TVC II Chapter 1 - Old Faces

[Dark_Wolfen]

Nimrais was getting ready to fortify the hut against sunlight and wait out the rest of the night until she heard something in the distance. She sharpened her senses and listened carefully. Did she hear something? Did she really hear something? There it was again! No mistake this time. She heard faint sounds of company, of music and chatter. It seemed so unlikely for these parts to have such activities, and they seemed so close to her hiding place that she had to check it out. She put her blue pants and white shirt with lace back on and decided to see for herself what was going on.

As she walked further into the woods the sound of people become more intense and she saw the lights of the fire dancing around. Certainly, this wasn't a small gathering of a few people. She remembered the captains words about the lands not always being as safe for a lady as herself and decided to cloak herself in the shadows of the trees. As she sneaked through the edges of the treeline, magically sticking to the shadows cast by the fire, a strange sight unfolded to her. There was a big feeling of life in this part of the forest. Not just the trees and the grass itself seemed more alive, but what interested her was that the people seemed so full of joy. All sorts of people were gathering, all without disdain or fear of one another. She thought fondly back at the inns and theatres she used to work at. "Finally, something truely alive in these lands!", she tought to herself. As she scanned through the crowd, it was hard to miss the imposing man which seemed to be the centre of the band. His armour shone brilliantly in the feignt moonlight and he radiated this calmness. There was something not quite normal about him, but she just couldn't put her finger on it.

 

[Bounce]

Elmanor knocked heavily on the stout wooden door. Tirade a surprisingly deep booming noise which echoed loudly and a flock of bats suddenly took flight. However after several minuses of tense waiting the door remained steadfastly shut.
"Maybe no one is home." She suggested.
This was unfortunate as she could see in the distance other vampires approaching and she would rather be inside before they all reached her. One wrong word and this meeting could become a bloodbath. While she would normally enjoy such bathing methods it was no good if the blood was your own.

 

[The Dread King]

So, the young vampire has left; he may be convening with others, Morturion thought as Alastor disappeared,it is no matter, I have not told him anything dangerous...yet. Now that he is gone, the time is ripe for me to launch my plan. Beckoning to part of his army, he whispered secret commands, and skeletons, zombies and wights crept into empty positions around the castle. Bearing no heraldry, there was little reason for vampires to believe that they were not the Imperator's soldiers, and so they blended in. If Morturion needed to escape Drakenhof, the confusion caused by undead fighting undead from the same army (probably leadiing to vampires accidentally getting their minions to kill their allies' minions, causing even more ambiguosity) would give Morturion enough time to make a relatively safe exit, instead of attempting a headlong dash through organised ranks of troops that far outnumbered his own forces. The main part of Morturion's host would go into Drakenhof with him - to most, they would seem like a mighty escort, even a formidable army. Morturion though it unlikely that his trick would be suspected, and if it was found out that some of his army had stayed camouflaged amongst other undead outside Drakenhof, what of it? He could say that he was simply using his undead to bolster the forces of the castle guard - no vampire would have sufficient evidence to realistically accuse him of treason. As he noticed yet an increasing tide of undead heading towards Drakenhof, he beckoned to his some of his elite and three lesser necromancers, a cluster of wraiths and banshees and a large group of wights surrounded him. That should impress some of the young vampires, he thought, first impressions matter, and my good friends Nekhlior, Graveclaw and Rowhaine need to be reminded that I am still a great power in this world. They'll need me in times to come, no matter how much they despise me. A grin spread across his face as he realised something about those proud vampires. Rowhaine must have felt disgusted enough when he requested my help on paper, Morturion pondered, but it will be even more amusing, in fact extremely so, to hear the Imperator spit out his plea for aid to the last unliving former disciple of Nagash in front of all Drakenhof.

 

[Mr Nightwere]

It was like; I was not whole any longer...
My body weaved in and out like the long tendrils of the winds of magic...
Everything burned, like the heart of a thousand suns...
I died over and over again...

And finally I was back here walking, no past only a watch and a memory...
Darkenhof... Lesa... and a fire...

