your Princess.”

“Of course, dear Helena. My feelings for you are what started this in the first place. Now I must march, we will speak again after the battle. Stay hidden until then.” Hans instructed, his small form flickering out of existence before she could reply.

She mulled over his words thoughtfully as she stared into the fire; ‘My feelings for you are what started this in the first place.’ Was that true? She thought back to how she had felt before he had turned her, before everything.

She had loved Hans deeply, passionately. Now she was a Vampire that love had mutated into something else, a desire not only to serve her sire, but a lust for all the power that standing with him would bring her. Her human feelings, indeed the feelings she had only mocked as beneath herself seconds ago, had been the catalyst that had sealed Donastierre’s fate and set events that would surely bring about the destruction of Golgotha into motion. And now she hardly felt them.

If she hardly felt them, then what about Hans? He was a much older Vampire than she was, was it possible that he had never loved her the way she thought she had loved him?

Of course he hadn’t, her unliving mind told her; he had manipulated her mortal feelings to serve his purpose, as a mortal she had been so naïve, but the love she had felt couldn’t be completely meaningless now. She surely still felt something for him…

But, if he could feel anything at all, then what did he feel for her? That was the question that bothered Helena Von Richter most as she turned away from the fire and left the dank underground hideaway to go and relay orders to her militia.

[Sarrin]

The Grand Hall of Medina, Medina - Afternoon, 4E-151

Medina was alive and bright for the first time in months. The streets were lined with jubilant citizens who watched as their savior Madeline Martello rode to the Grand Hall alongside her new husband, their ever-present Chancellor, Gideon Lancel. The news had spread quickly of the new arrangement with Madeline Martello-Lancel soon to be crowned the first Empress of the Sunset Empire and Gideon to serve as High Chancellor of the new Council of Nobles. The pair had promised to usher in a new dawn for the Eastern Kingdoms free from the tyranny of Golgothan expansion and once more united in trade and energy with the Carvanian and Garnian peoples.

As they rode, Gideon cast a cursory look at the soon-to-be Empress riding alongside him. She looked regal enough in her coronation gown, but there was a sneer of discomfort on her face as she glanced up at the overly-bright sun. “You’ll get used to the sunlight, don’t worry about it.” He let out sympathetically.

“Good.” She responded curtly as the pair reigned in their horses and prepared to dismount outside the Hall.

Rufus Black, as he had named his new dynasty after the surname given to Medinian bastards, came to a stop behind them. There were rumours circulating as to what his position would be in the newly formed Empire, officially he was to be named Prefect though such a position held no responsibilities or obligations leading many to believe he would continue and expand his role as spymaster of the state. Today he led the neatly uniformed security detail that rode behind the new Empress and High Chancellor.

Inside, local dignitaries packed out the stands, along with foreign representatives from across Minern. From the remaining Eastern Kingdoms the Chancellor of Farvas; Orvil Dreth had come, along with Baron Joric Eero of Morskoi and Count Victor Stana of Tarakia. Following his electoral landslide the once interim Governor of Morthin Jarrick Crow had also made his attendance bringing with him a great deal of wealth from forgotten Morthinian vaults. From further afield the Princess-Regent of Carvania, Amelia Van Der Barr, had made a last-minute decision to travel to Medina with her steward Jacques Montespan.These special dignitaries had been given seats at the front of the coronation chamber, demonstrating how highly valued they were to the fledgeling Empire.

The Golgothan delegate, the balding Baron of Tuninheim had been given a seat in the second row, alongside ambassadors from the Northern Duchies and Estraliana, not so much as a snub, but more to accommodate the foreign rulers in front.

The High Ambassador of Garniem Cormac Roth was also rumoured to be present though such came only from sparse reports; Cormac himself watching as a crow from the beams more interested in the guests than the event itself.

With the Martello family following the Preathean faith and Lancels, publically at least, being adherents of the Holy Flame, some uncertainty existed over who would perform the coronation. It was thus to some surprise that Madeline had undergone a private conversion in the ensuing weeks and that it was the First Brother of the Order of St. Jethro, who maintained and ran what was left of the Holy State of Mayfair, that would perform the ceremony.

As the Empress-to-be entered the Hall, the musicians gathered at the end of the stands struck up the ancient anthem of the Church of the Holy Flame, The Birth of Fire, the song had gone largely unplayed since the Ascendency though many in the crowd felt a stirring inside them as if remembering sensations of past glory. The gathered guests rose to their feet, and as the tune played on, Madeline and Gideon walked side by side down the central aisle towards the raised platform where the First Brother waited.

Reaching the platform, Gideon took Madeline’s hand and helped her step up, before stepping off to one side as the music died out and the First Brother began to speak. He was an old man whose passion and understanding could awaken zea inl even in the most cynical onlookers. He had achieved his position after seeking sanctuary in the Holy State and while his original name was long lost, now only going as Brother Pyros, his rebirth into the cloth had inspired some renewal in the faith. Once his sermon concluded, the musicians struck up their instruments again and Gideon took a pillow, on which sat the newly forged, golden and jeweled crown of the Sunset Empire, from a pair of footmen, and stepped forward to offer it to the First Brother. At the heart of the crown sat the Ruby of Atash which had been hidden from the Ascendency throughout its reign by those still loyal in Mayfair and was said to bestow the Flame’s protection to any who held it.

The musicians reached their dramatic crescendo as Pyros raised it into the air. Gideon stepped back, handing the pillow back to the footmen before turning to watch as Madeline Martello-Lancel bowed her head and the crown was placed upon it.

As the crown touched her head all eyes were on her. First Brother Pyros declared; “I now proclaim you Madeline the first, Empress of the Sunset Empire; serving in that capacity as Sovereign Regent of Medina, Mayfair, Tharis & Irtusk, and Protector of the Blackrock and Eastern Borderlands. Saoshyant of the Eternal Ember. Long may you reign.”

The standing ovation began before the cleric had even finished speaking. Madeline herself stood and turned to the chamber taking only a moment to relish in the applause before raising a hand to pause it. She spoke with elegance and authority in equal measure.

“Today begins a new era for our people and our faith. I thank you all for joining me in this moment and I proclaim my first act as Empress to be the immediate reconstruction of the Grand Cathedral in Mayfair and First Brother Pyros to lead the second coming of the faith as Grand Cleric, are you willing Pyros?”

The old man hesitated for a moment before lowering his gaze and speaking the words long remembered as tradition.

“I am not worthy”

“I deem you so, are you willing?” Madeline asked again

“I am not ready” he spoke again

“I deem you so, are you willing?”

“I am willing” he said at last raising his gaze to her, the pair exchanging a brief smile before she turned back to the crowd and raised her arms to signal a return to applause.

As Madeline descended the steps the musicians struck up an jubilant tune, Gideon and Rufus falling in behind her, as she walked back down the aisle through the rapturous applause, finally disappearing out through the same great doors she had arrived through.

[Cheye]

Villa Lancel, Medina - Evening, 4E-151

For hours the elite of the new Sunset Empire celebrated their new merger in a party that even by Medinian standards was considered to have gone above and beyond. Indeed the Martello-Lancels with their now immense wealth were able to afford every conceivable luxury from the finest wines to the lowest powders and every available form of hedonistic intoxicant in between.

Amelia Van Der Barr; a teenage girl who had never, even in her wildest dreams, imagined such frivolity, found herself awkwardly sipping champagne as a group of wealthy merchants stood nearby encapsulated by what could only be assumed to be a high class prostitute who was slowly undressing in front of them, another prostitute poured wine over the shoulder of the first, who invited the merchants to come and lick the alcohol fresh off her body.

“I’ve never seen a party like this before…” Amelia muttered to Jacques Montespan who hovered nearby, leaning casually against an ornate end table.

“Medina is a city of vice and extravagance, is it not to your liking?” The young Steward asked, a glint of curiosity in his eye.

“I’m not sure I’ve drunk enough to answer that.” Amelia quipped light-heartedly, but as she looked into the man’s eyes, her smile faded as the glimmer of curiosity remained there. “What are you thinking Jacques?” She let out abruptly.

“I’m thinking we should play a little game.” Jacques clapped his hands as he jumped to his feet. “We don’t often find ourselves surrounded by the richest and most powerful men and women in the Eastern Kingdoms, so we should endeavour to meet as many of them as possible.”

Amelia nodded, her cheeks flushing red as the merchants nearby ceased licking wine and started to engage in other, less publicly acceptable acts with the two prostitutes. “Lets go.” She bolted up, leaving her champagne behind.

Jacques wrapped her arm around his and the pair cut through the hallway they had been relaxing in, into a large drawing room, at one end of which a large crowd of partygoers were transfixed watching a card game and at the other more wealthy men flirted with numerous prostitutes and female party goers alike. Jacques led her up to one of them.

“Orvil Dreth, Chancellor of the Borderlands of Farvas.” He announced.

The old man who sported a head of quickly receding, stringy greying hair, turned away from the girls who sat arm-in-arm across from him and rose to his feet having heard his name. “Jacques Montespan, if I’m not mistaken. Been some time since you last poked your beak into my lands.”

Jacques smirked disdainfully at the man before gesturing to Amelia. “Might I introduce Lady Amelia Van Der Barr, Princess-Regent of Carvania, and ruler of a much larger and more important country than yours.” He said, without a hint of sarcasm.

Dreth nodded to her politely, stifling a laugh. “This bastard always knew how to make me laugh. He isn’t wrong either. Farvas is a sh*t-hole.” He spat, a little too irritably. Jacques shot him a look and he stood a little straighter; “Apologies my lady, where are my manners? I was so sorry to hear about your father. Francis was a close friend.”

Amelia smiled at that; “You knew him well?”

“He visited Farvas three times during his reign and won the great Borderlands Torney of 4E-132; which considering he started out as a Golgothan ponce in an ivory tower, gave me a bit of respect for him.”

“I see.” She sighed.

As Dreth finished Rufus Black appeared from behind wrapping his arm tightly around his shoulder as if to an old friend but with clear firmness. As he spoke it was clear Rufus had been enjoying the various luxuries around him in true Medinian form.

“I hope you're not boring our guests with more complaints Orvi, your Barons joined us fair and square. After all who’d want to look at that ugly mug at every council meeting.” He began laughing though clearly Orvil was not amused and attempted to shrug off his arm.

“I’m sure you’re quite happy with Hessen and his Barons declaring for the Sunset Empire, Rufus, but some of us have to live with the consequences, the Western Barons want to petition Golgotha to punish them for it. Thanks to this little stunt, Farvas is on the brink of civil war, and I’m the unlucky c*nt who has to mediate it!”

Rufus continue laughing at the remark before abruptly stopping and pulling Orvil’s head close to his speaking with a sobriety and ruthlessness that through the group off guard.

“Then maybe I should just gut you right now and let your sh*thole fall apart so we can pick up it’s pathetic little pieces...” he paused allowing Orvil to wallow in the moment clearly uncertain as to the intention of the threat then he suddenly broke into laughter again and released Orvil from his grasp almost throwing him aside; “Only joking you sorry sh*t, we’ve got all the worthwhile Barons, you can keep your Imperial suck-ups for now. Now Princess Amelia, I’ve got some people you should meet and your fancy friend can fuck off for a while. Alright?” As he spoke he looked at Jacques with a disconcerting smile.

Amelia placed her hands on her hips and raised an eyebrow. “And who, or rather what is this?” She sneered to Jacques.

“Might I introduce Ruf-” Rufus cut him off.

“Rufus Black, formerly Martello, Chairman of the Conglomerated Workers Union and new caretaker of the former Koci Industries. Though I’m sure your fancy friend over here would rather tell you that I’m a aristocrat in the making, right Jakie?”

“Rufus helped organise the coronation with Gideon Lancel, the High Chancellor I told you about on the journey here.” Jacques said emotionlessly.

“I don’t care who he is or who he knows, he has no business separating me from my steward.” Amelia growled sternly.

Rufus straightened his back now speaking with a refinement that had clearly been taught and tutored to him.

“I apologise my lady, perhaps if I speak like this you’d be more akin to me taking you to meet the new Empress who has requested your presence? I merely thought a woman of such repute would wish for an honest depiction of the man she was dealing with but perhaps such an alien to our customs would rather not have me disarm you with a drunken masquerade?”

“There's no need to be rude. I’ll take your invitation, Jacques will wait here.” Amelia nodded to him reassuringly.

“As you wish, though I’m sure I don’t have to tell you to be careful with these people.” Jacques smiled wryly.

Still speaking as a noble Rufus offered Amelia his hand and looked to Jacques “If you haven't had the chance I’d suggest enjoying the balcony, the Grand Hall looks beautiful at this time in the evening. It’ll also no doubt be easier for the princess to find you than in this room of...sordid pleasures…”

“And here I thought I’d make a killing at the card tables.” Jacques rolled his eyes flippantly, though he knew enough of how the game was played here in Medina to know that someone would no doubts be waiting to speak with him on the balcony, Gideon Martello-Lancel, no doubts.

Rufus laughed politely with far more restraint than before and with Amelia begrudgingly taking his hand, led her away from the room to his sister. Jacques moving to the balcony once she left his sight.

As Jacques left the grand parlour doors he scanned the area, somewhat curious to find he was alone, he checked his cufflinks as if to appear preoccupied, when he noticed a familiar crow with a scar across its eye perched on the ornate railing, watching him intently.

Jacques smiled at the bird, somewhat genuinely and muttered; “Enjoying the party, Everwatcher?”

Cormac sprung from his perch into human form flawlessly as if merely standing from his seat and approached Jacques from the shadows allowing the light to illuminate his face.

“I prefer the guests, though I must say it’s a surprise to find such a rare specimen as a de la Grey in this fresh nest of vampires, this must truly be the largest gathering of your kind since the conclave no?”

“Let's hope nobody tells the witch hunters.” Jacques joked without semblance of irony.

“I think the only witch they’re hunting is the Carvanian Witch Ale.” he remarked in a matching unironic tone.

Jacques smiled, stepping forward to lean against the railing as he looked out into the night sky, “What brings you to me, Cormac?” He asked coolly.

Cormac smiled a worrying smile “You know I have many eyes but you are a truly curious sight Jacques de la Grey. Last time we met you were in Ancelstierre’s undercity, living off rats while the inquisition pillaged your home-country and now you’re on the verge of restoring the Ascendency. I wonder, do you hope to achieve something different or are you truly as blind as Vlad was?”

Jacques laughed loudly. “For an ‘Everwatcher’ you’re terribly misinformed. I’m not trying to restore it, I’m trying to stop those who would from bringing it back in its prior form...”

Cormac sighed and approached the balcony beside Jacques looking to the moon.

“Our two species value it so greatly and yet neither understand its true significance. Did you ever read your sire’s tomes on Garnian mythos? I imagine with your assumptions as to my...identity...you must have perused them?”

“Val Lyonesse survived the mortal retaliations, the de la Grey’s were all at Vlad’s side when the fall came so there was no reason for them to put the castle to the torch. When I eventually returned from Ancelstierre, Octavian’s library was just as we left it.” Jacques answered, an almost-nostalgic tone to his voice.

“He was a great man your sire. A torturer and brute no doubt but a true passion for knowledge dwelled within him. When I met him we discussed our myths in great length and he believed some to be real. Though if we are to talk such details I must ask Jacques. Do you believe I am the Everwatcher?”

“You’re no Vampire, so I see no other explanation for your… tricks.” Jacques smirked, still staring off into the night.

Cormac chuckled at the word. His transformations hadn’t been called tricks for some time and often then by far less intelligent people. “I wonder what Octavian would say if he knew the de la Grey’s believed in the Everwatcher...though it hardly matters, if you believe I am the watcher then you understand that would make me the guardian of the physical realm.”

“And?” Jacques asked, turning to face him with an uncaring smile.

“Would it change your plans if I told you that the eternal night you desire would bring more harm than you intend?”

It was Jacques turn to sigh. “I’ve already told you, I’m not the one you want to be having this conversation with. Vaas Van Drak, Hans Von Richter, they are the ones who would have the mortals cower in perpetuity as Vlad once did. If you want to know what my endgame is, go back to being the ‘Ever-watcher.” He insisted, placing particular emphasis on that last word.

