[WHFRP 2nd Ed] Reign in Blood (IC I)

[BananaPhone]

Regine Von Carstein

Regine kept the sharp blade of her knife against the shamans throat, while her sword was pointed at his companion that was not paralysed with fear, as if predicting an attack.

"You're trespassing on my family's lands, outlander," Regine spoke, her voice carrying a sonorous quality.

"Who are you - and why are you taking up residence in my mine?"

[bramblefoot]

the shaman lets out a noncommittal noise. "i think the term salvage rights applies to this" he says calmly "also i believe the term turf applies. you're welcome to reach into my right pocket. i believe youll find a mining rights claim signed by a signor vincenzo in the fortress-town. take it up with him, and dont shoot the messenger."

if you reach into his pocket you would indeed find said mining rights claim.

[BananaPhone]

Regine Von Carstein

"Yes, a Bretonnian of standing grants mining rights to those most famed of miners: Norscan raiders."

The vampire laughed mockingly.

"Don't bull**** a bull****ter..."

The knife remained against the shamans throat, its razor edge needing only the slightest of movements to be lethal. Meanwhile, Regine lowered her other hand, the one carrying her sword, and used it to retrieve a length of rope and tossed it to the active Norscan. She then retrieved her sword again.

"Tie your hands together and to his," she gestured to the other Norscan, "then tie them to your leader here. Do it, or he dies. I won't tell you twice."

To emphasise her point, Regine turned the blade upwards a degree, doubtless eliciting a grunt from the man she held hostage as his life was just millimeters away from being slit.

"Translate if you have to. I haven't got all night."

[bramblefoot]

the shaman scoffs "sweetness, the only reason you aint dead is cause im still breathing" he smirks. "do not test old jormung. He's in a bad mood" he smiles at you "go on, slit my throat. i guarantee your out of options once you do"

[BananaPhone]

Regine Von Carstein


Retrieving the deed from the mans pocket and acquiring it herself, Regine hissed softly.

"You bring your dark magics to our land? As if your pillaging and raiding weren't scourge enough? You had your chance, dark wizard!"

Regine's knifepoint entered the shaman's neck from the side, lodging deep into the tissue, puncturing the internal vein and windpipe. Pushing the weapon forward, she cut his entire front jugular open in a splatter of crimson and cleaved flesh.

Wasting no time, the vampire standing-leapt forward and into a rolling tumble, between the two Norscans, beneath the cloud ring and coming up in the entrance to which she entered the small cavern, both weapons in hand, her knife slick with gore.

[bramblefoot]

the shaman will grin as your knife enters his windpipe. He'll fall in the fire, which will rise like an avenging angel in man-shaped form, ready to wreak its vengeance on the vampire who so rudely killed its creator. the fire will laugh cruelly "told you you were messing with forces beyond your ken!" it croons, flame fingers wiggling. "no more mr nice guy!"

norscan 2 will do a full run giving you a free standard attack on it, while the firey spirit will spend its turn coalescing. the cloud will make a feint and a standard attack, getting a feel for you. norscan one will make a guarded attack

[BananaPhone]

Regine Von Carstein

The vampire's blood red eyes narrowed as she watched the shaman tumble into the fire where his fleshly vessel was consumed by the flames...only for something else to rise from the ashes. Its voice was like a crackling flame, its intention and malice clear - the shaman had transformed himself into a living ember!

It was at that moment Regine was snapped back to reality by one of the Norscans trying to flee the scene, running past her as he did so. Predatory instincts guided the vampire's hand, as she lashed out with her blade as he galloped in a panic - the steel of her weapon slashing deeply against his face in a fountain of gore that sent the foreign invader collapsing to the ground in a screaming, bloody heap.

But she couldn't rest yet. Regine spun her attention back to the Norscan before her, her other dagger coming about with a slash towards the mans throat, but she only hit air. Knowing she wanted to avoid a three vs one scenario, the vampire fell backwards into a roll; coming up several yards away from the Norscan and putting him between herself and the cloud, and the fire.

[BananaPhone]

Regine von Carstein

Steel rang in the broken shafts of the abandoned mine as Regine was fighting a withdrawing battle - her attention split between the advancing, hacking norseman before her, bellowing and swiping with his axe, and the magenta particles of fog that crawled forward ominously through the air towards her. Behind them still was the fiery man-sized pillar of the former shaman, the bores in its face glaring at the vampire as if studying her.

The mist neared close enough, its vaporous make-up materialising into an almost spear-like protrusion that stabbed forward at the vampire's body, but Regine darted to the side - her own weapon brought up and parrying the Norscans over-head axe-blow. Making the opening she needed, the thief twirled on the spot and brought her sword about in an arc, the sharp blade connecting with the right thigh of the raider and, compelled by the vampire's strength, sliced through and severed the limb from the mans body. The roar of pain filled the mine-shaft as the Norscan toppled diagonally, landing on his back and gripping uselessly at his wild, pivoting, gory stump, bellowing and screaming as blood spouted from the hideous wound and across the compacted earth floor.

The scent of the crimson filled the air and worked its way into Regine's nostrils, threatening to distract her from the moment. Cat-quick and agile, the vampire turned her body on the side and jumped backwards, drawing her arms together to half twirl once, twice, three times, landing on one foot each time to bridge the distance, her mind wracked with how she was going to fight the air itself -

The box.

Regine's eyes widened as she remembered the small device she had first encountered when entering the cave, its blasphemous inscriptions and runes marking it as a toy of the followers of chaos. Pulling herself back again and again, her body twisting to avoid the lancing extensions of the vapor, Regine finally opened the distance to spring back towards the entrance barely a dozen yards behind her, the Norscans gargling screams melting away to nothing as she did so.

There! The small, ugly contraption was still there, but she had barely a second to spare. Already she could hear the cold, hissing drawing closer from a foe she could not cleave and the crackles of flames behind it. Trusting her intuition, Regine somersaulted forward and came up on her knee's, snatching the steel box in both hands and spinning about to face the inexorable mist where she held it up as if in presentation, before switching open that latch.

Nothing happened.

For a moment.

Then a deafening roar gouged its way through the caverns of the mine as if the mountain itself was inhaling the atmosphere with a great intake. Regine felt her clothes whip around her body and her hair flail against her features as she could see the vapor, trying in desperation as if conscious of itself, dematerialising to stretch itself further, to clung to any surface that could offer the salvation of friction to halt its flight, but there was none. A cold shriek like a thousand screaming worms ripped through Regine's ears as the magenta cloud was drawn into the box she clasped in her hand, its obscuring haze rescinding from the mine shaft to reveal something even more curious - the burning shaman. The white, melted orbs that were his eyes no longer possessed the smug confidence of merely a minute ago. Instead they had widened, molten mouth gaping open in a silent scream as the crackling, orange flames were ripped from his body, stretching across the air and into the device the vampire gripped until finally his roar became the audible screech of a man in flesh.

Snapping the latch shut, the box now warm to the touch, Regine stumped forward, her guise a mess and her own black hair tangled about her face. But that wasn't all: the shaman was still present. His form was like cooked flesh as steam wisped from his split and charcoaled body, his agonized groans mixing with the cracking of burned tissue scraping against adjacent meat as he tried to move.

Spotting the spear she had dropped earlier, the vampire picked the weapon up, drew it back over her shoulder and hurled it at the Shaman, watching with a satisfying eye as it lanced through the air, struck him clean between the pectoral muscles and punctured right through to protrude two feet behind him. There was no gasp, no audible scream, just open, burned eyes, a mouth in gaping, silent agony, then he toppled forward, dead.

Collecting herself and composing her attire, Regine rolled her shoulders and retrieved her things.

"Give my regards to your gods, outlander," she hissed to the dead shaman, before approaching the now-dead Norscan whose leg she had cleaved off earlier. Unceremoniously, she reached down and grabbed him by the scruff of the collar and hoisted him off the ground as if he weighed nothing, and sunk her fangs into his neck and drank deep what hadn't yet bled out. Moaning gently, feeling that warm, sweet nectar of life flowing down her throat until it was dry, Regine tossed the corpse away as it landed in a broken heap on the floor, her mouth and jaw smeared with the red blood of her food and fangs glittering in the dim of the cave.

Cleaning her sword off on the mans clothes, the vampire proceeded deeper into the mine, the rancid scent of decay wafting from deep within...

[BananaPhone]

Regine von Carstein


Regine pressed forward into the dank crypt-like labyrinthe of the abandoned silver mine, the stale air thick with damp earth and the strengthening scent of decay. Gripping her weapons tightly and moving with the quiet grace of a hunting cat, the vampire narrowed her blood-red eyes in the dark, her predatory senses able to discern details unavailable to mortal perception. But it was her ears that detected them first: low grunts. Snuffling. Bestial snorting. Deep, guttural groans and primitive speech to accompany the scent of damp fur and unwashed, matted fur.

Beastmen.

It did not take long until the vampire came upon the hulking figures, their brawny, braying bodies clamoured around a make-shift camp in what looked like a central transport hub of the mine. The smooth walls and rotten tents and hammocks clinging to the peripherals of the small cavern suggested a communal area of rest for miners, as well as a central location through which the trolley's carrying unprocessed ore and earth would be hauled. What had once been a point of industrial intersection had instead been turned into a fetid cave of primitive celebration, as dried blood smeared the walls and splattered the floor in hack-and-slash symbols arrayed in a pattern that only the insane or inhuman would find appealing and spoke of ancient rituals and macabre forces.

Though not yet calibrated to the magic that sustained her unliving body, Regine knew enough from Ulrich that what she saw before her was a ritualistic pit into which the beastmen had gathered the quarry and rocks to form the ring around a herdstone...but there was something off about this arrangement, something rotten and foul. Even from her position near the entrance, Regine could smell the disease in the air, an odiferous melange of bodily humours, sweat and rotten flesh as if something had crawled into the centre of the room and perished to whatever affliction ate away at its body. The former thief could not recall a time when she had been presented with something that offended her nostrils so! And for a few moments the vampire wished, prayed even to whatever bleak gods would listen, that she could be remiss of her powerful senses so that she need not inhale whatever fetid malaise choked the air.