_____________________________________________________________________

Jason walked in the shade of the moon above, a glow which hummed in his mind. His quiet steps made no sound along the deserted road.
His mind shifted like a puzzle, yet piecing the parts together was like swimming through tar.
Impossible, like a wave he felt it roll over his mind tossing him and drowning him in the unknown blackness which threatened to consume him again and again as he walked on alone.
Flashes of shattered consciousness gave way to angry tears of black as he walked, like searing agony form long in the annals of history.
People and place's and emotion, running like rain into the dust.
He felt it all, and at the same time was not apart of it, centuries he had been in the void a thousand life times past him there and he felt that weight on him and drag him to the ground.
His broken form was barely covered by an assortment of cloth rags, pale in the sunken light of the moon only to cover his glowing aura of scars which caught the glow of the moon beautifully.
His face was pale as silk and below the scars was delicate face, a trait of his blood and his curse, his golden eyes shifted with the magical power of his blood feral and destructive in there nature, yet somehow contained in the form of the broken man.
Shards of black metal were weaved in his hands, covering them in a pattern of the small metallic shards, yet he was to tired to care, his bones shifted in there place and he could feel the quiet of the night now and sighed slightly as he moved.
He didn’t even know for sure where he was.

Though in the distance he was close, as the great fortress of darkness; Darkenhof, Loomed over in the distance.
Jason's grim face looked to the horizon with mute aggression, as his dark eyes fell to the ground of the dusty country road.
Jason’s thoughts turned to thirst, rising by the moment and though his mind was shattered, his instincts were as sharp as his razor fangs.

____________________________________________________

The weary form of Jason moved below the great citadel of Darkenhof, his tattered and broken form lurched along the road and his eyes drew to the hard ground.
His body ached with strain and worry and his hands itched as the metal shard dug into his flesh.
His eyes looked to a great shadow cast down from the castle and he felt something like peace wash over him, it was only five hundred meters to the great iron gates and he willed himself forwards.

 

[Narenzade]

Naren gently giggled and said,"Of course! Your marauding men cannot simply meander the mountains pass. No, no, no, they must be managed and made to move in proper march."

The man before Shah was not as large in frame and looked far less...dead. He had a blush to his cheeks and color in his lips. The man fidgeted with the sash wrapped around his waist for a moment before looking back up at Shah, almost in surprise.

"Oh, yes, onward!" Naren called as he reached over and closed the open orifice. The man settled back into his seat and smiled widely at Shah. "So, Shah, I am satisfied that someone of your stature would heed my suggestion to sit with me. This will be my very first visitation to Drakenhof and I value the oppurtunity to visit with vampire of such vintage. Have you had the happy-chance to convene with Rowhaine or any of the others?"

The ride in the coach was surprisingly smooth despite the thick mud that caked the ground. The small laterns settled in the corners of the coach did not move from their place as the sound of bony hoof meeting ground echoed outside. Naren's icy eyes always on Shah with both hands in his lap, clearly this vampire wanted no trouble with this Araby.

 

[Malochai]

Shah looked with cold detachment showing in his eyes at the vampire before him, who looked like he tried too hard to be a part of living society. A shudder of revulsion spread throughout his undead body - ‘If he cannot abide to be one of us, he shouldn’t attend this meeting,’ he told himself, forcing his mouth to not utter the words.

He listened to Naren’s voice, the sound of which was starting to grate against Markus, whilst tapping his fingers in a rhythmic beat against his leg, determined not to reach across the small gap between them and snapping the smaller vampire’s neck.

“My men do not ‘maraud’, Lord Naren. They are some of the most highly trained soldiers that could be found, and amongst the most dedicated to their duty - which right now, is to protect me and enact my wishes.” The cold, hard edge in his voice was apparent, and if he were alive, a flush would have been creeping up his neck where his muscles were currently knotting, although none of this was visible due to his mask. Thinking of his reasons for taking the chance to join this meeting, at the unbeating heart of the Triumvirate’s power, he forced himself to calm and unclench his fists.

“No, Lord Naren, I haven’t ever met Rowhaine, nor any member of the Triumvirate who hold sway here. Indeed, I have never felt the need to cross into these lands from mine own, and this is also my first visit to Castle Drakenhof. I have had my reasons for staying away from the bloodline who dwell here ... Ah. I must ask whom your sire was, and of which blood you are descended. I could hazard a guess, based on what I see,” he rationalised, with a sweeping gesture, “But I prefer facts.”

Noting the stance of Naren, Markus smiled briefly. ‘It might do to keep him cowed ... An ally, even one as disagreeable as Naren appears to be, could be useful ...’