Cormac paused for a moment as if listening to something not there before speaking again to Jacques. “Perhaps but if you knew what I did about what lies beyond you would be afraid too. For all your species deceit you too lie in this realm...perhaps more purely even than those who cage spirits. Why speak with the actors when I can meet the director of the play. Know this however; my King would not dismiss your kind like Golgotha would and your sire’s tomes hold more wisdom than a glance would procur. Regardless, we’ve both read the prophecy; When the wolf awakens and the bear dies, when blood fills the streets and dragons fall from the skies, when spirits are no longer bound by the chains of death, the prison of Blood shall draw it’s last breath.”

“Ah Cormac, I thought you were here for some greater purpose than to quote children’s rhymes.” Jacques shook his head dismissively.

“I would not be so quick to dismiss it as nonsense. I imagine there is much you believe impossible that is still real” as he spoke he placed his hand onto Jacques channelling through him the magic of the wilds. Jacques looked disturbed as his hand filled with colour and slowly wrinkled and contorted into the old putrid flesh it should be as if coming to life only to die once more. As it began to spread he pulled his hand away looking at the putrefaction with disgust before it quickly returned to its normal smooth, youthful paleness.

“There's much you do not understand de la Grey, I will be watching” as he finished he transformed again into a crow and took flight into the night quickly disappearing though Jacques could feel a gaze still upon him.

Jacques paused for a long moment, mulling over what had just happened, eventually he adjusted his finery and ran a combing finger through his hair. Turning to head back inside he, glanced off into the darkness once more and sneered; “Tricks.” Before disappearing inside.

[Greater Latica]

Kislev Steppes, Kislevstierre 4E-151

The Inquisitor strolled through the makeshift logistics camp, past the rows of tents and crates. He, like the other witch hunters under his charge had chosen to eschew their traditional cloaks in favour of Golgothan Army uniforms, so as to make it harder to pick them out individually, however he had still opted to wear his leather armour over the top. The witch hunters had also been allocated military ranks to help the soldiers working with them to understand how to address them. The Inquisitor had been given the rank of a Captain, it was a rank he had worn whilst working with the army before, when helping to unravel the vampires in Ancelstierre’s undercity, he had felt then, and still felt now, that this was hardly a rank befitting of a person of his stature and importance. He was never going to get a high rank, the Army General staff were still resistant to the idea that the army was unable to resolve any issue by themselves, especially anything on the battlefield.

He had been allocated a bunk in a tent with a collection of junior officers. He pulled aside the tent flap and stepped inside, it was empty, except for the bunk next to his, in which was lying one of the members of his retinue, taking the place of his trusted steward. The other, actual, officers must still be at the mess tent. His companion sat up as he entered, swinging his feet onto the floor.

“So why are you skulking about and not at the mess with the other officers?” He asked.

“You know full well why,” the Inquisitor responded mockingly, “The vegetarian options are as usual are appalling, so I decided to make my own arrangements.” He laid his satchel down on the bed, pulling out some small paper wrapped parcels, listing the contents as he put them out, “Bread, cheeses, cheddar and stilton, an onion and a bottle of 4E- 141 Ten year aged Averstierre red. Besides who are you to question me Konrad, when you’re the one lying on your bunk?”

“Ah touché.” He replied, eyes fixed on the Inquisitor, who had produced a wine glass from his pack, and was trying to balance it on the end of his bunk whilst he poured the wine into it, “You know I would have just swigged that from the bottle.”

“And that’s because you’re an uncivilised from Nordstierre, decorum is what separates us from the beasts. It’s also the reason why I only brought one glass” The Inquisitor jibed, before handing Konrad the opened bottle, whereupon he took a deep swig before handing it back. The Inquisitor pulled a small silver flask out from his jacket pocket, and carefully dropped three drips of a sparkling golden liquid into his glass, swirling it as he did so.

Konrad laid back on the bed, staring up at the lamp swinging from the top of the tent, “You shouldn’t spoil your wine like that.” He mused.

The Inquisitor brought the glass to his lips, and took a sip, “I know, it ought to be criminal, but needs must. A bit of Hochstierre courage for tomorrow.” The Inquisitor raised his glass before taking another sip.

“Don’t remind me,” Konrad sighed, “there’s a massive undead army between me and my next good night’s sleep, any of that cheese going spare?”

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

The grassy plains were still covered with a light mist as the Golgothan army troops took up their positions in the early morning light. The Golgothan Empire had a strict code of warfare, and as long as Von Richter’s forces were prepared to adhere to these unwritten rules, so were the Golgothan commanders.

Each Battalion had formed up in Companies, forming three ranks, facing northwards across the knee deep dew covered grassland. The line was centred on a troop of Juggernauts, forming the core firebase and acting as an anchor to hold the line in place, and behind them stood a Cerberus pattern steam walker, a giant concrete bunker supported by two hydraulic metal legs, serving as the command bunker for General Feltz and his staff.

General Feltz himself, was on the metal walkway that ringed the concrete bunker, overseeing the massed troops arrayed in front of him. Out of his pocket he took his golden pocket watch, it had been a gift from his wife, and he ran his thumb over the inscription on the cover, before opening it. The time was 07:57. He watched the hands as they ticked around the watch face, 07:58, 07:59. The moment the hands reached 08:00, the unmistakable thunder of distant artillery echoed shattering the morning silence. Feltz watched as the shells streaked overhead, before impacting the ground in a barrage of explosions and shrapnel. Phosphorous shells filled the battlefield with smoke obscuring the Golgothan line. The shells landed considerably short of the undead line, there was a second rumble and the guns fired again, the next volley of shells a few metres further forwards, as the barrage crept forwards. The Golgothan army had learnt from Davenfall, the long grass presented the ideal location for ambushes, and they were using the artillery to clear them out. A soldier climbed out of the cast iron hatch and onto the walkway, and with a nod from the General, loaded a flare into the muzzle cup of his rifle and fired it high into the air, where it hung, a small green orb floating slowly down to earth.

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

Konrad was standing next to the commander of the company he had been assigned to. There were members of the witch hunters, their retinues and the inquisitorial militia incorporated at all levels within the army because it was the Vampires, not the vast legions of the undead that had won the day at Davenfall. Vampires were much fewer in number, but massively harder to kill, a Zombie or Skeleton, could be easily dispatched by the 8mm rifle rounds that were standard issue, one to the head or spine, or a couple to the torso. However this wouldn’t even stagger a Vampire, even the 12 bore combat shotguns and the 13mm Monster rifle rounds would have little significant impact. The Witch hunters with their manner of esoteric weaponry were necessary to defeat them. Konrad carried an ‘Obrez’, a full length rifle, cut down to the length of a large handgun, which he had loaded with incendiary liquid metal bullets, creating a small fiery explosion on impact as they reacted with the air.

He remained unmoved as the artillery shells exploded in front of the first rank, he had been in much more dire situations with his time as a witch hunter than this. He watched as the green flares rocketed from the Cerberus command walker, inspiring a flurry of activity in front of him. The Company captain blew sharply on his silver whistle, and the Company Sergeant Major bellowed out his order, something that was repeated the whole length of the line.

“ALL RANKS, FIRE AND ADVANCE! FIRST RANK FIRE!”

The first rank of the line volley fired their rifles into the smoke and mist, and the rear rank surged forwards taking up position at the front of the formation.

“FRONT RANK FIRE”

The new front rank fired, and the new rear rank surged forwards, all to the beat of the infantry drums, repeating the cycle over and over. The artillery shellfire crept ever and ever closer across the plain, with the infantry close at hand. Konrad advanced with them, sword drawn and his obrez to hand. The Juggernauts advanced their clanking grinding treads flattening the grass in front of them, leading the way forwards.

[Cheye]

Kislev Steppes, Kislevstierre, Golgotha – 4E-151

Otto Waller was once again at the centre of the vanguard. He had demanded that he lead the first wave against the mortals as he had at Davenfall, not because he wanted to gain the admiration of Hans Von Richter; indeed he had learned the hard way that his dread lord valued Desdemona more than him, but because he was angry, and he wanted to take that ferocious anger out on the battlefield.

The undead under his command formed a large unregimented horde that filled the centre of the battlefield. He knew that somewhere to his left his horde merged with the hordes controlled by Gunther Beck and Cassimir Wren, and off to his right Desdemona Von Richter held a slightly more regimented force together. Behind him Waller knew that Hans had kept his best units, the skeletal legions of the Neuhassen Wilds, the undead cavalry and Varghulfs, in reserve, for his personal command should the battle warrant their use. Somewhere over the horizon, he had no-doubts Hans would be sitting in his marquee with his infernal orchestra playing while he waited for his gets to do the real work for him.

With a grunt, Waller cleared his head and looked out over the Golgothan forces in front of him. At that exact moment, the thunder of their great artillery guns rang out and he drew his sword and raised an arm, channelling the dark magic as he prepared to give the command to advance. Battle had commenced.

The shells fell short of his forces however and he let out a snort of laughter. Even at Davenfall where the mortals had been a terrified mess, their artillery salvos had actually managed to hit their targets. Another volley of artillery-fire came arcing down, still falling short of the undead but landing several metres closer than the first. The phosphorous shells filled the field in front of Waller with smoke and he lowered his arm to scratch his face thoughtfully. The smoke did nothing to his undead forces, they had no real senses after all, and he was a Vampire, his enhanced sight and hearing would give him an edge over the cattle on a battlefield like this.

Waller licked his lips excitedly as he reasoned that the mortals really were pathetic, and he threw his arm back into the air and forwards to issue the command to charge. As the undead surged forth he took his first step, then paused as his Vampiric hearing picked up something that confused him even more than the inaccurate artillery-fire; the whistles and barked orders of the Golgothan officers.

“ALL RANKS, FIRE AND ADVANCE!” went the cry. And sure enough a volley of rifle fire peppered the zombies at the head of the charge as they sped through the smoke towards the enemy.

Suddenly too, the artillery fire seemed to have found his position, the shells that he had laughed at only moments ago for falling short, now finding the bulk of his horde as the zombies lumbered forward around him.

Perhaps the cattle had learned. Waller grunted and took another step forward, ready to join the charge and meet the advancing infantry head-on. The wailing shriek of a falling shell caught his attention however and he looked up just in time to catch sight of the explosive as it arced over the heads of the zombies towards him. He growled, but it was too late, and the shell itself slammed into his body before detonating, sending bits of Otto Waller everywhere.

____________________________________________________________________________________________

Something had gone wrong. Hans knew it, before the thrall had even opened his mouth.

“Sir, something has happened to Commander Waller, his forces have… stopped.” The mortal boy let out, fear emanating from him.

Hans Von Richter rose from the throne, circling the lad before walking over to the orchestra and gesturing for them to stop playing. “Stopped?” He asked back over his shoulder.

“They were in a charge, and now they’re not…” The boy said, trying to explain. “Desdemona believes something has probably happened to Waller… sir.”

Hans sighed. “Something's happened to him, you say?” He still did not turn to face the thrall.

“Yes sir.” The boy’s last words were as pathetic as he looked as Hans turned, yanking a violin from the hands of one of the musicians and smashing it over the boy’s head with enough strength to break the instrument in half. The boy slumped to the floor, dazed but wordless as Hans proceeded to beat him to death with the violin, each whack breaking the instrument further and further apart.

Hans didn’t noticed the fearful glances the musicians exchanged as the messenger died in front of them. When it was over, the elder Vampire coolly walked over to the goblet of fresh blood that sat by his throne and downed it.

When he was finished he yelled to no servant in particular; “Fetch me my armour. I’ve got a battle to win.”

____________________________________________________________________________________________

On the field, Gunther Beck and Cassimir Wren whipped their skeletal horses onwards; their death-wagon now at the head of the undead army as they charged in towards the advancing Golgothan riflemen.

A volley of gunfire peppered the carriage as Wren looked out from a window at the smoke-filled air that obscured the view of the undead to the right of their own horde. The zombies mulled about the field aimlessly as Golgothan shells rained around them blowing them to pieces before the riflemen in the centre of the battlefield advanced and put down the stragglers. Barely any of Waller’s undead made contact with the enemy and where they did their attacks were animalistic and lacking in precision. Now it was time for Beck and Wren to make up the difference.

Gunther Beck let out a cackle as the carriage hit the first rank of infantrymen; the barbed chain in front slicing men apart as their comrades found themselves impaled on the wheel-spikes or decapitated by Gunther’s arcing sword. Several soldiers, who were far enough from the carriage to survive the shock of it hitting their line, turned and raised their rifles to follow the path of the careening death-machine, only to be wiped out by the vehicle’s rear-mounted flail.

As the Vampires surged forwards into the next rank, the zombies that followed them caught up and slammed into the line of infantrymen who were too busy trying to dodge the Vampire carriage. All along the left flank the undead hit the line of advancing Golgothans with a ferociousness that more than made up for the loss of Otto Waller’s units in the centre. Regardless of how unfortunately that little opening scene had played out; the battle of the Kislev Steppes had begun and the undead army still had momentum.

____________________________________________________________________________________________

Desdemona Hess watched from a distance as her own undead, comprised mostly of neatly regimented Golgothan troops, raised after Davenfall, marched forward towards the advancing Golgothans and finally engaged them; using their old rifles as clubs along with swords and knives to sow havoc in a way the less well organised, but more numerous undead did not. It was one thing for a pack of zombies to charge a line of infantrymen, it was another for that same line of men to see their old comrades fighting them with their own weapons.

She grimaced as she noticed a company of Golgothan troops advancing into the gap in the centre where Waller’s forces should have been and she channelled the dark magic in her mind and waved her left hand over to them. Sure enough, several lines of her undead Golgothans broke off from the advance and began a charge towards them.

Seconds later there came a low roar and the riflemen that had advanced into the centre were suddenly set upon by a large beast that dropped from the sky and attacked them with clawed hands and giant teeth. The beast itself had a rotting, skeletal body and bat-like wings that protruded from the forearms, along with a boney tail that fanned out and knocked more soldiers to the ground as it tore the company of soldiers apart.

“That’s a Varghulf, my dear.” Hans Von Richter’s ever-suave, ever-calm voice announced behind her.

Artistic recreation of a Varghulf taken from Edgar Van Hal's
Vampiric Bestiary, 2nd Editition, published 4E-005

She turned to look to him, but as she did three more Varghulfs flew over her head, descending to terrorize the Golgothan lines as her own undead host advanced. Turning around to face him, she was taken aback as she realised he had not crept up on her, but had flown-up from behind her on the back of one of the larger, fleshier Varghulfs. It seemed her concentration on the battle was so great she hadn’t even noticed the beasts flying closer or even landing behind her.

She was also taken aback by the black and gold plate armour he wore. She had never seen it before, and combined with the long flowing black cape and his thick-set pale face, it made him look every bit the terrifying pure-blood she knew he was and that was before she got to the fact he hadn’t dismounted the giant Varghulf

“How many do we have?!” She asked, her eyes wide as she noticed more of the creatures nearby, some resting on the ground by her sire, others circling in the sky overhead.

“Enough.” Hans smiled wickedly. “But I came here to take command of your force, and give you command over the cavalry instead.” He explained, shooting a cursory look over the battlefield as an artillery shell exploded nearby.

“The cavalry… Why?” She asked curiously, her unliving mind racing as to what this could mean.

“The enemy believe they have adapted to our style of warfare, I’m going to show them how wrong they are.” Von Richter said assuredly. “When I give the signal, you’ll hit them hard in the centre, with full force.”

Desdemona nodded, summoning her dark magic in preparation of the transfer of power with Hans; “What signal?” She asked, as he reached down from the Varghulf and locked hands with her.

“You’ll know it when you see it.” He said coolly, releasing her grip and raising his arm commandingly to get her former-troops to charge.

She stepped back and watched as the Varghulf took flight, gaining altitude as the other Varghulfs formed up around it and then finally they shot off, Hans leading the flight of undead beasts above the battlefield towards the towering command walker that cut an imposing figure on the skyline at the far side of the battlefield…

[Greater Latica]

Kislev Steppes, Kislevstierre 4E-151

The Cerberus walker towered above the battlefield giving the Generals and commanders a perfect view point, an especially important consideration given the lack of natural vantage points on the steppes to oversee the battle, striding forwards to keep pace with the advancing troops. However the advantage presented by its size was also its major downside, it could clearly be seen from all over the battlefield, and this drew unwanted attention.

