- [Outside of the Vampire Lord’s Castle] -
The storm rages on, a violent beast howling against the ancient stone of the Vampire Lord's castle. Rain lashes the walls with ferocity, each drop a tiny hammer pounding against the revived, age-old fortress. Lightning intermittently illuminates the darkened sky, casting the castle’s ominous silhouette against the swirling clouds. The air is cold, biting, and carries a dampness that seeps straight into the bones.
Clinging to the castle's exterior, a lone figure — a thief by trade — presses onward. His fingers, numb from the cold, scrabble for purchase on the slick stone. Heart pounding, he inches past grotesque gargoyles and twisted spires. The thief's breath comes in ragged gasps, each exhalation visible in the night air. No traps or monsters to face out here, but the climb itself is perilous as is. His legs, trying to find a foothold, dangle at a dizzying height above the ground. He’s climbing the outside of the castle.
Why is he here? Treasure, of course. The castle promises riches beyond imagining, whispered tales of a dark lord's hoard hidden within its cursed confines. He's heard the stories and seen the maps others have drawn. There’s unimaginable wealth hidden here somewhere; he’s sure of it.
Something dull and heavy hammers the night.
A sudden chill runs through him as the nearby clocktower bell tolls — a deep, resonant sound that reverberates through the stone, shaking the castle’s exterior walls. His grip slips, a heart-stopping moment of freefall before he catches himself on a jutting ledge. Cursing under his breath, he pauses, fingers aching from the strain. “Damn this place,” he mutters, eyes narrowing against the rain.
What a hellhole.
The wind howls, a banshee’s wail that threatens to tear him from the wall. Yet he perseveres. Slowly, painstakingly, he reasserts his grip and climbs, determination etched on his face.
At last, he reaches the top, dragging himself over the edge of an abandoned tower. Relief floods through him, though it’s short-lived as he flops over and catches his breath. His arms and legs burn like fire, contrasting the wet coldness that bites at him from the outside.
The open-faced tower is a ruin, forgotten by time. Stones lie scattered, and the air is stale, untouched by the storm's fury outside.
He lies on his back, panting for breath, his eyes staring up toward the darkness above into the base of the tower’s conical roof.
Something moves within the shadows — a flutter of wings — a low, menacing hiss. The thief's eyes widen as giant silhouettes make themselves seen in the darkness as the flash of lightning paints their bodies and their eyes, gleaming with hunger.
~ [Giant Bat] ~
A Giant Bat.
Most often found living in large groups in secluded, dark spaces, giant bats are a cross-section example of a creature that lies between the concepts of animal and monster. Feeding off of small droplets of blood from the living — monster or person — in small, socially acceptable doses, they would almost be favorable creatures if not for their penchant to live in swarms of up to several hundred specimens.
When entering a feeding frenzy, they will oftentimes inadvertently crush their prey, despite their placid nature, simply by the sheer number of them who dive in to attack at once, making them exceptionally dangerous monsters, especially to children, fae, or dwarves.
They rest and hide during the day, but at night they can be seen swarming around high peaks and through the old, dark forests of the world as they hunt.
Type: Beast {Bat} Rank: C Common Drop: Bat Wing Rare Drop: Cloak of Bats
“Oh, shit!” he shouts, jumping up and scrambling backward as he realises he isn’t alone, but it's too late. The bats swarm, a living nightmare of teeth and claws. Panic surges as they collide, disturbed from their rest, and the panicking thief loses his footing.
He falls — wind rushing past, heart in his throat — until the world fades to black, consumed by the storm.
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- [Inside of the Vampire Lord’s Castle] -
Just like the outside, a chill permeates the air inside the Vampire Lord's castle — the sort of cold that clings to skin and soul alike. The castle breathes with an ancient life of its own.
A ghost flits through the corridors — an ethereal wisp burdened with a collection of treasures that it holds in its arms. Coins jingle softly in its grasp, a cascade of gold and silver, while jewels glint in the firelight as it passes by.
It is a creature of obsession, driven by a compulsion to hide and hoard. The treasures are scattered with meticulous randomness, tucked into the forgotten corners of the castle and secreted away inside hollow statues and broken walls. Even the monsters do not escape its notice, each one a potential hiding place for a glittering surprise. Many an adventurer has puzzled as to why they found a sack of gold or an entire wizard’s staff inside of the monsters they kill, or an entire fresh roast chicken inside of a solid brick wall.
