The Dead Shall Rise

[TheMeanDM]

Chapter 1:
The Beginning of the End

The Citadel.




Seat of power for Sistanos Blackmantle, unchallenged ruler of Daggoth.

At all hours, the city bustled with all manner of merchants: food, weapon, treasure, slave...whatever a heart (living or not) desired could most likely be found somewhere within The Citadel.

However, this evening was not an evening where the distractions of barking merchants or the allure of a pretty maiden were to be indulged.

The lord himself had summoned you. It was an odd thing, the Lord's summons. He had come to you, appearing suddenly from thin-air. The full-length black cloak was utterly still. The jewels in his golden crown did not sparkle or reflect any light what-so-ever. There was also that missing sense of...power...utter and complete power and confidence that came from a lifetime devoted to mastering The Art.

"You are needed tomorrow evening." is all the figure (illusion?) said, its tone perfectly matching that of Blackmantle. Then, it was gone, fading from view.

Having made your way up the long path to Blackmantle's palace 'proper', two hulking iron statues flank the blood-red colored door. The statues towered nearly fifteen feet in height, sculpted to resemble thick-boned armored skeletons.

It seemed as if they were watching you...but how could that be? Must be a trick of the moonlight...but still...maybe it wasn't?

Just as your hand reaches toward the large brass door knocker, there is an audible *click* and the door swings inward.

A pale skinned creature with humanoid features appears in the doorway. The creature's head is slightly oblong, its eyes are dead-black pools of nothingness. The fingers, more like long talons, are bony and thin.



The creature...smiles...at you, displaying its jagged fangs.

"The Master is expecting you." the pale abomination says with a silky voice. He...it...waves a taloned hand, beckoning you to enter.

"Through that door, please." it points with a bony finger, indicating a black door at the end of the long hallway.

The hallway is large, stone archways curving twenty, perhaps thirty, feet into the air to form the cieling. There are numerous stained glass windows, barely showing any color due to the pale moonlight, lining the upper limits of the hallway. Two small chandoliers hang from the ceiling, illuminating the hallway with soft candlelight, but not banishing all of the shadowy spots. A thick, plush, deep-red velvet rug provides a path from the entrance to the other door.

The black door opens easily, and you find yourself at one end of a large receiving hall. The stone floor under your feet spreads out for dozens of feet. At the opposite end of this doorway is a raised dias. Upon the dias is an ivory throne, accented by silvery platinum, mithril, and gold.

Upon the throne sits the undisputed lord of undeath, Sistanos Blackmantle. His head is simply a skull now, the flesh long rotted away. Upon his bony head rests a golden crown, adorned with blood red rubies.

Within his black eye sockets glow eerie green pinpoints of some spectral light.

[harmonictempest]

Marduk, goblin necropolitan swordsage

The small figure sauntered calmly up the path toward the front gates. Dressed in a worn, but clean, brown tunic and wearing long moccasins laced up his calves, his modest pack and outfit did not speak with the impressiveness that his gait suggested he was sure he possessed. He had a short sword on each hip, little more than long daggers for a creature so small. One was red, the other black - both colors flat and without any shine whatsoever. His skin clearly had been an dark earthen red, but was now lightened with an ashen tinge. His long black hair was held back in a ponytail, and his face was calm and assertive.

He entered the castle, giving a curt nod to the gatekeeper. Entering the main hall, he made a quick genuflection in front of the throne, holding the black sword vertically by its hilt, point on the stone floor. "My lord, I present myself for your disposal", he utters in a low but fervent tone. After resheathing the sword in its leather sheath, he stands to one side, leaning casually against a column with his arms folded, waiting for the remainder of his compatriots on this mission.

[OneFamiliarFace]

Thyn, wight assassin

A whip-like figure drifts listlessly between the shadows. It does not seem to dislike the moonlight, just prefer the darkness like a warm hug. Of, course, I would almost welcome the cold right now. Anything but this fire. The creature clutches his chest, just below a dark red rose as he steps into the moonlight before The Citadel. Surely there is little love for this fearsome monstrosity, but it demands respect. He smiles. Perhaps, though, those are the same things. The creature is clad in black armor, dark leather boots reaching to his knees, black leather curling its way up his body, until it ends, high on his neck. A sharply curved blade is hooked to the back of his shoulder, and it is crossed by a sturdy bow and a pack. The creature shifts under the weight more out of some habit long since forgotten than any discomfort. His eyes seem to be wells that bleed black out onto his pale white face, shadows in the moonlight.

