"Rescue" Mission

Gadorian and Izael stalked the night, nearly upon the Sarafan Keep. "Gadorian, how am I to enter the keep like this? We still have not obtained any Sarafan armor!" "Silence, young one. I shall cast an illusion upon you, or perhaps we will come about a guard and take his. The details are not important, but we don't have time to—" Before he could finish his sentence, Gadorian heard some faint splash. "Izael, stop...This way." The two crept closer, towards the moat. For a while, there was no sign of movement, but eventually a tiny bubble surfaced. "There!"
Lent heaved himself out of the moat, and coughed up what seemed like the entire ocean. Once regaining his breath, he gave a deep bow to Gadorian. Gadorian admonished, "Well! I insult Novanus and then come all this way just to find that you've escaped on your own! I must say, Lent, I'm a tad disappointed in you." Gadorian was soon alarmed by a tap on his shoulder from Izael. "Wh-what is that noise? Over in the bushes. It sounds like a dog or a cat, but it seems much too large." Gadorian leaned down over the bleeding mass. "A wounded vampire! Damn Sarafan!" Lent had gained enough breath to conjure a shout of warning: "No! She's...Traitor!"
In a moment she was upon Gadorian, fighting with the fury of a beast about to die. The rat was cornered and left no option but to bite and claw to her last. Gadorian was surprised by the maelstrom of violence, cutting his face and nearly gouging his eyes. Hell hath no fury...
Gadorian shot her against a tree with telekinesis, but she quickly returned even angrier. This time, however, he was ready for her, and grabbed her by the neck. Holding her still, Gadorian could make out a tattoo on her arm - the emblem of the Sarafan. Horrified that a vampire would commit such treachery, Gadorian brought her neck to his mouth and bit down so fiercely that the sinew in her neck snapped against his face. He drank her life's blood, and absorbed all the essence of her spirit, taking her skills and strengths while leaving her infirmities to rot with the corpse.
Gadorian's body pulsed with his newly acquired power. Though she was much younger than he, the unique skills of any vampire fill even the most ancient with a sense of ecstasy. He could feel her blood pumping, pounding through him. Beat, by beat. Getting louder, stronger...closer? Through the darkness came the true source of the rhythmic thump. A small army of Sarafan had exited the keep to pursue their fleeing prisoner. "Run! I'll fight them off!" Gadorian yelled at his human companions. Izael and Lent stood fast. "Have it your way!" The trio immersed themselves into the eye of the storm, facing the tempest that was Sarafan with all their might...

Lessa awoke to find Novanus sitting on the balcony, and even in her weak state she could sense the rage coming off him. "Well," said Lessa, sitting next to him. "Someone's in a bad mood. Had a fight with Gad, have we?" She smiled at him, waiting for his answer. "Lent has been captured, and Gad, with our savior, has gone to rescue him," he replied, his eyes burning. Lessa couldn't help it, she began to giggle, then it turned into a full blown laugh. "Feeling left out, are we?" Lessa said between her hysterics. "I see nothing funny about this," replied Novanus, but soon he was laughing too. "By the Pillars, Novanus, you will never change. You always have to be where the fight is. You watch, Lent will probably get out on his own just to spite Gad. You worry too much. Besides, I have come to see that Izael is smarter than he looks. Come on, I'm starving, I think I could out-drink Vorador right now." Lessa got up and waited for Novanus to follow. He rose and they went to look for someone to eat. As they went, Lessa added with a cheeky grin, "My dear Novanus, you must learn to watch your temper, it'll be the death of someone." Their laughter could be heard echoing down the halls.

A mysterious, newly evolved vampire walked across the land. As he had approached, the flock of small birds that had led him there dispersed in a flurry of feathers and screeches. The vampire stopped short, listening to the last of the frightened avian flapping as the birds disappeared to the west, back where he had come from. What could have frightened them so? Then he heard the clanking. Clanking metals, like hinged armor. The paladins were on the road just a few yards away; his vampiric hearing must still be foggy from sleep. If the paladins were out and clamoring as such then other vampires were near. His righteous heart told him to press on and aid his brethren, and so he did.
The kindred let instinct drive his new feet, balancing on bent knees to burst forward upon tucking his precious staff under his arm. As his hearing guided him past imposing trees and other obstacles, he kept his wings folded securely against his back. He would practice flight another day, should he ever conjure up the courage to attempt.
He neared the scene like a diving hawk protecting its nest, passing the head of his carved staff to one hand and pulling it back to swing at the Sarafan he had pinpointed from afar with all of his might. "AhhHYAH!" He prayed his calculations had proved correct - then it would only leave him to pinpoint the next paladin, which he hoped was near. Listening like that would leave the blinded vampire open too long for a reaction if he missed.