Yet the beastmen continued. Able to see them now, Regine narrowed her eyes in morbid curiosity as she watched their hulking forms huddle around their crude altar fashioned from chunks of raw stone and twisted metal, their malformed bodies contorted in twisted reverence as they grunted and groaned whatever prayers they could conjure from deep within their animal throats. They seemed unaffected by the miasma of the cavern. Indeed, they seemed energised by it, as finally the vampire was able to watch in greater detail as the disgusting beasts would move their hideous, ram-like heads down to behold their own rotting flesh, only to slide their own tongues over the pustules and decaying tissues.

The vampire had had enough.

Stepping forth from the shadows, Regine's cloaked figure immediately seized the attention of the man-animals: their hefty forms all turning about on cloven hooves towards the newcomer. Eyes wide, muzzles open, almost all in unison garbled a sloshing, braying whine that seemed to stick to the wall as fear of the vampires predatory form seized their limited brains and ripped through their nervous system.

Wasting no time, Regine surged forward, sword and dagger in hand. She crossed the distance swiftly, her crimson eyes shimmering in the gloom as she smashed into the first and only one of the children of chaos who could gather his wits about him, her blade coming through in a skewering stab that speared the steel of her weapon right through the beastmans belly. The thing let out a wet howl, the humidity of its stinking breath clinging to Regine's features as she felt its hot blood spill across her gloved hand when she wrenched her weapon free and stabbed upwards with her dagger, the blade silencing the braying beastman through the bottom of its jaw out beyond the top of its muzzle, those vertical-slitted eyes rolling and the body spasming as it toppled backwards in a spreading pool of black-red blood.

The others started to bellow as one by one they were drawn out of their mind-numbing fear, seizing crude weapons of rusted axes, primitive spears and poorly made swords, their monstrous images lurching forward, hooves against the stone floor as swipes and stabs shot in towards Regine's figure. The vampire side-stepped, withdrew backwards, parried, drew herself back in a twirl - she kept herself at arms reach. Alone against five, the vampire played her footwork and kept herself at the maximum distance possible with her cat-like grace, her own weapons slashing out methodically at open exposures and deliberate targets while ensuring to remain on the move, never allowing them to swarm her, always keeping them running and shoving each other aside for the chance to take their swing at her.

The spear-wielder rushed her. She side-stepped, battered the spearhead away, then withdrew again, tumbling backwards. The one with the axe bellowed, its shoulder half covered in white-bloated boils that poked out from its thick, matted fur, weapon drawn up in a downward swing that the vampire re-directed with her dagger-hand, rewarding the beastmans effort with a slash of her blade across its diseased spaulder and splattering a slick of pus-and-blood across the ground with an accompanying guttural bellow of pain.

The heavy, rapid hoof-falls of a charge and a snorting growl were the only warning Regine received. Turning about on her feet and readying herself to side-step, the vampire was caught flat-footed as the shoulder of one of the beasts slammed into her flat stomach, blasting hot, dull pain across her body before weightlessness overcame her when it immediately drew its shoulders to its height and hoisted her off her feet and into the air, powerful arms wrapping around her mid-section and crushing in like two vice-prongs. Grimmacing and flashing fangs, Regine stabbed downwards with her dagger, the blade penetrating the back of the Gor's big, ram-like head with the crack of splintering bone and a gout of red-and-pink foamy film, but she was too slow. The world blacked out for half a second as a third beastman had rounded its axe-wielding compatriot and brought its crude, mace-like club around in a batters arc, only missing a sickening blow by centimetres and instead grazing off Regine's skull with a pranging impact that opened a bloody graze across the vampire's head. For a brief moment, the world sung for the former thief; her eyes crossing, her mouth gaping, everything moving so slowly, until rapidly escalating.

The swing from the Gor, though powerful, had overextended the beasts thick, fur-covered arms. Still moving to bring its weapon back for another swing, it squealed out in pain as Regine turned and swiftly drew her sword across its belly, spilling a noodle-like mass of steaming entrails to hang from its midsection as it toppled over onto its side, roaring and mewling and clutching at its opened centre. Still in the death-clutch of the Gor that had charged her, the vampire used her grip on her dagger that she had planted in its skull to throw herself backwards, the stony earth slamming into her back as a sword stab missed her by mere inches. On her back, gritting her fangs and using her left hand to push and heave the beastman off from her body, enough to pry its dead, locked arms from about her figure so that she could wriggle away, Regine pulled her head and shoulders aside at the last milli-second to avoid a spear thrust down at her face, then a hoof-stomp, the last two active beastmen seized the opportunity to expunge their undead opponent for good. Another hoof, another spearhead swipe that Regine parried - then she ceased trying to wrest away the Gor from about her, her long, black claws of her free hand sliding out for action. She shot her hand up and grabbed one of the beastmans knee's and sank her natural weapons into that join, the screeching howl from the child of chaos filling the air as reflexes caused it to try and wrench its goat-like leg free, but its flailing only tore more inner tendons and sinews against those sharp talons, wrecking and mutilating the connection until Regine let go, the Gor stumbling back and bestial squealing and gripping at its destroyed leg. Free for half a second, the vampire drove her sword upwards at the last beastman, the blade finding a sheath between the rusted plates of the creatures crude armor and sinking into the tissue beneath, blood hissing out from the wound as its body was seized, weapon falling from its grip, eyes wide, a gargling bray bubbling up from its throat in a frothing film across its lips, before toppling backwards onto its rear, then over onto its side, dead.

Laying there for a moment, glaring up at the ceiling, her head-wound sealing itself over, the vampire sneered and pushed her apprehending beastman off and away, standing upright and staring down at the squalling Gor behind her still clutching at its ruined knee, tissue and flesh curling away in ribbons as blood-loss was draining its features. Drawing her sword up, Regine stepped forward and slashed, the beasts ugly head flying from its shoulders and tumbling wetly across the stone floor behind it.

They were dead. All of them. Strew about her in broken, opened, bloody heaps. For several long moments the only sound in that cavern was the click! click! click! click! of one of the slain beastman's hooves tapping against the stone floor as the creatures nervous system played out its final spasms, the Gor's empty eyes staring at the ceiling with no further life while the last bubbles of red-tinged spittle frothed from its lips.

Then silence.

If she required breath, Regine would have been panting. Swallowing, inhaling, exhaling, she looked down at the mess of her clothes, then back at the carnage about her, standing amidst the broken, mutilated bodies of the children of chaos. Limbs severed. One decapitation. Another disembowelled. The stench of innards and bloody, raw flesh exposed to the dank air of the cave mixed with the already putrid edifice of their worship to thoroughly disgust the woman. Retrieving her sword and dagger, cleaning them, then acquiring her spear, the vampire inspected the makeshift herdstone and tattered tents, but she found little of value among the decaying remains of such forgone barbarians.

Swallowing, rolling her shoulders, her wound regenerated over, the vampire sniffed the air and listened to the corridors and chambers. Discerning the one that was most foul, she knew that is where she would get to the bottom of this, and so she pressed forth, further into the dark, deeper into the mine.

[BananaPhone]

Regine von Carstein

Regine left the makeshift herdstone and dead beastmen behind, their images fading into the gloom of the mine as she pressed forward. Was she ascending higher into the crag? Or was she on a descent, slowly traveling deeper and deeper into the earth where the dark things lay? She would be hard-pressed to guess. There were stretches where the vampire had to test and carefully navigate down wooden ladders, old, stale water dripping down from stalactites above, before she would have to round several corners and push herself up internal ramps. But whether up or down or sideways, always was the aroma of decay ever present, inhaled with each breath and like sandpaper against her extra-sensitive olfactory. Nevertheless, she continued, her crimson eyes flickering in the dim light, scanning the shadows for any sign of movement.

As she pressed on, the sound of running water reached her ears, a distant murmur cutting through the silence of the mine. Freezing on the spot, her figure hunching quietly as if she were a great cat on a hunt through the plains, Regine strained her senses to feed her more information, but only the tell-tale signs of the guttural Dark Tongue could be discerned. Sniffing the air, the vampire recognized a scent she would now never forget: more beastmen. But there was something off about this odour, something unusual that the Gor's lacked.

Intrigued, Regine quickened her pace, moving through abandoned mine equipment, dolley's and carved stone until until she emerged into a vast cavern. The space had once served as a communal area for the former miners, as wooden stalls lay tattered on its perimeter while on the opposite side of the enormous room was a yawning, jagged opening to the outside world, in all its night-time starry glory and promises of fresh air. Now, however, the beastmen had made their mark, degrading and utilizing the abandoned amenities in the best way their limited, primitive minds could conjure, and the result was little better than a stoney-floored pig sty that was arranged around a central dais upon which sat a jagged, stone-crafted emblem to the dark gods. Though Regine was unfamiliar with the chaos worshipers, she could detect the presence of magic well enough, and the hulking, carved stone seemed to pulse with a bleak, rotting energy that emanated from its central symbol of three circles banded together. Whatever deity claimed such a sigil the vampire did not know, and nor did she care, for it was the two figures adjacent to the alter that caught her attention.

Both were beastmen, but different. Bigger. Tougher. One possessed the gleam of intelligence in his eyes and would be her most dangerous threat, were he not visibly sickened, wounded and hunched next to his precious alter, hand gripping a deep, bloody gash upon his side and his breath coming in ragged inhalations. Armor of steel and leather banded across the beasts powerful body, its already impressive shoulders expanded by the spiked, dark-metal spaulders and its thick neck protruding from a primitive gorget. But the beastman to his side had no such infirmity, its massive proportions of nine feet expanded out to enormous shoulders and a hulking chest, all draped in dull-copper colored scalemail - a minotaur.