As the long-faced one opens the door, the whip creature bows, looking irregular and too angular as he does, and then steps inside. Once shown to the receiving hall, he moves towards the Lord of Daggoth himself, already meeting with a small goblin. He swoops forward and takes another sweeping, angular bow. "Master Blackmantle, Erold Thyn is ready to do as you please."

[elonin]

[bold]Drugugh[/bold] Vampire rogue.

A figure that appears to be a lanky human walks up the path to the citadel, wearing a grey cloak with the hood up covering much of his head. Hanging at right side of his belt are matched rapiers that are designed to appear as though they were one blade. As he approaches the building the doors open which is not suprising, as he knows that he is expected. Once inside he silently regards the doorman and heads to the reception area wondering why he was summoned before the master so soon after his arrival in the city. What does he know, and what is the manner of trouble that I face tonight? Once he is in the presence of the Lord of the land, the wight, and the necropolitan, Drugugh bows toward Blackmantle and says, "You have requested my presence and now you have it, Drugugh is at your service"

[MorkaisChosen]

Jaeran Daest, Cleric of Nerull

Jaeran leaves his preaching much earlier than is usual. There is little that can sway him from spreading Nerull's message and Nerull's blessings, but a summons from the Lord of Daggoth himself is one of them.

Stalking through the streets, he looks similar to many of the unliving denizens of the city, but to those with the Sight, there is an unmistakeable flame of life within him. Sickly and small, tainted by the ichor of the cyst within him, but still alive.

His slender- even emaciated- form moves through the streets, breathing raggedly- as always- and slowly. His body is encased in a skeletal form, seeming to support his gaunt chest. In the gaps between the ribs a stain is visible on his living flesh- a stain of undeath.

Reaching the keep, he enters and prostrates himself before Blackmantle. "I am yours to command, Master. Nerull's blessing be with you."

[Cogwheel]

Faestir Vyth, the ghost in the machine

having recieved the message shortly after arriving in the capitol once more, the priest was almost.. excited. Almost. But then, Faestir was a creature of silence and calm, not particularly gloomy - though this may have been seen as unbecoming in a follower of Nerull, Faestir Vyth made a point of being sociable, it made it easier to achieve his goals later. Could the summoning possibly be related to his recent, for want of a better word, death? had Lord Blackmantle, perhaps, found the traitors? Though he intended to resolve matters himself if need be, he was still more comforted by the idea of it all being somehow.. official.

Just as such notions rolled about in his mind, however, another, rather more sobering thought struck him. Firstly, it was unlikely, even if he was a high-ranking priest of the reaper, that Lord Blackmantle would take the slightest interest in his life - or death, as the case may be. Even if he did, he was... well, it was true, he was benevolent at times, but only when it suited his purposes. One way or another, he was being called only because he was required to perform some task for Blackmantle. Putting these thoughts to one side, the Ghost arrived at Sistanos Blackmantle's palace.

he knew better than to dismiss the seemingly living statues as a mere trick of the light - the aged lich had eyes, ears and blades everywhere in this land. Though many would have been horrified by the creature at the door, Faestir Vyth was considerably more experienced with such things - indeed, he found them fascinating, especially since he had not seen one such as this before - and passed it by with a quick, polite nod.

The creature that came before the lord of Daggoth was one of rusted, corroded and pitted adamantine, of crumbling stone and rotted wood, of utter control, masking the inner flames of a furnace, fueled by wrath, ambition and determination. It was clad in black-and-silver robes, and a silver symbol of Nerull hung on a chain from its neck. On its chest, a few faded letters and numbers spelled out a name, if you could call it that: 19T-32. Strapped to the monstrosity's back was a scythe of darkened steel, frost coating the blade, an aura of menace all about it.

Gazing about the room at its companions, the creature finally settled its eyes upon the lich, Sistanos Blackmantle, bathing him in a glow akin to that of a dying sun. Bowing deeply, the creature rose, speaking in tones that reminded one of funeral bells, of the closing doors of a mausoleum, of a coffin, lowered into the ground on a rainy morning.

"You call, my lord, and I, Faestir Vyth, answer in kind. What would you ask of me?"

[Tura]

Rovenna Usher, ghost Hexblade / Paladin of Tyranny

Sliding invisible through the Citadel, Rovenna's ghost passes through walls and creatures, leaving no trace of her presence save an inexplicable slight chill in the hearts of the living. She flies in a straight line towards the palace, and stops abruptly once she reaches the gate and its huge iron guards.

