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Hanging on a rope in a giant hole in the ground was not what Cire had expected to be doing the morning after drinking so heavily. To his relief, it appeared that his Regeneration ability helped cure hangovers. Although, it did not settle stomachs.

Moving down, he could just make out where the wall of the bore ceased and the rope hung in naked darkness. How deep does this thing go? Why did I insist on going down first?

It felt like he was going to be swallowed by the void. He slipped down from the sturdy support of the wall and repelled past the edge.

Cire had no way to tell if the duergar Darkvision had a longer range than his. Maybe they had some form of magical assistance, or they were taking random potshots. Once he cleared cover, projectiles whizzed past him and hit stone in an alarming staccato.

One clipped his boot and another glanced off his back. It was clear that he would not have the element of surprise he had been hoping for. This was why he had to go first. While his friends had not been overly partial to his plan, that did not mean either would stand in his way or had come up with a better option.

Letting go of as much slack as he dared, Cire began to plummet into the cavern. Echoes off of a stone wall much further away than he was expecting from the – metal-tipped arrows? Bolts? Magically enhanced needles? – were the only indications that the area he had entered was expansive. Not being too sure where his opponents were, he started to swing on his rope.

A small debate had occurred when he had explained that he was going to go down without his armor on. It would, after all, get in the way if he had to do what he expected he would have to do. Now though, Cire was thanking Selene's forethought and stubbornness equally.

She had refused to let him take off the armor. Not only had it cushioned his ramshackle slide down the rope, the gloves and codpiece doing good work, it had already saved him from damage. Hopefully, it would also assist when he did the next stupid thing he was planning.

Still yet to see his enemies, he could make out that they were at least grouped to his right, based on their attacks. Throwing his body weight as hard as he could towards them, he screamed a loud war cry. With his movement, it probably sounded more like a terrified scream. Cire hoped that the tactic would buy him time, he swung back the other direction away from them. Being near their group had cost him. A crossbow bolt struck Cire and drove into his right thigh.

He couldn't do too much about the pain spreading along his leg, but the worse part was what he had to do next. Flinging himself from the rope as he reached its apex away from the duergar, he prepped himself to land.

While not able to avoid taking the brunt of the impact, he was able to diffuse most of it with a half-somersault into a tumbling sideways roll. This had the consequence of driving the small, sturdy crossbow bolt deep into his leg. Pinning his armor to him like a thumbtack through a note onto a bulletin board. Grunting and driving his mouth into the crook of his arm, Cire tried to scream as silently as he could.

Ripping the bolt out took two tries – on the first go his fingers slipped in his own blood – it came out with a sickening sucking sound. Bleeding status icons had become far too commonplace in Cire's life in his own humble opinion.

Luckily, depending on one's taste, Cire had also somewhat planned for this. Not knowing if this would work was definitely a gamble. However, Cire had always been willing to roll the dice when the situation called for it. This more than called for it.

Pulling out a boar bladder waterskin, Cire took a deep breath and then used his Bite ability. Puncturing the tanned skin, Cire sucked at the mixture of water and Durg's blood, it was much more difficult than he had expected. Dwarf blood tasted gamy and rancid.

Warm, semi-congealed blood was slimy and crunchy, it took work to get it down, and keep it down. Unlike previous occasions of consuming blood, no rush of excitement clouded his sense of taste. This wasn’t a fresh kill.

Half choking up the drink, he could hear the duergar moving towards his position. Swallowing the last glob of his friend's gift, Cire was finally able to evaluate his situation. No more status icon flashed, and he had recovered from the crossbow wound. However, his potential cover was not ideal.

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All around him spread along the rough stone floor, grew the same over-sized mushrooms from above. Larger and significantly more plentiful, these formed a veritable forest. Cire had landed in an open area, and his previous experience told him he was out of range from the spines.

Limping as quickly as he could away from his pursuers, he skirted around a large patch of growth. Stripping his loosely attached armor was prudent, if not more efficient, than ripping it off. It didn’t take long, he had planned for this.

Closing his eyes, he drew in a deep breath and willed himself to become the monster that the hamlet needed. Given his pitiful level in Mental Resistance, he doubted that he would retain control. So he had forced his friends to make him a promise. Hopefully it won’t come to that.

