CHAPTER 3: PREPARATIONS AND PROBLEMS
“Death is to be avoided, but it is all together inevitable. Those who ignore that simple truth will face ugly consequences. After all, there are far, far worse things than Death.” - from the sermons of Priestess Sidonia of Kainua
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After finishing cleaning up the blood, Cole gently placed the skull at the end of the bed. He then prepared for his mission by stripping down his pack to the necessities so he would have room for the supplies he had yet to buy. Serving a God is never easy, especially one as enigmatic as Master Time. He did not get angelic messengers, portents of the divine, or anything as bombastic as a lightning strike. Just as Time and Entropy are subtle and all-pervasive; so are his God’s signs. For Cole this manifested as a slight chill tracing his spine. An unsettled feeling of unnatural cold and hollowness, telling him he was in the right place for what his God required.
He would need to gather more information for his exploration of the surrounding wilds. Perhaps Natalie could point him in the right direction? She seemed a decent and knowledgeable sort. Musing on this, Cole grabbed his leather cuirass and cloak. He put on the cuirass; the light leather armor was of little use to him other than preventing inconvenient injuries. Hoisting his bag on one shoulder and draping his cloak over his other, he headed downstairs.
Natalie was nowhere to be seen in the Tavern and only a few stray customers hung around the benches and stools. Outwardly Cole presented his polite smile and gentle aloofness, but internally was kicking himself. He should have put his cloak on before he left the room. The scars that covered his face were visible to all. It was not out of vanity or embarrassment that Cole hid his wounds, but out of convenience. Questions were inevitable and he hated lying. You can only deflect and answer vaguely so many times before you come off as rude.
A lean man with a kind face and gentle demeanor stood behind the bar counter, he turned, pulled from a conversation by Cole’s appearance. Shock and discomfort crossed the barkeep’s face, but he hid it quickly. Summoning up the friendly smile of someone long practiced in hospitality, the man addressed Cole.
“Ah so you must be Cole? I’m Wilhelm Striga, owner of this Inn. My daughter Nattie said you were up before she left. I’m afraid lunch is finished., but I will be starting to serve dinner in only a few hours.”
Well at least the first question was easy enough to answer, mused Cole.
“Yes, yes I am. No problem, my apologies that it took me so long to rise. The journey was a difficult one and it seems to have taxed me more than I thought.”
Wilhelm waived off his apologies and continued. “Not a concern , you paid for the room, it's yours to use, within reason. Speaking of, was the bed big enough? Nattie was not kidding when she said you were tall.”
So Natalie had not told her father she’d found him unconscious, half sprawled out on the floor, something Cole would need to keep in mind.
“No problems, I don’t know how long I will be in town but I would like to reserve the room for at least a week. What will that cost me?”
Now it was Wilhelms time to assess the stranger. He was more than just passing through Glockmire. If he really was a pilgrim like Nattie thought, then that raised some interesting and concerning questions.
“Ten silver for the week, that will include a single meal each day. Is that acceptable to you Mr….?”
Ah now came the more difficult inquiries. In some places, not having a last name was still normal, but not here in the Blood Duchies. The Vampires like keeping track of their livestock, and that's hard to do without proper names.
“Just Cole, And yes that sounds fair to me. Also a question. Where could I buy supplies in town? Nothing major, just gear for traversing the nearby wilderness.”
An awkward silence filled the tavern as Cole fished out the silver coins causing him to miss the startled looks on the patrons' faces in response to his last statement. At first Cole thought he was the cause of the silence but by the time he looked up, he saw that Wilhelm and the other patrons were looking at a wiry old man sitting at the bar. After another moment of staring the old man swore and threw up his hands and muttered, “Can’t an old man drink in peace!” He turned and looked Cole up and down, “ Okay fine, I will take this big lump over to my store and get him what he needs. If he can pay that is. I don’t sell junk and set prices that represent that. Is that going to be an issue for Mr. Giantling here?”
Wilhelm put a hand on his head and shook it with closed eyes for a second before speaking. “You have to excuse Barnabas here. He will have the supplies you need, and as he says it will be good quality. Just ignore his goading, he thrives on irritating people.”
