Darkness loomed ahead, starkly contrasting with the red lights shining behind. Argrave tried to peer beyond to little effect.
“I don’t sense anything ahead,” said Galamon. “Only… debased viscera,” he contributed after pausing a moment to find the word. “The vampires may be using magic to disguise themselves. You mentioned they were apprentices of a mage group—the Wayward Thorns,” Galamon turned to Argrave.
“Doubtful. They know rudimentary magic, nothing beyond that. Centuries mean very little if you don’t have access to spellbooks, or the genius needed to make your own spells. They have ridiculously deep magic pools, but no spells beyond D-rank. There are reasons for that, but… I’ll share them when we aren’t caught in a vice.” Argrave raised up his hand, a spell matrix forming. A ball of light jumped into the air, banishing some of the darkness before them.
The headquarters of the Order of the Rose in Nodremaid may once have been grand, but its residents had changed it. Much of the place had been dyed red from centuries-old blood. It wasn’t the site of some bloody slaughter—instead, the roses of flesh that gave off light winding about the ceiling had been torn down and destroyed by the vampires to shroud the place in darkness. The ‘bodies’ of the flesh plants were much less frightening than the things themselves. Once the flesh rotted away, all that was left was long stalks of ivory.
“Is light wise?” Anneliese questioned, staring at the ball of flame cautiously.
“They’re vampires, the majority of them older than Galamon. Darkness means nothing for them.”
Anneliese stepped forward, contributing her own light and further illuminating the place. “It’s… quiet here. Figuratively and literally.”
“You mean… not picking up any feelings? Empathy meter goes cold just ahead?” Argrave inquired.
“Yes.” She spared a glance back, then examined the bottom of her boots. Her eyes stayed locked on the corpse of one of the Guardians. The thing’s arms had been torn off. It had been drained of blood. “Still… I cannot say this place is particularly soothing.”
“Right with you,” Argrave agreed, stepping up beside her. The harsh and piercing smell of iron still persisted here, but most other scents died. No insects made noise in the darkness beyond. Indeed, the only noise still present was the barely audible sound of the canal outside, but once they proceeded deeper, Argrave was sure it, too, would fade.
The central lobby was quite a large place. A statue fountain about ten feet tall stood decorating the center, but the fountain had been rendered useless, the faintest bit of polluted red water spouting pathetically out of the statue’s chipped mouth. This place was largely free of the foliage consuming all of Nodremaid.
The main square branched off into three paths, yet there were also two sets of spiral stairs leading up to a second floor. One of the stairs had collapsed midway. The ceiling was quite high. The light of their spell did not illuminate beyond the central lobby, so nothing could be seen of the second floor or beyond.
“Let’s get to a safer place, finally,” urged Argrave with a tired sigh. “Go right. There are some bigger rooms that way that only have one doorway. Good place to hole up. Anyone disagree?” He made sure to seek their opinion out this time.
No one dissented, and Argrave’s directive was obeyed. Galamon did not proceed as quickly as he had back in Nodremaid. The hallways were tall and ornate. Nodremaid had been unadorned, but the halls here were lined with jade and silver, and the walls were much more finely carved. Argrave kept imagining things in the shadows waiting with teeth bared, but no such things existed.
They first passed by an open area that was once a dining room, though like all other places in Nodremaid, it had fallen into ruin, the ceiling partially collapsed. Galamon examined the room for enemies a long time before he was comfortable proceeding.
After passing by many rooms that Argrave could not discern the purpose of, they finally came to the rooms that had only one doorway. They looked to be storage areas, for they were often blocked with thick iron doors and filled to the brim with shelves and crates. Galamon examined the insides of many, deeming most unfit for reasons Argrave did not begin to guess.
Finally, Galamon pushed open one door and looked around slowly. “This place… looks to be sufficient,” he said after a time.
Argrave pushed past him, eager to sit down and rest his feet once more. When his spell light trailed into the room after him, it illuminated a fairly empty storage room. Argrave was looking at one of the crates, when something caught the light of his spell, reflecting back at him. It took him a second to process that they were eyes.
The vampire started to close the gap between them quicker than Argrave could even recognize what it was. Once Argrave realized it was a vampire, bad memories resurfaced of Barden, of him calling out for Galamon moments before being seized, his very blood stolen. He froze. The vampire didn’t seek to seize Argrave, though—its long nails aimed for his neck, hunting for a quick kill.
Galamon pushed Argrave aside, casting him to the ground. He met the vampire’s charge, seizing its arm and stopping its attack. He took two steps back before its momentum ceased. Once he had stable footing, he overpowered it easily, tossing it away. It staggered back, falling to one knee. Galamon drew his greatsword from his waist and swung in one fluid motion. The steel missed, but the wind blade created by enchantments leapt out, cutting it across the nose. It cried out and scrambled away quickly, knocking over a crate.
“You hid yourself well,” Galamon said.
Argrave came to his feet as quickly as he could. His arm hurt where he’d fallen, but in front of the task at hand, he barely noticed it. The vampire, who Argrave now recognized as a man, retreated further, joining up with two others.
All three of the vampires wore rich crimson robes. The passage of time had decayed them, though, and most of them were missing sleeves. The main robe itself was full of holes, some of it covered with patchwork cloth. It was all the same color, though—a deep red. Argrave considered that it was probably easy to keep clothes red in the Low Way of the Rose, but quickly dismissed that errant thought.
