Chapter 9: Chapter 9: Paths, both forward and backward

Chapter 9: Paths, both forward and backward

“Mortals proved they cannot be trusted to rule! Fifteen centuries ago great works and glorious causes were inherited by petulant children. Children who betrayed everything that came before out of pathetic entitlement. I will not allow such mistakes to occur again. Only the worthy shall rule, and their rule shall be eternal as the night! ” - Ferenc Drakovich, Duke of Dux Bucuros, first among the Blood Duchies

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The pair of Cole and Natalie left the ruins of Lungu worse for wear but victorious. Before they left the abandoned hamlet, they scavenged a few things to help their trip. Natalie had found a solid piece of wood to act as a makeshift walking stick. While Cole just used his Halberd to support his weight. Battered and exhausted the two of them retraced their steps out of the village. Passing between lifeless houses, unkempt farmlands, and other remnants of Lungu. With the Dwarven skull of Buri safely tucked in Cole’s pack.

They walked in silence, Natalie still trying to absorb everything she’d witnessed; while Cole’s focused on staying conscious. Eventually, the smell of rot and death started to fade. The clear cold breeze coming off the mountain washed away the horrid stench, and Natalie felt like she could breathe properly again. She hadn’t even noticed that she’d been taking shallow uneven breaths while in Lungu until they were a kilometer from the village and back in clean air.

Finally reaching the safety of the rock, Cole’s legs gave out as he collapsed into its shadow. Slumped against the huge boulder, Cole took in deep, ragged breaths. They reminded Natalie of an exhausted Horse. She’d seen a Horse run itself to death once, and that conjured memory sparked a new concern. Cole had survived the fight, but there was no guarantee his injuries still wouldn’t kill him. Such thoughts didn’t seem to cross Cole’s mind as he dropped his pack and shakily got back to his feet, using the rock’s leverage to stand. Natalie started to move towards him, words of concern on her lips. Cole didn’t seem to notice as he positioned his useless left arm against the arrowhead rock and shoved his weight into it. A sickening pop, followed by a sharp hiss of pain, told Natalie that Cole had got his arm back into its socket.

With that over, Cole returned to his spot on the ground and went through his bags with shaky fingers. Natalie pushed his tired hands away and said, “You look like you’re about to keel over dead. Let me help.”

Cole didn’t fight her and just grunted, “There are bandages and ointment somewhere in there.”

It took Natalie only a few seconds to find a small glass bottle wrapped in strips of cotton. Unwinding the bandages, Natalie looked to Cole, preparing to bind his worst wounds. This close, she could actually get a good look at the extent of his injuries. His entire upper body was covered in lacerations. There must have been three dozen cuts across his arms, chest, and head. Only a few were still leaking blood. The majority had been cauterized during Cole’s mad leap onto the Charnel. Natalie just glanced down at the bandages and then up at Cole. She doubted they would be enough to dress his injuries. Even if they were, where the Hells would she start?

His eyes shut and his head leaning back, Cole rasped: “Take care of any injuries you have first. Mine can wait.”

In a moment of pique, Natalie reached out and jabbed his chest in one of the few unscathed sections. Eliciting a pained yelp from Cole as she continued her not so gentle prodding.

With the type of quiet anger only a caregiver can muster for an unruly patient, Natalie said. “I’m assuming you are going into shock or delusional. Otherwise, you’d not entertain such foolish ideas. Ideas, like thinking your injuries can wait. So sit still and let me help you.”

Cole let out a groan of surrender and asked. “If you thought I was going into shock, jabbing my bruises seems a curious choice.”

Natalie got to work measuring out the bandages. Before responding with feigned innocence. “I’m not a healer of any kind. So I was forced to improvise. Now, what does this ointment do?”

Cole managed to open his eyes and peer at the bottle Natalie held out for examination. “A drop or two on a bandage covering an open wound will prevent infection. Be careful to not get any of it in your eyes or mouth.”

Natalie had just popped off the bottle’s cork and was sniffing its contents when she got his warning. Sheepishly she set the ointment down and started prepping the first bandage for use. The ointment was a dull metallic color and had the consistency of thick grease. It smelled like tarnished silver and easily dribbled onto the bandages. Scrunching up her nose, afraid to inhale more of the pungent substance, Natalie started to fasten a bandage over a nasty cut on Cole’s left arm.

“So what even is this stuff? You say not to get it in me, but you rub it into your own bleeding wounds?” said Natalie nonchalantly as she tied the bandage on.

After a moment’s hesitation, which Natalie chalked up to exhaustion, Cole answered. “It’s a poison.” Natalie frantically dropped the next bandage she’d been working on and stared at him incredulously. Now it was Cole’s turn to look sheepish as he explained. “At least it is to most people. Silverub is meant for Dwarf use, but some non-Dwarves are immune to its dangers.”

Gingerly Natalie picked up the dropped bandage and got back to work. Examining Cole’s injuries, she half asked, half mused. “How are you not dead?”

Cole let out a pained-sounding chuckle and said with a hint of amusement. “I told you already, I’m very very very difficult to kill.”

Natalie simply made a huffing sound at that and grumbled. “I hope so. I don’t think there are enough jagging bandages here.”

She was correct. By the time they ran out of cotton strips, about a third of Cole’s wounds were still uncovered. Natalie had debated tearing bits off her skirt, but Cole had gotten her to simply pour a few drops of Silverub into the exposed wounds. An act that got more than a few pained grunts from Cole. With the worst of his injuries dealt with, Natalie got to work gathering up materials for a fire while Cole slipt in and out of consciousness. She left the exhausted man laid out on the ground, his pack acting as an improvised pillow.

The wind was starting to pick up again, and the occasional shiver was the only real sign of life Natalie saw from Cole. His breathing was shallow, and he looked worse than some corpses she’d seen. Taking a final worried glance at him, Natalie left the shelter of the outcropping and started gathering anything that looked dry enough to burn. With one arm busy holding onto an improvised walking stick, Natalie was limited in how much she could carry. She had to make multiple trips. Checking on Cole every time she returned to the outcropping, Natalie would pause for a moment, drop her load and watch to see if he was still breathing. A few times, she swore he stopped, and she almost moved to shake him once, but each time his breath returned. They were shaky and shallow but still there.

On her sixth return to the outcropping, Natalie smelled smoke. Cole must have awoken and started a fire. But as she approached, Natalie realized he was still unconscious, and her pile of dried brush was unlit. Nervously she whirled around, trying to find the source of the smell. It didn’t take long to spot the cloud of dirty smoke billowing into the sky from the south. Natalie watched the roiling column of smoke in the distance, taking a moment to pay her respects. The fire was Lungu. Enough of the Walking Charnel had been smoldering to ignite the abandoned town. Natalie watched the distant tower of ash, feeling a strange sense of closure to the whole ordeal. The Undead monster had been destroyed, and now Lungu had become its funeral pyre.