Rovenna is sharply aware that, ethereal or manifested, disguised or not, Blackmantle knows exactly where and what she is. Even so, the last thing she'd want is to appear to be sneaking in. Lowering a bit above ground level, she manifests, though she doesn't take her true form, nods condescendingly at the taloned creature at the door, and flies inside.

Entering the receiving hall, she takes note of all present as she slides towards the throne. Beside her flickers the image of a large black hawk, obviously insubstantial as if made out of shadow. As for herself, she appears to be a young lady of noble blood, without anything intimidating about her, although the illusion somehow fails to suppress her haughtiness.

Approaching the dais, she performs a deep curtsy before Blackmatle, and greets him with a short and respectful "Your Grace."

[OneFamiliarFace]

Thyn, the Wayward Wight

Erold Thyn sneers to himself as he takes in those assembled. So the dead do walk fast. In anticipation of what the lord will say, he absentmindedly withdraws his sickle and begins picking at the black earth beneath his cracked fingernails. She isn't looking so good these days. I hope that I am able to prove my loyalty with this new task. Then, thinking better of it, his blade disappears, and he takes a knee to scoop up the earth from the floor, stowing it away in his pocket. He rises back to his full height and awaits Lord Darkmantle's commands.

[TheMeanDM]

The glowing green eyes of the Lich Lord scan each of you briefly.

"I'm sure you are all wondering why exactly I have summoned you." Blackmantle says, his voice chilling and cold (even to one such as yourself).

"You have all proven your usefulness and loyalty to the cause." he commends you. It is a bit of a strange feeling having your ego stroked by such a powerful man. "You each have unique talents that I need to utilize to accomplish a very specific goal."

His bony mouth forms a wry smile. "Your first mission the simple retrieval of an artifact from ancient days." he says. "Word has reached me that some adventuresome old relic hunter has uncovered something quite...unique...in The Waste. I require this item."

He opens his skeletal hand. A folded piece of parchment rises forth from it and floats across the room, levitating directly in front of Marduk.

"It is a black statue, carved in the likeness of a god which very, very few living historians could even recall the vaguest scrap of knowledge about, if one were to ask them."

He chuckles, his laughter sinister and foreboding. "Retrieve the statue and return it to me."

He opens his other hand, and a thick golden ring with a large red ruby floats to a position in front of Erold.

"There are two spells of teleportation within this ring. While we have not been able to pinpoint the exact location of the relic hunter, we do know he is somewhere in the northwestern portion of The Waste."

[OneFamiliarFace]

Thyn, the Wayward Wight

Erold Thyn bows again. "I assume that the spells within this ring will take us there and back then, my Lord?" He smiles as his long fingers slide around it. "I apologize for asking, Master, but I would rather risk sounding incompetent than fail out of hand for lack of being thorough."

If and when Darkmantle answers, Thyn bows again. "Does this relic hunter have a name, my Lord, that I may whisper it as I slit his throat? Or better yet, has he an image, that I may already begin to savor how the deed will be done?"

[Cogwheel]

The ghost nodded. So.. the lich needed a few able warriors to retrieve a trinket for him. Somehow, Faestir seriously doubted that this "retrieval" was as easy or simple as Blackmantle made it sound, or that the "unique" artifact was anything less than an item of extremely potent magical power. Though in truth he was loathe to have anything to do with the idol of another god, the priest had little choice in the matter.

"Understood, my lord. We leave tonight, I trust?"

[elonin]

Drugugh vampire rogue

The rogue wonders what has been left....unsaid. There is always a catch and the easy tasks never are. This like everything else is a test. We shall accomplish this task. Drugugh regards his erstwhile companions. I, at least have some supplies that I will need to aquire before we leave. We also need to set up our strategies and such.

oog will my idea about sinking into the ground work for sleeping during the day? Also, what is the price for a masterwork coffin? I'm presuming that I'd have something like that anyway, even if that's not a portable item.

[MorkaisChosen]

Jaeran Lifts himself from his prostrate position, noting the prominent holy symbol worn by the strange, rusted... being beside him- obviously another of the Reaper's flock.

"My Lord, may I ask from where this Hunter has come?"

[harmonictempest]

Marduk

The goblin bows, reading the parchment carefully. It shall be done, my lord. Though the bow is deep and the words fervent, he is visibly less groveling than many who come before Sistanos. After reading the parchment, he rolls it, ties it with a small piece of string taken from a belt pouch, and stores it in his pack. Nodding his understanding of their instructions, he departs when allowed, readying his sparse possessions for the journey.

