A/N – Sorry for the wait, started University and have been busy with my own story as well, so expect slower updates. I haven't abandoned this though and don't intend to.

Jasper watched the door ahead of him with eyes narrowed. It was bulky, of black wood, and studded with iron bolts across its surface. Through the single slit shone orange light from torches further on, and intermittently fresh air carried through it, in gusts of wind which brushed past the bars of the viewing port with howls like soft singing. Sofie was stood, hands pressed against it, and with a grunt she pushed again.

There was a grunt, but it didn't move.

She growled. "I can't get through," she said.

"What do you mean? I saw what you did to those things, you're strong!" Jasper whined back. He felt his guts begin to churn as fear took him – the fear of being stuck down here, in the wet and dark with those beasts, but more pressing the fear of, once more, failing; of being incapable.

"Look." She tapped a finger against the side of the door next to the viewing slit. Jasper stumbled up sluggishly, for his clothes were wetted through, and peered through. It opened into a small rectangular room with wooden walls, and kegs of drink, some shut tight, some open and releasing the remnants of drink which dripped like a metronome against the floorboards. At the end of the basement a woman in mailed pearl-white armour, part-soldier and part-nun, stood cross-armed. Her face was weathered by age, but she looked altogether fair and stern. At her side a mace swung as she shuffled about in-place.

Then Jasper looked down, and saw the issue; a makeshift barricade of all sorts blocked the passage; worn helmets, wagon wheels, pitchforks and crates in a pile, bound together with rope. "You can't get through that?" He asked, sneering in disbelief.

"Not without making a lot of noise, boy," she hissed, "and not fast enough to stop her getting help."

"But we're on the same side." Jasper protested. The Vampire looked down at him, and her eyes were a fiery crimson, as if her very essence were enraged by his resistance.

"By Sigmar," she murmured, "Feel free to try and convince them of that fact."

Jasper fell back against the wall, his clammy hands rubbing his face as he thought. "What about explosives?"

She cocked her head at him. "Excuse me?"

"My wagon – I mean, I was with a band of mercenaries, see?" Her gaze weighed heavier on him, and he found himself stuttering, "Well – more bandits- no! Looters, I suppose. The rocks are worth a lot of money they told me!" He paused, trembling slightly, and upon regaining control he continued, "They had explosives with them. Captain had some on his person. They died – to the rat things we saw. Maybe their stuff's still here?"

"We cannot do it. I refuse to desecrate my chapel."

Then the boy did something she could not have predicted. He shot to his feet, glaring defiantly. "You ain't no Sister anymore, miss, and didn't you say we need to be in there to stop something real bad happening? We can go in at night!" His eyes were fixed above her head; he was unwilling to match her gaze, but pressed on, "Don't you want to help those people, Sister?"

The woman stared, and her eyes seemed to flare up and glow with rage, but she said nothing for a moment. instead she let the threat linger in the air, and Jasper felt himself cake with sweat. Then she spoke with a voice as sharp as nails; "No. We go further - we find another route. Here's the map." She forced it into his chest so hard he toppled over. Looking down at him she said, "Get to it."

The boy got to his feet with a petulant whine and wandered back through the hall. Taking a seat against the wall he began to look through the map. Sofie turned and faced the door to the chapel, within arms reach of it, and fell to her knees. She tried hard to pray.

Blessed Sigmar, grant me guidance. Light my way with fire, that I may cure your holy city of this heretical infestation. Light my way out of this darkness and preserve me.

Images of childhood flashed through her head. She smelled the freshy-trimmed grass of the Chapel's inner gardens and felt fresh water on her tongue. She heard the sermons, and most of all she remembered the warm embrace of Sigmar's attention upon her. It had been the highlight of each day, and no matter what befell her in her waking hours, when she retired to her room and fell into the rhythm of prayer she felt rejuvenated, warm and loved.

She remembered it vividly, and it stung, because she could not feel it now. She felt nothing.

Then a voice in her head spoke up. It was the Banshee, and her voice seemed concerned. "My lady Sofie, why do you torment yourself?"

"Sigmar will forgive me. He will light our way."

"You must light your own way." The voice declared.

A jolt of terror shot through her, worse than when she had fought the Horrors – worse than any beast of Skaven or heretic. She felt cold and incurably alone. "I cannot."

"Your condition is not a curse – I hear you groan, listen to me – it is a gift. Does Sigmar not work in his own unknowable ways?"

"He does…" The words were comforting enough that she did not ask how the Banshee knew of the theologies of the Sigmarites. "Thank you." She opened her eyes, watching the clean cream-coloured brick of the chapel walls as it caught thin rays of sunlight through the grating of the solitary window. This was not holy; or, at least, Sigmar would forgive her desecration of it, seeing that she acted in his best interests. She felt immediately sure that he would do this for a daughter of his, however ailed she may be. She stood up and returned to Jasper.

When she approached he drew his head closer to the map, almost sinking into it to escape her. He whined nervously.

"Apologies, my dear." She said, "You are right. Let us find your explosives."

"I'm right?" He ventured hesitantly.

"You're right. Do you know where your party fell?"

He ran his fingers along the contours of the map, circling a rectangular chamber from which all the smaller sewage lines snaked out like the lines of a spider's web. "Was a big place – arena of some sort. Can't think of anywhere it'd be but here, miss Vampire."

"Beneath the noble quarter?" She asked. The boy nodded.

"Y'know how much they waste," her glare of disapproval made him chuckle, "Yeah, exactly. Gotta have lotta space for their waste. Big sewage chambers. Lotta food for them rats, if they like the smaller rats at least! We can go through the walkway."

"I don't know how many of them I can kill, so we had best be discreet." She pointed to one of the snaking sewer tunnels, close to the chapel where they were. "Here, we can sneak in there."

"There's lotta rats. How we gonna get the stuff?" He asked.

Sofie thought back to her first encounter with Ravenstock. She had been sport in his arena – and so perhaps he had done something of use for her after all. "You say it was an arena?"

"'s what it looked like, yeah. Real big, real lotta them. If not for the sewers and being slow I'da died too."

"I will give them the show only a Von Carstein can provide." She grinned, fangs pearly white and standing proud even in the darkness, and brought two fingers to her neck.