The Tower of Sorcery swayed alarmingly in the gale of the night’s storms. While its base remained intact, everything above the seventh floor was gone. The stairwell to the seventh had to be sealed to prevent leakage to the floors below. This seal was removed at dusk in order to facilitate the night’s rituals.

Oliver glowered from the doorway, sopping wet, as the Gorgon resumed the ritual in the open floor. The howling winds tore at his cloak but seemed not to sway the large … creature… as they had the much smaller necromancer. White arcs of light leaped from the runes on the floor and into the Gorgon’s outstretched palms. He directed them skillfully, painstakingly, hour after hour each night, giving Oliver a much-needed reprieve. The search for the Erenreich’s destination had thus far proven fruitless. But it was only a matter of time.

_{THE NEW ONE HAS ARRIVED, MASTER.}

Sigurd’s voice slithered up the walls of the saturated stairwell. Oliver turned, content to allow the Gorgon time with the ritual, and carefully tread upon the slick stones to the bottom floor. He wordlessly commanded a nearby skeleton to mop up the mess the rain was making.

Across the atrium of the tower’s lowest floor, two teams of zombies were delivering chests and crates of materials at the behest of a petulant young mage, tall with fiery red hair and a patchy beard.

“Don’t tell me you were a Bright Wizard.” Oliver must have cast quite a figure in the darkness of the stairwell so far away, for the young mage started and then tried to compose himself. He smoothed his robes and straightened his off-kilter belt.

“No. I do come from the border of Stirland,” his voice was quite deep, unsurprising for a tall man, “but my training is solely in Drakenhof. My name is-”

“Apprentice. That’s your name until you earn a better one.”

At this the young man bristled visibly, “I have not been called such for many y-”

“Are your gums still flapping? You should see to that. I have recently anointed my previous apprentice, Wigalf, with the blood of the Necrarchs. Unlike your forebears and the sots you left behind in Drakenhof, you might actually attain real power. But first,” he picked out writing implements on a table near the apse and pointed to them, “Have a seat and take this down.”

The Apprentice, nostrils flared but left with little choice, resolved himself to his fate much as Oliver had once done. He set his jaw and went to the table. The necromancer dictated as he crossed the atrium slowly. The zombies had finished their previous command and come to a standstill, awaiting orders. Outside, lightning and thunder ruled the skies.

“A list, numbered. First: the location of the Erenreichs must be determined. Second: The tower must be rebuilt. Third: Forge a link between the portal above and my demesne in Blackroot’s Forest. Fourth: I require daily dedications to my study. This is where you come in, Apprentice. In order to continue my studies, I expect you to maintain and oversee the undead servants of my tower. You will also enforce my orders regarding the tower’s reconstruction.”

He arrived in the apse at last, standing behind his new apprentice who wrote dutifully in the book.

“I will deign to include you in those studies at my discretion. If you displease me, I will send you back to Stirland in a burlap sack. Not Drakenhof. I am the Dread Master of Necromancers now. I have one Apprentice and that is you.”

“Yes, Dread Master,” came the Apprentice’s terse reply.

It was first time he’d been addressed as such by a subordinate. He liked the the sound, even if he hated the leash that came with it. Oliver Darkh turned on his heel and made to mount the steps to the top floor again. As he crossed the atrium he shouted,

“Inga!”

The banshee materialized at his side.

“Good. Always with me when I am with the tower. If I am not, mind the perimeter. Do you like to dance, Inga?”

It had been two years since the Von Carstein’s were placed in charge of Templehof. The new Viscount, Ziegfried, had taken a perverse pleasure in forcing Heinrich to terrorize the citizenry into quiet servitude by appointing him to enforce order. While Heinrich felt more suited to dispatching problems with sword and spell outside the city walls, his talent at reading a room and misleading others was actually more suited to the task than he had originally imagined. What had begun as a survival mechanism for the Midnight Court found a purpose in protecting the populace.