Spotting the direction of its masters attention, the great man-bull turned on the spot, its face covered by the veil of metal scale sheets that hung from its huge head, through which only a single, bright orange eye stared with visible malice. Atop its crown were a pair of horns that curled upwards into vicious points, while even its physical frame emanated pure natural power and brutal savagery, for the axe it gripped would have been the size of Regine herself and capable of cleaving her in two should it catch her in its arc.

The beast snorted, puffs of vapor exhaled through its nostrils to disappear into the night air.

"Out..." the Beastlord croaked besides the minotaur, his voice rising like thunder out of his haggard breathing while pointing an armored finger in Regine's direction.

"Out...outlander! Traitor!" his broken Breton barked.

"W...we will...send you back to...Sul Konarr...broken...!"

The vampire narrowed her eyes at the suggestion. Sul Konarr - who?

A memory of the name flickered in her mind. Something long buried...

"Break her!" the Beastlord snarled at its lone remaining champion.

Unhooking her cloak from her shoulders and undoing her weapons belt, Regine stepped forward with minimal drag and spear in hand as the Minotaur bellowed in challenge - its massive arms held up in in the air, grasping its weapon and roaring in defiance, its deafening animalistic barrage echoing off the caverns.

Then in charged.

Regine felt its momentum through her feet as the ground impacted with each hoof-fall from the massive creature. A ton of muscle, beast and steel barreled down upon her like an avalanche with its axe drawn back and ready to cleave her from shoulder to waist. Her vision shook as thunder and storm rushed forward, her side-step barely managing to evade the swing of the beasts weapon, the passage of air parting with such force that she felt the wake upon her face as he drew herself away, eight foot spear drawn up and ready, where it was immediately tested.

The minotaur was no ponderous, dumb animal. Halting its charge, it spun itself around on one hoof, its weapon coming about in a wide arc that outreached her own weapon. Regine ducked, drawn low to the ground, springing up and stabbing at the beast. The spearhead screamed off of the scalemail, unable to find a softer place to penetrate, as the minotaur's arms were drawing its huge axe in a backswing and stepping forward, its enormous mass filling her vision. Regine immediately saw what it was doing - it was locking her close. With her spear unable to be used to parry and too long to make another attack on an enemy so closely adjacent to her, the vampire would have met her end had she not leapt up and somersaulted backwards, the minotaurs greatweapon passing just inches beneath her body as she did so. Relentlessly, the minotaur surged forward again, swinging widely, then over-head then stabbing with the point atop its axe, constantly putting Regine on the defensive. She ducked, weaved and sidestepped, her cat-hunter like grace saving her each time as she stabbed her weapon against the mountain of iron and muscle before her, searching for any opening. She aimed under the arms, underneath the gorgot, against the throat, even at the furious, single orange eye that focused a herds rage solely upon her, but no opening was available. The clatter and shriek of steel against steel filled the cavern as the massive man-beast constantly advanced, its copper-colored scalemail brandishing more and more silvered streaks where the vampires spear-head was grazed instead of finding penetration.

The thing was relentless! Regine could only think for a second. On and on it surged, that huge axe seemingly a cross-like brandish of razorsharp steel that constantly pushed her back.

Another swing across her midsection. This time Regine gambled and skipped back half a step, the crest of the axe slicing through the front of her clothes as it passed by with the slimmest of margins. Acting quickly, the vampire leapt to the side, away from the swinging axe, landing on the flank of the monster and shooting her spear up like an arrow to catch the beast in the shoulder. The minotaur snarled in anger and Regine could smell blood, but a small win turned to horror as she tried yanking her weapon free, only to see it locked against a steel plate of the beast's armor. The minotaur reacted quicker. Its closest arm let go of the handle of its weapon and swung back with mighty force, catching Regine in the stomach and blasting her off her feet to sail a dozen feet across the room and impact agonizingly against a wall of the cavern. Her head rung, her midsection ached like fire devouring her guts - but at least her spear was free.

But the monster charged again. Bellowing its bestial rage, shaking the floor with its weight, the minotaur slammed forward and the vampire was barely able to duck beneath its unearthly swing. Once again, she leapt up, to somersault back -

The minotaur's huge, armored paw was waiting. Having learned from the prior escape, it had predicted this move. Its massive grip halted Regine's escape and Slammed! her back down onto the ground. All unlife seemed to leave the vampire as her body impressed into the ground an outline of her silhouette, the world ringing and slowing down as stars dotted across her vision.

Its massive hoof compressed came down on her chest, compressing her against the floor, pinning in place as it rose its axe above its head for the swinging decapitation.

Barely able to move, Regine only had one option. She dropped her spear. Her claws slide from all ten of her fingers and she punctured each of them into the knee of the arresting hoof, each black talon piercing the tissue, bone, ligaments and tendons as if they weren't even there. And then she gripped and pulled apart.

Thick, blackish blood splattered down and across the vampires face. The minotaur roared above, a pained, agonized bellow whose power reverberated through Regine's entire body as it stumbled back, barely able to stand. Drawing herself up to her rump, seizing her spear, Regine drew her weapon about, aimed and thrusted upwards - the steel spearhead of her weapon slicing right into the exposed underside of the minotaurs throat.

"Gllrrr...ghhrrr.....ggrrrhhgghll!!" the monster gargled, its lone eye wide, robbed of all fury and power, now only open and helpless as it stumbled forward onto its one good knee. Its other hung in bloody ribbons.

Back on her feet, Regine retrieved her sword and returned to face the armored beast, what muscular flesh that was visible beneath its armored scale-mail quickly paling as its lifeforce bled out from two fatal wounds. For the last time, monster and vampire locked eyes: its one and her two, staring, considering, the once fire of hatred now just an ember, before Regine held her sword in both hands and brought it down on the creatures broad neck, cleaving through the heavy bone and thick meat and cutting the huge head from the monsters massive shoulders.

Were she a mortal, Regine would likely soon join the minotaur in death, as doubtless internal hemoraghing would finish her off where a broken spine and bones had started. Instead, she felt all her tissues, soft and hard, knitting back together in her body as the adrenaline of combat slowly wore off, until she was whole again, staring at the enormous, fallen foe before her.

"Ou...outlander...!" the sickened voice croaked from behind. Turning to face it, Regine spotted the Beastlord and approached, her blood slick blade in hand, her image dishevelled and clothing mauled - but she was cold-eyed and murderous.

"T..r...traitor...all of you...ma...may the Gr...Great Beast...take you as...slave, whore! M...may you ne...never cea...cease giving...him sons....! Beh-heh-heh-heh.." the bloodied, wet cackling heaved up crimson mucous from deep within. Through as he was, the Beastlord tried picking up a battered cleaver next to his position, but Regine easily intercepted the effort, plucking it from his larger hand and tossing it away, bringing her own weapon up against its throat.

"Who are you? What are you doing here? Who is Sul Konarr?" she demanded simply.

The Beastlord glared back with tired eyes at the centre of a sick, muzzled face.

"Heh heh heh...human bitch lies...you know who...you his mate...heh heh...we dri...drive out your weak herd...from here...sow...ours now...but this..."

The beastman glared up at the jagged pillar beside them, that triangular arrangement of three circles having overseen the entire ordeal like some delighted, silent spectator. Beneath its image had blood been shed, and few things could have made it happier.

"I...go to...the Great Beast...I...Rakath Blackmane!!" the Beastlord summoned the last of his strength, beating at his chest to announce his name to some unseen arbiter, "I...heh heh...I send....Great Beast many human wives...many human skulls...from Lyonesse to Bourdelex I take - "

A flash of steel decapitated the Beastlord, silencing him forever as his great, ugly head wetly slapped and rolled across the floor.

Regine looked at the dead creature, then up at that pillar, then over at the running stream of water against a side of the cave, its current flowing into the mountain, into the mine. She sniffed the air. Unseen particles told her many stories. The beastmen. The miners. The fresh scent of water hiding something within...the Norscans. They had been here.

The vampire cleaned her sword and retrieved her weapons and cloak. Moving over to the cavern opening, the scent of fresh, pine air washing over her skin in the pale moonlight, Regine cast her gaze across the forested valley and a beautiful fjord that reflected beautiful Luna. But there was something else her binocular vision could detect, something small and hidden and unnoticeable had she not the keen senses she now possessed: the white sheet of a tent. Two miles away. Within a crevice adjacent to the fjord.

Sniffing the air.

The faintest scent of cooking meat.

Norscans.

They were here.

Looking back over at the cave, then back down to the fjord with the small valley offshoot, Regine willed a transformation over herself. Her legs drew in, her body grew longer as she hunched forward onto all fours. Bones creaked and fur sprouted, all tools and clothes made by mortal hands melding into her very flesh only to be covered by a sheet of glistening, blue-black pelt of her wolf form. Huge, but fast, the wolf darted forward on all fours and down the path and into the forest. The night was not yet over.

[BananaPhone]

Regine Von Carstein


The forests of the fjord pillared around the wolfen-shaped vampire as she sped down the ravine, her paws soft against the soft forest floor and the stars above blocked shielded by the wooden canopy. The crisp night air pressed against her lupine face as the vampire drank and inhaled in the sweet, cool breeze that was no longer stricken with the endless scent of decay that had so choked her in the mines. Focusing on her descent down the valley, her nose remaining alert to guide her direction towards the Norscan camp, the former thief wondered to herself exactly how she would approach this, how she would accomplish the removal of -

Ten Norscan Marauders.

The lupine vampire had descended far enough that her hulking, pony-sized form was able to hide among the shrubbery of the forest floor while peering across the hidden camp before her. One tent. Two. Three. Four. Five. And a sixth, larger than the others, with a seventh one adjacent and close-by with only the signs of internal storage serving as its purpose. The centre of the camp held a fire-pit above which were arrayed numerous skewers with flanks of meat shoved across their lengths, while closer to the tree's behind the clearing and away from any passing, casual observer, Regine spotted the squat, long forms of the ship the Norscans had used to travel this deep into Bretonnian soil, its sails doubtlessly folded away to further conceal it from stray eyes.