Returning to her task at hand, Natalie found Cole still unconscious, so she set to work setting up a campfire. Natalie hadn’t slept outside the town walls before and had never needed to make a fire outside of a hearth. But she figured enough of the skills of managing an indoor fire had to transfer, and she got to work. After arranging the wood and tinder in what seemed a reasonable shape, Natalie looked for something to ignite it.

Rifling through her bag, Natalie found the tinderbox she’d packed. To her confusion and dawning horror, Natalie realized the small metal box, and its contents were soaked. In fact, much of her pack was wet; she somehow hadn’t noticed it earlier in all the chaos. Searching through her bag, she found the culprit. One of the two waterskins Natalie had packed was split open. The leather had been in worse shape than she’d thought and must have torn when she fell. Natalie shut her eyes in annoyed exhaustion. Drenched tinder would be useless, and she had no clue how to start a fire without it.

Before real desperation could set in, Natalie remembered the other source of easy fire she had. Turning to Coles’s sleeping form, Natalie saw what she was looking for. The Spark-stone was still fastened to his hand. Scooting over to him, Natalie set a hand on Cole’s shoulder, about to wake him. But seeing his worn face made her hesitate. Even unconscious, his face was still twisted with pain. Cole had fought and bled for the sake of her home. He’d trusted her, listened to her, helped her, and treated her with nothing but compassion. If she could let him sleep a bit longer, then Natalie would.

Uncertain but gently, Natalie set a hand on Coles’s face, wishing his pain away. He twitched in his sleep, reacting to her touch. Natalie quickly pulled her hand away as Cole muttered a single word. It was so quiet she almost didn’t hear it but, Natalie still made out the name on Cole’s lips.

“Isabelle,” he whispered in an almost pleading tone.

Something twinged inside Natalie, a slight ugly feeling she didn’t recognize. It passed as quickly as it came, and Natalie resumed her task. Unwrapping the burned leathers from Cole’s right hand. Natalie found the spark-stone. Gingerly, she picked up the palm-sized oval of polished stone. It was still warm to the touch, and Natalie realized Cole’s palm had been burned badly where he’d fastened the stone. That brought a moment of hesitation to Natalie, but it quickly died as the wind howled louder.

Nervously, Natalie returned to the make-shift campfire and held out the stone. She’d used a magical tool like this once before. It had been an enchanted ring one of Glockmire’s alchemists had let the children play with. By wearing the ring and focusing on it, you could get it to spit streams of multi-colored light. A harmless but dazzling magical effect meant to impress and not much else. So, in theory, the spark-stone shouldn’t be any different.

Holding the stone with more than a bit of concern, Natalie brandished it at the unlit campfire and focused on the stone. She willed her intent into the rune etched on the stone and imagined it shooting a stream of fire. After a few seconds of concentration, it worked. It worked a little too well, in fact. A jet of fire erupted from the stone and hit the dry tinder. Natalie let out a surprised yelp and dropped the spark-stone. The moment she let go, the flame died, but it had already spread to the dry brush and wood she’d gathered. As the campfire crackled to life, Natalie picked up the spark-stone. Cautiously she examined it in the setting afternoon sunlight.

Tiny flecks of red and brown covered parts of the stone, and Natalie realized with slight disgust that it was Cole’s blood. Perhaps that had given the spark-stone that extra boost. Natalie doubted it had been anything she had done. Part of the Rite of Birth was testing a child's magical potential. Natalie didn’t really have the mind or body to take any arcane paths. Something that hadn’t ever really bothered her, unlike many other children. As far as she’d been concerned, being pretty, strong-willed, and clever were plenty advantageous without magic on top of that.

Some had accused Natalie of being arrogant; she wouldn’t be the first beautiful young woman who let it get to her head. But those who really knew Natalie realized she had something infinitely rarer than arrogance, especially among young people. Natalie had confidence fueled by self-awareness. She understood what she had and what she did not and spent little time angsting about that fact. Still, she’d be lying if she said catching the attention of numerous suitors hadn’t brought her a measure of joy and inflated self-confidence. But those relationships or, more often, trysts had proved to be nothing special. Which brought her back to Cole, who, despite Natalie’s insistence to herself and others, had caught her eye.

Sitting next to the fire, letting its heat soak into her bones, Natalie turned towards Cole. He was perhaps a meter away, still unconscious and breathing fitfully. Tentatively, Natalie crawled over to where he lay. The fire was starting to produce a fair amount of heat, enough to warm up Natalie. But she had layers of clothes and her cloak. Cole had little more than singed tatters to protect himself from the cold. Natalie briefly considered rolling Cole closer to the fire but quickly decided against it as she got a better look at him. She’d assumed the dark splotches that covered his skin were ash and dirt. They weren’t. They were bruises. So many that they fused together in great expanses of discolored skin covering most of Cole’s exposed torso. Slightly stunned, Natalie muttered to herself.

“How are you even alive?”

Cole gave no answer, and Natalie decided moving Cole was not something she wanted to try. So seeing few other options, Natalie unfastened her cloak and laid it over Cole as a makeshift blanket. It barely covered him. He was at least two heads taller than her, after all. Taking a moment to admire her handiwork, Natalie sighed and plopped down next to Cole. His face was uncovered and was still twisted in pain. Crossing her arms and hunkering down from the newly invasive cold. Natalie examined Cole’s features.

The fire had burned his short hair to nothing, and a few ugly burns joined the mess of scars already covering him. Yet he still had appealing features. The scars masked the handsome, confident face of a man in his prime. It was difficult to tell how old Cole was. Aside from the burns and scars, his face lacked any signs of age. There were no wrinkles or crows’ feet to mark the years, nor were their laugh lines or gauntness to indicate good or bad times. In fact, Natalie started to wonder if Cole wasn’t that much older than she was. She’d guessed him to be in his mid-thirties when they first met. But as she deciphered the puzzle of scars obscuring his features, Natalie had to reconsider that initial estimate. Cole had said he’d been serving as a Paladin for a decade. Which she doubted was a position you could get as an inexperienced youth. So did that mean Cole was older than he looked, or was there something else at work?

Natalie leaned against the cold stone, sitting next to Cole and looking out at the wind-swept piedimontes that stretched out around them. From where Natalie sat, she could see the billowing smoke of Lungu. The view was beautiful in its own bleak way, ancient and worn mountains leading into rolling hills. Every breeze sent a wave of motion across the tall grasses and made them dance.

