Lent's Mission

Lent and the shadowy figure spoke briefly. Then they left and made their way to a horse stable. Secretly they loaded a carriage with what appeared to be a casket, then covered it up with a few goods and supplies. Lent thanked the person, climbed aboard the carriage and then headed off on his way. He had a long way to go to Meridian, and with this package the trip would not be easy. "Better take the long way," Lent thought, and started down a trade route that wasn't too well known among the Sarafan. As far as the vampire and his unknown follower, there was no sign.
Lent rode all night, keeping a sharp eye out for all the dangers of the night. Vampires were the least of his worry. The last thing he needed were smugglers and thieves trying to steal his precious cargo. Off he rode towards the pillars...

Orugarde watched as Lent left the stable with his cargo. Turning back to the forest, he came upon a small camp fire. "Did he take the bait?" "Yes, my lord." "Very good. Let's see how he does."

Gadorian tossed his hair out of his eyes with a flick of his head. "See? That wasn't so bad, now was it Nova? I'll leave you to play with your puppet. Right now I've got a pet of my own that may need tending to." Gadorian again entered his bat form to begin the flight back towards the city, but not before sarcastically sending a wink and a blown kiss Novanus' way.

"My lord, is this really necessary?" "Yes, Orugarde, it is. Not only do we need to flesh out whatever enemies are out there, we need to assess their strength and ability. This information is crucial to the success of the mission. But most importantly we needed to be sure he is capable of executing the task and of his commitment to it. We need to know if he would sacrifice his very life for it. Why? Because the very life of the Priestess herself is at stake. We need to know where his loyalties lie. Then, we can trust him. Then, we can talk."

It was half past midnight, and the full moon shone brightly, illuminating the fields around. Lent continued to drive the carriage and noticed that as he traveled further south, the grass started to dry until it crumbled like dust beneath the wooden wheels. "This land is surely cursed," Lent said to himself as he brought the wagon to a halt. He looked to his left and saw the monument where the pillars once stood. "Strange that we should take this route."
It had been nearly 300 years since the pillars fell, and all balance was lost. Lent wondered if their petty actions could make a difference, if balance could ever be restored. All he had was his faith and hope. Perhaps one day, Vampires would rule the world again, but in the meantime...
"Heeya!" Lent shook the reigns and the horse began to walk again. "Should be arriving in Freeport by morning," Lent said out loud, as if talking to someone. Laughing at himself, Lent doubted he could be heard. It wasn't going to be easy to smuggle this cargo onto a ship into Meridian, and if the ship were to sink, Lent hoped he would go down with it; there would be no point in living should this mission fail. The fate of all Nosgoth hung in jeopardy. Off into the night he rode...

Full moon shining from the cloudless sky cast shadows that raced through Izael's vision as he rode through the thick forest. When he had returned to the monastery to sleep, he had been given a new assignment. A few hours ago, some stranger had brought news that a patrol of knights had been killed in the Termogent Forest. All signs suggested they had been attacked by a vampire and the High Priest feared that it was heading to Meridian. Izael was sent to deliver a warning, and now he would be riding two days without rest. Riding a white horse and wearing a black cloak to hide his armor, Izael followed the small trail that he had discovered when he had wandered in these woods as a kid. He was exhausted but determined. He would not give up.

It was nearly dawn, and Lent could see the city of Freeport in the distance. Despite being nearly dawn, it was far too early to enter the city with out being questioned by the Sarafan. A stranger wandering in the early hours of the morning would surely raise a few suspicions. Lent parked his wagon, and built a small fire. He hadn't slept in days, and probably wouldn't sleep until he got to the ship. He took a sip of his water, and started to cook a small meal. It wasn't long before he started attracting attention. A white horse came up with a man wearing a black coat. Lent watched the person as he approached, keeping his weapons handy.

Despite being very tired, Izael didn't plan to stop. However, something in this man troubled him. He couldn't tell what it was, but his instincts just told him that this was no ordinary man. He stopped his horse and dismounted, and withdrew even deeper into his cloak. Something told him not to reveal his true allegiance.
"Good morning, sire. May I ask where are you going?" "No place in particular," Lent told the strange man. "I'm a traveling merchant, going from town to town. I was on my way to Freeport to try and sell a few goods. I sell goods to people to ward off vampires. Can't be too careful, even with the Sarafan about. Care to warm yourself for a little while and tell me your story?" Lent asked, trying to seem equally curious. Truthfully, Lent couldn't care less, but travelers often talk to people, and if Lent seemed suspicious to this gentleman he might tell a Sarafan patrol up ahead. Lent listened to the man for awhile and sparked up his pipe to try and relax.

Flying back to the city, Gadorian sensed that the sword, and therefore Izael, had left. By tracing the weapon's aura, Gadorian concluded that he would follow it and Izael to his destination. The time when the truth about the boy and the sword was to be revealed grew ever closer.

As Gadorian landed, he was surprised to find Izael camped out with Lent. He thought he was finished with the vampire hunter, but apparently their destinies had become more tangled than he imagined. Gadorian hid from a distance and watched the pair under a heavy cloak that would blunt the effects of the morning sun.

"Goods to ward off vampires, eh? I'd really need one, been encountering 'em way too often for my liking." Izael kept talking while he tried to think. Something just wasn't right. "I guess soon I need to think myself as a freelancer-Sarafan," laughed Izael. "It's somehow related to my sword here, you see. A gift from my father, it is, and very powerful indeed. And for some reason, it really attracts vampires. I'm still wondering why, though. Guess I'll have to figure out what's so important in this sword quick, or I'll be overrun by blood-sucking nocturnes." After a pause, Izael asked, "So, why are you camping here and not in the city?"