In truth, Cole found it refreshing. People usually reacted to him with fear or anger. This Barnabas character seemed to be mildly hostile to everyone. If this was the Merchants' normal treatment of customers then Cole had no complaints.
Barnabas got up from his stool and motioned for Cole to follow him. “I’ve tarried here too long anyway. Knowing my luck Jan will have burned down the store in my absence.”
Cole followed the old man, listening to him grumbling his complaints. Like how the weather hurt his joints, how his Clerk was borderline incompetent, or how prices had gone up on certain goods for no reason and a myriad of other grievances. Eventually the strange duo left the busy main street the Silly Goat sat on. Taking a shortcut towards Barnabas’s shop, according to the merchant.
Once they were alone on the side street, Barnabas stopped walking, turned to Cole, and studied the scarred pilgrim with an appraising eye. Taking a moment to absorb the details of his would-be-customer before speaking.
“Alright, we are away from nosy eyes and ears. What the hells happened to you? I’ve seen a lot in my seventy two years but you are something particularly abnormal. As a rule, I wouldn’t give a rat’s arse but you are staying with Wilhelm and Natalie. I can’t have whatever trouble you bring, hurting them.”
Ah, now it was time for the uncomfortable questions, thought Cole. He should have guessed the painfully blunt old man would be the source of them.
“My history has no bearing here. It would be better for everyone involved if you assume I am a pilgrim set on a strange errand to prove his faith. Just a minor oddity that will leave your town in a few days and fade into memory.” was Cole’s answer.
Barnabas opened his mouth for a moment, mulling over his words before he spoke. “Just don’t bring your trouble to our doorsteps. I’ve survived enough catastrophe and crisis to get a sense for this. You smell of disaster and I will not have it hurt people I love. This town has suffered enough, it does not need whatever dark secrets accompany you.”
Cole only smiled sadly, he decided he liked Barnabas. He could see the truth of things, or at least part of it. A valuable talent, especially when coupled with brutal honesty.
“You are wise Mr. Barnabas and your words are heard. Now, shall we continue onward? The faster I get the supplies I need, the faster I leave Glockmire.” said Cole.
Barnabas shrugged in agreement and started walking again. Soon they arrived at Barnabas’s store. It was an unassuming if big structure. A large store front attached to a storage building the size of a barn. At its entrance hung a sign, marked with the symbols for a general goods store and the words ‘B&N Trading House.’ Barnabas threw open the door and was already yelling before he even entered his place of business.
“Jan! Get your lazy arse up and help me. We have a customer whose coin I’d like to have.”
A short, portly man shuffled out from behind the nearby counter and adjusted his thick spectacles. In a monotone voice he addressed his employer with the indifference of someone used to Barnaba’s antics. “Yes Master Barnabas, what can we get for our esteemed customer?”
If Jan noticed Cole’s unusual appearance he did not show it. The man seemed incapable of making a facial expression aside from bored disinterest. Picking up a stylus and scrap of paper, Jan prepared to start a list.
Cole collected his thoughts then explained what he needed. “I am looking for something in the nearby wilds. I’d prefer to minimize the number of trips back to town. I need supplies to survive the mountains and travel quickly, rations, climbing equipment, local maps, that sort of thing. Is that enough to work with?”
Jan stopped scratching the stylus on paper to consider for a moment. “Yes I believe so. Master Barnabas do you think the trinket from Vudrird Hold would be a good option? We’ve not had any luck selling it, and it seems perfect for your purposes Master…?”
Before Cole could introduce himself Barnabas interrupted him. “The Spark-Stone? Yes, that would be perfect. I’ll grab that from the safe, off with you Jan, go get the rest.”
Cole didn’t have time to ask what they meant by Spark-Stone before Barnabas and Jan disappeared into the bowels of the store. Gathering the requested equipment in a startlingly small amount of time. Soon Cole was looking at a pile of pitons, rope, wax sealed rations, a water-proofed map and a myriad of other necessities for survival. As Jan added up the costs with the practiced ease of a shopkeep, Barnabas showed Cole a strange polished black stone. It was oval in shape, a little smaller than a man’s palm and carved in its center was a familiar symbol. “Fire,” whispered Cole. As he said it, sigil glowed slightly, the magic bound into the Spark-Stone reacting to its purpose.