Spoiler

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Oooh, a scroll - what's it say?

Ready to go whenever.

[TheMeanDM]

Blackmantle turns his spectral eyes toward Erold. "Your questions are valid, Mister Thyn. It would be quite an intelligent thing to use such teleportation magic to travel to a nearby border town and then use the final spell to travel back, would it not?" he smiles wryly, already knowing the answer.

He then nods in turn to Faestir. "Yes, tonight would be a very appropriate time to leave."

To Drugugh he replies "Simeon will see to it that you have the necessary supplies." he raises a bony hand, in a gesture of acknowledgment, and you see the gaunt figure of the "man" who granted you entrance appear at Blackmantle's side.

He bows slightly at the waist, crossing one lanky arm across his chest, the taloned fingers outstretched over where his heart should be.

"It pleases me that you take such interest in your adversary. If you do not know your opponent then how can you defeat him, true?" he smiles again, and then leans back into his chair. "This hunter hails from Trillian originally. He was born and raised in a monastary dedicated to the Oghma. This monastary was on the far western border of Trillian. Before he took his vows, the monastary was..." he smiles a mocking smile "...visited...by an unsavory advanced strike force of ghasts." he makes a *tsk tsk tsk* sound, and then chuckles. "If memory serves..." he pauses in mock thought "...there were a few survivors that managed to flee. It would seem that our man then had a slight waxing of faith, for he took up additional worship of the Morning Lord as his other savior." he snorts derisivly.

"Since then, he has fed both his thirst for knowledge and lust for revenge by seeking out the homes and burial sites of some of our...forefathers." he shakes his head.

"Mathias August Mildenberg." he scowls. "That, lady and gentlemen, is the fly which needs to be swatted. You must recover the artifact, at all costs."

Upon the parchment is a drawing of an older human man with long hair and a moustache. His eyes are intense, and even the drawing seems to emanate hatred for you.



You each have heard the name of Mathias Mildenberg. It is usually spoken with a curse, for he has been fighting and destroying undead for a number of decades.

Spoiler

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Knowledge: History
or
Knowledge: Local

DC's of : 20, 25, or 30

If you'd like to know more about Mathias. The better you roll, the more you know!

[OneFamiliarFace]

Thyn, the Wayward Wight

I never can see why those warm-blooded bastards take issue with us. We are merely trying to return them to their natural state. His smile grows into a jagged line. Or something similar anyway. "Master Darkmantle, this fool Mildenberg shall suffer for daring to survive that first...visit. If possible, we will have him bring you this relic himself. I am sure you would be pleased to see him. Especially once we open his eyes to the beauty of the night." Thyn waits to see if anyone has any more knowledge of their opponent, imaging a thin line growing parallel to the old man's chin.

[Cogwheel]

Ah.. a notorious destroyer of undead, and a servant of the Morninglord. This could be tricky.. But then, Faestir already knew that an easy task never was. The man was clearly nothing more than a glorified graverobber,a self-righteous butcher.. but even if he did not agree with Mathias's views, Faestir could certainly see how the man had come to those conclusions.

"So.. this deluded fool is to be our quarry... understood."

The construct pauses for a moment, thinking, before adding, "Sire, may I take a moment to visit my temple before we depart?"

[TheMeanDM]

"Yes, you may all make whatever arrangements or acquisitions that you wish to. When the moon is high, I recommend that you depart."

It was just a couple of hours until the moon reached its zenith, plenty of time to secure some necessities or offer up prayers.

[MorkaisChosen]

Jaeran Daest

Jaeran begins to laugh- a horrible phlegmy sound, as if his lungs are filled with some kind of liquid. "A hunter of the undead? Well, we shall have to give him a little surprise. My Lord, you surely know this already, but you others- I must tell you that life-" at that word he grimaces a little- "still beats within m veins. In many ways I am like you, and the Reaper knows I wish sometimes that I could become one with you- but I still gain a few advantages from my predicament, despite the benefits of the higher state."

[elonin]

Drugugh
At the mention of the servant of Lethander the vampire starts grinning wickedly, his words are thoughtful, nonetheless

We shall have to give this hunter a hunt of his own. Before I'm done with him, he'll have cause to doubt his faith.