Finding good men in Templehof was difficult. It wasn’t that there weren’t any, just that finding them presented multiple challenges. Being from Templehof helped Heinrich defuse some of the distrust due an invading force, he knew the people, he knew their lot in life, and while he had to take care to cover the source of his knowledge just the fact that the newly appointed ‘Warden of Templehof’ seemed to understand their situation was helpful. The fact that the Warden never removed his blank, faceless mask was less helpful. But then speaking to his ruined face would likely have been worse. The mystery also lent menace to his bearing which also assisted Heinrich in getting a good read on people. Which was critical because Heinrich intended the Grave Guard to be the keepers of the peace for as little time as absolutely necessary.

They made the populace feel like prisoners, they were inflexible in reading the complicated circumstances of a situation, and they were utterly merciless in the execution of their charge. Heinrich adorned them uniformly in faceless masks like his own and removed all customization from their armor to make them more like motionless decorative suits of armor than implacable instruments of death. But while the process of replacing them with a thinking, reactive peace-keeping force of men was difficult, it was not without its benefits. The new Warden finally had just cause to interview nearly anyone he wanted as well as the authority to reward those who helped him with position and authority of their own.

People had reason to talk to him and he increasingly had people reporting to him out of responsibility. As such, Heinrich became much more informed about the goings on of the populace than he had been since he could pass for normal and spend an evening in a pub. And he finally caught word of what had happened to his former family without drawing suspicion on them or himself. The amount of relief Heinrich felt as this weight was finally lifted was reassuring as it reminded him that despite his outward appearance, some semblance of humanity lived on in his twisted form.

It was weeks before he gathered the courage to walk past her new home. Heinrich harbored no illusions, his former family was lost to him from the moment Anark slaughtered his brother and Markos sired him. But Gertrude lived, and all that Heinrich had previously done to secretly provide for her had paid off. She lived in the city now. Hans had escaped Silvania entirely according to rumor. The man she lived with seemed a good enough sort, she had a chance at a life again.

Once, Heinrich saw her in the flesh walking on the other side of the street. He paused, motionless, behind his blank mask and reveled in the chaotic jumble of feelings she awoke in him. It was heart-wrenching, it was painful, it was terrible; almost exactly like he remembered life felt. Heinrich couldn’t tell the Viscount, but he swore silently to himself that he would repay him for this accidental gift.

That was enough for the Warden. Gertrude was safe and provided for, Hans was free. With the exception of the occasional hunt outside the walls with the Grand Marshal’s forces in training or the occasional session with the Necrarch in his tower, Heinrich was left largely to himself and spent the majority of his time meeting and re-meeting with each personally selected member of his peacekeeping force. The Viscount would occasionally receive progress reports but Heinrich never heard if they were acceptable or even read.

Occasionally an officer would overstep his bounds and require correction or dismissal, but for the most part the Warden did not hire anyone he did not feel was right for the position and was able to train and shape his men into a Watch that was a boon to the people. They were to observe and report, they were to be seen and heard, but they were largely not required to intervene. They were not a fighting force there to brutalize the populace into submission. When force was required the Warden reluctantly applied it personally and with finality. And only when he was incapable of going himself were the Grave Guard again pressed into service. Thankfully in two years the unfeeling butchers were only required once, though the grisly scene they had created then still haunted Heinrich.

The time had finally come. The Vampiric Civil War would end this night. The insults of the Stahlbergs, mere pawns to greater machinations of the ancient vampire family, the Ehrenreichs, had brought all of Midnight Aristocracy to war. Having been ordered to take the East Gate of the city of Templehof, the Darkstalkers, under the command of Rollo, now the Grand Marshall of the von Carsteins, and thus, the Midnight Aristocracy, marched forth.

However, before battle was to be joined, the Darkstalkers were sent magical word by the Sisterhood of Lahmia that there were dark whispers of treachery in the von Carstein’s ranks. At the same time, Oliver’s witchsight, and the Master Necromancer’s gasps at the waves of power pulsing from Castle Templehof warned of an impending storm of magic.

Grand Marshall Rollo knew he had not the time to deal with both situations, so he elected to resolve the one that would risk his flank, and asked for the full report from the Sisterhood. Undeniable evidence was presented that showed that Theudalinda von Carstein and her scions, Ludwig and Ludwik, had plans to turn against the von Carsteins and join the Ehrenreichs. Still believing their ruse intact, each was easily caught and arrested. However, this meant that the von Carsteins were unable to blunt the magical assault unleashed upon their forces. In the starry sky above, one star loomed impossibly large, and the Eye of Acamar opened overhead. Gravity was inverted, and forces were ripped from the ground into the sky. As they flew heavenwards, their body disintegrated as the hungry star pulled their forms apart, only for what was left of them to crash to the ground as the Eye closed.