Barnabas rolled the now slightly warm stone between boney fingers and said “Ah so you read Dwerick, the language of the Below Folk. Yes, this little beauty was gifted to me by a Dwarven merchant I did a favor for maybe ten years ago. It’s a very basic fire enchantment, focus on the stone and it will produce flame. Not much, even if you pour your full intent into it, but more than enough to start a fire in even the dampest conditions.”
Cole was interested; such minor Magical items were not common in this region. It would be a boon and it might save him more cold nights when flint and tinder were not enough. Still he had to ask the obvious questions. “What will it cost me and why was such a useful item not bought long ago? This town has Shepards and Hunters, correct? You would think they would find it useful.”
Barnabas didn’t even blink “You would think, wouldn't you? A local superstition has made the usual customers wary of it. They think taking enchantments out into the mountains is bad luck. I wouldn’t put much stock in it, every old goat botherer tells a different version of the superstition anyway. Some say it scares goats, others it attracts wolves, I knew one fellow who just didn’t trust anything Dwarven made. No matter, the Spark-Stone and the other gear will cost you one gold and five silver all together.”
Jan showed the first emotion Cole had seen, a single cocked eyebrow. It was a response to the fifteen percent discount Barnabas was giving Cole. The old merchant was not being his usual miserly self. An attempt to get Cole what he needed and out of Glockmire as soon as possible. Cole knew some sort of unspoken exchange was happening between the shop owner and shopkeeper, but decided to ignore it.
“I will take it and the other equipment.” was Cole’s only response. He fished out the coins and paid old Barnabas. He then gathered up the supplies and loaded them into his pack, leaving the store with what he would need to continue his mission.
Before he could leave Glockmire Cole needed to stop by the Silly Goat. to make some last adjustments to his equipment and tell the Innkeeper not to expect him that night. It was better to stay out in the wild then waste precious time traveling back to town every night. Cole didn’t fear what might be stalking the shadows out beyond Glockmire’s walls. In truth, if some of those horrors found him, it would save Cole time.
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Back at the Silly Goat, Cole told Wilhelm his plans. The Innkeeper was surprised and skeptical, but promised he would wait at least a week before cleaning out Cole’s rented room. At Wilhelms insistence Cole grabbed a bit of food. Some bread and cheese that would not be missed by the tavern’s dinner customers. Back in his room, after making some final preparations Cole moved to leave. He briefly considered bringing the Skull, but decided against it. She would be safer hidden in his rented room. A minor concealment enchantment would help keep the Skull hidden.
Magic, a fickle and powerful tool, one Cole used when needed but not his preferred option. The scholars say anyone can learn to wield the raw power of The Beyond, altering the world through willpower, focus and secret knowledge. That is true but just as true as the sentiment anyone can paint. Most beings can indeed put pigment to paper but very few can make a masterpiece. Similarly, basic spells could be learned by virtually anyone with access to training or talent. Truly powerful Magic, however, requires something special to cast. Cole could manage a number of spells, but nothing too impressive. Lacking much in the way of talent, Cole made up for it with an unlikely source of power. Something that did not come without a cost, but one he was willing to pay in order to keep the Skull safe.
Finally leaving the Silly Goat, Cole turned to head towards the north gate and nearly ran into Natalie. The young woman looked startled to see him, and let her mouth open slightly in surprise. Recovering quickly Natalie spoke. “I wanted to apologize for earlier, it was incredibly rude of me to enter your room like that.”
Cole gave his gentle smile, the nicest expression his heavily scarred face could manage. “All is forgiven, Thank you for waking me when you did. I had slept more than enough and I can understand why it might have worried you.”
Natalie returned his smile with a genuine one of her own. Then she gestured at Cole’s pack and asked. “Are you leaving already? My father said you paid for the week already.”