 

[Mr Nightwere]

Jason gazed up from below the castle, the thick forest surrounding it was silent as the grave and stunk of the undead.
he walked lazily up the road to the castle, when behind him he heard the sound of a coach, echo through the silent darkness.
he turned to measure its distance, the white flashed in the moonlight, as a regiment of riders following swiftly behind.
His senses picked up the scent of powerful undeath from within and knew it must be one of his kin fr no mortal noble would dare to enter this place with so few.
Therefor he waited by the side of the road perhaps hoping for a ride or a drink which ever came first.

 

[The Raven Lord]

Peter rode along the Drakenhof road, noticing how much the province had changed since the fall of Nagash. The pall of dread that was usually a constant presence remained, but seemed to be more distant. Peter passed traders moving from town to town, something unheard of just ten years before. The villages he passed through seemed more prosperous, the peasants looking almost healthy. Not once was he troubled by ghouls, although during the long, cold nights he was sure he could hear the padding of wolves. Just like the Carsteins to keep tabs on the travellers in their domain.

What he saw troubled him. Had he really been absent for so long? But then he recalled why he had shut himself away in his keep, the reason he had stayed away from Simon and his new order. He had already given the poet so much…

*************************************

After a few days travelling, a black silhouette appeared in the distance. With the moon behind it, the castle look as if it had come to life from the Carsteins’ banners. The keep itself had been rebuilt and reinforced since his last visit. Always a formidable obstacle, the castle now seemed nigh on indestructible. Peter couldn’t help himself from casually planning how he would assault the fortress as he rode towards its imposing battlements.

A little down the road, in the shadow of Drakenhof itself, Peter spied a darkened figure standing on the verge, hugging the shadows. Peter was not worried by its presence. There were few beings that could beat him in a straight fight, and those that could were probably here on the same business as he. As he got closer, his armour began to shift, to settle on his form, almost as if it was relaxing. There was little doubt now in Peter’s mind as to who the figure was.

“Jason?” he asked from Firehoof’s saddle, “I had heard you were… lost.”

 

[Mr Nightwere]

Jason looked on the horseman with a confused expression, silently he moved forward and peter noticed his cloak was absent. Replaced by ragged pale cloth, dirt clung to his hands, blood also as he moved forwards, towards the shimmering armor which was donned by the powerful knight.

Jason looked upon the shimmering armor, it was a hypnotizing feeling which passed over him. He reached out to touch it and as he did he felt a warm connection of power cross between the two.
He looked up into the grim handsome features of Peter and spoke.

"Greamus drava mign fartheraus? Grey darum Daris 'Jason'?"

His voice was horse and crackly as he spoke, his mind could not quite comprehend the words and as a confused expression crossed his face, Peters question was affirmed.
Jason was indeed Lost...
He continued speaking in the strange dialect, looking up into the keep.
"...Darkenhof?"
He continued and tried to explain himself, but Peter could not quite understand the meaning of much any of it. Until he looked on peter, his face turning to sadness as long lines of grief stretched over his fine face.

'Lesa'?

He said the word hopefully, his eyes gazed into Peters.
The smooth feral glow shone like topaz in the grim darkness which surrounded the two.

 

[Narenzade]

"My apologies, Lion of Araby. I did not mean to offend you," Naren's lips curled into a slight smile that Shah would notice at this point was quite common. "Lion, my lineage is Lahmian. My sire is of no consquence. I have long since abandoned her as she has me."

Naren's fingertips danced along the hilt of his sword as he began to speak again, "What reasons if I may ask? I do not wish to pry, but as someone so new to the happenings of the night... you could be a great mentor to myself."

The Lahmian spoke in a well practiced manner and did give off a genuine 'feeling' of honesty. He shifted one leg over the other as he lazily looked out the window for a moment as if something passing by had caught his attention.

 

[Malochai]

With a dismissive gesture, Markus dismissed the apology, adding, with just a hint of condescension “It is no fault of your own. It is likely you just haven’t seen the results which a high standard of training to common men can accomplish; you will no doubt correct that as you grow older.”

The smile on Naren’s face, now a repetitive occurrence and entirely grating, making the baron want to strike him - indeed, his fist clenched and unclenched repeatedly as he tried to resist the urge. “Indeed, to the contrary, I find it of great importance to know who the sires of any ... Peers, in the aristocracy of the night are, for I may have had former dealings with them; if so, I can then attempt to measure the value of their Get. So, once more, I would request the name of your Lahmian sire,” he said levelly, before adding quietly, “Though, no doubt, she was a manipulative witch.”