Zaubervold was a mix of mountains, forests, and bleak plateau, like most Blood Duchies. With the Dragontail Mountains coiling around the region like some colossal serpent, these lands were isolated but prosperous. Natalie didn’t know much about the Duke who ruled this particular Duchy. Other than that, he ruled from Zaubervold’s capital of Chortburg in the south. All the rulers of the Blood Duchies held the title of Duke or Duchess. But everyone knew the implied equality of that shared title was a farce. Drakovich, founder and master of the Blood Duchies, ruled over his fellow Dukes but refused to take a higher title. An idiosyncrasy leftover from the Old Empire, some said. Drakovich had survived the collapse of that civilization, and would only take up the title of Emperor when he’d restored the Empire in his image.

The politics of countries and Vampires had once been a distant hypothetical thing to Natalie. That was no longer the case with all of Cole’s talk of the “Feeder” and the plots around Lord Glockmire. Natalie had been forced to reevaluate her knowledge and understanding of the world around her. Partially out of necessity, she wanted to continue being a useful ally for Cole. Partially to try and reclaim some modicum of control. It seemed slightly silly to her, but on some level, Natalie hoped that by gaining understanding, she’d reclaim some of the security she’d lost. The illusionary shield of ignorance was gone and needed to be replaced with something sturdier.

She sat for hours, pondering the problem facing her town. Checking on Cole’s still sleeping form and fueling the fire occasionally. But mainly, Natalie focused on what to do about the situation in Glockmire. From what he’d told her, Cole’s plan seemed a good one. Cripple the enemy piece by piece while his Vampiric rivals closed in on him. While there were many unanswered questions, one, in particular, bothered Natalie. Why had Cole been called to this particular crisis? Paladin’s couldn’t be common enough to spare for every wayward Vampire. But a God had decided it was necessary to risk a powerful asset over the safety of Glockmire. While Natalie didn’t give any credit to the idea that the Pantheon was secretly malicious. A heretical line of thought propagated by the bitter and the mad. She also didn’t think a being responsible for running the universe would spare much for her little town. Raising the question; shouldn’t Cole be off doing more important work?

That question led Natalie to a simple answer. Simple, but incredibly worrying. Whatever was happening in Glockmire was not something Master Time could ignore. Something brewing in her town could potentially have consequences even a God felt. According to the Temple, the Gods do not intervene lightly. Instead, preferring to give their worshippers the tools they need. Trusting them to find the best path. When a God did choose to directly involve themselves, which was what sending a Paladin was tantamount to doing. It meant something extremely bad would happen without their interference. So finding out exactly what crisis Cole was meant to prevent would be crucial. A task Natalie found annoyingly beyond her current capabilities. She lacked information, and her best source was currently lying half-dead next to her.

Eventually, the Sun started to dip down, its rays turning scarlet and the shadows lengthening. Night would not be long. Unconsciously, Natalie found herself edging closer to Cole. She’d been fearing this, night arriving with Cole still being incapacitated. While she hoped the fire would deter most mundane threats, nothing stopped the more unnatural dangers from attacking them while she slept. The necklace Cole said would protect her was destroyed and its power used by the Paladin. So that left her with one option. Natalie found the bag of salt and silver. She ran the sparkling and shining powder through her fingers while debating her actions. Getting up, Natalie moved to the edge of the little overhang they sheltered under. With uncertain fingers, Natalie grabbed a handful of the dust and started sprinkling it in a line at her feet.

It took a few minutes and multiple retracing of her steps, but Natalie had enclosed the small camp with a semi-circle of protective powder. Admiring her handiwork, Natalie winced as she looked into the bag she’d carried. Most of its contents lay scattered at her feet, and neither material was cheap. With that finished, she returned to her earlier spot and looked out at the darkening hills. By now, the Sun touched the horizon, and the distant flames of burning Lungu were visible. The eerie glow of the village’s cremation became more pronounced with every minute. Night had come, and with it, new terrors.

Natalie felt it when the Sun finally fell into shadow. A visceral tug in her core, as fading light was replaced by true darkness. All she could do was stare out across the landscape as it faded away. The clouds were thick overhead, obscuring the Moon and Stars. Leaving only the dancing ghost lights of Lungu to illuminate the growing blackness. The fierce wind from that day had died down as dusk came, but it quickly returned as the last hints of sunlight faded.

The wind carried the bitter chill of winter-to-come and set Natalie’s teeth chattering. She put a few more pieces of wood on the fire. The pile she’d gathered was looking painfully small now. She’d drastically underestimated how quickly the fire would eat up her supply. A campfire and a fireplace, it seems, are very different beasts. It was too late to gather more, and it would only get colder.

Shivering with the worsening cold, Natalie realized another source of warmth was right next to her. Cole’s unconscious body was giving off a staggering amount of heat. He was wrapped up in her cloak and seemingly unbothered by the cold. Hesitating a moment upon realizing what she was considering. Natalie quickly decided as another bitter gust bit down on her exposed skin.

There was a space between Cole and the rockface, about enough room for her to squeeze into. After a few incredibly awkward attempts, Natalie had nestled herself between Cole and the rock. Almost immediately, she felt warmer, the large sleeping form of the Paladin acting as a windbreak. Gripping her cloak, Natalie pulled it partially over her. Cole shifted slightly, and she guessed the Cloak wasn’t big enough to cover both of them easily. Letting out an annoyed sigh. Natalie swallowed any growing embarrassment and got closer to Cole. Her back was pressed against his sleeping form, and now, with this awkward form of accidental intimacy, the blanket could cover both of them.

Trying to get comfortable, Natalie was glad for the warmth Cole provided but hoped his injuries would ensure she awoke first. It would be better for her pride and forestall any potential awkwardness. Looking over her shoulder, Natalie looked at the sleeping face of Cole. He looked like he was in less pain, which was hopefully a good sign. Turning back to face the rock, Natalie muttered some choice words before trying to sleep.

“I was considering getting him into my bed, but not quite like this,” she said wryly as exhaustion started to take her.

 

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The past few nights had not gone well for Dietrich. He’d followed the claims of the half-mad Rest-Bringer and confirmed much of what he’d been told. After this “Cole” character had left the Castle. He’d searched for evidence to corroborate or disprove the claims of unsanctioned necromantic experimentation. It hadn’t taken much effort to show that Cole was, at the very least, partially truthful. Which was exactly why things were not going well for Dietrich.

It would have been so much easier if the Rest-Bringer had been delusional or lying. Dietrich could have just killed the man, put his head on a pike, have his day thralls decry the interloper's actions as the lies of a zealot, and be done with it. But so far, everything Dietrich could investigate matched Cole’s words.