Cole shook his head no. “I should be staying at least a few days more but my task takes me into the wilds tonight. I doubt I will return until tomorrow.”
Natalie’s amber eyes widened in a mixture of shock and fear. “You cannot be serious? It's one thing to camp on the road, another thing to try to do so out in the wilds! Mister Cole you don’t know the area, what dangers are out there. The Hunter and Shepards foolish enough to try what you are attempting, travel in groups and have years of experience.”
A shrug from the big man dismissed her concerns and Cole touched the strange axe buckled to his hip. “I have dealt with many things in my life. Master Time, and my weapon will keep me safe. Your concern is appreciated though.”
Natalie felt the first hints of anger boil up. It infuriated her that this man would dismiss what she said so easily. Was he really that naive? The Gods helped those who helped themselves, only the most pathetic of the lunatic faithful relied on the idea of divine protection. Those truly blessed by the Gods knew well to not test that blessing or take it for granted. Chewing her lip in frustration, Natalie snapped up at the scarred behemoth of a pilgrim. “Fine! If the Varcolac eats you alive don’t blame me!”
With those spiteful words she stormed past him and into the Silly Goat. Without a word to her father Natalie set off to work on chores, fuming the entire time. Her internal monologue was ramping up towards a full tirade. She didn’t know if she would ever see the strange pilgrim again and that frustrated her. Not so much out of affection for him, but of curiosity and spite. She wanted to learn more about such a strange figure. Not much happens in Glockmire and Natalie often found herself easily bored. Cole was an interesting mystery that should not be wasted by leaping into the jaws of a monster. Especially the monster that killed her Mother.
That was the spite, she did not want the accursed thing to claim another victim. Unbidden memories of that terrible night three years ago came flooding back. Natalie, and her parents had been fleeing to the Temple. Seeking sanctuary on consecrated soil. Trying to escape the army of nightmares that had breached the gate. The plague that had ravaged Glockmire did more than kill. Every miserable death it caused polluted the Aether. The currents of untamed Magic that flow through everything.
The Aether reflects and reacts to the world. A miasma of death and despair provided fertile ground for Undeath. Plague victims rose as shambling corpses. Wraiths of grief and suffering flew about in great clouds of concentrated misery. Yet that was not the worst of it; those lesser Undead merely weakened the town's defenses. Distracting the Lord’s soldiers and vassals while the real threat arrived.
Countless monsters feed on death and suffering. The stink of which was ripe on the Aether, calling out like a wounded lamb to dark things deep within the mountains. Natalie never learned what battered down Glockmire’s south gate. A few people claimed it was an Ogre or Troll possessed by a powerful Ghost. It did not matter in the end, only that whatever did it was strong enough to rip through solid oak.
With the gates broken open, a myriad of the undead and accursed monsters flowed into the town. When both Castle and Temple bells started ringing, the sign to evacuate to places of safety, the Striga Family of Nat, Iona and Wilhelm heeded the warning. Rushing through the streets, praying to the Gods and hoping to make it to safety. Iona was in the lead, holding up a lantern to guide the way, with Natalie and Wilhelm close behind her. Through the dark they ran together, ignoring the horrible screams and horrid roars that pierced the night.
They were so close, the high spire of the Temple was visible and the bells blotted out virtually all other sounds. Iona rounded a tight alley corner, her lantern bobbing in the dark. Wilhelm and Natalie were right behind her. Arriving just as Iona’s scream erupted.
Of what happened next Natalie remembered the smell best. Rotting meat and wet dog, mixed together and pungent enough to physically hurt. Iona’s lantern was on the ground, intact, and somehow still burning, casting light upon the horrific scene. Hideous clawed hands gripped Iona, holding her up and squeezing life from her. Iona had tried to turn around and run when she realized what was ahead of her, but the monster still grabbed her. So she faced her husband and daughter as death came. Natalie saw it in her mothers eyes, the terror, and horrible knowledge that the end was here.