[OneFamiliarFace]

Thyn, the Wayward Wight

Thyn casts a sideways glance at the living one. Any servant of the Master is an ally I suppose. His mouth twists. Curses, then I shall not have time to see her again before I go. I'm glad I did before I came. "If you need to do something, then do it. I will wait outside of the Castle Blackmantle. If you are not back by the time the moon reaches it's zenith, then I'm afraid you will find the courtyard quite lonely at this time of night."

The wight turns back to Blackmantle. "My Lord, if there is nothing else, then I shall retire to the shadows to wait." If the Master says he can go, Thyn stalks quietly into the night.

[Cogwheel]

The ghost nods briefly as it departs from the room, "At the castle gates, than.".

Stepping out of the castle into the cool night air, Faestir surveys the city that he once used to call home. Setting his gaze upon the temple of Nerull, he begins the walk to its gates. As he approaches the temple, memories begin to wash over him. Some recent, some old.. days never to return, not now.

So.. it ends as it begun - here on the temple grounds.

The priest throws the doors open and enters, his burning eyes bathing the entire room in the glow of an inferno. Soon, his voice rings out across the whole complex, adressing all who hear it.

"I am Faestir Vyth. Months ago, hours before my ordination as the high priest, I was slain on these very grounds at the hand of traitors. Now I have returned, and I demand to speak with my killers. Though I have no doubt that each of you knew of this treachery, that each of you had a hand in my death, you will be spared. I wish only to speak with the assassins themselves, with my killers. Now heed me, bring them before me, for I am the Reaper's will. Stand aside, do as I command, and you shall be spared my ire. But if you bar my way, than I wish only that Nerull have mercy on your souls.. for I will not."

Spoiler

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Why yes, now that you mention it, they are in big trouble. Also, Intimidate check. Reckon they're scared yet?

[harmonictempest]

Marduk

As he strode out of the hall on silent feet, he stopped before Simeon, looking up on the white face calmly. The Master said that you would provide us with what supplies we needed. Can you procure for us a reasonable map of Waste, or at least of such parts as we are likely to need?

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Hmm...the Waste seems like a sort of place that might not have any maps made of it. If that's the case, and my character knows that, consider the question unasked. :-)

[TheMeanDM]

Blackmantle nods at you all and then stands. "I have plans which need attending to. Perform well, and you shall be rewarded well...." he says, leaving something else unspoken as he turns his back and exits through a door to the right of his throne.


***

Marduk:

The gaunt figure nods and hands you a scroll case. "The Master expected you to ask this." he says. "Take care with it, for it is old." he adds with a word of caution. "The Master would not be pleased should it return...damaged..."

****

Faestir:


You throw open the ebony and crimson doors of the holy temple of Nerull, announcing your presence.

There are two rows of Nerullites flanking the path to the altar. At the altar stands a man you know all to well: your former friend Anton Bonte, and new High Priest of Nerull. In his hand he holds a sickle, and in the other he holds the hair of a semi-conscious man, lifting his head off of the altar.

"The Chosen has come!" he proclaims loudly to the assembled, who bow toward Faestir. At that moment, Bonte moves the sickle across the abdoman of the man, opening a large gash that spills entrails onto the floor. The man is instantly shocked into lucidness and begins screaming. Bonte then skillfully slides the sickle across the man's throat, turning the screams into gurgling noises.

"For the Chosen!" Bonte proclaims, the gathered worshippers reply "For Nerull!"

A young woman, half of her face ravaged by some wasting disease, takes Faestir's arm. "This way, Chosen Vyth." she tugs on the construct's arm slightly, indicating that he should follow her up the path.

"Brothers and sisters, The Dark One has brought us his Chosen, as he revealed unto me that he would!" the high priest announces.

"Praise Nerull!" the flock replies three times in succession.

Bonte stretches his arms out before him, the sickle still in his right hand, he intones the familiar words of the closing prayer:

Lord Nerull grant to us the power,
At all times, in all places, and in all we do
Both now and forever
To be the keen instrument of your will
To smother the light with your darkness
And to spread the blessing of your most holy death


He then places the sickle upon the altar, and motions for you and the girl to follow him to the high priests chamber, which lies through a doorway to the right.

The worshippers continue to stare in awe at you, their eyes wide.

Once you pass through the doorway, however, you notice that they do not disperse. But, rather, they stay...waiting.

"Brother Vyth" Bonte says as he removes his priestly garments "I am glad you are here. I know you have many questions, there is much you do not understand, and that this causes fiery anger to burn in your heart." His thin lips form a...sympathetic...smile.