The Varghulfs swept in on the Walkers position, their blood curdling cries shrieking through the din of battle, undeterred by the bursts of defensive machine gun fire, they launched their attack. Diving down onto the walker, they latched on, using their massive claws to grasp onto the concrete superstructure, and trying to force their heads into the vision slits in an attempt to get at their prey. A Varghulf is a tremendously powerful beast, thick sinews and muscles wrapped around the beast’s skeleton, with claws and teeth capable of crushing a human like an overripe fruit, but even with this power they were unable to break through the concrete.

They became increasingly frustrated, as the circled the walker trying desperately to find a weakness they could exploit. The concrete was pockmarked with scratches and scars as they tried to claw their way in to no avail.

It was then the walker shuddered. Guided by their lord the Varghulfs took a different approach, using their strength to attack the walker’s legs, pressurised steam and oil sprayed from the metre long ruptures the monsters were tearing into its legs, chunks of steel falling to the ground. The walker shuddered again, the Varghulfs had found its weakness and were exploiting it, hell bent of getting to the meat inside.

Relenting under the barrage of attacks, the walker shuddered one last time, and careened forwards, its legs giving out under the onslaught. The walker left a trail of red distress flares as it fell, barely visible through the black smoke from the damaged boiler. The walker collapsed forwards, the concrete giving way under the stress of its own immense weight, shattering into pieces. The Varghulfs swept in eager for their reward. The distress flares hung in the sky, casting an eerie red light over the feast below.


A loud booming noise sounded out over the battlefield, remarkably similar to a ships horn, swiftly followed by the rushing sound of artillery shells. A volley of eight inch shells streaked overhead, leaving white tracer behind them, before slamming into the ground, their explosions dwarfing those of the 5 inch 60 pounders, and drawing the attentions of even the feasting Varghulfs. Each of the Zeppelins was fitted with a pair of two gun turrets hanging below the gondola running the length of the ventral side of the airships.

The Golgothan Navy’s airships lumbered forwards, their rugged design a deft contrast to the elegant sky in which they sailed, they looked as if they shouldn’t belong in the air. Huge clanking rod assemblies took power from their steam boilers, using it to turn the propellers that forced the airships forwards, leaving ominous grey smoke trails behind them in their wake.

The bridge of the airship was an aura of calm in a sea of chaos, Admiral Zeppelin stood calmly his hands behind his back, watching out of the expansive panoramic windows that ringed the bridge, at the battle below.

“Full ahead,” he ordered, “let’s pull the army out of the mess they’ve gotten themselves into.” His calm demeanour concealing his excitement, he had dedicated his life’s work to the airship cause, it was riding on his success today. The airships that bore his name had to succeed today, otherwise his career would crash down to earth. He had complete confidence and faith, even if some of the other officers did not.

The Inquisitor was also on the bridge, still wearing his drab brown army uniform. Admiral Zeppelin had protested his presence on his airship at first, believing that it was the Inquisitors obsession with mechanisms and ‘trinkets’ led him on board, especially when he would have had a greater presence on the ground. Admiral Zeppelin considered his flying machines to be invincible, the undead had no artillery and little ranged capacity, controlling a horde of zombies to bit and claw at someone is one thing, but coercing them to use a machine gun or artillery piece would be nigh impossible, then add onto that the complexities of hitting a moving airborne target, he felt safe and confident.

The Inquisitor, contrary to Admiral Zeppelin’s thoughts, was bored. He had been sent up to the airships by General Feltz, who had decided that he didn’t require the Inquisitor’s council. It was classic military politicking at its finest. The Inquisitor had been sent as far away as possible, so he couldn’t interfere, he had been so far removed from even the battlefield that even his combat skill wouldn’t be a contributing factor, and that victory would be the army’s own and reclaim them prestige lost at Davenfall. He would have much rather been on the battlefield and have the opportunity to capture his prize for himself, but he supposed Konrad and the others would have to do it for him, they always got to have the fun.

[Cheye]

Ludendorff, the Vampyric Ascendancy – 3E-1220

The screams grew louder as he followed his sire to the throne-room. The stench of death that emanated all-throughout the castle originated in there and his excitement only grew as they reached the large wooden doors and the skeletal undead guardsmen, clad in the black and gold armour of the court and holding large gold ceremonial maces, robotically moved to open the doors, revealing the carnal ritual of slaughter that was taking place within.

A pile of corpses sat close to the door and his senses flared as he smelt the sanguine blood seeping from a fresh cadaver that was being dragged towards the pile by two more skeletal guards. His eyes flashed to the direction they had come from, towards the raised dias and the large blackened throne that dominated the room and then to the darkly-clad figure who sat upon it.

“Julius!” A sharp, booming voice rang out from the throne. “You will pick the next meal.”

The eyes of the other Vampires spread throughout the hall all turned to the pair approaching the throne, as his sire; Julius, bowed respectfully to the Dark Prince, he emulated him before shooting a cursory look at the cattle. In total there were some eighteen mortals, split into three rows of six, kneeling with their hands bound in an alcove to the right of the dias. From the throne, they were all visible but from where they kneeled, trembling and pissing themselves in fear, a wall obscured their view of all but the throne-end of the main hall; also obscuring the sight of whatever fate awaited them when they were selected to be hauled before the throne.

Julius walked over to where they knelt and slowly paced among them, looking down into each prisoner’s eyes before moving on to the next. The court seemed content to wait for Julius to make his choice, the other Vampires instead eyeing his companion with a carnivorous scrutiny as he stood awkwardly silent before the throne, wishing his sire would hurry up and pick a kill.

“This one.” Julius said, casually gesturing to a man who had been trying very hard to keep his head down during the Vampire’s pacing. The woman next to the man screamed out defensively, shuffling to try and get between the condemned man, who was no doubts her husband, and the skeleton guardsmen who stepped from the side to pull him out, and haul him before the throne. Their heavy armour gave the undead soldiers a distinct advantage as they simply kicked and beat the woman back into her position in the line before yanking the man up by the collar of his torn shirt and marching him out into the hall, around the corner of the wall and out of sight of the other prisoners.

Julius followed, stepping off to one side and gesturing for his companion to fall in next to him as the Dark Prince prepared to pronounce sentence.

“Nils Gemling; formerly Quartermaster to the Baron of Rutterheim and a key ally of the recently-vanquished Rutterheim resistance forces.” The sombre voice of a court advisor booms out from behind the throne.

The Dark Prince stirs in his throne, the hall is deathly silent as all eyes turn to their dread lord; “How would you like to die Nils Gemling?”

The prisoner is taken aback, he stutters nervously, unsure how to answer such an abrupt question. A smarter man would plead for a quick death right there, but this one clearly isn’t smart, he’s an upjumped blacksmith.

“Can’t find your tongue? Let me help.” The Dark Prince lets out mockingly.

One of the skeletons restrains Nils, and the other forces his mouth open, Nils starts to struggle, the skeleton in front of him reaching inside his mouth as the prisoner tries desperately to shake them off. He lets out a sudden muffled scream as the skeleton finds his tongue and uses its unnatural strength pull the thing clean out of the man’s gaping jaw.

There is a rumble of laughter around the court room as the skeletal guardsman throws the tongue on the floor and steps back robotically behind the prisoner, the other one releasing him from its tight grip and allowing Nils to collapse in agonising muffled sobs towards the floor.

The Dark Prince raises a single pale hand and the skeletal guardsmen draw their ceremonial maces and begin to beat Nils Gemling to a pulp. His muffled screams and sobs barely audible over the sadistic laughter of the court.

“My Prince, might I present the newest addition to the Von Richter lineage.” Julius says, stepping up to the dias and gesturing for his companion to follow. He does, bowing respectfully once more to the all-powerful being sat upon the great black throne. “This is Hans Von Richter and I have no doubt he will serve you well.”

Kislev Steppes, Kislevstierre, Golgotha – 4E-151

The Varghulf bit into the officer’s stomach, sending bits of intestine flying into the air while holding the man’s face down with a clawed-hand. The man’s muffled screams reminded Hans of Nils Gemling and that night Julius had introduced him to Van Drak’s court.

He allowed himself a victorious smirk as he looked down at the dying man trapped beneath the Varghulf; if Vlad and Julius could see how far he had come, how close he now was to restoring the Ascendancy, they’d realise that Hans ‘serving Vlad well’ had, if anything, been an understatement.

As his Varghulf finished feasting and Hans looked out over the bodies of the other officers, all picked apart beneath the walker debris, a loud booming noise sounded out over the battlefield, remarkably similar to a ships horn, swiftly followed by the rushing sound of artillery shells. The victorious smirk disappeared from his face as he looked up to see the airships looming over the battlefield, their smoke trails cutting through the sky like the claws of a giant beast tearing straight through the heavens.

He gestured for the skeletal legions he had taken from Desdemona’s command to surge forward and finish off what was left of the wounded and fleeing Golgothan command staff. The rest of the Golgothan army was also falling back, not in abject retreat as they had at Davenfall, but in an organised measure to secure their rear as the airships provided a covering barrage.

The fact they still hadn’t broken, even after seeing their command walker go down, infuriated Von Richter, and he growled out in anger as he kicked his Varghulf into the air, and the other beasts took off around him, setting a course for the zeppelins above.

Reaching the airships, the Varghulfs flung themselves against the glass windows of the underside cupolas, ripping men out from inside and chucking them out into the sky. As Hans circled the outer airship, he watched as a gunner frantically fired his 37mm machinegun with incendiary rounds, towards a trio of Varghulfs arcing through the sky towards another zeppelin. Under the ferocious onslaught of gunfire, one of the Varghulfs fell, plummeting down to the battlefield below, the second took several rounds before breaking off from its course towards the airship, but the third, wings held back and elongated so as to speed up its approach, tore into the canvass of the airship as the machine-gunner continued to fire after it.

The airship listed slightly in the air as the loose canvass began to blow apart, the Varghulf tearing its way through the inside as the gunner ceased fire, but the damage had already been done as an explosion went off above the forward cupola and the zeppelin went up in an inferno above the battlefield. Hans watched as the giant craft began to fall from the sky, and as it did the flames caught the canvass of a second zeppelin that it had drifted too close too, and within seconds both giant airships were falling from the sky in an infernal blaze.

Hans arced around towards the foremost airship and steered his Varghulf towards the command deck as bullets screeched towards him. He lowered his head protectively as the beast smashed through the glass onto the command deck and pinned itself atop an airman standing too close to the window. The Varghulf simply crushed the man beneath its weight, Hans spurred it on towards a group of men clustered around the Admiral at the centre of the bridge. The group opened fire on both the Varghulf and the Vampire atop it; a bullet piercing his cheek, his unliving flesh healing as quickly as it broke. The Varghulf did not possess such magical properties however and hunched itself over, using a giant winged arm to knock a pair of men over and to shield it’s face from further fire.

They were barely metres from the Admiral who looked absolutely terrified at the sudden appearance of the beast. Hans elegantly dismounted the beast and drew his large sword, hacking down an officer who had panicked and attempted to charge him while he dismounted.

Advancing towards the Admiral, Hans smiled victoriously once more as all the mortals were suddenly distracted as the zeppelin visible through the starboard window went up in flame and began to fall from the sky as the other two had before.

Hans used the distraction to strike, plunging his sword into the heart of the terrified Admiral. As the smell of death consumed the man, Hans released the beast within, his face distorting angrily before he ripped out the Admirals throat with his teeth in a carnal, animalistic show of force meant to demoralise the remaining men. As he did so, more Varghulfs began to circle the airship, one smashing through the portside window and dragging out a screaming airman. That seemed to do it for the bulk of the remaining crew who turned to run from the command deck, trying in vain to find some escape from the advancing Vampire and his undead flying beasts.

As Hans cut down several fleeing airmen, he noticed from the corner of his eye, a lone figure darting around to his injured Varghulf seconds before the beast collapsed over dead. So, there was one competent mortal on the bridge after all, Hans thought as he growled out, cutting down an airman who was too slow to escape before turning to face the one person on the bridge who had made no move to flee; the man who had killed his Varghulf, who sported an army Captain’s uniform and seemed to be eyeing him not with fear, but awe…

[Greater Latica]

4E-124

One had to destroy a Xeno to be considered for promotion from Acolyte to Hunter. Fresh recruits inducted into the order were trained in groups as Neophytes by an experienced hunter, often one that had achieved a number of noteworthy deeds, and destroying Vampires was one of the most prestigious. The Hunter would eventually select one of the Neophytes under his tutelage to become his apprentice, and once the apprentice was ready, they would gather their own retinue, often drawn from the Neophytes they had trained with and would begin a quest to hunt down their first trophy as an Acolyte. When they returned from this task they would be assessed by the order’s leaders, and if deemed worthy they are granted the title of Hunter, and are permitted to seek out and destroy their own quarry.

The Inquisitor had been on innumerable approval panels during his tenure as Inquisitor and many more before that. He had also had to stand in front of the panel, a young Acolyte, as the one being judged. His target had been a rogue feral vampire, one that had been hounded out of Carvania and had slipped across into Hochstierre, and had begun preying on farm animals, he had been sent to destroy it before it grew more powerful, and progressed onto human prey.

Hochstierre 4E-124

He had been tracking the beast for days, it was erratic and disordered, though it seemed to know it was being pursued and hunted. Most nights it would sneak out onto the farms and steal a lamb or a young goat, just enough to keep it alive, however its attacks had grown in frequency and violence, last night it had descended and wiped out a herd of cattle, building up its strength and trying to frighten its hunter. The Witch Hunter versus Vampire turned the traditional predator prey relationship on its head, and this often forced Feral Vampires into erratic behaviours.

He kept watch from the trees, even though the Vampire was a feral, and lacked the legendary healing abilities of a true Vampire, it was still stronger, faster and tougher than he was, but he had the element of surprise on his side, and the esoteric arsenal of the witch hunters. He had selected a Condemnor, a regular bolt action rifle, but with a crossbow built into the top of it. The rifle was a perfect weapon for dispatching lesser enemies, such as zombies or skeletons, or anyone who should stand in the way of the Witch hunter and his duty, the attached crossbow could fire all manner of exotic munitions, that can be tailored for a specific target, in this case a Vampire.

His trap had been baited, the farmers had been encouraged to try and deal with the threat themselves and had marched into the forest with their pitchforks and burning torches, entirely unaware that there was more than one thing stalking the night. They had brought dogs to try and sniff the beast out, they were snarling, frothing at the mouth. They hadn’t noticed the patch of darkness that was darker than the rest. Suddenly it struck, sprinting out of the darkness, its withered pale form visible for only a split second, and grabbed one of the men out from the middle of the group and vanishing again into the blackness. He swore under his breath, he’d hadn’t had chance to take his shot. The men began to shout and panic, they had thought that the killings were mercenaries hired to scare them off their land, not this creature of the night. They formed a circle, the dogs on their hind legs pulling on their chains. The beast appeared again, and the men released the dogs. They sprinted forwards, the beast struck one with an upwards stroke, slamming it into a tree, whimpering and bloodied. It slashed at the second dog, but the third found purchase, its teeth clamping onto the creature’s arm. As the creature raised its other arm to strike the dog, he took the shot. The crossbow bolt, as long as a man’s arm, rushed through the air, and hit the creature, impaling its arm and pinning the creature to the ground.

He rappelled down from the tree, and approached the husk like creature. The men had begun to flee as the new apparition appeared.

“Finish. Me. End. My. Misery.” The creature croaked, it a tiny show of sanity.

“Gladly.” A rifle shot rang out in the darkness.


Kislev Steppes, Kislevstierre - 4E-151

The Inquisitor was heading against the flow, having seen the dark armoured figure rip open the Admiral, the other members of the command crew had begun to flee, trying to make for the comparative safety of the gun deck with the marines and their firepower. It advanced, towering over the men, cutting them down one by one as if they were stalks of corn. The raw power in each strike fascinated him, he really must get the opportunity to study it. He had to focus. He had to draw its attention to get the best assessment of its capabilities and the chance to add it to his collection. He moved, his head low, towards the injured Varghulf.