The first night, Dietrich had tasked some trusted thralls to go through the ledgers and documents about the Castle’s Larder. The almost obsessive documentation in that regard quickly provided results. Innate paranoia over blood sources forced the court to keep extensive records about the Larder and its occupants. One of the most common sources of strife between Vampires is over food. Solitary predators by nature, sharing and storing food is not something the Night’s Children do well. A truth that clashes violently with the civilized ideals the Blood Duchies aspire to. You cannot have a stable feudal society if every noble court descends into paranoid butchery over hunting rights constantly. So constant notation about feeding and blood supply helps keep the peace.

Those records matched what Cole said and provided more details. A prisoner by the name of Felix Mihai had been taken to the Castle for crimes of bloodshed. Felix had been quickly sentenced and dropped into the Larder. Where the three youngest Vampires of the court, Corneliu, Camelia, and Bogdan, drank him to death. Such excesses were tacitly permitted in such inexperienced Vampires. With barely two decades each of Undeath, that trio lacked the influence and power to easily acquire blood. So they were forced to curry favor with their betters or hunt for scraps like Felix. It was a crude but effective method to teach fledglings politics and survival within a Vampire court.

Corneliu, Camelia, and Bogdan glutted themselves, then reported the Blood-Slave’s death. Dietrich had confirmed this with a few quick words to each trio member. They knew better than to lie or even annoy him. After all, there used to be five members of their generation before they last caught Dietrich's attention. So they gladly told Dietrich everything they knew. Like how they left the body of their meal to be processed. The trio could, of course, be lying, but only if cowed into doing so by another. Dietrich intended to follow that possibility, but the rest of his night was spent tracking the missing corpse from the other end of the matter.

Felix’s body had ended up in the Temple’s mortuary, which was easy enough to confirm. So was Cole depositing the corpse and his general movements in Glockmire. Dietrich knew where the corpse had been created and where it was now. However, the details between were uncertain. The eyes and ears of thralls and spies would only do so much. Dietrich needed to personally investigate.

On the dusk of the second night, Dietrich left the Castle to trace Cole’s steps. He didn’t bother taking the switchback route down to the Town and instead bounded along the cliff face. Despite wearing a full suit of plate armor, Dietrich was incredibly agile. Taking a path only a Mountain Goat would dare. The scattered clefts and bluffs in the cliff let Dietrich reach the town walls without passing through Glockmires streets.

Dietrich did this to avoid attention. While some of the court’s Vampires loved to bask in the populace’s terror. Taking every opportunity to haunt the night and frighten the livestock. Dietrich found such immature behavior foolish and counterproductive. The entire point of the Blood Duchies was to keep the mortal pliant, obedient, and dependent on the Vampires. A good shepherd has no need nor desire to frighten his flock, acting like a wolf.

Descending off the cliff face, Dietrich made it to the city walls. He scaled the old stonework with a single good jump. Barely letting his feet skim the parapet before leaping down to the ground below. Years of practice let him land with little noise. Only the faint sound of scraping metal betrayed his presence. Other court members found Dietrich’s habit of wearing his full suit of armor ridiculous. Claiming their kind’s natural speed and resilience was more than enough protection. Those words betrayed their arrogance and ignorance. They’d never stood on a battlefield where the sky turned black with falling arrows. Arrows with silver heads dipped in holy water or flaming pitch. Nor had they faced warrior-priests whose very presence burned undead flesh. Dietrich kept his armor on out of healthy paranoia, something required to survive for centuries.

Still, he acknowledged that speed and stealth were valuable tools. And he’d learned to use them in his own manner. Moving away from the town walls, Dietrich reached into the reservoir of blood that powered him. Dipping into the stolen life-force that granted him unlife and myriad boons. Dietrich let the sinister power flow up and out of him. Droplets of black blood dribbled from his mouth and nose. Before evaporating into a crimson fog as they touched the cold night air. That red mist started to swirl around Dietrich, enclosing him in a cloud of magical power.

With focus born of decades of practice, Dietrich forced the mist to congeal into a shape. A shape that formed around Dietrich like another suit of armor. Dietrich felt the lines between his own flesh and the enveloping mist blur. His body melted into the new form he pictured in his mind. Dietrich shut his eyes and let the transformation complete. A sizzling noise like burning flesh and a few wet pops let him know he was ready. Dietrich opened his eyes and adjusted to his new flesh. Where the armored knight had once stood was now a hulking black wolf. Easily twice the size of any true wolf, with eyes that glinted red. This new form would serve Dietrich well in his task.

After a few shaky steps, Dietrich fell into the rhythm of a canine body. A transformation like this, was not a talent his breed of vampire specialized in. It had taken not insignificant effort to reach this level of skill. But all that toil paid off as Dietrich bolted out into the night with unnatural speed. Like some mirage of death, the black wolf ran north of Glockmire, sucking in great lungfuls of the night air. Dietrich had no need to breathe, even in this body, but his sense of smell was magnified like his speed. Canine instinct and Vampiric intelligence sifted through the glut of scents until the tell-tale smell of a corpse caught his attention. Even days later, Dietrich could easily identify the odor of a drained body. With the scent in mind, he dashed off after the trail.

Dietrich ran through the dark night, breaking away from the road and into the forest. Here the smells of civilization that wafted from Glockmire were quickly replaced by the various odors of nature. Most were familiar to Dietrich; he’d run through this forest and ones like it hundreds of times. So following the abnormal scent proved easy enough. At first, he simply followed the corpse’s trail, but other odd smells mixed in. A hint of something floral, Lilac perhaps? Alongside ash, leather, and…blood? Dietrich stopped his hunt in slight surprise. He smelled blood, but it was wrong. The smell was a few days old, but that should not have changed it, only weakened it. This blood smelled like nothing Dietrich had ever scented or tasted. It was rich and potent, yet also alien and cold. Trying to sort through the strange smell, Dietrich was confused. He’d drunk the lifeblood of almost every Kin on the continent, Goblin, Human, Werefolk, Elf, and Dwarf, but he still had no context for the bizarre, unnatural blood.

That mystery could be added to the growing pile for now. Dietrich followed the trail and soon caught the scent of rot and fire. He was where he needed to be. A forest clearing stretched out before him, with a pile of ash and burnt bone near its center. Dietrich padded up the cracked and ashen bones and examined them. It was hard to tell with all the damage, but the bones seemed to be warped human ones. These might be the Vryko-Ghouls; it was impossible to tell now.