Having dealt with or suffered though these complications, Grand Marshall Rollo von Carstein ordered his forces forth. They rapidly advanced north of the gate, and, utilizing their superior mobility, stormed over with their advance guard while siege towers took position. The gate itself was assaulted by mighty a mighty varghulf under Heinrich’s sway, but it soon had to retreat under a wave of thrown spears. Fell bats went ahead of Oliver’s Terrorgheist, but soon they were torn apart by the Ehrenreichs own fell bats and vargheists. Wealdmaer, most recently arisen of the Wight Kings, had brought the Arachnarok Spider once ridden by Goblin Warboss Spleenrippa, to devastating effect. Effortlessly scaling the walls, it’s spiked limbs soon were stacked with the bodies of the enemies’ overmatched infantry. The battle was fierce, and both sides suffered significant losses, but the Darkstalkers knew that victory could only lie with the defeat of the enemy commander, Wispern Tod. Grand Marshall Rollo gave the signal for reinforcements, and with the appearance of Helga von Diehl and the forces of Eschen to hold the walls and clear the gatehouse, the Darkstalkers rushed their infantry into the enemy lines behind the gatehouse to give themselves the opportunity to enter the Temple of the Raven Queen where the enemy commander lay in wait.

The battle was fierce, but short, and decidely in favor of the Darkstalkers. Even though Wispern Tod, a dracolich, was able to temporarily subvert the will of Rollo, Wealdmaer, and Heinrich in turn to his side with his beguiling gaze, he was unable to ever find his mark against Ziegfried von Carstein, and the dazzling vampire in his glittering cloak slammed the dracolich’s body to splinters. Though he had seeded the fallen Temple of the Raven Queen with his fel magic, and was able to call forth several keening spirits, they were soon dispatched, and the Darkstalkers were able to surround the mighty undead. In a flurry of blows and millennia old tactical acumen of the Wight King Wealdmaer, the Darkstalkers dashed Wispern Tod’s body upon the marble floors. Thus did Wispern Tod feel his consciousness floating free of his body in search of his phylactery.

With this, the von Carstein forces took much of the the city of Templehof. Having secured the most heavily defended East Gate, the honors for the conquest of the city went to the Darkstalkers. Meanwhile, the Wight Kings of the Count secured the South Gate and the other von Carstein commanders began investing the city itself, moving district by district to rout the remaining forces of the Ehrenreichs. Erstwhile, the von Carstein forces began to take the Stir Bridge so as to assault Castle Templehof itself.

As the hour pressed on, it was made clear that the narrow passage of the bridge and its elite cadre of defenders would need to be routed out by a superior force of von Carsteins. Thus were the Grand Marshall and the Darkstalkers called forth to battle once again. As a grave guard messenger gave Rollo the details of the layouts, two more messengers came forth, one with a missive enclosed in bark. Blackroot’s demesne was under assault by the Ehrenreich’s! At the same time, an ancient dragon had been sighted circling the battlefield. Again, the von Carstein forces had to choose where to focus their efforts, and so it was that the Grand Marshall ordered Waldedruis to reinforce Blackroot.

Having been briefed on the layout of the tower and the likely location of its defenders, the Darkstalkers set forth to claim it for the von Carsteins. Erstwhile, the dragon plunged into the city of Templehof, its fiery breath incinerating scores of undead forces as it pillaged treasure from the northern part of town before escaping back into the night on deft wings.

In the tower itself, the Darkstalkers strode forth to find it seemingly deserted. Knowing better, they cautiously made their approach, but nonetheless were set upon by surprise! Eva and Ulmer Stahlberg were among the guardians, as well as a Boneclaw Impaler that harried any who dared approach. As the battle raged on, Heinrich von Carstein saw a chance to get revenge on those who had treated him and his family so terribly in the past. He leapt upon Ulmer, burying his greatsword deep in his body, and with the tactical acumen of the Wight King Wealdmaer, ripped it forth and swept it out again, removing Ulmer’s head from his body. Eva was the last to fall, but fall she did. Afterwards, Heinrich ripped out the fangs of these Stahlbergs, and kept them as a memento.