Large gashes punctured its hide, from the glass shards and metal window frames, and its wings were peppered with bullet holes. It lashed out at him, swinging its massive toothy head in a wide arc. He ducked, rolling underneath the beast. The mechanism on his wrist clicked into action and his hidden parrying dagger slid from his sheath into his palm. He dug the blade into the beast’s neck and dragged it, cutting through the thick sinews that held the creature together. Thick Ichor began to flow onto the floor of the gondola, as the creature writhed and rasped, before it slumped over, defeated. He spun the dagger on its mechanism, and plunged it into the beast’s eye, finishing it off.

Now he advanced towards the real threat, drawing his rapier as the ornately armored Vampire turned to face him.  The Inquisitor was tall, but still the Vampire towered over him, a stark contrast to his own gaunt features and grey hair.

“You must realise; you are doomed.” The monster let out; its  voice surprisingly passive in tone, though its entire being was anything but. As it raised its heavy sword, Admiral Zeppelin’s blood dripped from the Vampire’s mouth, and the creature’s intense dark eyes bore into his own.

“I think I fancy my chances,” The Inquisitor retorted, assuming a guard and placing his off hand on his hip, “How do we want to do this, Imperial Standard dueling rules or the Marquis of Fantillier?”

“I like your style mortal, perhaps there’ll be a place for you in my court if you fight as well as you trade barbs.” The Vampire shot back, mirroring the Inquisitor’s stance; his large broadsword dwarfing the mortal man’s rapier as the pair stepped closer to one another.

“If only things could be that simple.” The Inquisitor quipped, as he stepped forwards, thrusting for the Vampire’s chest. Their swords met as the beast parried and launched into a counter-riposte, its unnatural speed giving it a sudden momentum as the Inquisitor was forced back in order to block.

As the fight began to grow more intense the Varghulfs that still circled the airship began to throw themselves more aggressively at the gun deck that ran down the centre line of the airship, their frenzied attacks on the surviving crew growing so forceful that the airship itself began to shake, causing the two combatants to almost lose their balance as they continued to trade sword blows.

The Vampire used the shaking to his advantage, aggressively arcing his sword in the Inquisitor’s direction in an attempt to catch the mortal man out and separate his head from his body.

“Surely you can do better than that!” The Inquisitor chuckled as he sidestepped the blow, and lunged again, trying to find gaps in the Vampire’s guard.

Growing tired of the charade, the Vampire fell back, luring the Inquisitor into another lunge as a Varghulf slammed through one of the broken windows and shrieked out at the Inquisitor. The Vampire growled; “I am far more than the being you see before you. I am Hans Von Richter, and I am death incarnate, for Golgotha and for you!”

As the Vampire finished his taunt, the Varghulf sprung forward across the command deck, striking out at the Inquisitor with claws and teeth.

“Now that’s hardly fair,” The Inquisitor drew his pistol, levelled it at the Varghulf, and fired, splattering the beast's face across the blood-soaked deck,. Unfortunately as he’d pulled the trigger, Von Richter had launched his own attack, his sword plunging through the Inquisitor’s leather armour and into his chest…

The airship listed suddenly as a Varghulf circling overhead punctured the outer-canvass and for a moment the Inquisitor felt as if the entire world was spinning. He looked down at the sword embedded in his chest as Von Richter let go of it to catch himself as the deck slanted downwards, the motion sending the Inquisitor tumbling to his knees. As the airship seemed to stabilise, a trickle of blood dripped from the corner of his mouth.

Von Richter laughed wickedly and looked down on the vanquished man; “Now, my offer still stands? If you join me now, you now you won’t just survive your wounds, you will thrive as a superior being. Nations will tremble at your approach and time itself will bow before you! Now, you brave fool, what do you say to that?!”

The Inquisitor raised a feeble shaking hand and wiped the blood away from his mouth, “I’m afraid I shall have to decline your offer.” He grasped Von Richter’s sword firmly with both hands and pulled it free, leaving it to clatter to the floor.

The Inquisitor lept to his feet, the wound healing as if it had never existed, “For you see my friend, I have made alternative arrangements. Ever heard of the phrase fight fire with fire?” The Inquisitor bared his own fangs, and drew himself to his full height, “You and I are not so dissimilar. We both only seek the best for our own species. I have had to sacrifice my humanity, in order to preserve it.”

“Impossible!” Von Richter shouted, his eyes darting to the Inquisitor’s own. “I would have known…”

“Oh contraire, another thing that is not quite so simple,” he said, circling the astonished vampire, “The legendary alchemist’s stone keeps me human in part. I still feel emotions, happiness and sadness, anger and fear, but the Vampire in me keeps me alive through the direst circumstances, and I have even acquired a taste for the finer things in life. I thirst not for blood, but for the elixir, without which, I would wither and fade, but until then, I am neither Human nor am I Vampire.”

Von Richter casually licked the Admiral’s blood from his lips as the Inquisitor spoke, his gaze constantly fixed on the man as he circled him. The Vampire’s mind racing as to how he had never heard of this half-breed or this so called ‘alchemist’s stone’. When the Inquisitor finished speaking Von Richter sighed, and asked simply; “Who are you?”

The Inquisitor responded simply, “I am The Inquisitor, the guardian protector of Golgotha and Humanity.”

Von Richter nodded, he knew an Inquisitor led the Witch Hunters Guild, it wasn’t beyond belief that one holding that position could acquire such power. But to do so without Hans knowing; Hans, who would proclaim himself the next Dark Prince, that was infuriating for the Vampire.

Von Richter growled out as the Inquisitor continued to circle him, his unliving mind turning to how he might defeat such an opponent.

As he came up with a plan, the beast within him contorted his face with an inhuman snarl. Using his Vampiric speed he lunged for his sword and spun clear of the Inquisitor, before letting out a low threat; “Everything burns Inquisitor. Human or Vampire; neither part of you survives the flames!”

As the Inquisitor staggered around to react, Von Richter raised a hand and a jet of pure fire rushed from his palm, spraying the Inquisitor and the command deck between them with flames. Stepping back towards a window, Von Richter continued to feed the fire, and the billowing plumes of smoke grew so thick he lost sight of the Inquisitor altogether.

It did not take long for the blaze to reach the main body of the airship above and the punctured canvass allowed enough oxygen into the craft that within seconds the whole thing went up in a towering inferno.

As Hans Von Richter hastily began to transform himself into a bat, the airship began to fall from the sky as the others had before it, a flaming wreck that would no doubt wreak havoc on the armies below.

The bat cleared the zeppelin just before it smashed into the ground, flying away over the wreckage of the other huge airships that now littered the Steppes, and over what was left of the undead army that now sat burning to a crisp as it mulled around aimlessly on the plains below...

[Cheye]

The Wilderness, Kislevstierre, Golgotha – 4E-151

A pair of soldiers stood to the side of the road. They were inexperienced youths who had been fortunate enough not to be part of the main action on the Steppes, instead their unit had been assigned to guard the roads closest to the battlefield and they had been given a dead-end posting guarding an old and long disused farm trail.

As the sun finally waned overhead, they relaxed with their rifles slung over their shoulders, complaining about how unlucky they had been to miss out on the action. They were completely ignorant of the plight of the many men who had perished in the fighting with the undead, and of those who had not fallen back quickly enough when the order came through; who had been crushed by falling debris from the airships or set alight as the fires the airships started spread across most of the battlefield.

“My wife will still think I’m a hero just for being here.” One of the soldiers let out, as if he was trying to convince himself rather than his comrade in arms.

“Shut up. You’re lucky you even have a wife… The girls in Lanstierre wouldn’t give me a second look if they knew I spent the most of the famed Battle of Kislev Steppes guarding a dirt-road?” The second soldier sighed wistfully.

“Day ain’t over yet, there’s still a chance we could see some glory.” The first retorted, growing irritated at the other’s negative tone.

“Do you really thi…” The second soldier was cut off as a bat swooped down from a tree by the side of the road and shot across the road in front of them, disappearing into the foliage on the far side. Both soldiers jumped and raised their rifles. Scanning the foliage for a long moment before exchanging glances.

“You bloody idiot.” The first soldier chided, the pair of them chuckling at their skittishness and lowering their weapons. “Posh tarts in Lanstierre definitely won’t want a man who spent the whole Battle of Kislev Steppes guarding a dirt-road then shat himself at a fucking bat.”

Before the second could respond, the foliage rustled and a dark figure stepped out into the road in front of them. In the darkness of the fresh night, they could barely make out any distinctive features beyond the flashes of gold that decorated what looked like sturdy black plate armour.

“I hate to interrupt.” The dark figure let out. “But I’m ever so hungry.”

The soldiers exchanged nervous glances, the fear and realisation of what they faced setting in, they raised their rifles but they never stood a chance.

Hans Von Richter dropped the pair with two neat slashes of his sword and fed greedily on the men as they died. He needed his full strength now more than ever. His army was gone; the Vampires that commanded it had no doubts been killed in the fires that had broken out across the battlefield, that was the only explanation he could think of for the scenes of total destruction he had just flown over… Now he would no doubts be hunted across the north if he tried to make his way back to Donastierre.

He would have to consider his next move very carefully.

Under the Bloody Peak, the Borag Mountains – 4E-151

“Going somewhere?” Volker Graff’s voice boomed out, as the trio reached the entrance to the great Dwarvern Road that ran under the mountains.

All three men stopped in their tracks. Up ahead, what could only be described as a horde of lesser Vampires; barely clothed and lacking all humanity, stood blocking off the width of the underground causeway that led south. Volker Graff; the big bearded pure-blood, stood in front of the horde, hands on his hips as he watched the three mortals cower in the shadow of the side-passage.

Josef looked desperately to Gerhardt, whose scowl indicated the more experienced hunter was struggling to formulate a plan. Schultze gave voice to what they were all thinking; “We need to do something…”

“I wouldn’t do anything stupid if I were you.” Volker called out, grinning wickedly. “You don’t think I’ll let the Prince of Carvania slip through my fingertips?!” The Vampire let out a low grunt of a laugh. “I’ll chase that boy to the end of Minern and back if I have too.”

Josef’s face lit up… The Vampire had given him an idea. “He wants me.” Josef whispered, still not quite sure what the Vampire had meant by calling him ‘Prince’, but he ignored the remark for now, focussing instead on his plan.

“No shit.” Gerhardt grumbled.

“Well that means he doesn’t care about you two.” Josef explained. “You can go get help. Get my father’s army, heck get Golgotha.”

“He’ll kill you… Or worse!?” Schultze protested. Gerhardt looked back at the Vampire thoughtfully.

“No he won’t. He held me hostage before when he didn’t know who I was, now he does he’s saying he’d go to the edge of Minern for me. That means he wants something. I’m guessing he can’t get whatever that is if I’m dead…” Josef reasoned, spilling out his logic quickly and quietly as the Vampire continued to watch them from afar.

Gerhardt shrugged in consideration. “It’s a big risk.” He let out.

“Don’t tell me you’re considering this? Max!?” Schultze’s voice was growing more irate. “We can’t leave the heir to Carvania in the custody of a Vampire. He’ll turn him.”

“You won’t be leaving me in his custody… Look over there.” Josef muttered, nodding over his shoulder to the northern section of the Dwarvern Road; almost all of it had been blocked off in a rockslide, but there was a gap in the rock, just large enough for a person to squeeze through. The Vampire wouldn’t fit through that gap and the rock was so thick he’d have to find another way through, or send his Lesser Vampires through one at a time which was hardly efficient…

“You don’t know where it leads?” Schulzte shook his head, annoyed the Gerhardt seemed to actually be considering Josef’s proposal.

Eventually the senior hunter nodded; “We’ll double back through the mountain, get to Drakwold and get you some help. You follow that road north as far as it takes you, don’t deviate from it because only goblins and worse live in places like this. Here, take this.” Gerhardt removed his belt, handing his sword and brazier pistol both over to the younger man.

Josef smiled and took the belt, hoisting it over his long-faded cuirass and fastening it around his waist.

Schultze’s jaw was hanging low in disbelief. “Anything else you want to give him?”

“Yes actually.” Gerhardt hastily withdrew a small bundle of food and a leather bottle form his pack and thrust it into Josef’s hands, before turning to his colleague in arms; “Relax Dieter, you were the one saying we couldn’t abandon him, well now I’ve given him a fighting chance.”

Schultze shook his head despairingly.

Volker Graff began to step forwards towards them, his Vampires slowly creeping in behind him as he called out; “You lads decide upon your final words yet?”

“Not yet, we wanted to see the look of defeat on your face first!” Gerhardt shouted back confidently. “Now! He nodded to Josef, and the younger man took off towards to the crevice with all the speed he could muster.

Graff’s face did change dramatically as he spotted the small gap in the rock-face. The beast within the pure-blood revealed itself, momentarily contorting his features into those of an animalistic hell-spawn before his Lesser Vampires surged forwards to try and reach Josef who was already jamming himself into the narrow crevice.

As Josef looked back he saw the back of Gerhardt and Schulzte as they retreated back into the mountain. Several Lesser Vampires turned and followed them into the passage, but the bulk were heading Josef’s way, just as he’d expected. He drew Gerhardt’s sword and cut down the first one to reach the rock, slashing through the narrow gap to kill the beast and leaving its body to add another obstacle the others would need to traverse to get to him.

Josef was cut off and alone now, but that only served to strengthen his resolve. Sheathing the sword, he turned, and ran off into the darkness…

[Sarrin]

The Borag Mountains – 4E-151

The harsh winds cut at Leof as he trekked through the snowy passes. The Borag’s were largely inhospitable for a reason with traveling conditions resembling those that a normal society would have their citizens stay indoor for. It was near impossible to find your way anywhere without knowledge of landmarks and markings, which Leof fortunately had, though even he had lost faith in occasions when he missed minor details.

For three nights he had navigated the mountainous passes and for three nights he had been stalked. At first he suspected a native beast but the creatures of the Borag’s were hardly subtle. When Ogre’s giants, orc’s, goblins, bears and wolves found food they hardly sought to waste time being subtle for three days. He was certain he was being hunted by a man but struggled to believe it was still his brother perhaps instead it was another Borag contestant driven already to cannibalism or looking for a hiding spot. Either way he endeavoured on soon to reach his destination.

To survive the mountains had never been enough for a challenge. Doing so would allow challengers to merely hide on the outskirts shortly after the steps where the winds were mildest and beasts roamed more freely. This would barely test the hardened people particularly with their lycanthropic blood giving them an already substantive boost. Instead the true challenge was the dragon scale which had to be brought with their return. Such scales could be found in dragon’s dens where they often shed their damaged armour for new fresh bone to grow in its place. Such dens were well guarded by their namesake however and though scales could be found by fortune the best way to find one was to steal it from a sleeping or otherwise vulnerable dragon.

As he pondered this thought Leof suddenly heard a rushing wind louder than the normal clatter, a sign of a nearby cave or better yet an entrance to the Dwarven Roads. He started moving towards the mountainside on his left feeling the rock with his right hand while his left kept axe firmly in grip less the wind claim it. As the rushing got louder he found a piece of square stone barely visible under the snow and pushed it with all his might.

*click* a moment passed before a titanic groan could be heard followed by an enormous slam. Then another. Another. Finally a third shuddered and slowly but surely two enormous Dwarven doors began to open out to the mountains pushing aside the snow before them. Leof quickly darted out the way less he be entombed climbing out the snow and looking down into the Abyssal Dwarven Roads that once connected one of the greatest empires to ever walk Minern. He took a deep breath and prepared to descend when a rushing scream tore at his ears forcing him to the floor as he clasped them in agonizing pain. As he dropped to his knees he slipped into the descent and began falling down crippled by the unseen and present pains in equal measure.

High Peak, Garniem – 4E-151

It was still early when the crack began; A rupture that screeched through the air resonating across Minern and in its ground zero capsizing weaker trees and buildings. As it continued the howl quieted to be contained in the Garnian lands trapped in the mountainous walls it continued to brutalise the heightened senses of the native people. Crowds gathered on the lakeside staring to see anything that could cause the fowl squeal. Fisherman rowed closer hoping to get a glimpse but it was only when Cormac approached in his crow form that anyone could have an idea of what had occurred.