Remaining hidden in the shrubbery, crouched low and peering, Regine counted the outlanders, her eyes narrowed at the sight of them. These weren't like the Norscans she'd encountered in the mine, no no, these men were bigger, more savage and violent in appearance, their shoulders seemingly carved from stone, their forms towering and imposing and born from a harsh wasteland that produced nothing but harsh men. Though shy of armor, what they had was practically arranged to protect against melee weapons in a duel, while the shields scattered about the camp would afford them cover from missile fire.

The thiefs mind worked like a set of gears and cogs, mentally deducing the best way to approach almost a dozen men visibly capable of extraordinary violence. The beastmen had been savage animals, uncoordinated in their attacks and clumsy, but they had wounded her all the same. The minotaur had been a monster with more wits and cunning that one would grant him upon visual inspection, yet he had almost taken her head off. It did not count to be over-confident, or underestimating.

Narrowing her eyes, Regine remained low and slunk through the shrubbery and foliage of the forest and around the perimeter of the camp. Mustering her skills to remain quiet and unseen, the vampire-in-wolfs form moved, paused, moved, paused, moved paused, in a tediously necessary masking of her locomotion, before eventually making her way to the other side of the camp, past the hidden longship and behind the storage tent. Her eyes pried and alert, the vampire returned to her humanoid form, Regine's mortal image taking shape once again from her prior lupine form, and crouched low to approach the tent, draw its rear sheets up and slide herself inside. Alas, there was no treasure. No mountains of gold or captives upon which to feed or gather information. Instead, there was simply weapons, food and provisions one might expect for a raiding party so far from home. But of the implements of death that were available, one type in particular caught the vampires attention: the javelins. There were many, many javelins.

Reaching out and picking up one of the almost short-spear like weapons, feeling its weight and inspecting its sharpened steel tip, Regine perked an eyebrow and spun it around easily between her long, dextrous fingers. Suddenly, Regine smiled. She considered the woods outside, then the Norscans chattering in the camp with their guttural, harsh tongue.

The vampire wrapped her hand around half a dozen of the thin, aerially-designed spears and left the tent to depart back into the woods.

Gathering her newly acquired javelins, the vampire moved amidst the tree's and deposited the weapons in groups of two strategically behind the trunks.

Then, she moved closed to the camp, away from her temporarily cache'ed weapons, drew her bow and peered back at the Norscan camp. Bringing her ranged weapon about before her and up to aim down the length of an arrow, the vampire pulled the drawstring back, aimed and waited...

[BananaPhone]

Regine Von Carstein

The vampire drew back the drawstring on her bow, aiming down the length of the arrow, picking a target among the circle of Norscans gathered around the central-fire of the hidden camp, and loosed.

The arrow knifed through the night air, its hissing whistle ending with a slicing Thud! through the side of a Norscans neck. Not through the centre, not penetrating the vertebrate or jugular, but through the side, blood immediately running from both wounds as the raider roared in pain and shot his hand up to his neck out of reflex.

The others reacted slowly, mead having slowed their wits, but they gathered themselves soon enough; standing up, eyes scanning the tree's and shouts to alert the others as weapons and shields were picked up. The one with the arrow through his neck toppled over onto his side, before another arrow whistled from the dark bed of tree's and thudded into another Norscans chest. Another bellow of pain and fury, the reavers quickly coming together and bringing their shields up to form a protective wall as others emerged from their tents, dazed and confused by gathering their wits and joining the others.

Shouts and yells filled the camp, eyes scanning the trees, before a third arrow hissed in its entry and slammed against one of their shields, embedding into the black-painted wood.

"Från åsen - där uppe! Ni två huvuden till vänster, vi kommer fram i centrum och distraherar, det är bara en!" the biggest among them shouted in his harsh language, gesturing with his axe as the main group started to run toward Regine's hidden position, shields up, while a couple broke off from the body to wrap around the flank.

They were going to pin her down then flank her against the river, Regine could tell, her bow coming up one more time and loosing an arrow - but all it found was another shield-front into which it dully buried itself into with a Thud!

"Där är dem! Cormac, Asavar, runt till höger, klipp av dem från andra sidan!"

Once again, two men broke off from the main group and headed to their right, crossing the barrier between the woods and the camp and joining Regine in the forest. Meanwhile, the other two roughly fifty yards from her, had disappeared from sight into their section of the forest, but the vampire could hear their heavy footsteps crushing grass and twig underfoot; the main body would hold her in position while the two smaller groups would flank her. Time to move.

Regine pulled back from the tree and retreated ten or so yards deeper up the ravine hill, shouts coming from below as her figure was completely spotted and tracked. Making it behind the next trunk, the vampire reached down and picked up one of the javelins she had planted earlier, drew it up ready to throw, then rounded the other side of the tree, spotted the main group, drew her hand back and hurled it towards them with all of her strength. The short-spear missile knifed through the air, propelled by the vampires inhuman strength as it was sliced down like a thunderbolt and struck one of the Norscans in the shoulder, where his pectoral moved towards his trap muscle, the length of the weapon puncturing clean through and evoke a roar of pain as the man toppled backwards, struggling on the ground as blood seeped from his wound. The rest surged forward, their momentum only broken briefly by entering the thickets of the forest, but their shields remained forward and blocking most blows - as Regine learned when she hurled her next javelin, only for it to embed itself deeply into another shield.

The vampire retreated again, breaking from her cover and darting further up the ravine hillside, leaping over a fallen log, landing on her feet, dashing towards - a bolt of hot pain spread out from her back as she felt a penetrating spearhead lodge itself in a shoulder blade. Hissing loudly, getting behind cover, Regine felt the awkward weight swaying behind her, the steel head half-embedded into her body as she had to pivot her whole centre and 'whack' the spear from her flesh by catching it with the rough bark of a tree. The hot sensation of pain was rescinding, but the action had cost her precious seconds and distracted her, as a warcry and heavy footsteps thundered in from her left - the two that had split off from earlier had found her.

The first to come at her was big, but then again, they all were. Regine was herself a tall figure, but this one was half a foot again above her, his big shoulders carrying his battleaxe in one hand and shield in the other, the bearded, ferocious face staring hate at her as his weapon came down for what would have been a head-splitting killing blow. The vampire sidestepped at the last moment, drawing her own sword out, stabbing out towards his arm, but the warrior brought his shield up and angled it, causing her to deflect, then shoved that same shoulder at her to push her off balance, which she only avoided by stepping backwards. That was when his partner arrived, spear in hand, the weapons length granting him a skewering charge that the vampire was only able to turn aside with her sword at the last moment, but now the axe-and-shield was on her again, roaring ferociously as he beat at her with his axe, swinging down-wards chops, side-ways cleaves, forcing her backwards while his companion with the spear stabbed at her from behind his companion. The two offered a mixture of defense and relentless offensive that Regine struggled to protect herself from, let alone overcome.

Knowing she did not have the experience for this, the vampire stepped turned and jumped, taking a diving somersault and coming up near another one of her trees, pivoting around it, drawing up one of the javelins and turning around the other side, hurling the short-spear with a vicious force that planted it right into the spearman's chest; the man shouting loudly in death-pain as he was taken off his feet and stumbled backwards. The axe-and-shield bellowed as he surged forward again, axe up to strike - but Regine was quicker. She darted in as close as she could go, her dagger coming up to block his swing near the hilt, while her fangs went straight into his neck and drank deep. The Norscan's eyes went wide, his axe falling from his grip as all strength and life fled his body, pushed out by the vampires hunger as Regine sheathed her dagger and used that hand to grab the raiders shield instead, using it for her own purposes as the remaining central group of three raiders finally caught up - their shock quickly transforming into anger as all three charged forward with shouts of bloody murder.

The two in the centre surged up the hill towards her, while the third in the group broke off and came at Regine from the side, a spear in his hands stabbing out at her from a distance. Outnumbered three to one, Regine kept was constantly on the back foot. Her sword turned aside the spear-thrusts, while her shield and cat-like grace deflected or side-stepped from those before her. The sound of steel deflected from wood and the grunts and shouts of Norscan raiders echoed off the surrounding trees and into the starry night. As before, Regine was too much on the defensive to mount an offense; the three men before her stabbing, swinging and thrusting with their weapons while the two occupying her centre made good use of her shields. Even more seriously, she could detect further heavy foot-falls incoming from her left - the other two sent around to help flank the main group. They couldn't be more than forty yards away and closing fast.

Regine side-stepped to the left ducking beneath a powerful swing. Deliberately putting the two before her between herself and the spearman, she bought herself precious seconds. Shooting her sword up and catching the axe-wielder upon the shoulder, his scream gargled as her weapon passed through the tissue and join and into his neck, flashing a red spray as she swiftly withdrew it and kicked the Norscan forward with enough strength to crash him into his compatriot - and she stabbed him again in the back with her sword, the tip sliding through the tissue of one Norscan and into the chest of the one behind him.

But the spearman came on swiftly. Having rounded his now two-dead compatriots, his longer reach weapon in hand, he stabbed out towards the vampire, shortening his weapons longer-reach quickly to easily reposition it whenever Regine used her agility to side-step, or extending it when she backtracked. The armored Norscan knew what he was doing, the vampire could tell much, and she could hear the rapid approach of his final two companions and a sharp, sudden whistle...

Ducking just too late by half a second, Regine felt the red-hot puncture of a javelin pierce her back and penetrate through her body to protrude above her right breast, the spearhead slick with streaks of her dark blood. Hissing in pain and gritting her fangs, the vampire drew her left hand back and hurled her new-found shield against the spearman before her, the warrior's clear lack of experience in such an unorthodox maneuver as it struck him hard in his chest, blood coughing out form his lips as he stumbled backwards with shattered ribs and punctured lungs.

