Yesterday he had been starving, tomorrow he would likely be again. But at the moment, Reginald was fed. That was the issue with quotas; the Marquis of Drezin was a right bastard and only allowed privileges to his chosen dozen heel lickers. The rest of the locals had to scrape by in a perpetual battle against hunger or sate themselves on whatever four-limb vermin could be found on the streets or below them. And Reginald was more ravenous than most.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw movement, immediately fouling his short-lived good mood. But, reluctantly, he had to let go; at least he was basically done eating so there would be no waste. The young woman he had been holding fell to the ground, pale and lifeless; not exactly a looker even before death in all honesty. No blood was left to drip from the wound on her neck as Reginald turned towards the moving shadows. He could not quite make out anyone in the worn-down house, which meant they were particularly good at hiding.
“Under what circumstances do you think it acceptable to interrupt someone during dinner,” Reginald growled and crouched lightly. He had gone out of his way to be on the edge of the wilderness; mostly because he was trying to avoid his quotas being properly tallied. That did not mean Reginald was not careful; he knew that he was not the only frightening creature roaming the Night.
“Do accept my apology,” a man stepped out of the shadows, or the illusion of them that had hidden him, adorned in a black suit and a cane. That did not fool Reginald though, the man was reeking raw magic, which meant that they were either barely trained or powerful enough that it could not all be contained within. The odds were on the latter. “My mortal senses had failed to notice your occasion before I was already inside the building.”
“Out of the goodness of my heart I might,” Reginald snorted but tensed further, visibly; leaning forwards as if in anticipation. He was no violent madman but many lesser beings often believed that all of his kind were one perceived insult away from a rampage. It was simple to play into the stereotype for intimidation. “But do tell. Why exactly have you come to disturb me?”
Not that the man seemed disturbed at all, speaking politely: “Allow me to introduce myself, sir: I am Artorius von Bitteridge, senior magister of the Order here in your city on a demon hunt. After my initial investigation, I have surmised that the participation of one of your kind would be of importance. Although your local Marquis had denied me his direct assistance, he had allowed for me to hire in his domain.
“Of course as he will also take a cut of any pay as commission,” Reginald scoffed. The Marquis was, indeed, a complete rat bastard; a backwater tyrant. Some disgraced pureborn of a major bloodline as far as Reginald knew; taking out the frustrations over his exile on everyone else. “And what would you offer me? We don’t come cheap, you would be better served hiring a dozen disposable nobodies.”
“The reason why I require a vampire will become very apparent if you decide to accept my commission,” Artorius nodded and flicked his hand, space twisted and a small crimson vial appeared in his palm. Whether it was an artifact or the mages own doing, Reginald could not tell. “Here, if you would. Consider this a free sample of payment,” and he threw it over.
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Knowing better than to immediately drink, Reginald opened the vial and sniffed at it. It was blood, alright. Potent blood. The kind that suppressed inhibitions from just a whiff even in old ones like himself. The kind wars had been fought over in more turbulent eras. Reginald glanced up at the expectant magister and scoffed, then downed the small vial.
Now, Reginald was no newborn spawn. He had experienced a fair share of mages, witches, knights and the occasional demons; he had imbibed the essence of living legends but whatever he had just been given was on par with some of the greatest essence he had ever indulged. Like liquid power, pure beyond description. Archmages could not boast of blood this potent. Reginald felt something in himself stir; something he had not undergone so long it felt unfamiliar. For the first time in centuries, he felt stronger.
Of course, this posed a question: “There is no chance the noble cunt refused to help you for this,” Reginald stared at the Magister. This was not just a demon hunt. “Who in the world provided such essence?”
“Well, of course he would have accepted, which is why I had offered him far less,” Artorius nodded. “I will require the demon alive and would hate for the Marquis to realise its value as a test subject. As for the blood, the Mender of Aeons has taken a personal interest in the matter and had sponsored the payment; after some minor adjustments for their own safety of course. ”
“How come you are offering this to a nobody like me then?” Reginald tried to play dumb but he could see it in the magister’s eyes. He knew, at least a part of it. Which meant the fucking Order knew. How long had they known? And he had done his best to hide too. But the next words confirmed it beyond doubt.
“Urgolath,” the Magister spoke the name, casually, smiling; but not understanding. A place, forgotten by time; not on any maps in centuries. And from that confident face, Reginald knew that the mortal did not actually comprehend what they were invoking. Just a name in an old record. The fool. “I can guess some of your questions. The Order has been aware since you have hidden here and has kept it a strategic secret for a situation like this as we fully expect you to attempt another disappearance afterwards.”
“Now I can hardly refuse,” Reginald sighed, though it was not all bad. If the order had not sold him out to his enemies before, they were unlikely to do so now. He just had to disappear immediately after he received his compensation. Just in case. “
“Glad to hear a possitive response. If you would please?” the magister waved his hand once more and a proper clipboard appeared, a white sheet of paper. A contract. Simple wording, Reginald quickly realised, not a particularly strong binding. Breakable, but not without a great cost. And the terms were not overtly restrictive.
“Everything here seems reasonable,” Reginald nodded after a few moments of scrutiny.
“Right,” Artorius nodded. “As I have said, the reason why I require a vampire is quite obvious. We will be hunting a unique deviant Souleater. This one has attracted such interest for a singular reason: They devour their victims by attacking their reflections.”