Leaving the clearing, Dietrich continued after the scent and reached the cliff and ruined cave of the Ghouls' creation. Here the smells of death, rot, and that same unnatural blood were thick. And if he really concentrated, he could also pick up hints of Direbats. So far, Cole’s story was lining up with the evidence. A deep growl of annoyance started in Dietrich's chest as he tried to follow the smell of the Direbats. It was too faint, beyond even his lupine form’s ability to track. But Dietrich would not be so easily dissuaded.

The only Direbats in the area were bound to Castle Glockmire. Roosting in a great Hibernaculum burrowed into the mountain the Castle perched on. Where swarms of the useful creatures were bred and trained by the court. Dietrich had the scent of this particular batch and would hopefully identify what brood was used in this dirty business. With this information, Dietrich loped back to the Castle. Enjoying the cool night air on his fur and the momentary freedom of his expedition.

Upon reaching the walls of Glockmire, Dietrich let his concentration slip. The focus he’d put into changing shapes started to fade. Black fur fell out of his skin in clumps, followed by rivers of black blood. The massive wolf started to melt, its flesh returning to its true form. Soon Dietrich lay, on his hands and knees, in the center of a great pool of the tar-black substance. He got to his feet as the vampire blood poured back into him. The pool drained into his body in an inverted exsanguination. The whole process took a little under a minute and left Dietrich shaky on his feet for about twice that length. Not for the first time, he envied the Strigoi and their ability to shift between bestial forms with ease. But every time Dietrich had to deal with any of those barbaric near-feral Vampires, such moments of envy seemed foolish.

In his true body, Dietrich finished the last leg of his journey. Returning to the Castle and ready to continue the investigation. Upon arriving, Dietrich spared no time for his thralls or any other servant he passed in the dimly lit hallways of the Castle. Instead, prowling towards the Hibernaculum with predatory focus. Castle Glockmire clings to the mountainside, its turrets and spires carved from living rock. A mountain face chiseled into a gothic fortress in true Blood Duchy fashion. This structure that loomed over the town below was, in fact, only part of the Castle's entirety.

A cavernous network of tunnels and chambers had been hewn into the mountain. The product of centuries of constant excavation. The vast majority of this subterranean system was still unused, with its rough-hewn corridors awaiting potential use decades after their creation. It was in these sprawling tunnels that Dietrich navigated to the Hibernaculum. Despite living in the Castle for fifty years, Dietrich still did not know the entirety of the network. In fact, Dietrich doubted anyone other than Lord Glockmire, and his Steward knew the full extent of the tunnels. For it was the Lord's command that the tunnels were constantly expanded and reinforced. Crews of undead workers chipped away at the rock night and day. Working to some enigmatic purpose only the Lord knew.

The Hibernaculum was one of the farthest caverns in actual use. Its external entrance actually poking out the far side of the mountain. Once a natural cave, it had been incorporated into the Castle’s tunnels, and its native population of Bats quickly mutated to suit the court's need. Despite being deep in the tunnels, and rarely visited by Dietrich, he still had no issue finding the Colony of Direbats. He simply had to follow the smell of Bat-Shit.

The stink of thousands of Direbats filled some of the deeper tunnels and acted as a disgusting compass to guide Dietrich. That night as Dietrich stalked deeper through the dark tunnels, another smell accompanied the reek of guano. The smell of blood intermingled with the filth and brought new urgency to Dietrich's steps. As he approached the main cavern of the Hibernaculum, he also heard panicked shouts. Bursting into his full Vampiric speed, Dietrich rushed into the cavern, throwing open the sturdy wooden door with enough force to crack its wood.

The main part of the Hibernaculum was a great arched cavern that opened up to the night sky but with dozens of smaller caves shooting off of it. A series of wooden walkways hugged the cave’s walls, providing easy movement for the mortal servants who tended the Direbats. Most nights, the cavern was all but empty. Its denizens hunted and patrolled the night as their masters commanded. That was not the case tonight as an entire brood of Direbats swarmed in the chamber’s center. Forming a whirling ball of flying shapes. At least a hundred oversized bats flew in the air in random twisting patterns.

As Dietrich entered the cavern, he gazed upon the strange formation of Direbats and realized what they were doing. A constant rain of blood fell from the swarm, accompanied by the occasional falling body. The brood was killing itself. All of the Direbats engaged in a vicious midair melee. Across the chamber on the wooden walkways and platforms, the four mortal tenders scurried about, shouting in panic. Sickly gaunt men, the tenders spent their entire lives maintaining the Direbat population. Keeping the Colony healthy with obsessive commitment, even as the disease and waste their charges created killed them. Now they were helpless to watch the aerial battle as the Direbats tore into each other with mad hunger.

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Dietrich tried to reach out with his mind to the swarm. Calling upon the dominating psychic presence of the Vampire to bring these beasts to heel. They did not respond, not even acknowledging his call. A call that would bring almost any nocturnal predator to heel. Dietrich was forced to watch as the swarm killed itself, his repeated attempts to control the Direbats meeting with no success.

As the final few mortally wounded, Direbats fell to the cavern floor. Dietrich went to one of the dead creatures that had crashed into a nearby part of the walkway. This close, he could smell it. This Bat was of the same brood as the ones used to transport the stolen corpse. Someone was covering their tracks. Forcing the Direbats to commit gruesome suicide before he could examine them.

Growling in frustration, Dietrich picked up the Direbat and slammed it against the nearby cave wall. Leaving a red smear as evidence of his pique. The wet splat caught the attention of the Tender, who only now realized a Nocturnal Noble was among them. The four men froze in terror. Expecting brutal punishment at Dietrich's hands.

“Gather up all of these dead Direbats and do not let anyone other than myself examine them. If anybody orders the carcasses destroyed, do not do so. Instead, send for me. Am I understood?” barked Dietrich, his old Eastern Marches accent slipping back into his words.

The nervous tenders nodded vigorously, and Dietrich let them do their foul work. He left the Hibernaculum with bitter anger growing in his heart. There were other possible explanations for what Cole had claimed, but what he’d just witnessed tipped the scales. Nothing proved a crime like an attempt to destroy the evidence. One of the Vampires of the court was behind this, and he needed to find out quickly. But before he could continue the investigation, he’d need to make one crucial stop. Dietrich needed to inform Lord Glockmire of what was happening and discern if he was involved in this matter.

 

---

Upon waking up, the first thing Cole felt was something warm and soft touching him. Which was a major improvement over the pain and cold he’d felt before sleeping. Blinking away the last bits of sleep, Cole tried to get his bearings. He was still lying on cold hard ground, but a blanket of some kind covered him. Also, something warm and asleep was nestled to his chest. Shifting the blanket slightly to see who or what was with him. Cole looked down at the sleeping form of Natalie.