That bought her time. Quickly, the vampire reached up and grabbed the javelin sticking out of her body and, with a pained whined, yanked it through the rest of her torso, turning around just in time as the other two were barely half a dozen yards away - the javelin being hurled back in gratitude and striking one in the stomach. He garbled blood and spun about on the spot from the force of the impact, before the vampire lunged forward to meet the remaining Norscan bellowing hot fury and swinging his enormous axe. He swung, she stepped backwards. He came forward again, momentum and power in a broad stroke. She ducked then sprung forward, gaining entrance to his personal space and within his weapon, driving her sword through his chest and latching her fangs onto his neck from which she drank and drank, and drank. All strength and vigour draining away, the mans ferocity bleeding into the maw of a voracious predator, the Norscan paled and lost composure, slipping down and going limp, only to be held up long enough by the vampire for her to finish feeding, before she tossed him back onto the bloodied earth, gasping in deeply as the moon cash its silvery light over her pale features and blood-slick, fanged maw.

[BananaPhone]

Regine von Carstein


In the wake of the fight, Regine had retrieved each fallen Norscan and dragged them to one central location from which she fed. Pierced, stabbed, drained and broken, their bodies lay in a crumpled pile at her feet as the vampire held the final, limp body to her mouth from which she greedily drank every drop of life.

The Norscans were morally corrupt. Their spirits were rotten and tainted with the delusions of the Chaos Gods and service to malign powers. But their physical forms? Those were healthy. The red nectar that pulsed through each vein was like sweet wine to the vampire, a delicious edible that washed through her body as a warm pleasure that satisfied every nerve-ending and recharged her love of unlife. Drawing her face away to face the stars, Regine’s fangs glinted with their red polish as the Norscans blood was smeared across mouth, chin and jaw, before she let the limp dead warrior drop from her hand to crumple uselessly upon the forest floor.

But she was not alone.

Surrounded by the woods as she was, standing atop a blood-slick ground and a pile of corpses, Regine stared down at a towering figure that had silently made its way up the hill of the ravine to stand in waiting some ten yards from her. To describe him as a large man would be an understatement, as she did not think that even Wulf could match the man for height, nor brawn, as the man as closer to seven feet at the helm and covered from head to toe in black-steel plate armor that carried the marks of countless battles. Her wore no tabard, no identifying marks of allegiance, only brandished steel and brutal power, and a wedge-like helm from which two eyes stared from behind a visor.

“And who are you to claim my flock as your own?” he asked, a voice like calm thunder, lined with a harsh accent from somewhere far to the north where men should not reside.

“Theirs was a task of purpose; to spread the gift of the Father. Not to feed a parasite in stasis. You are no longer a canvas for the Father’s blessing. Why have you interrupted our work?”

Their work? The Father? A canvas – parasite in stasis? Regine knew nothing of what the man, or creature, spoke of. Taking several steps forward through the dead bodies of the Norscans, the vampire considered the towering man of steel before her.

“A parasite? Those are strong words for the leader of glorified pirates that sack and pillage.”

“Transient and inconsequential. They do not matter any more than grains of wheat that are pulverised to produce flour in a mill that feeds a million. The Fathers blessings are for all to receive, each dedication a rung on the ladder to ascend into the divinity of his grace.”

“The beastmen did not look particularly ‘divine’.”

The figure chuckled. Sardonic and mocking.

“Blackmane was given the opportunity to be something more, even if he lacked the constitution to seize the moment. The Children of Chaos are a wayward experiment, fit only to clear the way for the heralds of something greater.”

“You used them then?”

“I extended them a curtsey. The could rise above meandering beasts squatting in a cave and licking their wounds, and could instead become instruments to spread the Fathers blessings.”

Things aligned in Regine’s mind: running water within the mine, the ever-present scent of decay and disease, the putrefied state of the beastmen she had fought so fraught with plague and illness. Then she thought deeper for a second: the shaman and the tri-circle stone that had dominated the final cavern with Rakath and the Minotaur.

“How?”

The figure chuckled once again with the same mirth.

“You possess no soul, vampire. You are dead flesh without rot or purpose. You are outside the circle of Father’s blessings. A wolf kept at bay on the perimeter, forever staring with hunger at the works of others. The day will come when this world joins in unity with the Father. Without sustenance, you will wither and decay.”

“So I am capable of change?”

Once more the figure laughed slowly, that mocking tone remaining. Only this time he reached over to the scabbard on his hip and gripped the hilt of his weapon, which Regine now noticed sported a snakes-head pommel with two small rubies for eyes. Withdrawing a blade of glimmering beauty and simplicity, the steel like nothing the vampire had seen before.

“Indeed; allow me to show you how malleable you are.”

[BananaPhone]

Regine von Carstein

The Chaos Champion looked as if he were poured out from the forges of steel and iron. Towering, imposing, unmoving. The only hints that a living man wore that armor, however twisted by the ruinous power, was the pair of dull, grey eyes staring at her through the slit-visor of his forward wedge-shaped helmet. Grasping that sword in his hand and bringing it about to grip it in two, the warrior advanced slowly up the hill, his dark-steel armor catching the moonlight as the first swing came in swift and fast.

The vampire slid sideways, spear in hand and coming about in a double grip like a staff, battering away one, two, three blows as the champion swung and stabbed. Inexorable and filled with power, the minion of chaos was no stupid brute: Regine saw in his size and movements that of her uncle, Wulf, deliberate precision and utilising his strengths to overwhelm her.

Regine ducked, side-stepped, parry away away a blow. She darted towards a flank and stabbed with her weapon, but the spearhead screeched off the thick chaos armor of the giant, his sword coming about and the tip finding her right shoulder. The blow drew blood as the vampire felt the cold steel bite an inch into her flesh, as the material of her clothing turned pink and then red as the wound bled, before the rehabilitation began.

"You had a soul and a body," the champion mocked, coming forward with an over-head blow that Regine parried down and away, countering with a slash across his chest that scraped harmless off his plate.

"You could have been a favoured daughter of the Father!"

Another swing, that gleaming blade hissing past her face. Regine stepped back and then to the side, but she could feel the ground growing soft beneath her boots. The pillars of pine formed a lattice around the two combatants, shrubbery and foliage boxing them into a makeshift arena with veritable patterns and terrain that would hinder and grasp at either unfortunate, or clumsy, enough to ensnare themselves for what would be even a single, fatal moment. Furthermore, she could smell the blood of the Norscan corpses saturating into the earth, mixing with the dirt and festering the area with the smell of iron and water.

Spinning her spear about in her hands, Regine darted further along her own flank, drawing herself further around the mountain of steel as he attempted, but failed, to match the Regine's advantage in speed, that spearhead jabbing out again and gain, the distance between them and the cat-hunter agility of the vampire visibly beginning to frustrate the champion as he pondered forward in a heavy charge.

"You celebrate your eternal life? Your perpetual youth?! You are a walking corpse on a doomed planet! Your blessings were stolen and you thank your thieves!"

That sword streaked in once more as the champion corrected himself, swing, stab, slash, his enormous, armored bulk filled the vampires vision as he pushed her back with each stride he took and the vampire could feel the power behind each blow she parried with the blade of her spear.

Regine was not a knight. She was not a trained soldier or veteran of a hundred battles. She had skill with the blade, but her experience was limited and so her mind went back to Wulf for the briefest of moments. His words in the fortress court-yard, teaching and educating her, which weapon to use when, how to read an opponent, but more than that it was he had not verbally instructed, but rather the simple act of just fighting her that had taught her by making her learn and improve herself.

The visor! Regine thought immediately, unable to believe she had not seen it until now, and how though all the Chaos Champion had before his eyes was a narrow slit it had in fact been herself that could not see: she was playing to his strength. He advanced upon her and she allowed him to set the rules of engagement. She stayed within his extremely limited field of vision and played his parry-thrust game in the search for an opening within the nearly impenetrable mass of steel that bedecked him.

Regine darted to the side to avoid a charge - and then she circled further. Quick, fast and pulling herself out of the Champions field of vision entirely, Regine used the foliage of the forest floor to her advantage, crouching low, almost half-hiding as the huge man tried turning about to match her speed - but he couldn't. He had lost visual sight of her which made him vulnerable when she emerged from behind, her spearhead thrusting at the back of his neck. The chaos-warped plate was resistant to her attack, but the steel point grazed and slid along the armor and underneath his left spaulder, finding vulnerability and tissue - Regine could smell blood.

The Champion yanked himself around, eyes wild with fury.

"You predate and parastize, vampire! With no soul the Father's inevitability consigns you to oblivion!"

Sword-swipe. Side-step. Slash at the Champions face, her spear tip grazing the front of the vertical wedge-like beat and leaving a silver streak.

"You sold your soul for nothing but empty promises! Mine rests with Morr!"

The Champion roared and barreled towards her once again, but the vampire circled about, out of his vision, twirling off gracefully and ducking under his advance, spinning and stabbing like a loosed arrow - the blade of her spear penetrating the back of the Champions knee with a sickening Squelch! and the vampire could smell more blood. She with drew, her spearhead smeared with crimson as she twirled back and withdrew, watching as the huge Chaos Champion lumbered about to face her, his movements slow, his limp heavy. He visibly could not raise his sword as high as he had before, the eyes staring at her with a wading fury within the visor as one more charge came forward.

But the vampire had chosen her position specifically: the Champion rushed, gritting through the pain of his knee, but lost his stability on the blood-saturated ground of his fallen comrades. Slippery and slick, the soft earth was treacherous beneath the enormous mans steel greaves, his balance swaying enough that his swing was fatally off-balance, as Regine smacked his weapon aside with the blade of her spear, spun its length around and struck the champion on the back of his armored head, sending him face-forward onto the forest floor, the earth turning a darker shade beneath his knee and shoulder.

He tried to rise. The vampire leapt upon his back, her spear flashing like silvered lightning with her strength and speed to drive it into and through the lobster-tail plates that protected the Champions neck, the crunch! of severed vertebrate and punctured armor splattering up with a geyser of gore as the minion of chaos fell back face down onto the bloodied forest floor.