Noting the, apparently, subconscious action of Naren’s fingers on the hilt of his sword, he tensed slightly, before silently assuring himself that he would be the victor of any confrontation - in the close confines of the carriage, the sword would count against it’s wielder. “On that matter, you may ask - but I won’t reply, freely. The von Carsteins strike a certain bone of ill-feeling with me, for reasons which shall remain mine own ...”

A second of quiet contemplation, and he came to a decision - “I would be willing to mentor your good self, but there would be several conditions, naturally ... And the breaking of any of these would render any loyalty I would owe you to that point forfeit, along with your undeath ...”

 

[The Raven Lord]

The Blood Dragon was shocked by what his friend had become. The once great Jason Nightwere was little more than a wandering, babbling idiot. But, for some reason, he had understood the summons, and had the mental capability to find his way to Drakenhof. Peter hoped that what ever glimmer of intelligence that remained was enough to cure Nightwere of his malaise.

"Yes, Jason," he said softly to the Lahmian, "That is Drakenhof. Hop on the back of Firehoof, and we can journey the rest of the way together."

Peter nodded to just behind him on the saddle, hoping Nightwere would understand.

 

[Disciple of Nagash]

Rowhaine smiled warmly at the arrival of the two vampires, thought he could see the looks of concern from the Ushabti. For so long had they heard horror stories of the fiends of the night, that they could not help but be tense in their presence. In most other circumstances their worries would be justified, most vampires were the dangerous creatures of the legend.

As Nehklior recoiled for a moment Rowhaine started forward before realising he was the cause. Not for the first time he wished he could moderate his power, however that was one thing that was out of his reach. Such were the gifts placed upon him, there was simply no way to negate the energy than emanated from him.

"It is pleasant to see you again Nehklior, thought please, we have known each other long enough for you to call me Rowhaine," he said, before turning to Kraskor, "and greetings to you as well. I trust your tutelage as fulfilling as you had hoped?"

Out of the corner of his eyes Rowhaine saw Nehklior's eyes flicker as he tried to look at something he should not be able to see. In truth he should not have been surprised, after all the Necrarch was immensely powerful in the realm of magic. Luckily there were none as potent as he, and as such no one else would be able to notice the hidden princess. It seemed as the vampire looked away he had not been able to fully pierce the illusion, however Rowhaine resolved to speak to Nehklior privately as soon as possible.

"May I also introduce my travelling companions. These fine body of men are the first Ushabti to venture forth from Nehekhara in many millennia. The bear the blessings of the gods, and as such function has my entourage and bodyguards." The Ushabti simply nodded at the introduction, neither being rude but also not eliciting any further discussion on the matter.

"This gentleman is Kenshiro. He comes to us on the recommendation of Sweeney Todd, I am sure you all remember him?" One of the Ushabti leaned over and murmured into Rowhaine's ear.

"It seems we are running behind schedule. Is there anything you wish to discuss beforehand, otherwise we must make haste to Drakenhof."

 

[Simon von Carstein]

The distant rumble of many horses in the distance caught the ears of the assembled vampires and Ushabti interupting any conversation.

As per their training the Ushabti immediately took up defensive positions as the first of the horsemen appeared on the road.

The group watched as perhaps two score mounted men halted several metres away from them. The horsemen wore Black and Red uniforms and helms in the shape of snarling wolves and were well armed with pistols and swords. It was obvious to all present that they were all mortal.

The leader of the company rode forward alone "I bring honoured greetings from the Lord Imperator to the Lord Rowhaine of Nehekhara." he said calmly.

 

[Mr Nightwere]

An almost childish smile crossed Jasons Face.
Taking peters hand he rolled into the saddle of Fire hoof and they began their ascent of the Great road leading to the towering Darkenhof.

As Jason looked about, he saw the mass of the Von Carstien army below, he castle some moving backwards and forward in the mud of the rain. while others stood still as the grave guarding the gates.
It was only after a time, when he noticed a fast shape somewhere below, moving along the tree line. Perhaps a bird or a visitor he did not know for sure how could he.