Ascending then to the uppermost floor, the Darkstalkers found the commander of the enemy forces who so thoroughly decimated prior intruders. Mörder Auge, an undead beholder of huge proportions, floated into the fray, along with some powerful ghouls, His powerful magic and eye rays struck the von Carsteins many times, even sending them fleeing with necromantic fear at times. Oliver was pinned in, and nearly struck down, but the rest of the Darkstalkers managed to bash their way over and help distract his assailants. After a grueling battle, Ziegfried von Carstein managed to slam the beholder anew, and its bindings could no longer withstand the damage. It fell to the stone floor in a heap of undead flesh and eyestalks.
With the tower now secure, the von Carstein army began the crossing to see to the siege of Castle Templehof itself. The armies of Count Mannfred, Seneschal Glaedwine, Theobald, and the Darkstalkers sallied forth. The beleaguered armies of Helga von Diehl continued to root out assailants in the city of Templehof, and Waldedruis’ forces were returning to the city after assisting Blackroot stave off the assault of the Ehrenreichs on his new demense.

As the Count began preparations to Siege the castle, drawing up the necromancy to rapidly assemble siege towers and the like, a massive wave of horns sounded from the South in the plain of Ash below. The Blood Dragons had taken the field, and were preparing to pincer the von Carsteins forces. Count Mannfred ordered the Grand Marshall to deal with the Blood Dragons, giving him the time and forces he needed to take the castle.

Not but a moment later, missives arrived for the Grand Marshall. The City of Templehof was being assaulted en masse from the hidden army of a Ghoul King in the forest and in the sewers beneath Templehof. At the same time, reports of Banshee Assassins departing Castle Templehof arrived. Rollo, heeding the wise counsel of Heinrich, citing the danger of being encircled in three directions, ordered Theobald’s forces to return to the city of Templehof and reinforce what was left of the armies of Helga von Diehl and Waldedruis.

With the von Carsteins distracted by the siege, the defense of the city, and the cavalry charge from the Blood Dragons, the Banshee Assassins of the Ehrenreichs struck deep into the von Carstein leadership. As the Grand Marshall espied in the distance, the undead forces of Glaedwine went listless. Glaedwine, Dieter, and Mitzi were counted among the dead.

With renewed hatred for the Ehrenreichs and their allies, Rollo again turned his gaze south. Upon the plains of ash south of Castle Templehof, a great battle was to be fought. The Blood Dragons of the Red Abbey, under the command of Varison the Blade, sought to entrap the von Carsteins in a deadly pincer. With their retreat to the west slowed by the River Stir and a counterattack assaulting the City of Templehof, the von Carsteins would be trampled beneath the iron hooves of the vampiric knights if the Grand Marshall and the Darkstalkers failed here.

To stave off the brutal cavalry charge and the enemy’s reinforcements, the Darkstalkers were dispatched with their beleaguered forces to the only suitable point of defense, an ancient ruins south and west of the Stir Bridge. There, Master Necromancer Felix was to rouse the fel spirits of the land and conjure the dormant power in the ruins to create a Shrieking Turret.

The Blood Dragons brought a wave of zombies to tie up the defenders and give their cavalry the room to wheel and maneuver they desired. The Darkstalkers anti-infantry force of Grave Guards and Wealdmaer’s mount, an Undead Arachnarok Spider, hacked away at the assailants, forming a battle line. Surprisingly, the Blood Dragons also brought a small force of ranged units and artillery in the form of Skeletal Spearmen and a Lodestone Chariot. Soon, the battle lines for both sides began to fall apart as the Blood Dragons themselves charged into the fray. The Arachnarok Spider bristled with the spear shafts of numerous enemy assaults, and came within an inch of it’s unlife unraveling. Oliver Darkh’s Terrorgheist that he had wrested from Roderic, the Dread Master of Liches, days prior, was slain by vargheists. Only with the timely reinforcements of Blackroot and the remnants of the Drakenhof Templars were the Darkstalkers able to turn the tide. Using their awesome magical power, the Darkstalkers laid low the Soulspike Devourer that was battering Blackroot into kindling. With that, enough time had passed, and Master Necromancer Felix brought the Shrieking Turret forth. Its torrent of dark magic began to smash the few remaining attackers. Afterwards, in a move that surprised even himself, Rollo von Carstein fired bolts of dark magic that slew Varison the Blade. The remaining Blood Knights, to a vampire, fought to the death, but in the end, the Grand Marshall and his forces were victorious!