“Not the others?” one said, a woman, voice low and urgent.
“No. Not the Sentinels, either,” the one who’d attacked answered, wiping his face free of blood. Once he’d done so, the wound was already closing.
Argrave preemptively cast a C-rank ward in case one of them should lash out with spells. Once that was done, he caught his breath, rubbing his arm to dispel the pain. An uneasy silence stretched out between them as each waited for the other’s actions.
“…I think the choice of diplomacy or confrontation has been made for us. We must block the door. They cannot tell others,” Anneliese said quickly.
“Maybe we can…” Argrave started to suggest diplomacy, but his voice did not go beyond the ward and he did not trust he would not be attacked. “To hell with it. Too late for that. They attacked us the first time they saw our faces.”
Galamon removed his backpack, setting it on the ground alongside his greatsword. He quickly strung his bow and retrieved an arrow, nocking it. Seeing this, the vampires shifted on their feet, ready to move.
“Split them up,” urged Argrave. No noise reached outside the ward. “I’ll stun one with lightning magic, and Anneliese, follow up with something that’ll kill.”
Galamon nodded, drawing back his bow. Stepping free of the ward, he released, and the arrow shot towards the one in the center. They cast a ward to block the arrow, but Galamon chose an Ebonice arrowhead. Their low-rank ward shattered, and the three scattered. Argrave sent out the D-rank spell [Writhing Lightning] towards the one that split from the group. The vampire reacted quickly, trying to form a ward, but even its supernatural speed could not contest the fastest elemental magic. The [Writhing Lightning] struck the ground, travelling to the vampire’s legs and causing her to stumble.
Argrave saw Anneliese’s hand glow in his peripheries, and soon enough the powerful boom of thunder echoed out—the C-rank lightning spell [Skysunder]. A white bolt struck the vampire, and she was cast to the ground, smoke rising from her waist where she had been struck. Argrave followed up, casting the same spell Anneliese just had. Argrave lowered his hand, watching the vampire spasm, only for an arrow to fly by and pierce her head, ending all struggles.
“Gods!” one of them shouted. “Damn it all! Just break through! Rush! Rush!” he insisted, urging his fellow towards them.
They strafed through shelves and crates, heading towards their position. Galamon set down his bow and drew his dagger, waiting. Argrave waited nervously, stepping back behind Galamon. He held his hands out, and a C-rank spell matrix manifested. A blue eel sprung from his hand, dancing about within the ward—the C-rank spell, [Electric Eel]. It waited for Argrave’s direction as he conjured more.
The two vampires broke out from the shelves, rushing towards them. One conjured a D-rank blood magic spell, and his wrist split open, a knife forming in his hand from his own blood. Galamon grabbed a crate and threw it into his path with one hand while retreating back behind the ward, but the vampire nimbly dodged it, thrusting his dagger through the magic barrier. After some strain, the C-rank ward shattered. Galamon advanced, catching the hand that held the dagger of blood. Galamon thrust his dagger at the vampire’s neck, but it was caught, and the two struggled.
The other vampire rushed forward, but Argrave had been devoting his attention towards that possibility. One of the [Electric Eels] struck out towards the it, but the vampire ducked back behind the shelves. While Galamon grappled with the first vampire, the second tipped over one of the shelves towards the two of them.
Galamon ducked low and disentangled himself, shoving the vampire towards the falling shelf while stepping back nimbly. The shelf struck the first vampire, and the one who had pushed it tried to rush past Galamon. The elf held out an arm to stop him but failed.
Anneliese grabbed a crate and slid it into the vampire’s path. He slowed for a second, and then eventually leapt forth, jumping right over it. Anneliese had been expecting this, evidently—she ducked low, spell matrix forming as he descended. Unable to change his path, the C-rank spell [Wargfire] rushed from her hand and slammed into the vampire. She fell forward, narrowly avoiding a ball of fire.
Argrave stepped around the crate and held his hand out, and all of the [Electric Eels] he’d conjured swarmed down, meeting the vampire all at once in a grand display of light. The vampire spasmed and writhed in agony, and Argrave watched, hesitant to use more magic. Eventually, its movements became slower and less intense, and Argrave dared a glance back towards Galamon.
Galamon and the last vampire faced each other. The vampire clearly wanted to rush past, but Galamon waited patiently, refusing to advance. Eventually its patience broke first, and he lunged at Galamon, preparing to grapple. Galamon stepped and thrust his foot out, slamming its knee. The vampire howled in pain. Galamon caught it by its shoulder and jammed his dagger into its neck. It grasped at his arm, but he ruthlessly tore the dagger upwards. It died in a most gruesome manner.
Breathing heavily, heart beating quickly, Argrave kept alternating his gaze between the ball of flame and Galamon. The entire exchange had taken no longer than two minutes, perhaps, but it had felt far more stressful than their entire trek through the Low Way.
“Christ,” Argrave said, throat dry. “Are we safe?”
Galamon said nothing, cautiously examining every bit of the room. After an insufferably long period, he nodded.
Argrave let off a variety of curses, leaning against the wall. As he began to calm, he felt vomit rise in his throat as the smell of burnt flesh invaded his senses once more. He breathed slowly, trying to calm himself. He saw Anneliese still on the ground and offered his hand to help her up. She accepted his help and stood, and after gathering herself, moved to extinguish the flame.
“No diplomacy,” Argrave heaved out a long sigh.
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