Along the way to the castle, Jason remained quiet and held fast to the flaming warhorse along their journey up. Soon he felt he would meet his 'Lesa' and Perhaps gather some understanding about what he was to do. Currently he wrestled with his mind and soon moments of clarity would shine through and he would possibly be able to speak and maybe be understood?

 

[Sweeney Todd]

"Greetings." Kenshiro said as he bowed slightly to the two newcomers, in the traditional Nipponese way of greeting amongst equals.

"You are Nekhlior and Kraskor, I assume? Sweeney Todd has told me about the Council of yore." What Kenshiro found curious was how a typical Blood Dragon and a Necrarch could bear to travel together for even a short distance without trying to kill each other. But he did not have any opportunity to enquire in that direction, for he was interrupted by the arrival of the escort dispatched by Simon von Carstein.

"Shall we?"

 

[Get of W'soran]

Nekhlior smiled feeling pleased at Rowhaine's welcome.

"This gentleman is Kenshiro. He comes to us on the recommendation of Sweeney Todd, I am sure you all remember him?" Rowhaine asked.

"Greetings." Kenshiro greeted with a bow before continuing ""You are Nekhlior and Kraskor, I assume? Sweeney Todd has told me about the Council of yore."

Nekhlior returned the formality with a stiff bow leaning heavily on his staff.

Before they could continue the von Carstein escort arrived. Nekhlior ignored the leader of the new arrivals, keeping his attention on the Nipponese vampire.

"I remember Mister Todd and yes I am Nekhlior and this is my apprentice Kraskor." he replied answering the unasked question why the two opposites would be travelling together.

"It is a pleasure to meet you Kenshiro." the Necrarch finished before turning and looking towards Rowhaine.

It was the Champion who had been addressed and so it was he who must respond.
"Should we go meet this 'Lord Imperator' Rowhaine?" Nekhlior asked, saying the title with soft amusement.

 

[Disciple of Nagash]

"Yes, I believe we we already late," Rowhaine agreed. Instinctively the Ushabti took their positions around the champion, ensuring they were placed to block any of the others present should they present a risk.

"However we are on foot, what of your steeds?"

 

[Narenzade]

"No, unfortunately, I don't train very often. So boring and droll... Highly unentertaining. Only battle is truly rewarding and honestly, I find it the best form of practice, but again... I generally find myself occupied with far more exciting activities than a high standard of training." Naren said blandly as he gazed out of the window for a moment. Naren rose a thoughtful digit to his chin as he seemed to contemplate.

He forced breath from his lungs in a heavy sigh, "Unfortunately, my Sire's name seems to slip my mind for reasons that shall remain my own.

Naren's lip began to quiver at the mention of the word 'mentor'. He did his best to keep his poise, but allowed a small chuckle to escape from his lips, "Hah, mentor? No, I have little desire to 'learn' about being undead... I think you have me confused with someone who quite frankly gives a damn about all of these politics and such. No, I do not desire a mentor, especially one whom I have just met and know little to nothing about."

 

[Malochai]

Naren’s response immediately set Markus on edge. ‘Of all the arrogant little ...’ he thought, before flexing his right hand aggressively.

“Then you’ll die the unending death of mortals of fools,” he snarled viciously. “I wouldn’t have lived my seven hundred years without training, and my men would die on a daily basis. Excitement means little when you’re but dust on the wind.”

With a growl, once more, at Naren’s reply, Markus couldn’t deny the vampire wasn’t as foolish as he looked; not entirely the fop, and overlooked his arrogance.

He stared at the response of his travelling ‘companion’s’ body language at the word ‘mentor’. He narrowed his eyes evilly, before kicking the door open with ease, denting the inner surface and throwing muddy sludge around. Within seconds he had exited the carriage, and his horse was brought to him. With ease of practice, he mounted, swinging his leg over Bane’s rump, and placed his hands inside the Claws; flexing them with a sigh of relief, the cool metal soothing his angered, fractious state of mind. Still seething, he rode up alongside the still-swinging door, and spoke:-

“You will regret not taking the opportunity to learn from one of your betters. The politics, as uninteresting to you as they may be, of our race may mean the difference between being given blood or shackled in silver and left to burn in the sun!”