He sits down in a chair behind his dark wood desk.

"It was I who performed the ritual, Brother Vyth. You need look no further than me." he says matter-of-factly. "Nerull commanded it."

[MorkaisChosen]

Jaeran Daest

Daest bows and leaves, ready to return at the appointed time. Looking round, he decides to spend his last few moments in Daggoth- for now, at least- in a temple, preparing for the mission ahead. He heads to the closest temple to make his prayers.

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I assume there are several temples- it'd be less complicated if it wasn't the same one as our other Nerullite is in, but I'll leave it to the DM or Cog- my presence could overcomplicate things a little...

[Cogwheel]

The construct laughs - a hollow, metallic, and above all, disbelieving laugh. Waving the others out of the room with one hand, he begins to speak.

"So.. it seems you have become a harlequin in my absence, 'brother'. I have given you months to plan, and clearly, you have spent them well. Now, tell me.. what manner of lies have you concocted for me? What tales will you tell me this time? What blades lie in wait for me? Speak, traitor, for I have little patience left for you."

[TheMeanDM]

Bonte sighs loudly and shakes his head.

"Truly, I have not lied to you, nor have I decieved you in any manner, Brother Vyth."

The look on his face is actually quite sincere.

"While praying one evening, I fell into a strange trance, one which I had never experienced before. The world started to fade from view. I saw my body, kneeling in prayer, far below me. Then, there was nothing but darkness. I knew that I was not dead, else my body would not have been kneeling still...but I did not know where I was."

His voice raises in pitch a bit, showing his excitement as he relates the following events.

"Then the darkness faded, slightly, and I felt cold. Yes, my very spirit felt cold. Before me in the black void was a slightly less black sphere of black ice. The ice was cracked and shifting. I rapidly flew over the ice and found myself standing before a massive black palace that seemed to stretch upward, disappearing into the infinite void above it.

The walls seemed to pull me into them...and I couldn't resist. I found myself moving in and then through them. All around me I could see the souls of others, they cried out in pain and torment. I saw strange demons plucking the souls from the walls, whisking them off to dark rooms. I saw them look at me, felt their desire to have me, but something else pulled me along...something more powerful."

His eyes grow wide as he continues. "I saw him, Faestir. I saw him. He was just as I imagined....I...he...he spoke to me...he...showed me... things...."
His words have a hint of madness to them now.

"You are his chosen, Faestir. You are a new breed, a new tool to spread the faith and the death. You were the best suited for this honor, not even I was worthy."

[OneFamiliarFace]

Thyn, the Waiting Wight

Erold Thyn wanders idly among a field of Wilting Lilies. In the cold, night air, he swears he can hear a cry coming from the city. He smiles as he stoops to pick up one of the blossoms. He plucks the petals as he chants, "She loves me, she loves me not, she loves me..." His smile is a blade. No game is too hard, so long as you make the rules.

A broken lily with one dark-violet petal lies crumpled on the ground, and a gangly creature strides back towards Darkmantle Keep.

[Tura]

Rovenna

Rovenna remains silent until her new teammates begin to scatter. Then, just before Blackmantle leaves, she approaches, hovering above the ground, but careful not to stand higher than Daggoth's absolute ruler.

"My lord, I am certain that your choice of members for this mission is very well-thought, as always. However, this... living person among our ranks, the priest, could complicate the situation. My lord knows that my true form is harmful to the living, and if I may be so bold, the priest doesn't seem hardy enough to stand a chance. If my lord deems it absolutely necessary to include the priest, could he, perhaps, provide a means of protection for him?"

[elonin]

Drugugh vampire rogue

When the lord of the land dismisses the group, the vampire bows and leaves the citadel. He then walks down the path back to the city proper. Once back in the city he swiftly navigates his way through the city streets until he finds himself in an inn. Heading directly upstairs he goes to his room and picks up a few momentoes and returns downstairs. Putting five gold down on the bar Drugugh says to the barkeep, Here is advance payment on my room, see that it isn't disturbed" in a congenial but also threatening manner. Also, get me a bottle of young human.When the vampire receives his bottle of blood, he lingers savoring it's flavour. Realizing how much time has passed he drinks the remaining liquid dratting about being rushed in the one thing that offers enjoyment. Then he runs back to the castle gates.

Spoiler

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My intention was to put down enough gold for perhaps a couple of weeks on my room and a bottle of blood+ a slight tip for additional services rendered. If 5gp wasn't enough I'd have put down enough to cover the expenses