Terror at Taalhof
Markus noted the jovial way his companions laughed and joked as they prepared for the days expedition. Hertz, the giant Ostlander who towered above his compatriots by nearly a full foot, bellowed with laughter and slapped Arland on the back at a private joke passed between the two. Probably a lewd one thought Markus, most of Arland's were. After all, Arland was a bit of rogue, a charming one for sure, but a rogue none-the-less. A harsh criticism though, most people from the docklands of Altdorf were rogues after all and at least Arland's heart was in the right place. Still, Markus wished they were more focussed. Even though they wouldn't face the horrors of a vampire today.
Markus, and the other members of The Morrs Rest band of vampire hunters, had nearly laughed when they had heard the terrified villagers accounts of the terrible beats who plagued their lands. Rural backwater ignorance was one thing, but surely everyone knew that the undead hated moving water. The fact that the beasts lair was located inside a cave, not far from the village, from which an underground river flowed immediately discounted it from being one of the cursed, aristocracy of the night. Still, whatever it was The Morrs Rest would help the beleaguered inhabitants of this gods forgotten place. After all, they desperately needed the gold.
The sun shone warmly in the sky that morning as Markus, casually holding his fathers old crossbow over his shoulder, led The Morrs Rest into the shaded, woody foothills that surrounded Taalhof. They wove quickly and quietly throught the trees, along a rough dirt track with Arland out in front to guide them. Like Markus, Arland carried a crossbow, though his was loaded as his eyes scanned the trees around them. Behind him came Hertz, the lumbering hulk carried his great axe in one ham -sized fist as easily as a giant might carry off some cattle, and last was Markus, guarding the rear.
A few hours later, as the midday sun burned bright in the sky, their path took them to a small cave nestling in a wooded ravine. Out of the cave bubbled a stream, which could be seen peacefully meandering southwards, there to eventually join the River Stir.
" Alright boys, shape up."ordered Markus gruffly, scratching his course beard. "Arland, guy up behind them there rocks to cover us. Me and Hertz will light a torch and flush whatever it is in there out." With this, Markus dropped to one knee and drew his flint and steel from the pack across his back. Quickly, he began working away with them to light a wooden torch Hertz had drawn from his pack and was holding out for him. With a sharp strike the spark caught and the torch was lit. Markus drew his trusted old sword that hung at his belt and held the torch out a head of him. His fingers fidgeted nervously on the handle of his blade as his palms grew damp with sweat. He could feel the nerves and adrenaline building as he crept cautiously towards the mouth of the cave. In his ears he could hear the splash of Hertz heavy footfalls behind him, and not for the first time he wished the giant Ostlander was stealthier, though he would never want to lose his brute strength. That had saved his neck more than a few times.
As they got closer to the cave he held out his torch further, casting a faint orange light around the dark and damp mouth of the cave. He nodded slowly, signalling for Hertz to move ahead. His eyes scanned the darkness ahead of him, searching for even the faintest sign of movement. Markus truly hated the moments before a fight, the fear and nerves made him feel queasy, and his heart thumped deep in his chest like a great drum. He took a deep breath and moved forward slowly as Hertz was swallowed by the dark of the cave.
"Hey look at this!, Hertz deep voice broke the silence, echoing around the cave loudly.
"Sssssh!" whispered Markus harshly as he saw Hertz turn around, holding out a bleached white rock. No. Not a rock, a skull. A human skull. Tattered and bloody remains of skin and hair hung limply from its pale, hard surface. This was a recent kill. Markus knew it.
"Mine.", hissed a hoarse, gravelly voice from the darkness.
The crash of the skull hitting the floor reverberated around the cave, filling the void of the darkness, as Hertz dropped it to the floor. He grasped his great axe in two hands as he spun around, desperately searching for the source of the deathly voice.
Markus froze. From the impenetrable gloom above Hertz he could see two blazing, red orbs. His blood seemed to turn to ice as he saw the bottomless hunger and anger of a creature centuries old. A deep, terrible growl filled his ears, before a creature from mans darkest nightmare burst from the surrounding blackness.
Outside, Arland shot bolt upright as a blood-curdling scream cut through the silence, followed by a wet, gurgling sound that made him feel sick down in the depths of his stomach. He knew something had gone wrong. His mind raced, but he was torn with indecision. The new silence meant that surely his friends were dead. Should he stay alive, stay safe out here? Or should he see what had happened to his friends? A resigned sigh escaped his lips. No, he couldn't abandon them. With a grim look etched across his face, he drew the short sword at his waist and stepped forward towards the dark. Towards his death.