The battle was won, but not the war, and so the Darkstalkers turned their gaze north, to Castle Templehof itself. Leaving a token force of defenders with Master Necromancer Felix and his uneasy glances at the forces of Blackroot, the Darkstalkers marched forth, taking command of the forces formerly commanded by Glaedwine, Dieter, and Mitzi.

The battle in the sky continued unabated, with the Ehrenreich’s dread magic once again tearing into the forces of the von Carsteins as the ‘Eye of Acamar’ opened once again upon the battlefield. Roderic, the Dread Master of Liches, aloft on the back of a Felsteed, did what little he could to shield Count Mannfred’s forces. Notably absent in the battle was the standard of Baugegundus personal troops.

Suddenly, booming over the battlefield, Count Mannfred’s voice was heard, “Now, witness true power!” A star exploded to life in the midst of the Ehrenreich’s forces. The purple light emanating from it was cold and hungry. Those too close to its body were drawn into it, shrieking, if they had the mind to do so. Those further afield were disintegrated en masse by its grasping tendrils. In the stars wake, there was only the remnants of broken amethyst. As it washed over the southern walls, the defenders were stripped from their post.

With this opportunity, the Grand Marshall’s newly bolstered forces moved to reinforce the siege on the ground led by the Wight Kings of Count Mannfred. The most elite units available, mere crypt ghouls, stormed the wall to assault the Gatehouse defenders in the flank. As more of the Grand Marshall’s forces poured over the walls, the von Carsteins victory was all but assured.

With the outer walls breached and the Ehrenreichs aerial forces devastated by the passing of the Count’s magic, the battle turned to Castle Templehof itself. However, before the horns could be sounded to signal the final assault, a magical explosion blew the solitary tower of sorcery west of the castle apart. The shock wave rolled through the von Carstein’s forces, dropping many from the sky. Roderick, the Dread Master of Liches was seen tumbling to the ground as he lost control of his Felsteed. The sky rained Fellbats and, in their plummeting descent, shattered unfortunate skeletons below.

After recovering, and seeing the opportunity in the listless shambling of many of the remaining defenders, the final assault was done with ease. Castle Templehof fell to the von Carsteins, but the bodies of many of the Ehrenreichs could not be found.

Why do I serve? There are none that I fear. This is the single thought that occupies my mind. The forces I sent to attack the main gate are getting decimated by the skeletal spearman on the wall and Theludenlinda’s betrayal is annoying me to no end. Perhaps that’s what has set my mind on this path. She was not willing to serve. There is a twinge of respect creeping into my mind the more I think about her actions. I turn to a subordinate and order the force attacking the main gate to disengage and reinforce the assault to the north.

Heinrich is fighting well. We move through the siege tower laying waste to anything that crosses our path. Wealdmar and his undead spider mount are a sight to behold. The rebels do everything they can simply to get out of his way. I can see the way to the cathedral will be open to us shortly. However, we cannot assault the cathedral and occupy this scum defending it at the same time. I have to do something I loathe. I give the order to call for reinforcements. If I hear a single peep from Helga about this later, I will take her head off and feed it to the Nightmares in Johan’s stables.

As we are about to charge in and assault the Cathedral the same thought resonates though my mind. Why do I serve? This enemy will fall like the last, and I will be destroying them for someone else. The time is coming when I will decide who the enemy is. I laugh out loud at the hypocrisy of it all as I get struck from behind. I spin quickly and smash my assailants head into the wall with my Warhammer. Here I am ordering all this creatures to do my bidding, for Count Mannfred. Fuck it. Only the strongest can command, and I will not be commanded…

“Just who do they think they are dealing…”

Wispern Tod stopped as he realized his consciousness had returned to his Phylactery. Shame and resentment coursed throughout his entire essence. What an embarrassment, to be defeated by that paltry band of vampires. Wispern Tod’s mind finally came to a horrible but self-evident realization.