Holding the shaft of her long weapon as if it were a riverboat control, Regine turned it to the right, the sound of cutting fleshand tortured steel emanating from below. Then she turned it to the left. Then the right. Then the left. Finally, the Champions head toppled from his shoulders, the stump ragged and bloody as Regine reached down to retrieve it. Half-expecting it to fall out of its helm now that it had been cut free the vampire was astonished to to discover, on closer inspection, that the barrier between flesh and steel was not as distinct as it should be, as if the two had fused to become one, the steel just another epidermis.

"What the hell are you?" Regine uttered to herself, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

She had fought the minions of Chaos before, on many occasions. But she had never acquired the chance to perform an autopsy, of sorts. The idea that their champions received armor that was fused to their bodies was...perhaps she was still too vain, but to lose her image behind cold steel? That was some devotion.

It also meant she could not pry the armor off him and either have it remade to fit herself or sell it to one who would make better use of it. In Bretonnia there were always young, wealthy would-be knights in desperate need for armor, and she knew how much a full suit was worth. But speaking of souvenirs'...

Regine's eyes tracked over to the sword the Champion had wielded, reaching down to his steel-armored hands and prying his fingers open from the hilt. Picking the weapon up, she was surprised at how light it actually was, though that could be because of her vampiric strength. The hilt was long for one to wield it one or two handed if they wished, while the blade was beautiful in its craftsmanship and yet so simple: just a straight rectangle of glimmering steel ending in a sharp point, the fuller perfectly smooth. But it was the pommel that drew particular attention from the former thief, not-least-of-which because of the rubies, but the entire motif. The snakes head had its jaws open, as if it were hissing and readying itself to strike, the crimson shimmer of its ruby eyes almost enchanting the vampire as she held it aloft and stared at it as if hypnotized.

"Oh yes...I think you're coming with me..." Regine uttered gently, her eyes drinking the weapon in as if it were a handsome man. Turning around and facing the Champion again, she reached down to retrieve the scabbard for her own use, fastening it around her hip and sliding her new, large sword into and wrapping her right hand around the snakes-head pommel.

Looking back at the carnage across the forest floor, the vampire smiled, before turning back to their camp and proceeding back down towards it. As Regine further went through their things, but she found nothing of value.

"What kind of Norscan raiders have no plunder to show for their efforts?!" the vampire exasperated out-loud in confusion, until laying her eyes on the beached and hidden longship.

Smiling in the belief that she'd hit the motherload, Regine easily cleared the standing jump from the earth floor, over the railing of the longship and onto its deck. But if she was expecting a bounty of gold, or racks of finely crafted weapons she could plunder or even bags of jewels, instead she was greeted with barrels.

Lots of empty barrels.

And the stench!

Now that she was up here, the vampire narrowed her eyes and thanked Morr that she no longer needed to breath, for having such a putrid odor become inescapable to her would have cruel fate indeed. Moving through the discarded containers, brow furrowed in curiosity, Regine picked one up at random and inspected its insides: the remnants of viscous and unnatural colored liquid festering in the bottom of the barrels.

More gears in Regine's head worked. From her position, she looked back up towards the yawning entrance to the mine she had already cleared of the beastmen, their sick and putrefied bodies returning to her thoughts. That stone in the centre of the cavern, the three triangle-arranged circles, the Champions words of the Beastmen missing their chance to 'spread the blessings of the father'.

What if the Norscans weren't here to pillage and steal, but instead to disseminate something throughout the region? To 'spread the Fathers blessings', and the Beastmen had been the first victims? Were did that river through the mine end up - how close to the human towns?

Her family had to be warned about this!

Not only could it bring unwanted attention, unwanted prying eyes wandering through the mountains and dangerously close to their fortress, it could jeopardize the human herds! The last thing anyone wanted was some plague ripping through Seigneurie de Bellecombe is one of the last things they needed! They could lose thousands of cattle to disease, let along the possibility of transmission of Chaos-born diseases into their food supply!

The knot of worry twisted in Regine's stomach, knowing her family must be warned.

Before she left, Regine retrieved logs from the camp-fire and set them about the longship, having removed one of the barrels and its remaining contents. With the fire spreading across the ship to dispose of the plague carrier, the vampire threw the rest of the Norscans garbage onto the ship and watched it all burn. She left the bodies out for the crows and the animals, before returning to the silver mine. Not sure yet how to deal with the magical emanating pillar, Regine instead collected the Minotaurs head before making her way back through the mountain and out the other side, relieved to see that Casper was had rested himself within the grass and gone to sleep.

Waking her new steed and affectionately petting and kissing his long neck, before granting him a firm, warm hug, Regine drew herself up in the saddle and set at a canter back to the fortress. With only an hour before sunrise, Regine knew she'd make it, yet the urgency of her findings gave her wings.

[BananaPhone]

Regine von Carstein

The travel back to Forteresse de Carstein had been, thankfully, uneventful. With the roads regularly patrolled by her uncles there was no need to fear the hidden dwellings of pick-pockets, bandits or worse, greenskins. Instead, the vampire was treated to a pleasant journey through the mountainous ravine of her family's temporary home, the fjord to her left and the forested crags to her right. Regine watched as Luna's silvery disc slowly descended behind the crests of the ridges, a smile upon her face, her blood-red eyes drinking in the natural beauty of her new world. She could stare at the gentle fjord passing her by all night if she wanted to, and who knew, now that eternity stretched out before her, maybe one time she would do just that.

Arriving back to the fortress with ten to fifteen minutes to spare, Regine entered through the large gate of the towering walkways and battle ramparts, one prize on her hip and another bulging out a sack she carried over one shoulder. Dismounting Casper and placing him in the stable, handing him over to the, admittedly handsome stable boy with a sly smile, Regine moved into the interior of her family's castle where the thick, sturdy walls afforded her fantastic protection against the incoming sun, particularly with the heavy drapes drawn across every window on the premises.

Moving through the large banquet hall and courtroom, through the corridors and rooms, the first of her family Regine encountered was, surprisingly, Ulrich, who seemed to be busying himself in one of his research laboratories. Regine could hear him chuckling while talking to himself as she passed by the entrance way, the curiosity prompting her to pause her advance and peer into her one of her uncles workshops.

"Uncle Ulrich?" she called out, entering the large, neatly ordered space approxiamtely twenty yards by twenty yards in size, with several support pillars arranged down the centre to help bear the load of the stone above them, as well as serve as convenient places to hang shelves and racks.

"Oh - little niece, is that you?" that familiar voice returned, Regine smiling as she heard it and entering deeper.

Spoiler

Show

She moved deeper into the workshop, noticing the red-steel grates that composed the central section of the workshop and leading down to a type of drainage system beneath them. Flanking that arrangement was what looked like six beds, or at least man-sized platforms for people to be placed upon, their maneuverability on display as they were tilted upright at 45 degree angles so that Ulrich could doubtlessly inspect whatever unfortunate soul found themselves strapped into place. Speaking of which...

"Little niece!" Ulrichs had emerged near the end of the workshop, that white hair of his neatly combed and his cloak discarded. Wearing black pantaloons, a white top and a dark vest over it, he looked every bit the man of learned science he was.

"Uncle!" Regine smiled, picking up her pace into a stride as she approached.

"I must admit, I had not expected you to return for a few days. You were supposed to explore the region, familiarise yourself with it...something important must have compelled your return."

The former thief nodded, her black top-knot moving behind her head slightly as she did so. Coming to a stop before the older vampire, Regine easily unslung the head bag that from her shoulder and sat it upon the ground before her. It was now that Ulrich perked an eyebrow when he noticed the disheveled and damaged state of Regine's clothes; the torn segments of her cloak, ripped and cut segments of her outfit, the puncture marks and penetrations that had destroyed zones of her chainmail.

"You look like you fought a clan of orcs..."

"I went to the mine - the one on the map? I thought - "

"You went there?" Ulrich asked with surprising inquisition, "hmm, we should have warned you: we heard that that place was being eyed by the humans for revival. There were rumors that the deed had been granted to a party whose identity we had not yet learned."

"This deed?"

Regine reached into her back pocket and produced the crumpled, but functional roll of parchment. Ulrich received it, opened it and ready it, his eyes widening as he did so.

"How did you get this..."

"There's more, uncle. I think the region is in great peril. I went through the mine and - "

"You went through it?!"

Regine nodded, reaching into her large bag once again and withdrawing the barrel sample she had retrieved.

"Beastmen. They were all sick, like they were diseased. They had this stone in their communal area, I could feel magic within its make and it bore a symbol the likes of which I have never seen nor heard. There was this leader among them who said that I was a traitor, or some such? That I was in league with Sul Konarr...? Or some foreign name as that. I breached the mine, went through it, and I discovered a group of Norscans, led by this giant of a man, clad all in armor that had fused to his skin!" Regine's eyes were wide with excitement, Ulrich listening with quiet solemnity.

"I slew him, I took, this sword from him," she reached over and withdrew her new weapon several inches to display the gleaming steel, before pressing it back into its scabbard.

"But they had no loot...no plunder. He said that the Beastmen were too weak to 'spread the fathers blessings', or something? He claimed that we are soulless, outside of the Father's circle. On their ship I found many of these..."

Now Regine held up the barrel for Ulrich to take, the learned vampire's nose twitching as he was now brought close to the fetid stench emaneating from within the container, as he turned it over in his hands for inspection.

"I burned the ship and their camp and I brought this here. I don't know what it is, but I'm worried, uncle: what if the the Norscans used it to infect the beastmen? There was a small, but deep river running through the mine, it passaged out into the water networks that move down to the human towns. What if they were pouring this into them?"

It was clear that this was a lot for the older vampire to take on, his current surroundings seemingly forgotten for several moments as he thought in silence, peering at the evidence in his hands.

"What did you say the symbol on the stone was?" he asked cautiously, all humour drained from his visage.

"It was three circles, arranged like this," Regine formed a triangle by pressing the tips of her index fingers and thumbs together in an upward facing triangle.

Ulrich shook his head.

"They've reached out this far? Damn that blasted city. If only Manaan would smite and drown it with one great tidal wave..." he uttered, shaking his head before placing the canister upon the nearest bench and starting to pace.

"Who are they? What city?" Regine asked, almost like a child hoping for a parents attention.