As he returned to High Peak King Godfrey stared at the lake from the cliff side putting on a tough face to disguise his tormenting pain. Cormac landed besides him wasting no time with cinematic transitions before he resumed his human form and spoke.

“It is a breach to the spirit world. I fear it will continue to expand unless we stabilise it”

“What does that mean Cormac” the King replied firmly clearly uninterested in any unnecessary details or eloquence.

“It will expand larger but then hold its form. The sound will stop but what lies beyond may seep through.”

“But then you can stop it?”

Cormac looked to the tear and gripped his staff firmly. “It’s our best hope”

The King looked besides him to Grimm Tordrig who was shaking in fear and then behind him to his people who looked to him with uncharacteristically fearful eyes before returning his gaze to Cormac.

“Do it.”

[Cheye]

Syiv, Carvania – 4E-151

The cold night wind shrieked against the buttresses of Castle Syliv as Vaas Van Drak lethargically climbed up the steps towards the gatehouse. His morning had been spent with magical advisors, who all offered contradicting theories as to what the loud shrieking sound that had awoken half the city had actually been. One of them had claimed it was a rare meteorological event, another an omen that death would prowl the streets that night. Vaas had liked that theory, for he hadn't fed well in weeks.

Deciding to prove the magician predicting the omen right, Vaas had spent the evening at The Whetstone, an old tavern on the edge of the city. He had gone there because their new barmaid from Ostervia had been the talk of the town for the last week and he wanted to see if she was as beautiful as the rumours suggested. She was, or rather had been. Jacques had instructed Vaas, and all the other pure-bloods at the conclave that they should feed discreetly, without killing, but with Jacques off in Medina there was no one to stop Vaas from enjoying his meal, and enjoy it he did.

As he continued up the steps, he licked his lips recounting how the girl had tried to flee, how Vaas had let her think she might actually be able to get away down an alleyway before swooping in and savaging her throat.

She had tried to scream as her life force left her, but to a sorcerer like Vaas it was child’s play to seal the alleyway with a silencing charm without even looking over his shoulder. Her screams were now sealed in that bubble of magic, music for his ears alone; the perfect accompaniment to a midnight feast. She continued to resist, unable to accept her fate. The effort she expended trying to scream out, to struggle free, to survive, only added to the stress on her heart, allowing Vaas to feed long and greedily. When her heart finally gave out, he snapped her neck and rose to his feet.

Jacques might not have been there to stop him killing the girl, but Vaas still knew he couldn’t leave her body so obviously marked by a Vampire, he hadn’t survived for a century and half without being clever. He withdrew a hipflask from a pocket of his long black cloak and poured the alcoholic substance within over the dead girl, then in a fluid motion, he shot a fireball at her and stepped back to watch as her beautiful features began to disintegrate in front of him.

He had stood there watching her burn for some time before he doused the fire with a wave of his hand and turned to walk away, dismantling the silencing charm that entrapped the alleyway as he did so and leaving the girl’s body for some poor peasant to find come morning.

Now as he reached the castle courtyard, and the large long-dead oak tree that stood at the centre, he rolled his eyes irritably as he noticed the Golgothan steam-wagons that sat parked just inside the courtyard. His otherwise wondrous evening had been ruined.

Marching up the steps into the keep, he let out a quiet groan as he saw Prince Marius standing by the great oak doors that led into the throne room, talking with a pair of soldiers that accompanied him.

“Prince Marius!” He smiled falsely, approaching the Golgothan Prince. The pair were familiar with each other after all; during Marius’s stay at Castle Syliv at the end of last year, he had met with Prince Francis twice weekly to discuss matters of state, and Vaas in his guise as the Court Wizard Wilhelm had attended almost all of those meetings.

“Wilhelm?” Marius looked back to the entranceway curiously, clearly not expecting his host to arrive from outside the castle.

“I was inspecting the city walls with Lord Commander Rousseau.” Vaas lied, making a mental note to alter Rousseau's schedule to reflect the alibi.

“I see. Where is Lady Amelia?” Marius asked, his wistful smile betraying his true motives. “Is she sleeping? It wouldn’t be proper for her to wake for me, even if I am a Prince.”

Vaas suppressed a growl, surely the smugness of the Golgothan Prince was enough to enrage anybody. “The Princess-Regent is away from court, in Medina for the coronation of the new Sunset Empress. I’m surprised you’re not there yourself, sir.”

Marius looked crestfallen, stuttering a little as he made his excuses; “I.. erm… The Emperor and his advisors decide who attends foreign functions.” Marius sighed. “My posting in Carvania is to resume at once.”

“I see, well I will send servants to prepare your old rooms immediately.” Vaas said commandingly.

“Oh no need, Lady Greymane happened by as the guards looked for you and she ordered the servants to attend to my needs.” Marius smiled, as if his words did the Court Wizard a favour.
“She did what?!” Vaas spat, forgetting himself.

“Excuse me?” Marius furled a brow, confused by Wilhelm’s anger.

“The Greymanes are foreign guests, here to advise on matters of security, they are not members of the court and are certainly not authorised to give orders to the staff!” Wilhelm explained with an air of indignation.

“I’m aware of protocol Wilhelm but nobody could find you and she certainly didn’t seem to care. Rather she seemed delighted by my arrival and before leaving invited me to dine with them should I be left unattended too. I dare say I was about to send word that I’d take her up on the offer!” Marius quipped.

“Of course sir, in future just be aware that their presence here is something of a diplomatic irregularity. They really ought to be left to their work.”

“I’ll remember that.” Marius replied. There was an awkward moment of silence between them before he asked; “When is Lady Amelia expected back?”

“Within the week.” Vaas replied, grinning to himself. As long as Marius had only one thing on his mind the peculiarities of Wilhelm slipping in in the middle of the night, the absence of the Castle Steward, and the situation with the Greymanes would all no doubts go over the Prince’s head.

Mortal men really did only care about one thing… But then and again, Vaas’s mind slipped back to the thrill of his earlier meal, were his kind so different?

[Greater Latica]

Kislevstierre 4E-151

Flames erupted around the Inquisitor, and the aluminium spars began to snap and burst through the roof of the cabin. The fire crept closer and closer, he was running out, of options. He turned and leapt, diving for the ground.

There was the sound of breaking bones, and everything went black.

Ludendorff 4E-151

The morning sun shone in the Guild City of Ludendorff as people went about their daily business with a renewed vigour after news arrived of the victory in the North. Seagulls flew overhead as the morning catch came in, and a small Andrew Barclay steam locomotive clattered down the tram way built into the cobbled streets pulling a row of 5 plank wooden wagons.

In the shadow of a doorway lurked a man wearing a long dark coat, completely at odds with the weather. He darted across the street, using the passing train for cover, grabbing onto one of the wooden wagons and hefting himself inside. He watched the passing buildings through a gap in the planks, leaping out when he saw a darkened alleyway. He dashed down the alleyway, and checking cautiously, he rounded the corner and hugged the edge of Guild Plaza until he met the huge black wrought iron gates of the Engineer’s guild.

He slipped in through the gates, and was confronted by the guards and their automata sentries. A guard activated his automata.

“IDENTIFY.” It stated flatly in its booming voice.

The man placed his Engineers’ guild badge into the grooved recess on the machine’s chest and turned it, looking at the guard, “I’m here to see James Paris Lee, it’s urgent.”

“ACCEPTED, PROCEED.” The automata clicked and whirred and returned to its position, and the guard waved him through.

The courtyard fronting the engineer’s guild was massive, covered in flat white stones, in the centre was a massive statue, even taller than the guard automata at the gate. A massive bronze statue ringed with water jets, depicting a man carrying a sword held aloft and a shield in the shape of a gear. On its pedestal, in golden inlaid letters, bore the motto of the Engineers’ ‘the flesh is weak but the metal is strong’.

He crossed the court yard and up the stone steps into the Engineer’s guild tower, several guilds had towers around the edges of Guild Plaza, each one having its own look and feel. Engineering tower was made of stone, elegantly shaped into a renaissance architectural style. As he entered the vestibule and headed for the lifts at the far end, he glanced up at the massive pendulum that hung from the ceiling that was part of the clock mechanism that was at the top of the tower and visible from all around the city. Pneumatic tubes lined the walls, and small steam engines scuttled about on tracks delivering important packages from the various rooms and offices.

The lift clattered as it scaled the building, as the head of the guild James Paris Lee’s office, was on one of the uppermost floors.

He knocked and entered the room. Lee was standing, looking out of the large round window over the bay, admiring the view.

“Sir, I have brought what you requested.” Bowing slightly he unslung a black tube off of his back and presented it to Lee, who turned, crossed the room and took it from him. Lee took out his glasses and perched them on his nose as he sat down at his desk, opening the container and pulling out the blue papers within.

“These the plans for Zeppelin’s contraption?” he queried

“Yes Sir.”

“What a tragic shame,” Lee sighed, “the design had so much promise.”

“What will happen to it now?” the agent asked

“It’ll be archived I suppose, to be re-analysed when our capabilities catch up, and it can be made to work.” He said as he placed the plans back in the container. He opened his desk draw, and removed a pencil, and placed it into a small steam powered device on his desk. It puffed, and he removed the pencil, inspected the tip, and removed an index card from his desk tidy. The steam powered pencil sharpener was representative of many of the Engineering guilds' designs, when they were invented but no one stopped to think whether they should or needed to be built, and therefore many designs without much purpose or those massively overpowered for the task at hand existed. He wrote on it clearly ‘AIRSHIP, ZEPPELIN PATTERN 4E-151 RESTRICTED’ and marked it with a red ‘UNSUCCESSFUL’ stamp. His writing had to be clear otherwise the automata sorting robots in the vault archives buried below the tower would not be able to sort it correctly. They were always having problems with the Vault automata, there was a tendency for their command reels to slip and just simply file everything under ‘T’ for thing.

He took the plans and placed them into the Pneumatic tube, which with a rush of air whisked them away to the archives deep below the building, running even deeper than the bank vaults of the Financier's guild across the street.

He looked up at the agent, “Thank-you, that’ll be all, you are dismissed.”

The agent nodded, and left the room, closing the door as he left.

[Cheye]

Villa Lancel, Medina – 4E-151

Gideon Lancel sat at his desk, a chalice of fresh blood in his left hand, a list of expenses related to the lavish coronation ceremony in his other. He had a fine eye for detail, it was well known, and his rival-turned-wife seemed to be appreciating it. She lay on the lavish chaise longue that sat across from his desk, reading one of the old tomes from his personal library with an entranced expression. Vampyric Statecraft – by Octavian de la Grey, an old classic that almost every pure-blood with a desire to rule over mortals had read or taken tips from at some point or another.

As Gideon watched her pawing over the pages, he felt a small amount of pride coursing through him. To think, she was an Empress now; commanding an up-and-coming Empire which had been conceptualised by the Templars as a means of securing the Eastern Kingdoms against the threat of apparent Vampires. Gideon enjoyed that irony.

Madeline had opened up to him a lot since he’d turned her, perhaps because of his understanding of the Vampiric condition and the knowledge he passed on to her, knowledge that allowed her to truly thrive as a creature of the night. Vamprism suited her well and she revelled in the thrill of the hunt, she had quickly grown accustomed to daylight and was already mastering the art of transforming into a bat; though she hadn’t quite figured out how to return to her human form without her clothes ripping apart, leading to some entertaining scenes between the couple, whose political union was quickly taking on a more personal element, special even by Vampire standards.

There came a knock at the door and Gideon’s loyal Captain of the Guard and fellow Vampire; Petraeus Rax entered, announcing; “Jacques Montespan is here to see you, sir.”

Gideon sighed irritably, drumming his hands on the desk, he had done well to avoid Jacques at the party the other night, but should have known the other pure-blood would be relentless. He was no doubts here to lambast Gideon for deviating from his precious plan. The irony of that decision was less pleasing to Gideon; he had been one of the first to see the advantages to Jacques’ proposal. A war with the mortals was the last thing he wanted, but now he couldn’t deny, the conclave could easily brand him in contempt for making such a conflict more likely. He’d need all the guile he could muster to get out of this one.

“Tell him… the Empress is with me and anything he has to say will be in front of her.” Gideon instructed.

“He said you might say that sir.” Rax sighed awkwardly. “He also said that if that’s the case, he’s prepared to call a conclave to have you branded in contempt.”

“He’s bluffing.” Lancel replied coolly, though the very statement having been voiced made him nervous. To be in contempt of a conclave was a fate worse than death. Even after all Von Richter was doing, which was as close to contempt a Vampire could get; declining a summons, waging war on the living, turning people left, right and centre without subtlety, even after all of that, Jacques, nor a single Vampire in that room during the last conclave, hadn’t even uttered the word contempt.

“What’s contempt?” Madeline asked, looking up from her book.

Gideon sighed; “Contempt is when one of our kind is deemed to have betrayed the flock. It’s a novel concept really, rarely enforced, but its introduction kept our species alive in the aftermath of Van Drak’s fall.” He paused, drinking deeply from his chalice before continuing. “Let’s just say that if we want our new Empire to survive, we need to avoid being branded in contempt of the conclave; the Vorrigan Vampires learnt that one the hard way, and I’ve no intention of following in their footsteps.”

Madeline shot him another questioning look, he was about to elaborate when the door burst open and Jacques de la Grey, in all his opulent splendour strode into the room.

“And here she is! The budding Empress; I might have doubted her beauty had I not seen it with my own eyes, you look even more splendid tonight then you did the other day!” Jacques declared loudly, causing both Gideon and his guard to scowl as Madeline put the book down and rose to her feet. “I’d bow but among our kind there’s a different set of protocols, I’m sure Gideon is teaching you.”

“Slowly but surely.” Madeline let out, her inexperience as a Vampire was not something she had planned on sharing with this relative stranger, but his cold grey eyes seemed to see beneath her skin and as he looked at her, it was as if her darkest secrets were unravelling in front of him.

“Jacques de la Grey.” Gideon nodded politely, introducing Madeline to the vampire whose own sire had written the book she had just been reading.

Jacques; having been sired by the founder of his lineage; Octavian de la Grey, who himself had been the first of Vlad’s Vampires to be granted their own bloodline, was a lot higher in the court of the unliving than Gideon was, having been sired not by Sirius Lancel, the founder of his own lineage, but rather his successor; Illia Lancel. As each generation of Vampire lost some of the precious Van Drak blood that gave them their powers, they took a step closer to their more feral forms. Thankfully that was still a long way off for the Lancels, and the ritual of siring still bestowed great powers upon their gets, as it had always been intended to do, but it was basic science that made every Vampire aware that there were limits on their ability to create more Vampires.

It was a fact that Jacques had just reminded Gideon of, as he swanned into his office as if he owned the place. And that dynastic science might be something Gideon could use to argue his loyalty to the conclave after all, if Jacques gave him the chance…

“This isn’t a social call, I merely need you to answer a simple question before I return to Carvania… Are you pulling a Von Richter?” Jacques asked, his voice cold and uncaring. “If you are you’re on borrowed time, just as that traitor is now.”

“He lost then?” Gideon asked, not needing to look up at Jacques for an answer.

“As I said at the conclave it was always a matter of time, the plan will come to fruition soon, if Rebekah and Volker both play their parts as instructed. We might not even need Sydine’s help after all. From you though Gideon, I see only failure…”

“I have secured Medina and the Eastern Kingdoms from even the slightest threat of a renewed purge.” Gideon said firmly, knowing he could well be arguing for more than his life. “With Madeline on the Sunset throne, we have true power in these lands, all without a shred of suspicion.”

“And Rufus Black? Is he loyal?” Jacques retorted.

Gideon’s eyes drifted to Madeline’s. She nodded; “He is loyal to the house.”

“Well whose idea was it to hand Denton Lancel to the King of Garniem then? Who might I add, then promptly gifted him to the Emperor of Golgotha.” Jacques challenged emotionlessly. His eyes flicking between the pair, who once again exchanged wordless glances. “She didn’t tell you.” Jacques laughed dismissively. “I suppose you two need to have a chat.”