Kour tended the fire with a small piece of timber and warmed his hands on the newly lit flame. "Flames," Kour thought out loud. "Flames, my lord?" Not realizing he had spoken out, Kour lifted his head, took a deep breath and answered, "Yes Orugarde, flames." Watching as the flickers grew in size and number, he recalled the words of his master, "The minds of Nosgoth furnish the flames that bring them.
"When I was about as old as you are now, I also had a master. As wise as his years and more, he was my mentor. He knew of things unwritten, passed down from generation to generation, master to apprentice for eons. I was hoping to pass this knowledge on to you someday. But the sands of time wait for no one and I suppose today is as good a time as any. And there may not be much time left.

"Before his death, my master told me of the ancient prophecy of the coming of a force, known by the ancients as The Wraithen," Kour told Orugarde, who had now taken a seat beside him. "Inhabitants of the Nerayan, a plane of existence of great suffering, these creatures were formerly human, but at the time of death they passed away possessing the most negative of minds. Such minds are those reborn into this underworld. And as grains of sand become the desert, so did the minds of this realm merge. Forming the Wraithen, a collective mental entity, they have the power to cross into the material world. Forged through evil, they are drawn to it like moths to a flame, passing through dimensions, and are a force indestructible.
"Time has smiled on the wicked, Orugarde. The scales have tipped in favor of darkness. I fear Nosgoth has become the breeding grounds and as prophesied will furnish the flames that bring them."

Novanus laughed at the impetuousness of his old acquaintance. Trust him not to leave well enough alone. "Ah Gadorian," he said to himself, "you know very well you will not be able to keep yourself from interfering." Novanus walked away from the now empty area and turned the corner into streets of the town. When he had gone a few streets on he grabbed and fed off a mugger who had been hiding in the shadows. No challenge at all for a vampire of Novanus' age. With a thought Novanus was in the air following the scent of the one he would have to protect in the near future. Soon they would be here.

"Oh, here's as good of a place as any," Lent answered Izael's question. "Probably safer than the streets of the city, and at least I can hear people sneaking up." Lent rummaged through a box in the carriage as he talked. He glanced at the spot where the casket was hidden and considered making a sacrifice out of this boy. Who knew how long it had been since his precious cargo had fed? "Here we are," Lent emerged holding a bottle. "Pour this holy water around you in a circle when near vampires and it'll create a protective barrier against them. Pour it on yourself for extra stamina, and on vampires for a lethal dose of acid burns." The water was actually sugar water, and would probably amuse a vampire more than burn one. Lent smiled as he handed it to the young man, thinking of the surprise on his face when he learned the truth. "You said you had a magical sword? May I inspect it?" Izael unsheathed the sword and presented it to Lent.
"Ah," Lent said, "That is a sword of the Serioli." "Serioli?" Izael asked.
"The Serioli were vampire worshipers who have been extinct for centuries. They were betrayed by their human chief, who was denied the curse of vampirism. Unwilling to accept his denial, he slaughtered his brethren and tried to kill his masters. But the swords of the Serioli, powerful as they are, can not harm vampires. The sword knows better than to bite the hand that feeds it." Lent noticed the counter curse newly etched on the blade. "I think you're related to this Serioli chief. See how there's a counter curse trying to allow the sword's power to be used against vampires? And here, the Sarafan symbol." Lent definitely wanted to kill this young warrior now, descendant of the Serioli betrayer. He was clearly not to be trusted, but his body would surely be found before Lent got on the boat and that would compromise his mission. Still, this boy could do no harm. He was off to fight vampires with a cursed sword and sugar water. The sword could one day have its "curse" lifted, but Izael himself would have to become a worshiper and clear his family name before the foul Sarafan magic could be lifted. "Still, you'll never kill a vampire with this sword. You should get another one. Tell me, have the Sarafan come up with any new magic ways to ward off vampires?" Lent asked. Izael was stunned by the revelation that Lent knew what he was. "Eh, how could I know that? I better get going, you know. Mmmh, thanks for the info and holy water." He gave Lent a few coins, mounted his horse and rode away.

Lent watched the Sarafan leave, and then put out the fire. He gathered his things and made ready to enter the city. There was still much to do. Suddenly a knife was put on Lent's back, he couldn't help but smile. "Alright, you know the drill," the thug said, "Hand over all your jewels, money, and whatever else you might have and I may leave you breathing." Lent didn't waste a moment. Swiftly he turned around and hit the thug's jaw with the hilt of his axe. The thug bit his tongue and fell to the ground as blood spilled from his mouth. "Careful," Lent said, "Must not waste it." He quickly tied and gagged the victim and threw him in the back of the carriage. The thug squirmed around, trying to free himself, and Lent opened the casket.
The thug laid on the ground, his gag muffled his horrific screams, his eyes frozen on what he saw. A body, blackened and burned by fires, laid peacefully within. Its white hair was stained with soot and ash, and ever so shallowly it breathed. Lent grabbed the victim, held him over the burned body, and slit the thug's throat. Blood poured all over the body, and it stirred. Suddenly its instinct took over and the burned body of the vampire seized the thug, and drained him of his life. Satisfied, the vampire returned to his hibernation and peacefully slept. "Good to see there's still spirit in you, Master," Lent said. "Perhaps there is still hope to save this land after all."
Lent closed the coffin, got rid of the body, and cleaned up the spot of blood that had gotten on him during the incident. Now that it was dawn he could attempt to gain access to the city of Freeport and try to get his precious cargo to Meridian.