Again, Ulrich held his silence for several long seconds, pacing back and forth and thinking to himself, before suddenly remembering that she was still in the room.

"Oh...I'm sorry, my niece. The geographical politics we occupy is...tenuous. The Norscans you encountered, I believe, were either worshipers of or employed agents of a particularly...gifted emissary of Nurgle, who resides within Mousillon."

Regine blinked; Mousillon! That was where they were going...a string of knots slithered into her stomach, an echo of the past tugging at her heart when she recalled her former companions, Bertelis among them.

"Nur-gull...what's that?"

Ulrich smiled patiently, putting his hand on Regine's shoulder almost affectionately.

"You have entered a much larger world than you realise, my niece. You know of the ruinous powers, yes? The four mightiest among them are Khorne, the god of slaughter and war, Slaanesh, the god of lust and corruption, Tzeentch, the god of magic and ceaseless change and finally, Nurgle, the god of disease and decay. He is often called Father Nurgle, or Grandfather Nurgle, due to his followers foolish attempts to anthropomorphize an entity beyond their comprehension."

Regine thought back to her encounter with the Norscans, the referral to 'the Fathers blessings'.

Taking his hand off her shoulder, Ulrich moved over to the canister once more, picking it up in his hands.

"It seems that the Beastmen believed you to be in league with the Norscans; you are, ostensibly human in appearance, after all, and they cannot particularly distinguish between us. The Norscans who spread this among their number and the water supply..." he gave the barrel a small, gesturing shake.

"I saw what the effect of this...concoction had on the beastmen. If this got into the water streams from that mine, those currents run right down through past Marmande, Bellefontaine, Chateau Sable and Tour-en-Bois! That's tens of thousands of humans, our herd could be devastated, and they'd look for things to blame - they would come looking for monsters in the mountains! We can't let our cattle perish in such a way!"

Ulrich nodded solemnly, "you are absolutely right, my niece."

"And Sul Konarr?"

Ulrich pursed his lips and nodded, turning to face her and then move to her side, silently beckoning her to follow him.

"Come, my dear niece, we must inform father of this." and she dutifully fell in alongside him as they moved from the workshop and into the castle interior at large.

"So...you slew beastmen and Norscans? I've never dined on the northerners, believe it or not. What do they taste like?"

Beside him, Regine smiled, "Salted pork."

Ulrich snickered, his sense of humor returning, "how many did you say there were? A dozen? I'd have to sleep off such a large meal."

The former thief's smile turned into a grin as they rounded a corner and started upon some stairs, a black banner of their family coat-of-rams hanging from a stone wall. She shrugged to his words, her grin almost bashful, "Waste not."

Ulrich laughed, nodding in amusement as he reached out to clap his niece on the shoulder humorously, both vampires snickering among themselves as they sought out their father.

[BananaPhone]

Regine von Carstein



The entire family had gathered in the meeting room of the tower, a small but well-decorated chamber whose walls were covered with paintings and marble busts of long-deceased icons of admiration. Two large, arching windows were placed into the stone walls, but the onset of the rising dawn had quickly prompted them to be coved with long, thick emerald green velvet curtains. To the east of the entry-way sat a fireplace, though its hearth consumed no wood nor harbored any flame, for soon the family would be going to bed and such luxuries were no longer needed to warm a room of seldom, if important use. However, it was the middle of the hall that was dominated by a large, polished walnut wood table that took up almost the entire centre. Circular in shape, solid and sturdy, the surface was polished and its frame surrounded by five large chairs neatly arranged in a pentacle pattern on its perimeter, and within each sat a member of the household: Camile, Ulrich, Wulf and the Count himself, Heinrich.

That left the fifth chair empty.

Standing before the table, the eyes of her family upon her, Regine had spared a moment to consider her surroundings, her mind wandering to barely a few weeks ago where she was a thief with a traveling band of vagrants, nary with two coppers to rub together. Though a part of her still wished her former companions were fine and well and had not befallen some ghastly fate in Mousillon, it was hard not to look her where she was now, the beautiful charm and lovingly crafted luster and wonder if, perhaps, her prior fretting had been for naught. No one had ever given her anything, every meal had been a fight and more than once she could well have died in the back-alleys of L'Anguille with a knife in her back, or worse. Yet now...here she was. Out of all the millions of Bretons, she alone had been elevated. It was an exclusive family, and she was in it.

Spoiler

Show

"And you are sure this...Beastlord believed you in league with the Norscans?" Heinrich asked, the power in his voice bringing Regine back to the present, the newest von Carstein nodding.

"Perhaps not the Norscans I encountered, Grandfather, but he said that he would send me back to someone named Sol Kunarr. He seemed surprised to even see me. He called me a traitor and when I pursued the trail further down the ravine and encountered the Norscans, their leader spoke of the Beastmen as if they were tools. Allies of convenience at best, but only a handful of the beasts seemed taken by whatever new spiritual force the Norscans had introduced to them, which seemed very recent."

Wulf and Heinrich looked at each other, centuries of camaraderie allowing a quiet exchange of expressions that only they understood, while murmuring quietly between themselves. Beside Wulf, dressed in her typical fashion, Camile smiled fondly towards Regine, almost maternally, doubtless feeling rather vindicated in her selection for ascension into the von Carstein ranks.

"Regine, sit," Heinrichs rich voice once again grabbed Regine's attention, her notice going to the empty seat at the table: it was for her. A swarm of butterflies pushedaround in her stomach at the implications and consequences, an honor gifted upon her that she, the youngest and newest member of the family, should be permitted to sit at the decision table, if not to offer opinions then at least to be present when they drew conclusions.

Curtsying, "yes, Grandfather, thank you!" she spoke, two steps forward and lowering herself into that leather chair, the thick stuffing within cushioning her rump and back in the embrace of a cloud. Regine noticed a small smile from Ulrich, her trimmer uncle that shot her a subtly perked eyebrow and arched corner of his lips: well done, kid.

"Sol Kunarr, the one you refer to, is a Chaos Lord of Nurgle. He resides in that damned city, Mousillon, several hundred miles from here. Have you heard of it?" Heinrich spoke, to which Regine nodded, "I have, Grandfather."

"It has long been a haven for the grotesquery of mankinds intersection with both the infernal powers and necromantic amateurs. It is theorised that this springs from a deep-seated curse within the land, but nothing has been definitively proven. In such a theatre of rot and misery, that it would become a haven for such an emissary is sadly all too predictable."

A pregnant pause lingered in the air. Once enough time had passed to respectfully take over from Heinrich, it was Wulf who offered the next words.

"Unfortunately, one of our kind has also taken up residence within Mousillon. He - "

"The Red Knight."

Wulf blinked, the others curious, "you have heard of him?"

Regine felt four sets of vampiric eyes turn to settle upon her, almost pinning her in place; over a collective millennia of actions and thoughts waiting in scrutiny. She knew she had to choose her words carefully.

"Before I was honored with rebirth into the family, my companions and I were set to travel to Mousillon, to face this Red Knight. A Knight I travelled with, Sir Bertelis Roche, with whom I drew close, confessed to me a familial tie with this vampire, whomever he is. We went to a seer in Turris Vigilans who confirmed it, and divulged further that the Red Knight and Sol Kunarr are locked in a stalemate, as the Red Knight uses necromancy to replenish his ranks and Sol Kunarr, in such a benighted and plagued land, has no shortage of new cultists. He wields a spear with magical properties, the Spear of Manaan, and he is able to entrance foes with a gaze."

"That doesn't sound like a Blood Dragon," Ulrich spoke up, the sense of peer scrutiny immediately lifted from the former thief.

"The Lahmians wouldn't dare let one of their own out of their control to such an extent," Wulf added.

As Ulrich, Wulf and even Heinrich discussed the possibility of these categories, of which Regine knew almost nothing, it was only Camile that still looked at her, a glimmer in her eye and residual smile upon her lips as she alone detected the true meaning behind the former thiefs phrase, 'drew close'.

As for the discussion? Blood Dragon. Lahmians. Even the term Necrach was employed. Regine knew none of what these words meant, or why they would be significant to the deliberations. Instead, they only served as a reminder that she still had much more to learn about her new existence.

Finally, Heinrich silenced the chatter with a raised, open palm, and silence descended immediately.

"There is troublingly little that we know of the Red Knight, my granddaughter," he said, those aged eyes looking at her, centuries of thoughts and experience behind them, "our family lineage is not the only faction of our kind that exists and operates within the lands of the kine. They offer further challenges to our long-term goals, and should you encounter any other vampires in the world, even if they bare our last name, tread lightly, for they are not your friends. As for Sol Kunarr, that he would have the resources to spare to initiate the dissemination of plagues in adjacent lands suggests that he is either winning or toying with the Red Knight, or holding him at bay while mustering fresh power to bare against him. In either case, his intrusion into our domain cannot be tolerated for reasons that should be all too obvious."

Once more, a pregnant pause lingered in the air.

"He is no longer a curiosity hundreds of miles away. He is now a threat to this region. To our family. I should not have to elaborate on why we do not wish to watch our human herds disappear beneath a tide of disease and chaos."

Regine could see where this was going.

"Your former occupation has furnished you with the skills and mind necessary to do what must be done, granddaughter. Sol Kunarr and his cultists. The Red Knight and his minions. Travel to Mousillon, infiltrate the city and ensure that our family achieves a favorable outcome."

"Define favorable outcome."

"They all die."

[BananaPhone]

Regine von Carstein


"There was one other matter, father" Ulrich's voice chimed in.

"The abandoned silver mine where Regine uncovered this plot, she also found the deed in possession of the Norscans second-in-command, a shaman."

The vampiric scholar then produced the rolled up vellum, placing it upon the table before him and unfurling it to reveal rows of scribed black ink and a small, weighted coat-of-arms system tethered to its base. "I thought perhaps it might have been a fraud, but as far as I can discern it is genuine."

Heinrich snorted lightly in dismissal.