He had lost his body. His original body he had held since his mortal days centuries ago. All of those Von Carsteins were to blame but there was one in particular who would pay dearly. The one adorned with the golden cloak and mace. What a ridiculous sight to behold; a vampire with a holy weapon. Did that fool even know who’s markings were on his mace… but that radiant power had shattered his form beyond repair.

Wispern Tod needed a body. His mind scoured his options. It wouldn’t be the same but nothing could change that now… the blue dragon’s corpse! It was nearby and a suitable form. Wispern Tod felt the sensation of a smile he could not currently manifest. It was a just a matter of time before he would find them again.

The main vanguard was crumbling under the endless rain of spears from above, it fled in disarray harried by fell bats. The northern flank was faring better as it swarmed over the fortifications on dark wings or simply ghosted through them. The magical storm above raged unabated, the Ehrenreich’s magic was taking its toll on the Von Carstein forces but after having diverted so much attention to Theudalinda’s treason there was no recourse left but to weather the storm.

In the skies above, the terrorgheist was not faring well as it was besieged by flocks of more agile vargheists. However, the Wight King’s zombie spider flung corpses by the handful from atop the wall and allowed several siege towers to disgorge their shambling hordes atop the fortifications. In the chaos Rollo and Heinrich battled side by side through the siege tower and down the defender’s stairs to where the cathedral hummed with dark magic.

“Inside,” Heinrich rasped as loudly as he could. Wealdmaer signaled from atop the wall that the forces of Eschen had arrived under Helga’s banners so the Grand Marshal nodded brusquely. Whether or not the combined forces could rout the remaining defenders would be meaningless if their commanders inside the cathedral could be destroyed.

---

The enemy commander turned out to be an arcane dracolich that briefly dominated the minds of Rollo, Ziegfried, and Heinrich before each in turn broke free of its ensorcellement to harry it with steel and magic. Once Ziegfried had charged into the creature’s flank he became an infuriating blur of silk and gold that enraged and distracted it like an expert bull fighter. Given such a useful tool Wealdmaer was able to expose opening after opening which Ziegfried expertly exploited until Rollo charged in as well and the combined assault was just too much for the rotting dragon to endure.

Divested of their leadership the eastern wall quickly fell to the Grand Marshal’s combined forces and the necromancers quickly got to work reinforcing and strengthening their depleted forces where they could. Heinrich proceeded into Templehof to find that the other fronts had been similarly successful. Given his previous fruitless searches Heinrich hoped that his family had been brought within the walls of the city prior to the siege and might be alive and safe somewhere within. However, it was too dangerous to draw too much attention to them so he began his infuriatingly limited but desperately urgent search for his former wife and son.

When he came upon Maximillan von Carstein reveling in their victory and feasting on a townswoman of some kind Heinrich was incensed and threw the nobleman off her. Maximillan bared his fangs at the featureless faceplate of the Gorgon and in a flash of speed powered by the blood of his interrupted feeding he struck the monster a powerful blow. “How dare you, plaything! I am a Von Car-“

His indignant accusation was abruptly cut off as Heinrich moved with equal and even superior speed to the other vampire and used Maximillan’s momentum to flip him through the air and into the hard cobblestones with a resounding thud. Heinrich placed his muddy boot upon the noble’s chest and drew his heavy sword just a few inches free of its scabbard menacingly. “We need these,” the Gorgon snarled, thinking quickly. “Not sacking Templehof. Liberating. Remember. Or I WILL destroy you.”

Maximillan was confused to hear Oppen’s creation speak so many words and the shock combined with the cold certainty and unrestrained malice of its tone sent a chill up his spine. Heinrich stalked off in his search, leaving the cowed vampire to mull over this turn of events.