Gideon could feel the tension rising inside him, Madeline had told him Denton had ended up imprisoned in Morthin but the pair had otherwise avoided the topic so as not to put a strain on their new relationship. He knew he had taken a chance on the Martellos but if they hadn’t told him that then it begged the question; what else were they keeping from him?

“I always liked you Gideon, of all of us, you always seemed to exercise a level of poise and restraint that some of the others fail to understand. Pragmatic caution is not a negative trait among our kind, but believe me if your actions backfire and bring death upon our kind once more, you will meet the same fate as Von Richter.”

Gideon exhaled nervously and nodded in understanding. Madeline was quick to take up his defence though; “You have some nerve to come here and threaten us! We are the rightful rulers of this city and at a click of my fingers a mob could descend upon this house and carry you out into the street to burn you alive!”

Jacques rolled his eyes as he brushed an idle hand through his long hair, struggling to contain a laugh. “My dear, I really don’t think you realise how things work yet.” Madeline looked ready to explode in anger, but Jacques cut her off before she could speak; “You can incite as many mobs as you like, but all it takes is a sentence from me to see you join me on the pyre. You think your crown will protect you? Think again. Mortals love nothing more than killing their own rulers, you’ll learn that lesson soon enough as well.” He sighed.

Madeline looked wordlessly to Gideon, as if hoping for him to make some intervention, he remained silent, still sat at his desk.

Jacques stepped closer to her, staring the Empress down. “You are now part of the most endangered species in Minern.” His voice was quiet and calm, but there was something intimidating in his tone. “Yes we also happen to be the most powerful, but if we don’t work together to stay that way, we all die. Better Vampires than you have lost everything for not heeding that lesson. Hans Von Richter; who once ruled far more than a few disparate Eastern Kingdoms, is now being chased across Golgotha like a rat because he didn’t heed it. You can think I’m threatening you if you like, but my dear…” He sighed again. “I am merely trying to protect you.”

There was a long silence as Jacques stepped back and allowed Gideon and Madeline to exchange glances. Eventually Gideon rose from his desk and approached Jacques; “Madeline is freshly turned, she does not yet understand our ways, Rufus neither. It will not take them long to learn. Von Richter has proven how foolish it is to go against the will of the conclave and even if they wanted too, their blood is four times removed from Vlad’s anyway… Trust me Jacques; I will make sure events here do not interfere with the plan.”

“I know you will.” Jacques grinned wickedly as he turned to face him. “It’s the reason I came to see you directly and didn’t just get you branded in contempt. For what it’s worth I don’t think you are in contempt, I think you’ve seen a valuable opportunity and seized it for what it’s worth. It just wouldn’t have been proper to leave without reminding you what happens if it all ends badly.” Jacques patted Gideon on the shoulder, somewhat belittlingly.

“Now, I’m going to leave and let you two talk about Denton Lancel and all the other things you’ve kept from one another up until now. By the time I leave Medina come sunrise, you’ll be glad I popped by to remind you both how important we all are to one another.” Jacques concluded, turning to leave and striding out the door at the same brisk pace with which he arrived.

[Sarrin]

The Talbot Monastery, Borag Mountains – 4E-151

There was a strange air to the climb as if watched by invisible beings. At any moment you felt as though you might fall and slip never knowing if the journey you undertook was really there. After all it had seemed impossible when The Talbot Monastery first emerged after the Ascendency fell; the staircase and temple appearing out of the face of the rock apparently secluded by powerful illusion magic. Rufus was undeterred however marching forward to the secretive society with whom he sought a new alliance.

After the coronation Rufus had wasted little time in departing and slept even as his carriage took him to the Itruskian border where he awoke and bought a horse from a local farmer. The destination however was the true curiosity as the Runed were perhaps the most mysterious group of all in Minern. An order of seemingly mummified monks who were said to reek of death and have runes engraved into their hands capable of producing the same magical effects as their Dwarven counterparts etched into old stone ruins. Since emerging they had made little effort to explain themselves and had first marked themselves by giving a substantive collection of ancient Holy Flame texts thought destroyed in the Ascendency to the Order of St. Jethro. After this they had kept to themselves occasionally leaving to find magical items, religious texts and to ‘fix the wall between our world and the spirits’. Their leader a mysterious figure known as The Engraved Monk had never been seen outside their holy grounds but was said to have impossible knowledge, a trait Rufus saw unlimited potential in if true.

As he reached the top of the staircase he saw the monastery in all its simplicity. The grounds had an elegant simplicity and composed of a dormitory, a library, a refectory and the temple itself. Around the grounds were trees and benches where Runed Monks could be seen reading and conversing in what seemed like a utopic world away from the larger troubles of Minern. He cautiously approached the blissful bubble though found himself increasingly unnerved as he began to see the monks up close. Each wore the lose brown robes of the order with a piece of rope tied around the chest as a belt though it was the underneath that caused concern and produced the putrid stench of rotten flesh. The Monks themselves were entirely mummified with only occasional fingers or patches of rotting skin being visible. Their palms exposed with runes carved into their flesh and their eyes burning a dark green fire. One of the few whose mouth was exposed approached Rufus gesturing to the temple as he spoke his voice almost sounding layered as if not from its natural source.

“Our Master is waiting for you Rufus Black, If you’ll come with me I shall take you to him. We have bread and wine waiting if you’re hungry.”

Rufus raised an eyebrow before nodding cautiously and following the monk. He had been forewarned by travelers that the monks knew far more than they let on but he hadn’t expected a welcome. Indeed he had been thinking of ways to get their masters attention for the entire journey. The temple itself was a modest building with elegant stone columns around its perimeter. On its east side was the worship room with an eternal flame burning at its heart and in the west it had various offices and rooms for various duties and services. The monk led Rufus to one such room and slid open the paper panel that covered the office door. Inside Rufus looked towards the enigmatic figure who had led the movement the door being closed behind him as he entered.

The Engraved Monk was a tall and slender man who wore a hooded lose dark colored robe. His face donned the usual bandages but with more of his rotten flesh exposed and his eyes shared the common glowing dark green fire. He however did not possess runes on his hands nor anywhere on him indeed the Engraved Monk seemed to be unique in his lack of engravings. As Rufus entered he was sitting on a round pillow and pouring from a tea pot into two cups before him as Rufus got closer he put down the pot and spoke with the same resonation as the prior monk as if the sound where from elsewhere.

“Interesting you should come here when your sister has made the first brother the Grand Cleric. For all our kindness I doubt he’ll wait before excommunicating us from the faith”

Rufus sat on the pillow opposite the monk and looked into the curious red tea before speaking.

“She made a mistake and I’m here to fix it. Though first I need to know if you’re really the legend they say you are.”

Pausing the Engraved Monk looked up from his tea to Rufus and lowered his hood exposing his bandaged face. His eyes, mouth and part of his ear were all expose in addition to strands of skin between the lose bandages all of which was discolored and in some cases peeling.

“Perhaps nightmare would be more apt though I doubt you can still feel fear without a pulse.”

Rufus looked at him curiously about to speak before the monk interrupted to continue.

“I know many things Rufus and unlike the Grand Cleric I don’t believe your kind to be a curse upon the Holy Flame anymore than we are. Though you should drink, its blood harvested from our latest donation still fresh and should rejuvenate you especially if you haven’t fed for days.”

Rufus remained silent still uncertain as to what he made of the figure before him. He picked up the cup and smelled it before taking a sip. The monk had told the truth and Rufus quickly finished the cup only to his hosts pleasure who refilled his cup as Rufus spoke.

“Well it’s hardly fair for you to have all the answers, if you know I’m a vampire what does that make you?”

“If I told you the truth you would not believe me. Though I can tell you that what your senses say is true and this body is dead and I, and my kin, are bound to these forms as you are to your clothes”

“So you’re some kind of spirit?”

“That would depend who you ask.”

Rufus looked cautiously at the Engraved Man who had put down his pot of blood and now sat patiently.

“You have no runes on you.”

“None visible and this one was a mage before I occupied him so I don’t need to engrave his hands to channel my power. The Runes allow us to occupy and control the bodies and bind us to this world. Without them we would be forced back into our holds as quick as we were released here.”

“You speak as though you’re freeing prisoners”

The Engraved Monk smiled. Pausing for a moment before looking to the door as it opened and a monk spoke with what appeared to be concern masked behind the ethereal tone.

“You were right about the shriek. Shall we attempt to gain entry?”

“They will not grant us access and I suspect the ‘everwatcher’ will seek its resolution. Make preparations for travel and chose two among you to join me we make for Medina in the morning.”

Rufus looked at the Engraved monk with some concealed surprise he first thought to ask about the shriek before realizing he had gained a travel partner.

“You're coming with me?”

“I would otherwise not have met you. With no need for sleep we should reach Medina in two days giving us ample time to talk. For now however you should feast we have ample blood stored should you need more”

Rufus looked cautiously at the monk before taking a sip. He had found a new ally though he wasn’t sure what kind of ally it was.

[Cheye]

The North Road, Central Carvania, 4E-151

The horse drawn carriage shook wildly and its passengers bounced around uncomfortably as they passed over a badly deteriorating section of the road. Jacques de la Grey played with his collar, annoyed by the distraction from his thoughts. Amelia Van Der Barr grunted as they passed over one more jolt before the road surface evened out again.

Sighing irritably she let out; “How will Carvania ever be as rich as Medina?”

Jacques continued to adjust his collar as he replied; “What do you mean?”

“You were at that party; the whole thing was payed for by the crown. If my brother were to return from the Borags tomorrow and we wanted to put on a ceremony for his coronation…” She trailed off as Jacques interrupted.

“With all respect, my lady, we will soon have to start operating under the assumption that he may not be returning.” Jacques said coolly.

“I won’t countenance that.” Amelia replied firmly, though the thought seemed to cross her mind a lot these days.

“As you wish.” Jacques stated flatly, drumming his fingers on the side of the carriage before adding; “You were saying?”

“If he does come back, or even if I am crowned Princess of Carvania; our treasury is empty. We can’t even afford to maintain the roads let alone host a national celebration! It’s no wonder the people turn to drunkenness and banditry when their appointed rulers don’t even rule them.” Amelia sighed once again. “We need to start looking at ways to bring in more money.”

“I will think on the matter, my lady.” Jacques nodded reassuringly at the young woman. “There are a number of wealthy traders in Franchea who could perhaps be put to work as economic advisers. Might I also suggest you negotiate with Prince Marius upon our return? I’m sure Golgotha could be persuaded to invest in Carvania’s economy under the right circumstances.”

Amelia smiled softly at the mention of Prince Marius. She had missed him dearly since the horrible events at Ostierre and had been devastated to have missed his return to Syliv thanks to the visit to Medina.

Before either of them could speak however, the carriage began to slow to a halt and Jacques peeked his head out of the window curiously. They still had some way to go before they reached their overnight stop…

Outside the squadron of Princely Guard that had escorted them to Medina and back were riding frantically past them and on down the road towards what looked like a large group of people blocking the highway. Even in the fading light of the evening sun, their torches were visible from back here, and for a split second Jacques thought they were an angry mob until he realised they were crossing the road, rather than marching down it.

One of the riders stopped and dismounted next to the carriage. “If you could stay inside, sir.” He said firmly, looking up at Jacques whose gaze fell on the road ahead, trying to work out what was going on.

The steward ignored him. “What’s going on?”

“Just a bunch of riff-raff, heading into the marsh. Captain wants them to stand aside to let the carriage through.” The man answered, placing a hand on his sword and giving the perimeter a cautious once-over. Clearly the soldier was more nervous about the situation than he let on.

“Who are they?” Amelia asked, leaning out the window next to Jacques and craning her neck for a look.

“Peasants, my lady. Nobody of concern.” Came the response from their guard.

“Peasants don’t go wondering en masse into Fenn Marsh at this time in the evening.” Jacques let out with a sigh, drawing himself back into the carriage.

What do you mean? Who are they then?” Amelia asked curiously, following him back into the privacy of the carriage.

“The Cult of ‘Oživených Mŕtvol’.” Jacques stated dryly, trying to wrap his tongue around the old Carvanian words.

“The what?” Amelia asked, her face a youthful mix of confusion and curiosity.

“The Cult of the Living Dead.” Jacques translated. “A group of madmen and sycophants devoted to the Vampires who used to rule these lands.”

“Vampires?” Amelia’s expression grew nervous. “Are we safe?”

“As safe as anywhere where there are godly men.” Jacques retorted, his typically casual demeanour seemed to put Amelia at ease. “The cult were founded during the Ascendancy to give mortals a religious incentive to obey Van Drak and his fellow Vampires. They worshipped Vlad Van Drak as though he were a living... or rather unliving god.” Jacques tutted, a smirk crossing his face. “They enjoyed a strong following from here to the Dona a few centuries ago. Now most people outside rural Carvania have never even heard of them.”

“How do you know it’s them?” Amelia asked, her mind racing.

“Because of the reluctance of our man outside to tell us who they were. The fear in his voice when I asked.”

“They could be bandits?” Amelia reasoned.

“But the Captain only posted one rider to defend the carriage and took the rest ahead with him. He wouldn’t have done that if bandits blocked the road as the carriage would be their main target.” Jacques explained, watching as Amelia pondered everything he told her.

“Something doesn’t add up Jacques. If this cult are nowadays just a bunch of godly men why did the guardsman sound afraid?”

Jacques stifled a smile, impressed with how her mind continued to grow sharper, he looked into her eyes as he answered; “Because they have sacrifices among them.”

There was a long silence.

“Sacrifices!?” Amelia’s jaw hung low. “Then we have to stop them. If they have prisoners then what they’re doing is highly illegal!”

Jacques shook his head. “Who said anything about prisoners?”

“You just di..” He cut her off.

“Come.”

He opened the door and stepped down from the carriage. The guard outside attempted to protest but Jacques simply ignored him as he turned and helped Amelia out courteously. Jacques led the way down the road at a brisk pace, his red finery glittering in the light of the distant sunset as Amelia cautiously followed, lifting her skirts slightly so as not to dirty them on the road.

The guard stayed by the carriage, which was enough to prove Jacques’ point about danger. When the pair finally reached the procession, they were met with a curious look from Captain Özil of the Princely Guard who sat in his saddle negotiating with two men dressed head to toe in black. Two more riders flanked the Captain while the rest of the squadron grazed their horses off the side of the road nearby.

“Captain Özil.” Jacques nodded up at the tall balding man who led their escort.

“Lord Montespan.” The Captain shot him an irritated glance, not noticing Amelia trailing behind him. “Vermin from the local village; Baklá or something. Whole town seems to be out tonight for some ungodly ritual. They’re refusing to part their little freak show for the carriage. Say the word and we’ll gut them.”

“Captain!” Amelia growled from behind Jacques.

The Captain looked down at her, rather embarrassingly. He grimaced; “Apologies, my lady.”

“We’re not hurting anyone.” One of the cultists in black finally let out, though his voice did not convey any fear of the threat. “Besides we’ve almost passed.”

As he spoke, sure enough, the last few people trickled out from the woods on the left, hurrying across the road with nervous glances to the soldiers.

“It is treason to block the path of the Princely Carriage.” Özil insisted.

“Treason. Against whom?” The second cultist asked ambivalently.

“Against your rulers, you insolent rat; The Princely House of Van Der Barr” The Captain scolded aggressively; “Show some goddamn respect. Her ladyship; Amelia Van Der Barr, Princess-Regent of Carvania now stands before you!” The Captain gestured to Amelia.

The cultists laughed over the statement however, leaving the Captain red-faced and enraged. “House Van Der Barr are but mortal rulers.” The first scoffed.

“And foreigners at that!” The second shook his head dismissively.

“We do not bow to those who follow us into the ground.” The first cultist said, his expression growing serious. Turning to Amelia he added; “We are sorry for disrupting your journey Lady Amelia. But you are not our ruler. It is nothing personal.”

Amelia was taken aback at the gaul of the man; “I could have you killed for saying that.”