It did not take long, the monster lunged its ragged head down at its prey. Huge fangs sinking into Iona’s flesh. Ripping her in half with a single brutal bite. Dropping what was left of Natalie’s mother, the monster turned to her and her father. It stood at least three meters tall, its form a terrible fusion of man and wolf. One eye glowed yellow, the other was milky white. Matted fur covered it, with patches missing. Skin and exposed muscle peeked through black fur and yellowed bone was visible where the mouth should be. The flesh there long ago rotted or was torn away, revealing a skeletal maw.
Only later did Natalie learn what to call the monster. Varcolac, the corpse wolf. A Werewolf lost utterly to its inner beast, and long since died. The corpse of an already horrible monster risen in undeath. In that moment all it was to Natalie was evil, what killed her mother and what was about to kill her as well. The start of a scream, of both grief and terror filled Natalie’s throat. She never got to complete it as a rough voice boomed out through the alley. “Mortals run! I will handle this.”
A flash of movement and the sound of steel clashing with bone broke Wilhelm from his shock. He had wanted to break down sobbing and he would later. For now he could not lose his daughter too. The Innkeeper grabbed his teenage daughter with the strength born of fear. Half carrying, half pulling her away from the battle in front of them.
They ran, taking another route towards the Temple. Natalie only catching glimpses of their savior. A knight in blood-red armor wielding a massive greatsword who moved with such speed that she could only catch glimpses of the warrior. The last thing Natalie saw before they rounded a corner was the greatsword coming flashing down and lopping off one of the Varcolac’s hands. The horrible mixture of a death-rattle and howl it had made haunted her nightmares even now.
Natalie and her father made it to the Temple and huddled with hundreds of others. Listening to the Priests murmured prayers and the soft weeping of all those who lost loved ones, themselves included. No one slept that night. The refugee’s only leaving the Temple when the local High Priest declared it safe an hour after sunrise. Corpses filled the streets. Some were fresh and recognizable, others little more than skeletons. Lord Glockmire and his soldiers had driven the monsters off and cut through the throngs of walking dead. It would take a week of burning for all the bodies to be purified and destroyed. The smell of death and ash would take months to fully wash away. Scars, both emotional and physical, would never fade.
Natalie was soon back in the present, the memories fading away, her mind fighting to keep all those terrible sights and smells locked away. It came easier now, time heals all wounds they say. Natalie’s mind went to Cole, his tapestry of scars and his chosen God. Maybe time does not actually heal, maybe it just adds another layer of pain so the old becomes less distinct.
The pilgrim had left on this suicidal errand of his, it would be a good opportunity to clean his room. Making it presentable for his return or, more likely, the next customer. Natalie made her way up the staircase and into the room. The curtains were drawn, keeping the room in shadow even in the afternoon. Another annoyance for Natalie, fresh air and sunlight does half the job of cleaning for her.
Pulling open the curtains, Natalie got to work, making the bed, swapping out the washcloths, and generally making the room presentable. After maybe five minutes of basic work, Natalie suddenly felt ill. A deep hollow coldness pressed out from her innards. Like she’d swallowed a chunk of ice that now fought to be free. Staggering a little, she propped herself up on a wall. Gathering her wits, Natalie moved over towards the bed. She felt like she was about to pass out. A crushing alien coldness bore down on her soul, threatening to drown her in its presence.
This was what she had experienced earlier, except so much more intense. During the lunch shift, it had been the momentary glance of something beyond words. Now she had its attention. A God or something close to it spared her a moment of infinity. Natalie forced herself to take deep rattling breaths. With her body struggling to even breathe, she fought to keep natural processes going. The pressing weight of her own mortality came to the forefront of Natalie’s mind, it threatened to swallow her up like a candle in the ocean. Darkness encroached on the edge of her vision and Natalie’s knees buckled. She fell to the ground, limp and barely conscious.
Then just as quickly as the horrible feeling struck her, it passed. Sucking in a breath and blinking the shadows away. She was so weak, it took nearly everything she had left to simply roll over to her side. Natalie gathered her strength, hoping to reach an arm up the bed and use it to pull herself up. It was then when she noticed something underneath the bed. Hidden just out of sight was a small draw-string bag.
