The first victims of any conflict are always innocent. Civilians stand between armies as war begin. Those that are lucky can run away. While those ignorant or unlucky stand in the path of destruction.

When the moon hung high in the night's sky, the vampiric host descended from the mountains of Gris. Rose von Erwenhest and her immortal warriors rode down dark trails towards Hueryss. Thirsting vengeance incarnate, they carved through the surrounding lands. Her blood knights rode behind her on indefatigable steeds. Their impenetrable plate armor barely registered noise as they rode in complete silence.

Behind them, a corps of necromancer's followed. Their rich black robes concealed no weapons. Yet hidden in dimensional saddlebags, was an army of corpses ready to be re-animated at a mere moment's notice. Ancient skeletal warriors with every weapon imaginable waited for magic to pull upon bone. The threads would direct their bleached bones like false muscles empowering their slaughter. The dead Grissians would fulfill their final acts of service to Gris as an endless tide of undead soldiers.

In the rear, was a host of opportunists. Ghouls with insatiable hunger, were drawn to the approaching feast. Gnawing desire led them to follow like a flock of scavengers waiting to sup upon the scraps left behind. Like vultures, they hovered near the noble dead patiently watching for their permission to eat.

Blood flowed from the unfortunate isolated living lives of quiet solitude. Homesteaders were slaughtered in the night. Strung up on makeshift crosses, their blood dripped passively into wooden tubs below their feet. Glazed lifeless eyes passively beheld the warriors dipping their long, sharpened nails into the tubs of blood. Some blood knights decried the poor quality. While other more pragmatic vampires begrudgingly drank before the approaching battle.

Waiting in the shadows like obedient dogs, ghouls slobbered. They eyed exsanguinated corpses waiting for the blood knights to have their fill. The hierarchy of the undead was clear. Those lesser beings would wait their turn. The necromancer's stood aloof. They waited patiently, counting down the seconds to when they would have a fresh skeleton to stuff into their dimensional saddlebags.

Burning campfires that once fought against the night became lighthouses attracting the curiosity of the undead. Sleepy hunters and adventurers were descended upon as they lay vulnerable. Their screams of pain only attracted more of their killers. The agony of their suffering became a siren call to the creatures lurking within the darkness. Loping ghouls ran towards the frightened stragglers, while thirsting blood knights came to inspect the fresh kills.

Strangely enough, the safest place was the one where none wanted to live. Trira, the logging colony, was carefully avoided by the host as it descended towards Hueryss. Its stench was so severe that no vampire, ghoul or necromancer would venture near the town. The few remaining residents who huddled like beggars in the shadow of the town would see the sun rise in the morning, as the host passed them by.

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Rose von Erwenhest looked ahead with an unfocused gaze. Her wide eyes beheld little of the reaping before her. She daydreamed of her inevitable vengeance. The random killings before her were not enough. She desired more. Blood should flood the land. The ceremonial executioner sword sheathed at her side would slay anyone responsible for her daughter's misfortune. As she rode, she dreamed of slaughter.

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The sewers stunk nearly worse than anything Lilly von Erwenhest II had ever experienced. Pain and fatigue radiated through her undead body. Her sheathed rapier dug into the sewer's walls as she staggered forth upon the slippery filth. The chittering rats, her only companions, fled from her uneven steps. Her clothes were ripped and filthy. Her body was weak, weaker than it had ever been. It cried out for nourishment. It cried out for blood.

Stopping to gather her strength, she gripped the grimy walls. Her once pale immaculate skin was covered in sewage, excrement, and wounds. No one who looked upon her would recognize the once proud and noble vampires who left to slay Freyes’ champion. She needed blood. She needed to heal. Once she was strong enough she could make her way out of these accursed sewers.

Why had Hannah sent her below the streets? Why had she failed? What mistakes did she make to deserve her fate? The seers who spoke upon the champion were wrong. The champion was weak, but that didn't mean he couldn't have empowered his followers. How dare he summon a copy of her family's artifact? How dare he defy her? He was nothing more than a bag of blood. His life served no purpose but to nourish her. He was nothing to her. He was her food, not her equal. Why couldn't he have died then and there?

"I will escape this hell." She muttered through gritted teeth. Mustering her strength, she gripped her rapier's hilt tighter. She opened her mouth letting in the miasmic air onto her tongue. Grimacing in distaste, she waited.

She needed blood. She needed to heal. She needed to escape this damn city. Blood surrounded her, chittering and scurrying away. It was necessary for her to heal.

"No one shall know of this." She spat out venomously while drawing her sword.

Staggering forward, she moved towards a nearby refuse heap. Her family's heirloom sword posed and at the ready. Stopping, perfectly still, Lilly waited. Eventually the scurrying beasts grew bolder. The statue-like vampire no longer seemed a threat. Clearly to the rats of Hueryss's sewers the lurking predator they shared the sewers with was gone. The vampire did not need to breathe. She held her pose immaculately, her unblinking blood red eyes searched the refuse heap for her next meal.

Movement caught her eye. A large brown rat moved cautiously around the wall to her right. Lilly watched it sniff the air. Her enchanted rapier hovered, waiting to strike.

"Blood. Bring me his blood. Kill the man. Kill the human." The blade whispered to her. The magical connection to the blade annoyed her. She hated how it longed for the champion's taste. She hated how it never stopped reminding her of his exquisite taste. The memory of it was captivating, enchanting, and addicting. Suppressing the thoughts she eyed her prey.

Lilly's muscles twitched in anticipation, the rat resumed its journey towards the refuse heap. Lilly stabbed forward in a flash of movement, spearing the rat clean. Her rapier protested the inferior blood.

She brought the putrid beast to her lips. Her tongue touched the fresh blood. She gagged at the taste immediately. The noble vampire nearly retched in the sewers. Mastering her disgust she sank her fangs into the vermin, sucking it dry. Tossing the desiccated corpse away, she began searching for more prey. More blood was required to heal, and once she did her vengeance would be terrible.