Izael hacked left and right, dodging blows without even noticing it. He just listened to the beautiful song, the song of ancients that emanated from the sword. He saw only white light. He heard only the song. With beautiful and elegant moves, he danced through the Sarafan unharmed. No blow could reach him, for the Sword was always there, blocking enemy attacks and then counter-attacking without stopping. And suddenly it all ended, in a split-second it was all gone. A single word hung in the air. ENOUGH!
Izael stumbled. Suddenly he realized he was staring someone in the face - a familiar face. Izael felt his courage was drained when he looked into the merciless, burning eyes. The Sarafan Lord was here. Behind the Lord, Izael could see a dozen vampires who were grinning fiercely. Then Izael realized he was on his knees. When he looked down, Izael saw the Soul Reaver's hilt that the Sarafan Lord grasped. The blade itself was deep in Izael's chest. He could see his blood running down the Reaver, being sucked away. "Do not die..." With one, desperate sweep Izael channeled all his agony through the Sword of Serioli. He could hear the Lord scream in agony. Izael could feel life leaving him. His eyes darkened. Then someone lifted him on its shoulder. "Gadorian...I am sorry... I..." Then he passed out.

The temple was empty when they made their hasty return. Lent aided the new vampire companion who had joined them while Gadorian frantically tended to Izael. "Wait here, my ancient lord," Lent spoke in the vampire tongue, and hurried to Gadorian. Without explanation, Lent cut his wrists and chanted a hymn translating as, "And may the blood of the Serioli heal all wounds," as he poured his blood over Izael's chest.
Gadorian watched as the blood healed Izael's wound. "You are not a Serioli. How?" "I am a human, and had the blood of a vampire inside of me. It is the very embodiment of the Serioli pact." "Where did you get that blood?" Gadorian asked.
"From the vampire traitor. She gave it to me to prolong my life so I could live through her malicious torture." With that, Lent gave up the only divinity he ever had. The vampire Natalia had given him blood that prolonged his life, and Lent gave it up to save Izael's. Lent applied pressure to his wound, but it was hard to close. The vampire blood had left him, and he was now as before, as mortal as ever.
They waited, and Izael did not stir. "It seems it did not work," Gadorian said. Lent looked pale. "The blood heals his wounds, not his soul. Maybe Novanus can do something." Gadorian leaned over Izael, trying everything to revive Izael. His life seemed as if it would be extinguished at any moment, and yet Gadorian could not think of any way to save him. Lessa leaned forward, pulled out a knife, and prepared to slit her wrist over Izael. Gadorian's hand shot out. "No...he must remain human, for the strength of the Pact. Siring him must only be used if there is no other option."
Novanus stepped into the room, and was appalled at the travesty before him. "Are you satisfied?" Gadorian did not look up. "Are you satisfied? Our savior is dying. Your grand plan only delivered us all to oblivion." Still he did not look up. He knew Novanus was right. He wished he had gone alone. It was no comfort to him that Lent hadn't even needed rescuing, and that Izael could be dying in vain. Just behind him, it seemed to be even less of a comfort to Lent.

Lent stood up; there was nothing more he could do. The room around him spun, he realized he had lost too much blood, darkness surrounded him, and Lent fell. Visions filled him again like they were oxygen. He saw the cottage, his wife, his new born son, and just as he approached the door, it slammed in his face and fire engulfed everything. He cried out in vain, but it was hopeless. He saw his Loki ancestors' faces, from Vorador to his own father, their faces faded into darkness, and he was alone. Desperation overwhelmed him, and in his dream he fell to his knees crying tears of blood. Voices surrounded him, "Traitor!" "Heretic!"

"No!" Lent cried out to the darkness. "They are our fallen Gods. To aid them is to seek all of our salvation." "Blasphemy! Charlatan!" He could not escape the voices. Tormented and helpless, it continued as he lay on the floor unconscious.
"What's happening to him?" Gadorian asked frantically. It seemed they were losing two humans as well. "He's being tormented," the unknown blind vampire said. "He's a Loki, is he not? He's a holy servant of our divine cause. The closer he comes to divinity, and the deeper his commitment, the more open he is to demons of torment."

The stranger brought down the ash white staff as he knelt beside Izael, continuing, "I can heal the boy to an extent, but the Loki's demons are his own. The voices I cannot silence, only advise. He must learn on his own."
It seemed clear now that the blur of battle and chaos was over and the kindred stranger could be viewed in better detail. Unlike most, he was clad simply in white robes of heavy, sleeveless cotton adorned with faded gold insignias lining the hems and along the front crease - a clerical style long since buried in the progressing times. He passed the exquisitely carved head of his staff over the wounded youth's body, once silvery eyes filmed over with sickly gold staring ahead as he began to mutter, then sing ever so softly. "Gi quar'valsharess pholor obok, tlu'og uns'aa dosst z'ress..." The small crystals that dangled from the wooden spiral glimmered with gentle, colored light and spilled the glow down from the tips like iridescent water over the wound. "Kus mina dosst ssinssrigg, Belbau jal dro lu' gre'as'anto..." Curling and snaking, the threads of light weaved and pulled the living flesh closed and dissipated into the dank air. The vampiric cleric fell silent, leaning back on his knees to hold his now aching head.
Izael let out a groan and spat blood on the floor. He felt like he had been dragged from heaven back to hell. His body ached all over, he felt dizzy from blood loss and it was hard to breathe. But he could not give up. He had to live. He had promised the vampires he'd live. With great effort, he opened his eyes. At first his vision was all a blur, voices distant and muted. Then he could make out forms. A new, strange vampire was kneeling over him, with Gadorian looking worried in the back. Izael opened his mouth to speak, but managed only to hurl and vomit more blood. Finally, he could speak. His voice was like a whisper, and no-one but the strange vampire seemed to take note. "...my fault." Then darkness slammed back on him like a tomb door.