Heinrich’s mood did not improve as he continued to be frustrated by his inability to be more specific in his demands or less circumspect in his inquisition for fear of exposing his connection to his family and putting them in harm’s way. The city was swollen to bursting with refugees and while Von Carstein forces were beginning to recognize the Gorgon from the Grand Marshal’s resounding victory, they preferred to give it a wide berth rather than obey or assist it. Questioning the citizens of Templehof was even less productive as they were already living in terror from the siege when the Gorgon burst into their homes and halls like a figure from their nightmares.

---

Soon the horns sounded, the armies were suffering losses attempting to take the bridge across the Stir’s dark waters. The Grand Marshal deployed personally along with Ziegfried, Wealdmaer, Oliver, and Heinrich to destroy whatever obstacles might be found in the tower that guarded the bridge. Inside they were assaulted by undead forces of the Stahlbergs including several of their direct line. When Ulmer blindsided the Gorgon, Heinrich recognized him.

The Stahlbergs had never been kind masters and Heinrich leapt upon Ulmer and buried the black flames of his heavy sword into the shoulder of the other vampire with a primal growl. Ulmer lurched backward once the blade was wrenched free but the cold command to finish it from the Wight King Wealdmaer was the last thing Ulmer heard. Heinrich moved in a blur and cleanly struck the Stahlberg’s head from his shoulders.

Afterwards, after the others had destroyed the Stahlberg’s forces Heinrich returned and tore the fangs from the heads of his former overlords, storing the bloody tokens as a memento.

---

Once the bulk of the Count’s armies had made their way across the bridge the scouts returned with dire news. A large force of the Blood Dragon’s cavalry was moving to attack the army’s southern flank. The Count dispatched the Grand Marshal with what forces he could gather to delay the enemy forces at a ruin long enough for defensive enchantments to be raised. Rollo selected some nearby ruins to fortify and attract the Blood Dragon forces but no sooner had his forces arrived than a splinter of enemy forces broke off to retake the city of Templehof.

Heinrich insisted that their remaining reinforcements be sent to defend the city citing how hard the city had been to take the first time, the dangers of being caught between two fortified positions and harried on two fronts, the need to protect supply lines, and anything else he could think of short of mentioning his own fears for his family. The Grand Marshal listened and considered but also had the battle ahead to plan as well as troubling word that enemy assassins had been targeting the Von Carstein leadership. Wealdmar casually dismissed such claims as the natural order of things. If the commanders were so weak as to be assassinated, they did not deserve their commands and their forces would merely be consolidated under his control later.

It would be Glaedwine that would eventually pay the price for the Grand Marshal’s decision. Ziegfried celebrated his rival’s destruction, Wealdmaer shrugged it off entirely. Heinrich would have been pleased with the destruction of another powerful vampire and the blight he represented, but the Blood Dragons were coming in force and there was no time left to prepare.

I twist the ring Frideger gave me around my finger as the pomp and circumstance plays out for the crowd. I hold no personal grudge against this Templar Commander, other than the fact that he deems himself my equal. The right to command is mine and mine alone. This one should have realized this long ago, but no matter, I will educate him shortly. My mount twitches in anticipation of the coming violence. I feel a smirk beginning to creep its way on to my face. It’s at these times I find myself to be truly at peace. The signal to charge is given while I’m lost in my thoughts and the prick gets the jump on me. He lands a solid blow that does nothing but focus me on the task at hand. We turn and charge straight at each other and I nearly dislodge him completely from his mount. As I circle back around Heinrich has noticed a discrepancy in the equipment, but it matters not. I can clearly see the unchecked fear in this man’s eyes. This contest is over. He knows it, I know it, and soon the crowd will know it…

Merethyl, the dryad traded to Oliver in a macabre deal for power, stared blankly at the wall for another hour. Inscrutable, distant, veiled in green magic in the guise of a ravishingly beautiful vampire, she had followed his every command without word or complaint. Her answers to Oliver’s questions were curt and unfriendly. He hadn’t been looking for a friend, per se, but he knew enough of leadership that one could rule through fear or love, but never dispassion.

A thought for another time. For now, she had performed her task of forming a shelter for them admirably. Oliver, Wigalf, Merethyl and Sigurd huddled in the shadow of an impromptu hut formed by the dryad’s green magics. Branches and roots from the nearby trees bent to form the walls, emerged from the earth to shape chairs and tables, even arched to form a delicate door. In the light of Wigalf’s everburning candle, Oliver could see the glances his apprentice gave the door each time they heard the roar of a crowd.