This ghost here is the reason why.
— How it gets things into such places is of no concern.
The fact is that they arrive there in their hiding spots. Some things never get found, and some do. The ghost doesn’t so much care if they get found; it just feels the need to hide things and so that’s what it does.
Outside, beyond a grimy window, a man plummets — his scream swallowed by the storm. The ghost pauses, its gaze drifting toward the spectacle, a faint curiosity marking its transparent features. But the moment passes, the ghost returning to its task with a singular focus.
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The castle’s interior is a labyrinth of opulence and decay. The air is heavy with the scent of aged wood and cold stone, each room a treasure trove of forgotten glory. Velvet drapes hang tattered, their once-vibrant hues dulled by time, while intricate mosaics lie cracked beneath roughened boots. The ghost moves through this world, a silent guardian of its treasures. It likes to move the drapes to hide doorways. It likes to lift the loose tiles and hide coins beneath them.
It pauses in a grand hall, hovering above the massive hearth where embers glow faintly. The warmth is a distant memory of a life long past; it can’t remember anymore. Looking around to see that it’s alone, the ghost releases a handful of gems into a vase, the soft clink echoing in the vast emptiness. Maybe an adventurer will smash these one day and find them; maybe they’ll be lying there for the next thousand years. Who knows?
Elsewhere, Fi-Fi the skeleton maid hums a tune — a sweet, unsettling melody — as she polishes a tarnished candelabra standing high up on a ladder made out of skeletons, putting in a team effort. Her own skeletal fingers move with practiced ease, the bangle on her wrist chiming with each motion.
“Still at it, Fi-Fi?” A voice calls from the shadows, sharp and clear.
She doesn't look up. “Always,” she replies, her tone cheerful despite the gloom.
A figure emerges, the Master’s elven priestess. She watches her work. “You ever take a break?” asks Azalea.
Fi-Fi pauses. “The Master is counting on Fi-Fi to do her best!” says the skeleton, turning her head around to look down at the priestess.
In that second, the ghost floats past them, undeterred by their banter, quickly hiding a piece of roasted meat onto the candelabra the maid is cleaning.
Fi-Fi turns her head back. “...Huh…?” asks the skeleton quietly, her feather duster resting on a hunk of roast beef.
A silhouette vanishes down the corridor, its arms still laden full of treasures to hide.
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- [The Ramparts of the Vampire Lord’s Castle] -
Wind howls along the castle ramparts, carrying with it the scent of rain and the frost of the deep night. The stone beneath the adventurers' boots is slick — a treacherous path underfoot. Above, the sky roils with dark clouds, casting the landscape in shades of gray and black, a fitting backdrop for the imposing structure they traverse. A group of adventurers stands gathered at the edge of a high bridge, their spirits buoyed by the recent plunder of a treasure chest. Coins and jewels glint in their bags, the weight of their success palpable.
“I’m telling you, let’s call it a day,” says the party wizard. “Let’s get out of here before we die and lose it all.”
“Please, just another few rooms,” says the archer, clapping her hands together his way. “We’re having such a great night tonight.”
The bridge stretches before them, an ancient span that connects one section of the castle to another with a deep drop on either side. Rain pelters the elevated walkway as the group presses on, debating about whether to call their run over for today and escape with their treasure or risk going deeper for more.
But their path is blocked by a hulking shape. Eight eyes look up, staring at a hulking troll — a creature of mottled, gray skin and eyes like burning coals. It looms large and immovable, like a wall in the middle of a bridge.
“Troll!” calls the party lead, readying his sword.
What a horrible place to have to fight. The footing and weather are terrible, and an enemy like this… there’s no way they won’t get out of this unharmed.
“Who dares cross my bridge without paying the toll?” the troll demands, its voice a guttural rumble that shakes the air. The troll crosses its massive arms, unimpressed. “No toll, no crossing.”
The leader exchanges a glance with his companions, frustration etched into their faces. They want to argue, to fight, but the troll's size and strength are undeniable. It’s a standoff they know they can't cleanly win.
The party shaman, a woman with a serene demeanor and eyes that miss nothing, sighs. “We don't have a choice, do we?”
The wizard raises a hand. “We could just go back and call it a night,” he says.
“And miss out on all this treasure?” asks a growling, guttural voice. The adventurers look back at the troll, blocking the way. “Just between you and me,” says the large creature, pointing behind itself with a gnarled, thick thumb. “Nobody has been this way tonight. There’s still riches in that tower to find.”