Momentary confusion, replaced by surprise, then eventually, embarrassment flashed through Cole's mind. Even dirted by travel and ash, Natalie was beautiful and very, very close to him. It had been a decade since Cole had been this close to another person, platonically or otherwise. And the lovely heart-shaped face of Natalie was keenly reminding him of that fact. Cole tried to edge away from his surprise sleeping companion, feeling a rising sense of nervousness and mild panic. An effort that only resulted in Natalie moving closer, her sleeping mind not taking kindly to her heat source moving away.

After a few seconds of hesitation, Cole decided to rip this bandage off quickly, partially because he needed to check his own bandages. Freeing himself from the blanket, which he quickly realized was Natalie’s cloak. Cole got up slowly, trying to ensure Natalie did not awaken. He was on his knees and almost free when her eyes shot open. For an incredibly awkward moment, they just looked at each other. Cole’s still stunned expression met Natalie’s sleepy one. The moment broke as Natalie’s eyes widened in dawning horror. Her voice raspy with sleep, Natalie muttered a single word.

“Jag”

The multipurpose curse word encapsulated Natalie’s feelings perfectly. Pulling herself to a sitting position, Natalie started to sputter out an explanation, her face flushing red.

“You were freezing and needed the cloak, but it was too cold for me without it. I just thought it was a good idea. It just seemed practical. I didn’t mean to overstep or-”

Natalie trailed off as she noticed she wasn’t the only one blushing. Cole was looking away from her and fidgeting slightly, with definite color to his cheeks, which she was certain was not caused by the cold. Cole didn’t respond, and the silence quickly turned awkward. Attempting to salvage the situation, Natalie coughed slightly and continued speaking.

“Well, um, you seem to be in better shape than you were yesterday. Considering you’re up and about.”

Cole quickly took the offered topic and glanced over his bandaged body as he spoke. “Yes, the Silverub did its job. I should be good to continue traveling. Is your leg any better?”

Natalie got to her feet and tested her weight on the bruised ankle. After a few experimental steps, she winced but had her answer. “I’ll probably be moving slow, but I can walk.”

Seeing her discomfort, Cole looked around and found the piece of wood Natalie had used previously as a crutch. He handed it to Natalie, she accepted with a grateful nod and hobbled over to the smoking remnant of their campfire. Only a few stubborn coals remained, giving off some wisps of smoke but little heat. As Natalie checked the fire, Cole rummaged through his pack and pulled out a bundle of cloth. For a moment, Natalie thought it was a blanket and that she was about to die of embarrassment. If Cole had a blanket the entire time and she just didn’t check his pack, oh, she’d never live that down mentally. Thankfully, Cole unfolded the cloth, revealing a worn-looking shirt. After taking a moment to shrug out of the burnt scraps of clothes still clinging to him, Cole put the shirt on and with it his hourglass medallion.

Watching this, Natalie asked curiously. “Why didn’t you say anything about having spare clothes last night? It couldn’t have been comfortable to sleep in those tatters. “ she gestured at the barely intact strips of cloth and leather Cole had just doffed.

Grimacing slightly, an expression his scars made easy, Cole explained. “I lost a lot of blood and took a… uncomfortable number of blows to the head. Making it here and not simply passing out in Lungu took pretty much everything I had.”

Natalie nodded to that and left the large alcove they camped in. Shielding her eyes from the morning Sun. Natalie scanned the horizon until she saw what she’d been looking for. “Speaking of Lungu, do you think that fire will get out of control?” As she spoke, Natalie pointed to the pillar of smoke in the distance.

Cole saw what she was pointing at and hesitated. “It… should be okay. I didn’t expect my use of fire magic to get so out of control.”

His words sparked a thought in Natalie. She quickly found her pack and the Spark-stone. Picking up the smooth black oval, she returned it to Cole and said: “This worked perfectly to start the fire.”

Cole felt the palm-sized rock’s weight for a moment before answering. “It's what it was designed for. I’m thankful my unusual use didn’t damage it.”

Snorting at Cole’s understatement, Natalie said. “Unusual use? You managed to burn down an entire village with that little thing.”

A little sheepishly, Cole half-muttered. While I expected to use the stone in Cremating bodies. I’ll be the first to admit, its effectiveness, when combined with Blood Magic, proved exceptional.”

Raising an eyebrow, Natalie got a concrete answer to what exactly was Cole’s magic. She’d had some theories but lacked any real knowledge about magic to really guess. Since he’d broached the subject, Natalie figured it would be okay to ask a question or two.

“So what you use is Blood Magic? Isn’t that dark magic? Like as bad as Necromancy, Flesh-Crafting, and Mind Warping?”

Shrugging slightly, Cole sat down next to the near-dead campfire and grabbed his nearby pack before answering. “Kind of. If you’re using someone else's blood, then sure, it's dark magic. But I use my own, so the morality is not nearly as questionable.”

Natalie grabbed her own pack and sat across from him. They both started to fish through their bags, gathering some food to start their days. Thankfully for Natalie, her burst water skin hadn’t ruined her rations. The dried meat and bread had been packed well. The two of them started to eat in silence until Natalie asked another question. One that she’d been debating for a while.

“Is that where your scars came from? Using blood magic on yourself? Breaching this subject felt like a bit of a gamble, but Natalie decided it was worth the dice roll.

Cole froze mid-bite into a rather withered-looking apple and looked at Natalie. He set the apple down and hesitantly showed Natalie the underside of his forearm. A network of silvery marks covered his arms and fingers. They were incredibly light, barely visible if Natalie focused eyes. They were old scars, the type that had decades to heal properly, not the semi-disfiguring burns and gashes covering most of Cole.

“These are my scars from Blood Magic,” he remarked before pointing at the scabbed-over wounds on his hands, the places where he’d cut himself to cast spells the day before. “A big part of using Blood Magic is conserving blood. Every spilled drop weakens me, so ensuring no waste is important. It's powerful stuff, Blood Magic, and most Blood Mages just pour all that power into their spells. At best, I’m… a mediocre Mage, and directing all that power is beyond my skill. So instead, I channel the extra power back into me. It's tricky, but I can use the excess magic to help heal quicker. It won’t save my life, but it will make sure a small cut heals fast and neatly.”

With that explanation, Cole went back to his apple. Natalie noted to herself that he’d only partially answered her question. Cole had evaded mentioning where he got most of his scars, and she doubted it was his habit to meander between topics was why. After that, they ate in silence. Eventually finishing their makeshift breakfast and preparing to leave. Cole spent a few minutes gathering up some of his protective dust from the line Natalie had made. Not much, but enough to get the pouch halfway full. After that, it didn’t take the two long to gather up the few things scattered around the campsite and be on their way.