He dismissed the petty move of raking the claws down the side of the carriage, although he was interested in seeing how much pressure he would have to apply to crumple the carriage, a reflection of vanity as it was. Shaking his head, he urged Bane to a gallop, quickly leaving the coach to be mired by the mud, revelling in the freedom. His escort quickly caught up and kept pace, and within minutes they were at the bottom of the final rise to Drakenhof Castle.

‘And into the lion’s den it is ...’ he thought to himself, the irony causing a smile to tug at his mouth. Slowing to a steady canter, they approached in a rigid formation of which any cavalryman would be proud, and passed through the wide gates of the enormous castle, which could have engulfed the large keep at Carrasville several times over, into the courtyard. In near perfect synchronicity, all twenty one members of the party dismounted, leaving the horses to be taken by servants who ran from shadows to stable them.

Bane, however, refused to be taken by any of the peasants, and only calmed slightly when two of the Under Guard approached, each taking ahold of the reins and following the serf pages to the stables. The others formed a block around Markus as he approached the large doors to what he assumed was the main hall, where the Council would meet. He solidly raised a fist, and thumped it against the door.

“My name is Shah, and I come for the Council.”

 

[Simon von Carstein]

There was silence for a moment and then Markus heard the massive bolts being drawn back. A moment later the heavy doors opened to reveal a cadaverous little man. "Good evening sir we have been expecting you." he said

 

[Lynks]

With his helmet still aimed upwards toward the sky, The Verdant Heart called out into the darkness,

“Little Vampire! You need not hide in shadows of your own design… from us you have nothing to fear. After all, it is not mankind that bites in the night.”

As he spoke the music had gone quiet and the others spoke in soft murmurs they looked furtively into the darkness of the forest that enveloped them. A former witch hunter slowly and instinctively reached for his weapons before the shining armoured figure signalled for him to stop.

The Verdant Heart spoke up again with a voice that sounded like the groaning of oak in a heavy storm “So long as you hold only peaceful intentions you are welcome to share song and to warm your chilled veins in front of our fire before the night escapes you even in the deepest depths of Sylvania the sun still rises.”

 

[Bounce]

Elanor remained quiet as the vampire lord approached with his retinue. When he abashed on the door though it opened to her surprise and they all found themselves looking at a small man..
"Of course you have been expecting us." Elanor replied rather irritated after the long journey and wait at the door.
"Now can we come in? It is almost dawn."
She said bristling with excitement and nerves at meeting all these other vampires. She could feel the power from them. Cold and dark. Even her skeletal escort seemed on edge.

 

[Malochai]

The clanging of the bolts of the door washed over Markus, and he watched impassively as, with a shuddering yawn, the cavernous doors swung open and inwards. The man who appeared, pale, thin and bony as he was, spoke, and before he could form a reply, a vampire, quiet to that point and dismissed as a servant to begin with, strode forward, rather brashly in Markus’ opinion. He hesitated, and nodded - she may have been part of the night’s aristocracy, but she was still young; that much was obvious.

“She is, of course, right,” he began imperiously. “We were invited, and thusly we should be expected.” Instead of awaiting the man’s response, he turned to this female vampire and bowed at the waist, lowering his head politely; blatantly showing disregard for the mortal ‘servant’ - ‘If this is the disregard they show their supposedly honoured guests, they shall receive no regard from me,’ he decided coldly.

“I apologise, My Lady. I must admit that I mistook you for one of the serving girls no doubt kept here. Although now, seeing you properly, you look much more comely than any of the Slyvanian females I have seen in my seven hundred years. I am Shah al-Hamid, the Lion of Araby,” Dexterously removing the Claw from his right hand, he took Elanor’s hand and pressed it softly against the mouth of his mask, grazing it gently across the cool metal. “At your service.”

 

[The Dread King]

As soon as Morturion saw just who opened the great doors of Drakenhof, he laughed out loud. "An imp to serve the Imperator! How fitting!" Gazing at the servant coldly, he said, "I trust the Imperator permits me to enter the castle. I have a letter here from Rowhaine, champion of the Gods of Nehekhara, summoning me to Drakenhof". Morturion considered waiting for young Alastor before entering, and decided to be patient. Waiting is how I will play my little game with these vampires, , he thought, I shall stand here a bit longer and wait a while for Kraskor's get . "Will you keep the door open a while longer?" he asked the servant, who was trying to talk to an angry masked vampire and a young Lahmian whilst responding to Morturion himself, a difficult task for a puny mortal. "My companion should join me shortly."