The cultist laughed again. “We’re all going to die someday my lady, for we are fleeting. If you wish to make today the day I die, then so be it, I will not resist; I will die comforted by the knowledge that as powerful as you think you are, you too will one day follow me.”

Amelia was silent, shocked by the comment. Jacques glanced between her and the Captain who looked about ready to explode with rage. As the silence dragged on, the two cultists exchanged apathetic glances before turning and walking out into the marsh, hurrying to catch up with their procession that had now long cleared the road.

“Shall I give the order to chase them down, my lady?” Captain Özil asked, already drawing his sword.

“No.” Jacques interceded. Both Özil and Amelia shot aggressive looks at him. “Come with me my lady, I think it good for you to see what these people are up too. Captain you and a few men can follow us at a distance, dismounted if you would.”

“It’s getting dark, sir. It’ll be hard to avoid the bog-waters if they go deep into the marsh. Watch your footing.” Özil stated, gesturing to the sun which now dipped below the western horizon.

Amelia looked at both of them. “I’m beginning to see why the cultists won’t bow to me. Everyone seems to be barking orders but me!”

“Trust me, my lady. You told me your father always regretted not getting to know the Carvanian people better. Well this is as Carvanian as it gets.” Jacques stepped towards the wooded trail the cultists had disappeared down that led into Fenn Marsh.

Amelia nodded, holding onto her skirts as she followed him.

“At least you’ll fit in.” Jacques smiled wryly, looking her dress up and down. “The cultists aren’t the only ones with a penchant for black clothing.”

“Very funny.” Amelia shot back at him. She had insisted on wearing only black long after the morning period for her father passed and Jacques wasn’t the only member of her court to have joked about it.

The pair disappeared off down the trail, Captain Özil and his two men dismounting and following at a distance as instructed. It didn’t take long for the night to envelope them completely and Jacques offered a cold hand to support Amelia as the ground grew more difficult to navigate.

Eventually a hazy yellow light appeared on the horizon as the trail thinned out onto the marsh, Jacques carefully guided Amelia around a few hard-to-spot pockets of swamp water and they cautiously approached the source of the light.

The source of the light turned out to be the townspeople of Baklá, who had gathered in a decaying old stone amphitheatre that seemed to blend well into the darkness until suddenly it towered in front of them.

“Vlad; the immortal. Vlad; the unstoppable. Vlad; the conqueror of all mankind! We pray for your return, for the restoration of our great land, and for your kin who still devote themselves to you in this insufferable age.” The prayers of the head cultist were audible from outside.

As they entered the arena and quietly climbed up to take seats behind the cultists, it soon became clear that when the Captain had mentioned, in jest, that the entire town was out tonight for the ritual, he hadn’t been wrong. Several faces turned to look at the intruders as they took their seats, but they weren’t the cold, hostile faces of the cultists they had encountered on the road. Rather, these were the faces of the average townspeople, some were dirty, some sported thick rugged beards, there were women and even children among them, but all smiled, as if welcoming the pair to what was their equivalent of a Holy Flame church service.

“We are fleeting, but he is always. The night is always.” The priest concluded.

“The night is always!” The crowd echoed in response.

In the centre of the amphitheatre, the head cultist bowed his head in silence, and gestured to the two stone slabs that looked like crudely-crafted altars and dominated the centre of the amphitheatre, and then to the two people who stood behind him, a man and a woman, both wearing nothing but a simple black robe.

After a dramatic pause, the pair disrobed, revealing their naked bodies to the night air, their robes dropping to the floor behind them, as in unison they stepped up to the altars and laid themselves down as if getting into bed.

The head cultist approached a lectern off to one side, lifting an old blackened book and raising it high for the crowd to see. “As the great Prince of Darkness commands in the ancient book of Oživených Mŕtvol; we surrender our bodies to him, for we are fleeting, but he is always. The night is always.”

“The night is always!” The audience echoed. Jacques glanced to Amelia, who was entranced by the strange ceremony taking place below. The audience didn’t stop their chant however; encouraged by a pair of hooded cultists who knelt in front of the altar and played small drums with their bare hands, the crowd began to repeat “The night is always! The night is always! The night is always!” faster and faster, as the head cultist returned the book to the lectern and strode back to the altars.

In time with the chanting and the drumming, he withdrew two curved daggers from his robe and raised them over the couple. The man lying on the stone appeared to grow nervous. He reached out for the woman, though they remained lying there, linking hands as the drumming and chanting reached fever-pitch.

From their elevated position, Jacques and Amelia could even see that the inevitably condemned couple actually joined in with the chanting; adding their voices to the cacophonous barrage of “The night is always!”

Jacques looked to Amelia, curiosity driving him to wonder if she would look away when the daggers came down…

And then the drumming stopped, and the chanting ceased, and down the daggers came.

[Sarrin]

The Old Road, Itrusk – 4E-151

“This is not the way to Medina Rufus” The Engraved Monk said in his ethereal tone making it near impossible to truly know what emotion he was feeling.

“We’re going to the Rock first I’ve got some business to settle.”

The pair had been traveling together from the Talbot Monastery in what had proven to be a surprisingly pleasant journey. Though occasionally cryptic the Engraved Monk had endeavoured to answer all Rufus’ questions and even raised his own queries about Rufus’ motivations which received surprisingly honest answers. Indeed they hardly seemed of any significance riding on horseback with only a pair of Runed Monks following on foot.

“We are not safe within the city, Runed Monks make prime targets among the more… explorative scientists”

“Afraid you can’t handle a few raiders?”

The Engraved Monk did what seemed like a laugh but it was hard to tell.

“It’s bad for relations when we kill people makes commoners more cautious about overlooking our…rotting elements”

Rufus chuckled “No one’s going to touch you, the new ruler is an old friend of mine and I need to make sure his preparations are in place for one of Madeline’s plans.”

“Do you resent her leadership? After all without your operations she would hardly have the power she does if indeed any at all”

Rufus raised an eyebrow at The Engraved Monk “Resent? Madeline always liked being seen and loved for her actions. Even now real power still lies behind the scenes and as always that powers with me… she just needs a reminder I’ve got her back when she makes mistakes”

“Like the Grand Cleric?”

“Like the Grand Cleric.”


The Dark Forest, Garniem

Druids had been gathered in the first Commune in over two hundred years in unprecedented numbers. While to a normal order the gathering of a hundred thousand or perhaps even a few hundred would be notable the Druids themselves were astounded by a presence of thirty three among their rank. Each took turns introducing themselves and expressing their thoughts on the tear. Each then being subjected to questioning by his counterparts. All the while the tear had continue to slowly expand and release a fowl high pitched whistling as wind rushed inside though it is impossible to say what happened to such a force when it changed realms. As the last Druid finished Cormac moved into the center ushering in a silence expected for him, particularly as he was the most known and respected among them.

“I thank you all for coming. In times like these it is natural of us to seek to abuse the tear to further our knowledge of the spirit realm but in truth we cannot waste time when such an abomination threatens us all”

Murmurs of agreement spread among those present.

“From what little I can understand the lycanthropy of our kin has caused this. Each binding of a wolf’s spirit to one of our peoples has chipped away at The Wall thus bringing our realms closer together. I long believed we had thousands of years still before The Wall was worn down but it is clear I was wrong”

The Druids looked at the Everwatcher curiously many among them had used their time to give credence to whatever he chose to say and a confession of error was far from their hope.

“If we allow the breach to expand as it is it will take all of Minern. We can already see it has found a way to overcome the natural laws that close most breaches and so we must force it open to allow those laws which have always protected us to work.”

Several druids began calling ‘absurd’ and ‘lunacy’ at Cormac who allowed their heckles for a few moments before striking his staff on the ground letting out a mighty boom and signalling a return to order.

“The insidious nature of this breach is its gradual and slow expansion acting in such a way as to not bind it. I believe that forcing a rapid expansion, much like the conjuring of a banshee, will force the natural laws upon the tear either stabilising it and stopping further expansion of sealing it.”

“And what if you’re wrong Everwatcher?” One of the older Druids cried out.

“Then we have expanded the tear and have maybe a week less to find a new solution but at least we’ve tried.”

A pause spread through the Druids as they considered the wisdom of his words.

“I know the magic and can teach it to you all, if we station ourselves around it we can attempt to resolve this. If not we all die having done nothing and we all know that beings lurk in that realm that cannot be released.”

Sensing contentment among the Commune Cormac smiled and began explaining how to enact the new magic and seal the gate. With good fortune they could begin the process tomorrow but even then they had no guarantee of success. Even if they did stabilising the breach Cormac had greater fears though of what made his predictions on the walls collapse so very wrong…

[Greater Latica]

Imperial Council of Electors
Imperial Summer Estate, Tabeckcelstierre 4E-151

Prince Lukas was nervous, this was his first official action as the new Prince of Kislevstierre. He had only recently had his coronation after the confirmation of his brother, the late Prince Xander, at the battle of Davenfall. He had been given very little preparation for this, many of these princes, his brother included, had been trained and prepared since birth to be Princes, to lead and represent their states. Lukas had not. He had expected, like many ‘spare’ noble children to take up a commission and serve in the armed forces, but instead he had this responsibility thrust upon him.

Many of the Princes were in good spirits, the victory in the battle of the Kislev steppes had renewed their faith in the Empire, and was considered a decisive success, the undead army had been routed and several vampires killed, the army marched northwards to liberate Donastierre. It was an easy viewpoint to take when it wasn’t your principality that had been the most affected, Prince Lukas thought. He watched and listened as the other members discussed what should happen next, growing increasingly frustrated, they seemed much more preoccupied with the fate of the Vampire in charge than what was happening back in Kislevstierre.

“But what about the refugees?” he murmured under his breath , as Prince Leopold of Averstierre explained to the council the importance of making sure that the Vampire was killed and destroyed, rather than trusting that he had been killed when Admiral Zeppelin’s contraption had fallen to earth in sheets of flame. Vampires could be easily injured by fire, but there was no way to be sure, especially given the Inquisitor’s survival, a mere human. Prince Leopold shot him a glare for talking when he was.

Prince Kurt reached over and placed his hand on Lukas’ shoulder, “Perhaps we ought to hear what the boy has to say? We are discussing his Principality after all.”

Lukas cringed at being called a ‘boy’, but then again Prince Kurt was one of the ‘old guard’, he had been a Prince for nearly 40 years, almost twice as long as Lukas had been alive, you had to give him a little leeway. Lukas was just happy to have the opportunity to speak.

“I said what about the refugees?”

“What about them?” Leopold asked

“Kislevstierre is tainted. Our crops are failing, the dead won’t stay dead. People are leaving. They’re heading south or across the Kislev River. We need to do something; otherwise they’re just going to become a burden on everyone.”

The innate self-concerned nature of the Princes came to the fore as they murmured in agreement, before falling silent.

“So what are we to do?” Asked a Count at the back of the room, breaking the silence

“We should follow the advice of the second Emperor, we expand, or we die.” Prince Wilhelm of Sudesterre suggested, “Perhaps we should send for a map?”
--------------------------------------------------------

The large roll of parchment was carried through the door, and laid out on the table, sending wine glasses and dishes clattering onto the floor.
The map had been intricately drawn, it was intended as a display piece to hang on the wall, but had been torn down, the bolts were still in the corners. The Electors poured over the map, talking frantically as they discussed their plans. There was talk of expanding the colonies and assimilating Carvania. The original intention of the conversation, finding space for refugees, had long been forgotten, as the Princes became worked up into a fervour, the Golgothan Empire hadn’t made any further attempts at expansion since the Dwarven wars that had concluded thirty five years ago. This was their opportunity to make their mark on Golgothan history and drive the Empire to greater heights.

One phrase mentioned over and over was ‘Badlands’, the Badlands were an expansive unclaimed area west of the Empire. The Golgothan Empire had tried to claim the Badlands before, however this had led to them blundering into a war with the Dwarves in the Kharadron Mountains that overlooked them. Both sides had been unprepared and the casualties had been high on both sides before a treaty could be signed. The Princes hoped that this might make the dwarves nervous about interfering.

[Cheye]

Kislev, Kislevstierre – 4E-151

Hans Von Richter had fallen so far, not only was he forced to disguise himself as a common peasant, he was forced to just sit there and accept it when a filthy mortal spilt ale all over him while bustling past. The tavern was packed and with security as heavy as it was in the aftermath of the battle, Von Richter couldn’t risk exposure. It was just another indignity he would have to endure.

Never mind the larger indignity of having to bury his armour and sword, when that was combined with the lack of respect those he had encountered thereafter had shown him, it made him even more bitter about his defeat. To think, those mortals who now mocked him would be his slaves right now, if it hadn’t been for the Inquisitor and those damn Zeppelins.

Burying his face in a mug of ale, he kept his ears open, using his enhanced hearing to eavesdrop on the conversations of the mortals nearby. After a few days of this, he’d already heard several wild reimaginings of the battle from the perspective of the Golgothans. In one variant, he had been outsmarted by a cunning ploy in which the Golgothan military, knowing full-well the destructive power of their zeppelins, deliberately waited for him to engage before blowing them up in a cunning trap. In another Admiral Zeppelin was said to be a tragic hero, a martyr who selflessly crashed his airships in order to end Von Richter’s rampage. If only they knew the truth of how their tragic hero had shat himself as Hans cut him down.

From his eavesdropping, he had also learned that the army was now heading up to liberate Donastierre and arrest Archduchess Helena. On the night of the defeat, he had thought about heading back to Donastierre, about retrieving the necromantic page from his marquee and using it to raise another army to defend Helena and her city. But that plan had gone up in smoke as assuredly as his army had, for when he reached the camp, he found it overrun with soldiers from the Golgothan army, pouring over his things and piling up the bodies of his mortal camp-followers and members of his orchestra who’d no doubt gone on fighting for him until the bitter end.

It had taken him time to turn into a bat and get inside his personal quarters in the rear section of the marquee without being detected. And it had taken all his willpower not to go on a murderous rampage right then and there when he found that the one thing he needed right now; that page of the Larashel Necronomicon, was missing.

He had never bothered to memorise the words. Why would he have? He had been on the verge of creating a new Ascendancy, he had never foreseen not having the page to hand. Now that short-sightedness cut him even deeper than burying his armour or the scathing barbs of the mortal peasants did, it was by far his biggest mistake and now he had nothing but time to reflect on it.

Sitting there, at a corner-table in the Lonely Bear Tavern, in the city closest to the battlefield, Hans continued to mull over all this and more. He knew he could still go back for Helena, he knew they could go into exile in the Neuhassen Wilds or even fight on in the sewers of Donastierre, striking out at the new Archduke and his military backers. But it would never be the same… Without that page, without the unnatural magic that had brought him near-infinite power, he knew things could never be the same for him.

As he watched the joyful mortals celebrating and growing more and more inebriated in the tavern around him, he shook his head sadly. Helena would be distraught. But what was she to him besides a mere means to an end? He had pretended to love her while she was mortal to manipulate her into giving him Donastierre, once he had his staging ground for invading the Empire, she had fulfilled her purpose and now there was no point going back.

No, not back to Donastierre. That was firmly behind him now, there was only one direction he could go. It was Jacques de la Grey who had given him the page, back then it seemed that Jacques didn’t know the power it held, but what if he’d found out? Surely, having heard the stories of Von Richter’s armies ravaging the lands Jacques would have grown envious, knowing full well it was the very page he had given him that had unlocked such power…

Von Richter rose, not finishing his drink. He’d been going over all of this for days now, mentally ensuring he hadn’t made any mistakes, there had been too many of them recently. But the more he thought on it the more he grew certain. His Vampires were dead; the state of the battlefield as he’d flown away proved that. There was still the Inquisitor, his revelation on the airship had caught Hans off-guard, but even if the filthy half-breed had survived the destruction of the airship there was little chance he’d have beaten Hans to the campsite even if he knew about the powers contained in the page, and there was no reason that he would.

No. There was only one person, Vampire or otherwise, left in all of Minern who could possibly have understood the importance of that page enough to steal it in Von Richter's moment of weakness; and that was Jacques de la Grey.

As he strode out the door, with the greatest sense of purpose he’d had since before the battle, Hans Von Richter knew exactly where he had to go to get it back, it was the place he’d got it from in the first place after all, and the place he'd been marching towards ever since; Ancelstierre.