"That arrogant fop in Tour-en-Bois," he shook his head, his neatly trimmed silvery beard seemingly accentuated in the gloom of their surroundings.

"His father was a brave man, but he is a greedy one. This suggests that Sul Kunnar's influence is deeper than anticipated. That a band of Norscans could acquire the deed to a delipidated industry in the mountains? Camile."

"Oui, mon père?"

"Have any of your agents reported on new ventures commissioned by that stupid boy?"

Regine's mother shook her head, evidently sincere, "Non, papa. He is an eccentric, but his advisors keep a short leash on his expenditures."

Heinrich thought for several long moments, and Regine could almost see the gears turning within the elder vampire's mind.

"Either he's not as foolish as he appears and gave a local courts gossips the slip, he's in secret league with Sul Kunnar, or your agents are losing their edge. Determine which is which and act accordingly."

Camile bowed her head in a seated curtsey, "Oui, mon pap."

Mother has agents? Regine thought to herself, the surprise perhaps not particularly that shocking, but the confirmation nonetheless was another reminder that she had much to learn in this new family and unlife. Afterall, Camile mentioned 'watching her' since LA'guille, perhaps that was how?

"I could edit the deed, father," Ulrich offered, tapping a gloved finger against the seemingly priceless vellum.

"Place it within the stewardship of one of our servants, or one of Camile's agents, whichever proves worthy. The humans can operate it and we will be silent owners."

Heinrich pursed his lips and thought, leaning back in consideration.

"They will also keep their fellow mortals in line, ensure they don't stray from their duties and wander into the mountains."

Whatever pro's and con's Heinrich was weighing it soon became clear her was coming down in favour of the proposition.

"We will require twenty percent of final net income," he decreed, Ulrich nodding in agreement, "five percent of which is received by the one who made this possible."

All eyes turned back to Regine, who had almost melted into the background in silence. Eyes widened slightly, mouth parting, she could see the small, approving looks from her uncles and her mother beside her.

"Er, grandfa...me? I was just invest..."

"You showed initiative and risk life and limb. You have brought to our attention happenings within the region that escaped our notice, as well as signals from Mousillon that demand a remedy. You have also initiated the entrance of future revenue into the family coffers. Consider yourself rewarded, grand-daughter."

Were Regine still alive, she would have blushed with the pulse of her heart beating against her ribcage. Yet, despite the cessation of bodily functions, the youngest vampire at the table felt a swell of bashful pride as she followed her mothers example and performed a seated curtsey.

"Thank you grandfather! And thank you all," she she cast her gaze across the others, Ulrich, Wulf and Camile.

"Without what you taught me I doubt I would have returned."

Though she could not see inside Camile's mind, this was particularly pleasing to hear. Curtsey and manners were a sign of good breeding, and though her selection for daughter had had come from low stock, she was learning. On the other side of the table, Heinrich apparently possessed similar thoughts, as he nodded once and then reached forward for the red-filled glass each of them had before them. Holding the goblet at the neck beneath the bulb, he held it aloft in gesture to the others, where Ulrich, Wulf, Camile and, lastly, Regine did likewise, her hand around the bottom of the transparent orb as if she were holding up a sphere of blood in her palm.

No toast was proposed, no grand speech rolled from Heinrichs lips. Instead, that gesture of respect and consideration was prompt enough, as all five vampires drank and Regine felt that sweet, cool nectar electrify her taste-buds before moving smoothly down her throat. She remembered it as well! When Camile was teaching her the finer points of mental conditioning to master her ravenous desires, she had mentioned that an exiled noble had turned to banditry in the woods, only for Wulf to have captured him instead and returning him to the castle where he was now well fed, but regularly bled for a fine refreshment.

With the glass to her lips, Regine looked over to Camile, who quickly noticed and returned her glance, as mother and daughter shared a small smile, before finishing their drink.

[BananaPhone]

Regine von Carstein


Regine arose from her sleep the following night, her prior lethargy having washed away completely and replaced with a fresh vitality for a new night! However, though the prior evening had been filled with exploration, violence and excitement, tonight, the vampire knew, would be taken at a slower pace.

Drawing herself out of plush bed, the crimson silk sheets soft against her pale skin, the vampire was immediately alert and ready. The rich mahogany nightstand and drawers stood in silent attention about her room, the thick, blood-red velvet drapes already withdrawn by the servants after the sun went down so that Lady Regine could be greeted with the beautiful view the surrounding valley and fjord through her window upon her awakening.

The vampire inhaled. She didn't have to. She wanted to. Just for the fun of it. Just to feel the cool air rush down her throat and across her lungs as she stepped forward to the window, her eyes staring out across the verdant green forests and the silver moon dressing the sapphire current of the fjord.

Regine smiled. What a lovely night!

Spoiler

Show

The Weapon -

Wulf's eyes widened as he viewed the weapon, drawing his free hand over and rubbing his palm down the breadth and steel of the beautiful and simple sword.

"Gromril," he answered, finally.

"And not just any gromril sword - this is Midnight."

Regine blinked her eyes, mouth parting gently, "How can you tell? The sword has a name?"

"Oh yes..." Wulf answered, handing the weapon back to his niece and turning to the bookshelves arrayed on his western wall. He moved his hand contemplatively across the spines before selecting one and withdrawing it, parting it open tenderly before turning page after page. He muttered to himself as he reading through the text, Regine catching words such as 'dwarves' and 'orcs, until finally he "Ah!" and turned the book about, presenting its contents to his niece.

There, brandished on the page, was a sketched replica of the weapon she held in her hands.

"The snakes head pommel sparked a memory," Wulf stated as Regine read.

"...belonged to...House DuBois...granted to Baron DuBois...friendship between man and dwarf...gratitude for Bretonnian charged that saved the Chief of Clan Diamondbeard...passed onto his son...and his son...and his son..." Regine furrowed her brow, "what happened to it? How did it end up in the hands of a minion of chaos?"

Wulf shrugged, "but eventually the House fell into ruin, the weapon was captured and never seen again...until now, three hundred years later."

Regine's eyes widened, "it's over three hundred years old?" she gasped, her uncle smirking and nodding.

"It's older than both you and I combined. Gromril is made from a fallen star. Ulrich knows more about it, but only the dwarves have access to the stuff, and only they know how to forge arms and armor from it. As you can imagine, it is quite rare, and very valuable."

Regine drew the weapon up, holding its long hilt in her hand, the ruby eyes of the snakes-head pommel glimmering as she did so. Peering down the simple straight length of the blade and giving it a safe swing, the vampire nodded.

"Do you want it? It would be better used in your hands, Uncle, you're a far better swordsman."

The older vampire closed his eyes briefly and shook his head, "Keep it, niece. From where you're going, you'll need it more than I."


The Blood -

"I understand your former companions are in Mousilln, child?" Heinrich asked, standing by the fireplace in the war room, the crackling flame casting an orange hue over his aged and imposing features.

Regine felt a knot forming in her stomach, her grandfathers deep and sonorous voice dredging up numerously awful predictions. "I believe they are, father."

"You may not be agreeable to your former allies, and they may prove unreliable in extinguishing both the Red Knight and Sul Kanarr."

Regine was silent for several moments, unsure of what to say. The thought had crossed her mind: Bertelis, Wighard, Jasmine, Grimgoth, Bruno, particularly Bertelis. A part of her wanted to see him again, to assure him that she was fine, things were alright now, she was safe and happy, and that she'd meant everything she'd told him.

"Your age and inexperience grants you leniency from me, and the others, but it will not stay the hand of the mortals that will see you as monster and predator."

Heinrich turned away from the from the fire, his silvery hair neatly styled back, that short beard of his well-groomed. He returned to the central table at which Regine sat, placing himself down on a seat opposite her and continuing.

"If you decide to recruit their assistance, you must be prepared to abandon the alliance and flee at the first sign of betrayal. I understand you are likely to still retain sympathy, perhaps even affection for them, but they are mice and you are the hawk. They will react accordingly."

It was a lot to consider. The vampire swallowed out of reflex, even though she didn't need to.

"Father, I've been meaning to ask...why was I chosen? Why me?"

"Camile saw your clear skill and ability. You are quite accomplished in your line of work for someone of only twenty years."

"But she required your approval: why did you say yes? Wulf is a knight and brilliant swordsman. Ulrich knows the arcane, alchemy and gunpowder. Camile maintains a network of agents. What's my purpose? Why me?"

Heinrich smiled.

"We will be within this fortress for another few years. Five, I predict. Our ultimate destination is the Border Princes, where each of you will be given positions of prominence and responsibility. Camile understands the pomp and intrigue of court. You, my granddaughter, know the criminal underworld. In Kislev there are a hidden, but known, brotherhood called the Chekist, whom answer solely to the Tsarina. They do not spread terror, but they are the eyes, ears and knife in the dark for the hidden enemies of the Kislev Tsardom."

"You want me to form...some type of Secret Police?"

Heinrich grunted softly in amusement, "I want you to exercise discretion, restraint and sound judgement, child."

The Vampire Count stood up and moved towards the door. However, he paused beside his granddaughter and put a hand on her shoulder.

"If your former companions tolerate your presence, I imagine that this will be the last night you are among us for some years. I cannot imagine tests greater than the path you will take, with them by your side. However much your affections for them may return, remember that they are mortal, and you are eternal. In three hundred years all of them will simply be a memory, while you will be at my side and that of your mother, building something new and magnificent. Do not get too attached to any one mortal, they do not last long. We are your family, never forget that."

Regnie swallowed. She brought her hand over her chest and put it on her grandfathers, looking up at him looming above her, his neatly bearded face filling her vision.

"I won't grandfather. You rose me from nothing and granted me the honor of our last name. I am a von Carstein, and my gratitude will never cease."

Heinrich smirked slightly and nodded once. It was the barest of gestures, but from him, it might as well have been abject praise, as Regine felt a warmth spread in her body where she received the approval of a grandparent she had always wanted.

"Do not get over-confident. Do not forget your nature. Should an emergency arise, we will send riders. Return to us in safety."