The weather was fairer than the previous day. The wind had died down and some faint autumn sunlight poked through the clouds. Natalie was intensely thankful for this. The idea of trying to keep her balance in harsh winds with a bruised ankle did not seem appealing. In fact, not having that bitter gale to chill and slow them, the duo made better time than they’d expected. It had been mid-morning when they left the campsite, and by noon they’d gotten into the mountain’s shadow. Rolling hills turned into forests around the base of the mountains.

Natalie hadn’t the opportunity on the first leg of their journey to admire the colorful leaves of the forest. She took the time now as they approached the orange, yellow and brown canopy that stretched off and up the side of the mountain. Higher up, they were replaced by boney trees devoid of foliage that crowned all but the most jagged peaks. The Dragontails are old and well worn, lacking the rugged peaks of some of their cousin ranges. Still, many showed adamant cliff-faces, and time-worn ridges stood as a testament to the mountains forbidding nature.

Gazing up at the landscape, Natalie felt a smile cross her lips. The wilderness of the Blood Duchies might be a monster-infested waste, but it was still beautiful. It seemed tragic that her people never really stopped to admire the proud mountains that surrounded them. The idea that she would leave this part of the world brought some urgency to Natalie’s admiration. It was best to let the good of her homeland soak in while she could. So the duo of Cole and Natalie walked in silence together, both lost in their thoughts.

The little bit of calm reverie Natalie had managed to get was quickly broken as her eyes caught a blemish marring a distant mountain. It was barely visible, little more than a squat black smear clinging to the side of a peak. But Natalie could still identify Castle Glockmire. Grinding her teeth, Natalie realized she’d stopped in her tracks, and Cole was up the trail a bit waiting for her. Hobbling up to where he waited, Natalie decided to try and get some more questions answered.

“Can you explain to me more about binding Undead? You made it sound like doing so was costly to the Feeder. Why is that?”

Cole looked up at the sky, figuring out the best way to explain concepts he barely understood. “I’m no Necromancer, and my magical talent is…questionable at best.” a statement Natalie found a little ridiculous since she’d seen him cloak himself in fire and punch a Charnel pit to death. “So my ability to grasp exactly what’s involved is shaky. I honestly know just enough to make problems for Necromancers. But from how I understand it, creating Undead is not the major challenge in Necromancy. Keeping them controlled is the problem.”

“It’s actually what kills a lot of beginners.” continued Cole. “I’ve dealt with dozens of cases where some fool tries to create a Ghoul servant and only manages to get themselves eaten. Leaving a town with a possible plague of Ghouls or similar danger. But even if a Necromancer gets it right. Keeping Undead controlled is taxing, and the more powerful the Undead, the more taxing it gets. So having at least two dangerous Undead on a tight leash for any extended period would not be easy. Not something done without a major reason.”

Natalie nodded; she understood so far. But some of what Cole said clashed with stories she’d heard about Necromancy. “That makes sense, but how do the Duke’s armies work? Drakovich and his vassals command entire armies of Undead soldiers. Shouldn’t that keep all their magical power tied up?”

It was well known across the Western Continent why the Blood Duchies survived despite being surrounded by hostile powers on all sides. Legions of armored skeletons marched at the Duke’s order. Entire armies that didn’t need to sleep eat or drink. Armies that could recruit from the enemy's dead, and would never disobey orders.

“The Duke’s ‘eternal legions,’ as he calls them, are very different from other more volatile Undead,” remarked Cole, his words touched with venom. The mass desecration of corpses required to create those armies disgusted him. “The magic used to create them ensures they will not act unless directed. There is no actual drive to them, be it instinct or will. Only complicated magic and their General’s focus make them more than idle puppets. Vryko-Ghouls, by contrast, are driven by incredible hunger. To keep one from hunting aggressively would take near-constant focus. It's one thing to direct that hunger for a time, which is what Necromancers often do with powerful Undead. It’s something else to completely control them, keeping them as some kind of hidden weapon.”

Pondering this, Natalie continued a line of thought she’d had days ago. “So getting the Walking Charnel to attack Filip’s sister would be much easier than keeping it hidden in that well?”

“Exactly,” said Cole. “There are ways to get around it, but they require complicated and tricky rituals. Like I knew a situation where a very nasty Ghost was kept under the control of a madwoman in possession of the spirits remains by….”

Cole trailed off, rethinking if the particular details of that incident should be shared with anyone. When he’d explained what he’d discovered to the haunted City's Mayor, she’d vomited all over the floor, and two of her attendants had fainted. Shaking the images from his head, Cole found Natalie staring at him and something about the moment stopped his thoughts. Her head was cocked slightly, and a curious expression on her face. Despite, or perhaps inspite of that, Natalie looked strangely beautiful.

She was so overflowing with life, passion, and, strangely, trust. While he’d angst fiercely over endangering her with knowledge or his presence. Natalie had been shockingly open with him after that painful night she’d found him lying against the town gate. The young woman had jumped headfirst into matters she should have avoided. Largely, it seemed, because it felt like the right thing to do. Natalie had stayed by his side even after his attempts to push her away and her own encounters with nightmarish things. While Cole had started to happily explain the world he lived in, he’d not actually opened up in any true way. Bombarding her with information, much of it horrible or extraneous, instead of responding to her interest in him. An interest that he still didn’t fully understand. Cole was fairly certain it was more than Natalie wanting something from him, but more than that, he could only guess.

So out of a mixture of guilt and hope, Cole answered her curious gaze with some frank honesty. “I’ve been immersed in a world of horror for a long time, Natalie, and sometimes I forget that it's not normal to see the things I have. So when I try to talk openly, I either horrify or endanger them. I’ve done both with you, but you’ve continued to accompany me and proved to be a good friend and ally. Something I have not had in a long time, and I’ve practically forgotten how to reciprocate such things.”

Taking a deep anxious breath, something that almost looked comical on his huge frame. Cole let down a bit of the defense he’d built up after the tragedy that started his path. “We are away from town and by ourselves. Details of Necromancy can wait. If you have any questions about me, I will answer if I can.”

Natalie had never been hunting, something odd for someone in Glockmire. So she had no context for the saying “frozen like a stuck Deer” except for hearing it. But at that moment, she guessed her expression matched that of any Doe caught in a trap. This was not at all where she expected this conversation to go. Cole’s sudden frankness had come out of nowhere and blindsided her. Had he regretted his earlier evasion? Was he serious in his offer?