Familiar red tinged his vision as his muscles grew and body shifted. Opening his eyes and rising, he let loose a ferocious growl that echoed along the cavern walls. This last declaration of anger was as much of a signal as Cire was able to predict that he could give. In reply, four torches fell from the top of the tunnel.

Unlike the pure desperation-reinforced fury of his first use of the ability, this time he had the barest hint of awareness. Almost like he was observing a computer game with lag. He had vision and sensation of what his body was doing, but he was just a passenger, only able to direct a fraction of intent. Worse still, he was witness to everything his rage induced form was capable of doing to other sentient creatures, evil or not.

Instead of waiting for enemies to come to him, Cire's preferred method of combat, he took off at a sprint. Weaving between snapping jaws and shooting spikes was simple for this hunter. Vegetation held no interest to one who feasted on blood.

Springing up over one of the gnashing 'shrooms, his talons held out to his sides, the vampire got his first view of the duergar up close. Essentially, they were ash-skinned dwarves, but also slighter of frame. Observations were interesting, but at the first sight of his prey, a surge of blood lust seethed through his veins. His conscious mind was pushed into a contorted vision of reality.

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Duergar were not known for their bravery. Their race was defined by a warped and twisted form of honor. Contorted to emerge as cruelty, malevolence, and ruthlessness to outsider and insider alike. Hades brooked no half measures.

Maragar, was not, therefore, bound by chivalry when the cursing vampire jumped over the ridiculous giant mushroom, all snarls and fangs. She immediately cast a Shadow Cloak spell, rendering her invisible in the low light environment. Then, she ran in the opposite direction.

Leaving her remaining four party members to engage this threat was prudent in Maragar’s opinion. Besides, they had not expected such a significant foe. She could regroup with the others who were looking in the treasure room.

Holding crossbows, two of the duergar fired as soon as the new enemy jumped towards them. One bolt sliced along the beast's forearm, but it was only a graze. Before either could reload and fire again, tearing nails had raked across one of their hammer wielders. His eyes, nose and teeth splattered to the floor.

Savage was the only way that Thren would describe this. Since he had been a child, brutality had been a daily occurrence. In the Deep Dark, it was live or die. One took pride in overcoming an opponent, taking what was theirs to gain power.

This thing had no self-preservation instinct, no will, only the desire for blood. Firing again and sinking a bolt into the distracted vampires back, he cursed. It had gotten the other melee fighter's helmet off and latched onto his throat.

Thren and Krith both dropped their crossbows and drew hatchets off their belts. If this creature was distracted while feeding, this was their chance.

They should have kept firing.

Once most of the wounds had healed on the animal's body, it simply pulled back and ripped the fighter's jugular free of his neck. Thren froze in his charge, Krith was not as fortunate.

Twin flattened hands drove into the charging duergar's gut, piercing his chain mail. With a twist and rotation of its hands, Krith's bowels were split open and poured onto the stone. A shocked expression was plastered to the duergar’s dying face. Greedily pulling the duergar forward, fangs met flesh and drank.

Thren had no chance, he threw his hatchet at the vampire and ran. Unbeknownst to him, in the same direction that their mage had fled. Weaponless and for the first time alone, Thren panicked.

He was barely able to pull himself up short before the shields of their other party. They had positioned themselves between a patch of fungus and one of the four massive columns that supported the grand cavern, poised to ambush.

Apparently, they had been expecting him, because he fell flat on his face as the shields parted. Maragar pulled him up to his feet as the fighters moved back into position. Thank Hades that their mage was still alive. They had a chance. Seven against one, even if it was a terror, should tilt things in their favor.

Looking at his warriors, Fon, the duergar battle leader, made a typically cruel calculation. He could lose another four and still be able to make it out of the valley. Maragar would be preferable to keep alive, her magic would be useful to avoid capture. Whether the others made it out or not would be up to them.

It would be nice if his brother, Mon, fell in battle. Easier to explain away that sort of death than a poisoning. None of that mattered though, he just needed to live and find a place of refuge.

He had found what they had trekked all this distance for. Why they had risked the last leg of their journey in sunlight. It had been worth all of the others' lives a thousand times over.