A fell wind blew...
The majesty of Drakenhof, now open to the elements, was filled with even more unnatural energy. Tapestries blew, contorting already macabre countenances into disturbing new displays of rage and terror. Suits of armor rattled on their stands, and on the bones of the Wights. At attention, they noticed it but spoke not. Doors, unhinged or unlocked slammed as the almost tangible foulness flew down the halls, knocking over the occasional vase or setting portraits of long-dead monarchs on disquieting angles. Windows rattled in their frames, bones clattered as skeletons fumbled into one another, and clothing was blow backwards very dramatically. Confused by this new disturbance, Simon gazed into the sky...
A black coach, unlike any that he had ever seen, was descending upon the castle. Two fiery horses with great, pteropine wings shredded the air, spurned onwards by the foul gale. The carriage itself was a Gothic masterpiece, embellished stylishly with bats and other vampiric designs. It was larger than most, and more vicious by appearance, with scythed wheels and a shimmering aura of deep indigo. Where normally a Cairn Wraith would have spurned on the Nightmares, a unknown corporeal figure drove the Hellsteeds forth, filling them with unnatural vigor. Behind and around the vehicle swam several black-shrouded figures, insubstantial and of a terrifying aspect. The entirety of it inspired absolute terror in the living and awe in the dead.
As it approached, the figure driving it became clearer. They were clearly masculine, and dashing with eyes like lightning and fangs that gleamed in the moonlight. His build was difficult to determine, as he bore some kind of plated mail, made of what looked like bone. His mouth was set in a lop-sided grin, and as he came closer it became fairly obvious that he was slightly unhinged. His head was tilted slightly to one side, his eyes smouldered with madness and his posture hinted at insanity. However, he was of noble bearing and projected an aura of authority.
As Simon watched, the carriage descended. It skimmed over the roof of the castle, and smoothly approached the courtyard ground. The Helsteeds' hooves adjusted very smoothly from trampling only air to hitting sodden earth. It slowed as it approached the place where Simon stood, and the driver stood. The spectral figures stopped revolving as the coach approached the ground and now stood behind and beside the new vampire. They numbered seven, and the one that stood directly to the newcomer's left whispered into his ear. The vampire nodded, still grinning wolfishly, and the spectre stood back slightly.
The vampire appraised his surrounds. He had heard of the splendor of Castle Drakenhof, but here it was clearly in disrepair. The walls of the courtyard were rubble, and the mighty halls stood in ruins. The banquet tables were overturned, statues lay in pieces and the windows now caught the light only by the myriad edges of the shards. This did not perturb him however, as he had not come to admire the place. The man he had come for stood before him, identifiable by scent alone. The von Carstein blood flowed (or if not flowing at least existed) in his veins and the scent of pure authority lay thick upon the air. The stranger spoke, his accent rich and buoyant.
"Greetings, Master Simon von Carstein. I am Zaak the Uncanny, and find myself at your service." He bowed stiffly and comically low, and when he rose once more his grin was more pronounced than ever. Eyes skimming over his immediate vicinity once more, he commented, "It appears you're having some technical difficulties. Is this a bad time?" He smirked (which is quite difficult considering he was already grinning) and then proceeded to extend one hand towards a slightly larger pile of rubble. "Allow me to offer you my assistance."
As soon as the words were ushered from his mouth he snapped his head towards the pile and bent his fingers into a claw. The pile of stone picked itself up into the air, swimming around as though suspended in oil. Arranging themselves with a constant inch or so gap between any two edges, they stones hovered near where part of a wall should go. He clenched his fist, and they locked tightly in against one another. With a flourish of his hand, they flew across and slammed into place. A sizable piece of the wall was now repaired, and Zaak turned back to Simon. He panted ever so slightly from the effort, but grinned as usual. One of the wraiths extended a cloaked arm towards him, and he felt instantly revitalized.
He spoke. "I have come to pledge my allegiance to both you and your cause." He drew his sword from the sheath at his waist and held it in one hand. It was a bastard sword, and also made apparently of bone. Despite this, it looked extremely sharp, and any magically attuned individuals could feel the power radiating off it. He took the blade gingerly in his other hand, went down onto one knee and symbolically offered it to Simon. "I pledge my sword to you, and my magical skills." He looked up, and waited for a response.