[Sarrin]

Hilltop, Blackrock – 4E-151

Blackrock’s streets had remained unchanged since being made a protectorate of the Sunset Empire. Crime was still rampant with murders taking place over mere arguments to no one’s surprise or interference. At the center of it all was the same mighty fort that had hosted the ruling gang for all Blackrock’s history. Traditionally three buildings had existed in the fort but this had been doubled since Gavish Reave took control. Still the grandest however was the Chieftain’s Hall a huge ornately decorated building in which the ‘ruler’ of the Rock sat on his throne. This throne however had widely been seen as the most dangerous in Minern with open attacks being as common as sly ploys.

Despite earlier concerns Rufus and The Engraved Monk had found little difficulty moving through the city with the only thug to threaten them finding himself quickly dispatched by a passing footman of Reave’s raiders, the Sons of Borag. When they entered the hall Gavish let off an angry grimace standing from his chair and climbing over the table to get to Rufus.

“So what’s all this I hear about some poncy c*nt claiming to be the protector of the Blackrock, does the bitch know that I’m in charge here or do I have to smash her skull?”

Rufus approached him with equal scorn on his face “That’s my sister your talking about Reave I know a bastard like you wouldn’t understand family but you watch your mouth before I slice it off”

The pair got closer both displaying complete rage and leading to numerous raiders in the room readying weapons. Just as they got close though the pair burst into laughter and gave each other a warm embrace.

“You’re a Black now Rufus for all you’re talking of family you’ve become as much a bastard as I am. Who’s the corpse monk?”

“A friend. You’ll get to know him soon enough I’m sure.”

The Engraved Monk remained silent seemingly ambivalent to the conversation and more interested in the carvings detailing the former rulers of the Rock.

“We’ll see. Rotters don’t cause us much trouble round these parts so he can travel as he likes but don’t expect any beds to sleep in”

Rufus chuckled and nodded fairly “Can’t argue with that. How’s the Rock?”

“Same shit different day but now I’ve got them use to working together everything flows. I recon a few more years and I could merge us all into one brutal band of c*nts.”

“So long as my Wolves are kept out of it you can do whatever you want. Are they gonna be ready for Tarakia?”

Gavish let off a vicious smile “I’ve got fifty gangs ranging from cannibals to zealots all on board. We’ve got plans for attack, divided raiding grounds and even some fancy stolen siege equipment. Now you just need to find us a stupid son of a bitch who’ll give us a claim to press”

“I’ve taken care of my end he’s some idiot descendent of an old Baron that’ll get on his knees for the pretense of power”

“When do you need us?”

Rufus smirked “Your men? A couple of weeks as for you I think it’s time you meet your new Empress”

Canary Lake, Garniem – 4E-151

The druids had assembled along the lakeside evenly spaced around the tear. Behind each druid was a small force of soldiers led by a local thane or the jarl in case the ritual went awry. At High Peak King Brannon looked on cautiously over the cliff edge. He knew well that this ritual would make or break his nation.

Cormac stepped towards the edge of the cliff and began his ritual forcing a breach in the wall aside the tear. As expected the tear hungrily consumed it binding the breach to its own form expanding its size. Within moments the tear crackled and the breached area once again returned to normality as it collapsed under the natural laws of the physical realm. Cormac smiled and once again began the ritual this time being joined by the numerous druids. As each opened a breach it was bound to the tear turning the slithering crack into a monstrous gaping hole through which the spirit realm could be observed and entered. As it expanded cracking could be heard shrieking through the basin and some distance beyond as the fabrics of the realm were ripped asunder.

The druids finally concluded and watched as the tear now the size of a small house floated torturously in the sky. Its snaps and crackles were the only sounds as the Garnian people watched in fearful silence desperate for Cormac’s solution to succeed. Then a new sound emerged. The sound of roaring drums…

[Cheye]

Syliv, Carvania – 4E-151

The occupants of the carriage sat in silence as the carriage bounced over the well paved roads towards the heart of Carvania.

After witnessing the strange ritual, Amelia had been full of questions about the Cult of the Living Dead, about Carvania during the reign of the Ascendancy and about the purpose of the human sacrifices.

Jacques had been somewhat surprised by the extent of her curiosity, particularly relating to the sacrifices; and indeed the budding regent hadn’t even flinched at the culmination of the bloody ritual, when the blood had been drained from the pair who had willingly offered their lives for some greater, darker cause. Now, they sat in silence, each mulling over what the other had said regarding their unexpected detour.

Eventually, the carriage reached the city gates and they were ushered inside and down through the warren of roadways that led towards the far-side of Syliv and on to the great stone castle that dominated the north-eastern quarter of the capital.

They crossed the great dried-up moat via the single long bridge that connected the castle to the city, and then up a steep winding road, before finally passing through the great gatehouse of Castle Syliv and into the courtyard dominated by the long-dead oak tree at its centre, which served as the main focal-point for all activity inside the walls of the great historic fortress.

Finally Amelia Van Der Barr was home. A musical trumpet blast from a troop of Princely Guard welcomed her, as the carriage came to a stop and a member of their escort opened the carriage door, and she slowly clambered out. Her black dress sparkled in the sunlight as she adjusted it with a gentle hand before looking up to those assembled in front of the Castle.

Several figures stood on the steps that led up to the keep waiting for her; Vaas was there in his guise as Wilhelm the Court Wizard along with Lord Commander Rousseau, and next to them Prince Marius, whose shiny breastplate and military posture caught Amelia’s eyes instantly. She tried to hide the smile on her face at seeing him, noticing the Greymanes in the row of other courtiers behind the first three.

Jacques emerged from the carriage behind her, falling in step as she climbed up the first few steps.

Amelia looked first to Wilhelm, asking; “What news of my brother? Has he returned?”

“No. A messenger from Drakwold informs us that two travellers have been spotted heading towards Carvania through the Borag Mountains though, from the region his party was last spotted.” Wilhelm explained flatly. “We suspect that if he isn’t among them, they will at least know what has become of him.”

“See to it that they are questioned.” Amelia said sternly and Wilhelm nodded in response. She turned to Prince Marius. “It is good to see you again Prince Marius.” She said with a polite nod of her head, the correct greeting for addressing a foreign dignitary.

“It is good to see you again, Lady Amelia.” Marius responded with a smile, emphatically returning the nod.

“My thoughts and the thoughts of all Carvania are with the families of those lost in battle, and with Kislevstierre as it begins to recover from the taint of the Vampires. Goodness knows, we know a thing or two about that.” Amelia sighed, her words sincere.

“Your condolences are appreciated.” Marius said seriously. “I will pass them to the Emperor, he will be pleased to hear that Carvania remains a friend of Golgotha; despite what happened to your father and indeed what happened in Ancelstierre.” He relaxed slightly as he added; “I look forward to working closely with you on these matters and others in the weeks ahead.”

“Indeed, we have much to discuss.” Amelia replied with a smile, exchanging glances with the Golgothan Prince before striding past him and into the great castle. Her advisors and foreign guests turning and following her inside, followed by the Princely Guard and assorted other courtiers who had all been waiting outside just to witness her return.

Unknown Location, Under the Borag Mountains – 4E-151

Josef Van Der Barr had kept running north, the old underground roadway didn’t seem to run in any other direction, and although it had been blocked off in parts and he’d been forced to search through caves and the remnants of old thaigs to find ways around, he had always made it back to the well-carved thoroughfare that was leading him away from the Vampire that so desperately wanted to recapture him.

He knew the Vampires were on his tail though. He had been sleeping in a cave, just off the main road, that had been lit up by the stars shining down through a crack in the surface many miles above. It had been the first time he’d seen them in weeks, if not months, and he had nodded off happily for a few hours before he heard the hisses and shrieks of the Lesser Vampires back on the main road.

Rising from his slumber, he had stealthily moved to inspect when he heard a great booming roar as what he could only assume was a large creature, disturbed by the noises of the Vampires burst onto the road. He hadn’t dared look out from his cave as he heard the commotion in the passageway, he probably would have had trouble seeing in the darkness ahead anyway, but as the beast roared and stomped loudly, the unnatural noises of the Vampires grew more intense until they were eventually silenced.

Josef had waited a long time in his cave before daring to leave and return to the road, he watched the stars in the sky far above grow faint and slowly the sky grew lighter as the sun rose on the surface of Minern, a comforting sight that gave him the confidence he needed to return to the Dwarvern highway and press ahead.

He never came across the creature that had killed the Lesser Vampires, as he passed the ripped-up bodies he noticed a faint light emanating from a giant crack that had been ripped into the stone walls of the thoroughfare that no-doubts led to the beast’s lair. The crack was huge, stretching from the floor to the high ceiling and almost equally as wide. Judging by the size of the passage, and the noises he had heard, the beast had been massive and Josef didn’t plan on sticking around to find out what it was.

He took a deep breath as he hardened himself and pressed on ahead, continuing along the great underground road towards whatever fate awaited him...

[Sarrin]

Grand Hall of Medina, Medina - 4E-151 Midday

A fortnight had passed since the coronation and with Itrusk finally appointing its regional governor, Empress Madeline had called for a Lords Council to prepare for the coming years and the issues the fledgling empire would no doubt face. To this extent representatives had come from every major component region to the old council room in the Grand Hall. The room held an enormous round table with several seats for the presiding members of the Medinian government. In the place of the old Viscont’s throne was a grand gold and jewled throne in which Madeline sat. On her right Gideon Martello-Lancel, there in his capacity as High Chancellor, reclined slothfully in his smaller but equally opulent seat, while on her left; Rufus’ seat sat curiously empty. Congregated around the rest of the round table sat more thrones, each stylised in the fashions of the various regions, these were seats for the various representatives of the confederated empire. To the right of Gideon, in an intricately patterned chair decorated with religious iconography, sat the Grand Cleric Pyros and to his right was the recently elected Boyar Kowlski of Itrusk whom sat in a modest silver throne bejeweled with rubies. To the left of the throne set aside for Rufus was Grandmaster Pavlenco of the Templar Order in a strong militaristic throne and to his left, across from the Boyar sat Baron Olfrid Hessen of the Eastern Baronies of Farvas in what appeared as shoddily-mocked together imitation of the Itruskan throne layered with gold leaf and with imperfectly cut emeralds in place of the rubies.

The attendance of the Templar Grandmaster had only been decided the night before the meeting took place. After the deaths of their previous leaders at the hands of the traitor Argus, the Order had been forced to face a severe restructuring and a number of lower ranked members led an internal coup, turning on one another for the chance to lead the historically strong force. By the time Tharis was formerly annexed into the Sunset Empire half the membership of the order had died with almost all the influential members of the coup being put on trial. In the wake of this grand reformation a minor Itruskian titular baron, Yuri Pavlenco who had joined the order some years before, had been named the new Grandmaster. Though none had high expectations in the week before the Lords Council he had already drawn up plans for some significant reforms aimed at making the Templars a more widely-effective elite force focused on the termination of profane creatures in the style of the Golgothan Witch Hunters Guild.

“How much longer are we waiting? If the bastard’s coming he should already be here!” groaned Olfrid who, alongside the others, had been waiting two hours for Rufus’ arrival, all the while being forced to engage in idle debate on irrelevant issues until he appeared.

Madeline shot him an irate look before Gideon gently took her hand and spoke on their behalf; “I’m sure he will be here soon. Rest assured, the information he has gathered for us makes him an essential component for any serious talks.”

Olfrid groaned louder inciting Pyros to remark “Perhaps we could discuss a matter of the faith? We don’t need the Prefect here to discuss that.”

Madeline paused for a moment assessing the mood of the room. It was clear the various members were eager to get on and with the Empire still being freshly formed she wanted to set a good precedent. She smiled as she looked to Pyros “The floor is yours, Grand Cleric.”

The Grand Cleric quickly straightened his posture seemingly invigorated by her approval. Each of the other rulers leant forward to listen as he began to speak.

“Eternal Empress, as ruler of the Sunset empire it is your responsibility to care not only for the physical well-being of your people but also of their souls. It is this very nature that I fear most for faith in the flame still dwindles compared to the number of dedicants we used to have. Indeed if you look to your protectorate the Blackro-”

As he spoke a loud bang was heard from down the hall as doors were thrown open followed by hurried feet and unclear shouting. The various members of the room looked to each other and Madeline gestured to the Grand Cleric to continue. He cleared his throat before returning to his point.

“The Rock is a cesspool lacking any faith and in protecting them surely you must also care for thei-”

As he finished the grand doors to the Lords Council were thrown open and Rufus entered running a hand through his sleek black hair as he approached. Behind him was Gavish Reave still dressed in his spiked raiding armour and the Engraved Monk in his loose brown robes. Behind them another two runed monks walked with the usual sluggishness of their order both being half-heartedly harassed by the royal guards who were unsure what to do in such a situation. As the faces turned to look at the motley crew Rufus spoke loudly.

“Starting without us?! I’d expect it from some of these but i thought you liked order Giddy?”

Olfrid chucked at the remark though the others shot furious glances at Rufus, none more than the Grand Cleric however who looked to the Engraved Monk with a potent mix of hatred and rage. Gideon stood from his chair calmly and smiled at Rufus.

“Nothing important.” Gideon waved dismissively in the direction of the Grand Cleric. “Though we could hardly wait another hour.” Gideon flicked the same wrist in the direction of the guards, wordlessly instructing them to prepare some seats. As the guards began to bring in the chairs, Madeline shot a look at her brother and gestured for him to take his assigned place on her left. As the guards approached with the chairs the Engraved Monk raised his hand towards them and as if by command three chairs hurtled towards the bottom of the table, and they all took their seats. Rufus in between his two agents, as the two Runed Monks slowly but dutifully turned to leave along with the guards.

“Seems easier to sit here then climb over Maddie, now whats on this agenda?”

Maddie looked at Rufus for a moment knowing better than to chide him in company before starting the formal proceedings.

“Fellow Lords, we are gathered in this first meeting to discuss the central matters and trials that will face our new Empire. I believe some of you have matters you wish to raise yourselves and indeed so do I. Gideon has made an order of proceedings to help organise this means”

“First order of business; I want the armies of the Sunset Empire to put me on the throne of Farvas!” Olfrid boomed loudly. “Chancellor Dreth and his ilk have made us weak; the Western Barons are in league with Golgotha, but with your help the entire Borderlands could join the Sunset Empire with me at the helm!”

There was an awkward silence before the Grand Cleric slammed his hand on the table finally bursting in his all consuming rage. “Silence you fool, there will be no discussion of anything for as long as we sit in the presence of that thing!” pointing to the Engraved Monk as he spoke with an accusatory finger.

Madeline and Gideon exchanged awkward glances, things had already descended into chaos and they hadn't even started on the agenda yet.

Gideon banged his hand on the table loudly, calling them to order. “My lords, we must have some sense of decorum if we are to work together effectively.” Gideon leered at Olfrid; “The situation in the Borderlands will be attended to in due course, please sit still until then.” He turned to the Grand Cleric; “As Prefect, Rufus Black has every right to call whoever he wishes to this gathering, although I agree that it will require some explaining, you must calm yourself or go and have a pray if it makes you feel better.”

The Grand Cleric look downcast at the scolding, glancing around the room for allies, before Rufus cleared his throat as if to speak. He straightened up and looked to the Engraved Monk gesturing to the table. The Monk stood from his chair and leaned on the table speaking.

“It seems frivolous to speak of matters on which you know nothing. Or would you prefer to continue idle speculation Grand Cleric onto what the nature of the Flame is? Not one of you can claim anymore than an elementary understanding of what is at play in our world and yet you would all seek manipulate it. It is perhaps a great fortune that one in your number is not so deluded as to seek consultation when the very seams of our world have already been torn.”

He sat down, the room clearly looking confused by what he said and even more so by the strange ethereal tone with which he spoke. After he finished Rufus stood and looked to Gideon.

“He’s here because I think he should be and Gavish is here because someone should speak for the Rock, now I think we’ve lost enough of today already, shall we begin?”

Gideon looked to Madeline who nodded in agreement, and Gideon raised the papers on the table in front of him to read. “The agenda is as follows…”