“Focus,” said the necromancer, “Rollo’s victory is assured, and with it, our safety in the Von Carstein camp.”

Wigalf feigned comfort, returning to his book. In truth, he was confident that Roderick would take him back but the young human would also lose his only edge on the other apprentices. This Necrarch was entirely too permissive with his knowledge! It was only a matter of time before he would entrust Wigalf with the Grimoire.

Oliver stood at once, closed the Grimoire and stalked wordlessly out of the hut. No one was sure if they should follow or not, but he seemed to stop outside.

“You!” Oliver pointed at a Crypt Horror in the distance. The lumbering creature, scarcely more than a lump of shadow in the night, indistinguishable from all the other lumps of shadow in the army, froze completely and turned its burning red eyes toward the necromancer. Oliver snapped and pointed at his feet. The beast instinctively resisted his command, employed as it was by other magics, but Oliver overcame them through sheer force of will. It obeyed and trundled over to him.

Oliver opened the Grimoire to a page he had held with a finger, gave a quick glance at the runes, nodded, looked back up to the Crypt Horror, and unraveled the aether which bound it. It blinked, flared its nostrils and slowly opened its maw, free of all its bindings. At long last the beast would taste the flesh of its oppressors, would hunt as its instincts demanded rather than be diminished to some fodder for a cause it couldn’t comprehend.

Or, as would be the case, it would be reduced to ashes in an instant when Oliver loosened the rest of the moorings which held its spirit to this world. It was immediately shunted to the chaotic winds of magic, disintegrated just as it raised its claws to rend the small necrarch into pieces.

“It works,” Oliver said smugly, and with some surprise, “Quite satisfactorily. Do you think Sigmier will miss a crypt horror?”

“Can he do anything about it if he does?” came Wigalf’s response from inside.

“No he cannot. That, good Wigalf, is why you are wise to stay with me.”

Grand Marshall Rollo, your choice of the Gorgon for your second was a wise choice. Your choice to attempt salvage of a valuable war asset was a wise choice.

I am young but was born with an old heart. I have walked the earth a second time for but a fortnight after walking the earth with blood flowing through my veins for 63 years. I died through an unimportant accident of fate, but I lived to test men in war. More often than not, the machinations of vampires created the conflicts in which I led. A strong general knows the mind of his adversaries.

War has not changed in these thousands of years. Nature has not changed in millennia. Nor have vampires changed. Vampire leadership is not like the mind of human leadership. It seems paradoxical that beings without heart or soul are not driven by all that seems left—the mind. But it is not our place to question nature.

Wise choices for Grand Marshall watched as you were chosen to lead the von Carsteins. Bold choices win the heartless and soulless.

Cosette enthusiastically leaped out of bed and made her way towards a large cabinet in the back of room. Ziegfried had faced many challenges in life but none as beautiful as this one. It was a shame Zax would not be able to depict this glorious night but some adventures are better left discrete. She was undoubtedly pleased with his performance over the last few hours. What could Cosette be racing for in that cabinet? Sigmara had been a surprisingly meat and potatoes girl, not that there was anything wrong with getting back to the basics. Ziegfried imagined whips and chains for a moment before realizing that probably be more Mercy’s style.

Cosette flung open the cabinet doors and rummaged about before turning around wearing only a grin from ear to ear and some sort of apparatus around her hips. Surely that was not meant for Ziegfried to wear as it be rather redundant in purpose. Where was that supposed to go? Ziegfried felt his blood chill as his mind connected the dots together for him. He was up for just about anything but this was something else.

Cosette saw the look of hesitation on her lover’s face. She began to speak but stopped when she saw him step back in response to her approach. Ziegfried caught himself mid-flinch and realized that this encounter was over. He thanked his host for a wonderful evening while gathering his things and stepping out, never turning his back to Cosette.

Safely outside the tent Ziegfried took a moment to compose himself. It had been an amazing night but all things must come to an end. Two down and one to go! As he adorned Zax his mind turned to warning Glaedwine. Despite being the competition he was a fellow Von Carstein after all.

“Nah.”