It took one look at the slightly nervous-looking Paladin for her to realize Cole was indeed serious. This man had faced down Gods knows how many nightmares. And was still happy to leap into terrible danger. But the idea of letting her know him a bit better had Cole downright unnerved. Natalie had a million questions, her curiosity having grown insatiable since that first night they met. But the first question to exit her mouth surprised Natalie. It wasn’t what she’d meant to ask, and it just fell out somewhat unbidden.

“Who is Isabelle?”

Cole looked like he’d been struck. His face agape with shock. Cole’s expression cycled through anger, surprise, worry, confusion, and finally settling on cautious intensity.

“Where did you hear that name Natalie?” he asked in a disturbingly monotone voice. Uncharacteristic for the soft-spoken man. His body language and voice were the same as when Natalie asked about the Vampire skull he kept. A fact Natalie noticed and took as enough answer to her question.

“You said it in your sleep, you scaredy-cat. And I’m curious as to who she is,” responded Natalie, her voice dripping with snark. An act of bravado, partially for Natalie’s own comfort and to prove that Cole hadn’t scared her off with his moment of intensity.

Visibly relaxing, Cole slumped a little bit as he digested her words. A hint of shame in his posture. “I…am sorry. She is a tender spot for me, and years of worry related to her have made me jumpy.”

Natalie just snorted at that. Cole was usually so polite, if a bit evasive. So whatever was involved with this, Isabelle must have left a very much open emotional wound in Cole. Natalie swore she could see the internal conflict in Cole’s eyes. His desire to keep this particular secret at war with his attempts to reciprocate Natalie’s trust. After a few moments, Cole glanced back at the waiting Woman and grunted slightly. The sound of a man setting aside a burden so old it had become familiar.

“Isabelle is the woman I love and the reason I became a Paladin. I lost her to a monster and tried to buy her back through service to Master Time. While I’ve found more reasons to continue this path, it still traces back to simply wanting her back. “

A flash of shame crossed Cole’s face as he mused on his choices. “I’ve devoted myself to helping people find closure. Hunting Undead and helping the grieving when I can. So how much of a hypocrite must I be to refuse to let go of my own tragedy?”

The grief and shame in Cole’s voice shocked Natalie. They stood perhaps two or so meters apart, and Natalie couldn’t decide if she wanted to step back from Cole in surprise or step forward to offer him a comforting hand. Ultimately she did neither and instead asked her next question, even though she already knew the answer.

“The skull, it's Isabelle’s, right? She was a Vampire, and you still loved her?” Natalie was confused. This revelation did not line up with the sheer hatred she’d seen in Cole when it came to Vampires. But as she considered it, Natalie started to understand. The most powerful hate can only be born from love. That kind of betrayal or loss could make a person hate like nothing else.

Nodding in affirmation. Cole reached towards his pack and touched the skull hidden inside. “She was betrayed and destroyed by other Vampires. Their monsters Natalie, all Vampires are monsters. Belle is just one of the few who tried not to be.”

Is? Cole referred to Isabelle as the woman he loves, not loved. Natalie felt a familiar chill go up her spine as she followed her intuition and blurted out: “She’s still alive, isn’t she? Isabelle is still attached to her skull. That's why you’re so protective of it?!”

A hint of a smile quirked Cole’s face as he said. “You’re a very clever person Natalie. It's one of the things I admire about you. You’re right. But perhaps ‘still alive’ is a bit too generous. Belle is dead like all Vampires, but not as dead as she should be. They burned her to death, Natalie, no Vampire can survive that, yet a bit of her still clings to her remains. So I am left with a forlorn hope. If something is not totally dead, then are they not yet a bit alive?”

That last sentence held an almost pleading air in Cole’s voice. It was the sound of a grieving man still bargaining for his lover's life. Natalie recognized it well; she’d heard that tone often in the days after the Breach three years ago. As often as she talked, Natalie chose to stay silent then and let Cole fill the air with his pain.

“I know I’m a hypocrite and deluding myself. Death is part of life, it needs to happen, and Vampires can only cheat for so long. Isabelle had her life and centuries more that she stole. If I was a better man, I’d have buried that skull and said goodbye. But I just can’t bear to do it. The idea scares me more than anything.”

His words trailed off, and Cole stood, their sadness and shame pouring off him like rainwater. Natalie still didn’t understand everything, and she decided not to push any further. Opening up to her like this seemed to have taken more from Cole than she’d expected. The stalwart man who’d fought monsters and won seemed absent. In his place was a shell of grief and pain. A pain that seemed deeper than even the loss of a loved one could provoke.

The loose shirt Cole wore exposed his neck far more than any other clothes Natalie had seen him in, and the collar of scars around his neck was clearly visible. A flash of realization punched into Natalies’s mind as pieces fell into place. Cole hadn’t just been Isabelle’s lover; he’d been her Blood-Servant. The Vampire's favorite food source. Natalie felt suddenly sick as she understood more and more. A Vampire’s venom was addictive and could distort a person's mind. And judging by the sheer number of marks on Cole’s neck, he’d been dosed with Gods only know how much of the stuff.

Seeing the pain in him and beginning to understand his story, Natalie made a decision. Despite his past and whatever demons haunted him, Cole had still decided to help her and her town. He was a good man and one who would gladly bleed to do the right thing. Cole had helped her break free of the trap she’d been born into. Realizing the terrible truths of Glockmire and her life. So she’d just have to return the favor.

Stepping lightly toward him, Natalie wrapped her arms around Cole. Hugging the tall man close, Natalie tried to impart all the care and kindness she could. Her face nestled towards his chest, Natalie whispered a few simple words. “You’re a mortal like the rest of us, Cole. You can make mistakes and have flaws. It’s okay and doesn’t change the fact you’re a good person.”

Cole said nothing, uncertain of the accuracy of her words but still willing to accept them. After a moment, he gently returned the hug, and they held each other for a moment. Before a pained grunt from Cole made Natalie step back. He was still badly bruised, and being squeezed in an embrace had hurt.

An awkward silence hung in the air between the two for a moment before Cole said. “You continue to amaze me, Natalie; I’m glad I met you. Thank you for your kind words. I cannot continue to stew in my pain. I may have started this path in a twisted place, but that doesn’t mean I have to let it be a twisted path.”

He put a large hand on Natalie’s shoulder and lightly squeezed before turning to walk towards Glockmire. Natalie watched him for a second, seeing that the stalwart Paladin had returned and the husk of pain had been banished. A faint smile crossed Natalie’s face, and she started to follow after Cole. He’d saved her, she would save him, and maybe in the process, they’d save her Hometown.

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