The wizard waves his hand in the air. “If there are, why don’t you go get them instead of making us pay to go get them ourselves?”
“Hey. Am I telling you how to do your job?” asks the troll. The wizard lowers his hand. “Pay up or get off my bridge,” it demands. “Thirty obols,” it says, looking them over and watching their expressions stay fairly neutral. Then, after a second, it adds on. “— Each.”
That changes things, and suddenly the adventurers turn sour. “What?! That’s half of what we made!” argues the archer.
The troll shrugs, looking at its nails as it stands there in the battering rain. “Guess you don’t want the treasure. I’d say it’s worth more than this little pittance…” it mutters idly, turning its hand over.
The group huddles together and mutters amongst themselves as they debate. Then, begrudgingly, the adventurers reach into their bags, fishing out a portion of their hard-won loot. Coins clink as they drop into the troll's outstretched palm, the sound bitter against their ears. They watch somewhat resentfully as the troll counts the payment with a slow, deliberate grin.
“This better be worth it,” says the party leader. “Or we’re coming back for you.”
“Oh yeah, yeah,” it says. Satisfied, the troll steps aside, allowing them passage. “Pleasure doing business,” it rumbles, a dark humor in its tone as its large, bulbous shape seems to almost sag impossibly over the edge of the bridge — never falling, as it makes way for them to pass.
Together, the adventurers cross the bridge toward the new tower, opening the door to a single room.
Inside is a mirror facing their way and reflecting their tired, suspicious faces back at them.
There are words scratched into the wall above it.
‘The greatest treasure is friendship’.
The adventurers let out a series of vividly descriptive slurs at each other, spinning back around and chasing after the laughing troll that runs off faster than they can catch it.
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- [Vampire Lord Inkume] -
Inkume, the Vampire Lord, stirs within his sarcophagus — its lid sliding open with a soft groan. He yawns, a weary gesture that belies the power coiled within him. His eyes, ruby red and fathomless, blink slowly as he stretches, muscles protesting against the long rest. The world outside has moved on without him, but now he is awake, his senses sharpening with each passing moment. It seems that he’s overslept a little tonight. It must be from all the blood he’s been drinking lately.
He stands, shaking off the remnants of sleep, and reaches for his woven bracelet. With practiced ease, he fastens it around his wrist and then adjusts his shirt’s cuffs. Next, his rapier. It fits snugly in through his belt as he cracks his knuckles and rolls his neck.
“Master!” calls a voice suddenly, as Snatch appears in front of him. “I missed you. I thought you hated us. You don’t hate me, right, Master?” she asks. “Is that why you slept so long?”
“I just woke up, Snatch,” says the Vampire Lord, rubbing his perfect face as he walks past her, his other hand landing on her head. “Take it easy.”
She grabs her face, panting for breath. “I wanted to be the first thing you saw today,” says the ghost, pulling on her cheeks, which then enlarges her eye sockets.
He steps away from the sarcophagus, feet silent on the stone floor. The castle above is alive with activity; he can sense the movements of his minions, the pulse of magic that courses through the walls. It feels like a busy night tonight.
Fi-Fi stands nearby, her skeletal form a familiar presence. She dips her head in a nod, her bangle clinking softly. “Overslept, Master?” she asks, voice a mix of cheer and deference. “There is much to do today,” explains the skeleton. She lifts up a piece of old meat. “I think I found out why we have rats.”
Walking past her, he plants a hand on her shoulder. Snatch lets out a sharp snarling howl, latching onto that arm and glaring at Fi-Fi. “This place is a corpse-filled deathtrap. I’d be surprised if we didn’t have rats,” he explains. “Come on, you two. I have a lot planned for tonight,” he says, grabbing both of them in one arm as he heads toward the grand staircase up and out of the crypt. “Leave that here,” he says. “Let’s get everyone together; I have jobs for you all.”
Fi-Fi drops the piece of meat on the stairs.
Inkume makes his way out with them, the crypt falling into silence a moment after as he — like any other creature in this castle — goes to collect his treasures together. His are simply a little more contentious and troublesome than simple gold coins or jewels, but even the terrible Vampire Lord has things that he values and schemes to safekeep in the long days and nights.
A rat scurries in, snatching the old meat, before dragging it down the stairs and into a hole in the stonework.