Not thinking clearly, Natalie reached out with a shaking hand to grab the bag. Wrapping uncertain fingers about its strings she pulled it towards her. Was this something she’d missed when cleaning the room? No, Natalie knew better than to doubt her thoroughness, this was something of Cole’s. Reeling from spiritual shock Natalie focused on the bag and was struck with the unquenchable need to see what was inside.
It took her three tries but she undid the strings and opened up the bag. Natalie had a suspicion of what was inside but still seeing it shocked her. The human skull Cole placed on the bed when she woke him up, looked at her from the bag’s opening. Its pale bone polished to an alabaster smoothness, empty sockets promising of sight not meant for the living. Gasping slightly, Natalie reached out to poke the skull. Maybe it was fake? A piece of carved stone or metal, meant to act as a symbol of death. Such hopes were quickly dispatched as her fingers touched the hollow below the eye socket and next to the nose cavity. It was real bone, so well maintained it seemed just recently cleaned of flesh.
Was this some strange relic of Cole’s faith? That made sense to Natalie. While usually Master Time was represented by the hourglass, the skull could also be his sigil. A thought crossed Natalie’s mind as her faculties regrouped from the earlier shock. Was this why Cole was here? Was his pilgrimage a task to deliver this skull to its proper resting place? That made sense, it would explain why he had come to Glockmire. It also raised new questions. Whose skull was it? And why had Cole not taken it with him? Did he not know where he was supposed to inter the skull?
That chain of thought was quickly interrupted when Natalie pulled at the bag’s lip and saw the skull’s mouth. It had fangs, she had not noticed them earlier. Long snake-like fangs that extended a few centimeters past its normal looking kin. Natalie knew those fangs, every person living in the Blood Duchies knew those fangs. This was a Vampire skull.
Frantically Natalie shut the bag's draw-strings and pushed it farther back under the bed. Fear flooded her veins and she pushed herself up off the ground. The terrible draining fatigue of earlier replaced with the jittery nerves of terror. Quickly, Natalie got to her feet and bolted from the room. Thinking just clear enough to shut and lock the door behind her. No one could learn what she had just discovered.
This was bad, very very bad. When a Vampire dies, truly dies, all that is left is bones and ash. Both materials are potent in dark Magic, capable of fueling truly foul rituals of Necromancy and Blood Magic. That was not what scared Natalie. The only beings who can possess a Vampire’s remains is another Vampire. That was the law, one enforced with a level of iron-hard cruelty that made Felix’s fate seem merciful.
Natalie did not know why it was the law. Her overactive, panicking mind had a few ideas though. Maybe the Nocturnal Nobility hated reminders they could truly die? It could be Magic, could a bloodline be targeted by a spell using a member's remains? Was it simply what it represented? A mortal being holding tangible proof that the Aristocrats were not invincible. It really did not matter, Natalie was just trying to distract herself from the terrible knowledge.
If Lord Glockmire learned of this he would have Cole killed. He might also send Natalie and her father to the Larder. Just to be certain the message was sent and understood by the people. Natalie wracked her brain as she slipped into her room and locked herself inside. Could she turn Cole in? Would that even protect her family? Even if she did, and the Silly Goat came away unharmed by the ordeal, it would raise another question. Would Natalie be able to live with herself?
She didn’t think so, the idea of surrendering anyone to a monster’s hunger was anathema to Natalie. Even a stranger of uncertain purpose and character like Cole did not deserve that. Again painful images of her mothers death flashed before her. The sounds of tearing flesh and cracking bone entered her mind unbidden. The Lord and his Vassals were better monsters than the Varcolac, but not by far. They just had the intelligence and skill to hide their ugly nature.
Quickly Natalie came to her decision. She would keep this knowledge to herself. Cole was a pilgrim; he would not spend more than a week in Glockmire. Natalie just had to let time pass and then he would leave. It was far from a perfect plan but she could not think of a better one. At least one with a better chance of surviving with body, mind and soul intact. Then she was struck with the thought, what if his mission was truely suicidal, what if he did not return, what would she do with the skull? This was too much for Natelie to handle. So silently, she prayed, hoping the Gods were listening.