Apostles of Doom

“Well, in my life experience, I tried to get information out of various vampyrs and vampires and had very little luck. Therefore, I always figured that the next time I needed information from one, I should simply cure it; at which point all our normal methods of questioning will work just fine,” Hilda explained.

Rasmeth nodded in agreement. “It is very hard to tell if a vampire is telling a lie.”

Teragdor nodded. “No pulse, no blood pressure, bodies at only room temperature, so they don’t have much to measure.”

“I think it’s a package deal with corpses,” Stevos said, setting his drink down as they all chuckled.

“What about the dhampyr?” Rasmeth asked.

“I do not know. To be honest, I have not really dealt with them that much.” Hilda sighed, sitting down. “They are alive, just tainted with blood lust. Basically half-blood Unlife.”

“I really do not see how that’s possible, and I know something about being of mixed race,” Teragdor said.

“Mortal mother, vampire father impregnates her, but the father does not infect the mother and she is alive through the term,” Stevos said, stating the obvious.

“Yes, but how are vampires able to reproduce if they are dead? I would sort of think things wouldn’t work,” Teragdor said. “If you know what I mean?”

Hilda frowned. “At first I thought you meant his seed, which would be antimus based, I assume, but now that you mention it, they have no blood pressure, so how…?” Hilda shook her head in distaste at the line of thought. “I am sure one the academics in this place can tell you. I really do not want to talk about this at breakfast.” She stared down at her plate of hot sausages and bacon, then reached for a strip of bacon.

Citadel of Light, Dungeon: Early Third Period

Rede Yondin sat on the stone bench in his dark cell, somewhere in the deep bowels of the Citadel of Light. He put his head in his hands and tried to suppress his tears. He was frightened. Actually, he had been frightened for some time. The last ten months had been a living hell, but last night’s events and his current situation were truly dire.

His misery had started when his mother had gotten ill and died. At that point, he had been all on his own; there had been no one else. His half-brother had joined the local militia and been killed the year before; after that, he and his mother had lived a solitary life on a small farm deep in the woods.

They had not been able to live in town once Rede’s true nature had revealed itself around the age of twelve. He had always been a bit pale, but as his dhampyr features manifested, his skin had turned a very unhealthy-looking shade of grey. Like all dhampyrs, he had to ingest blood regularly or his skin would get quite nasty — itchy, dry and tight. On Nysegard, everyone knew what that meant. It was not easy to hide for long in a small walled village.

He, his brother and mother had purchased a small walled farm in the forest with most of the money Rede’s father had given her to raise him. They had a garden for their basic needs, along with a lot of chickens that Rede could feed safely on. Chicken blood wasn’t very nutritious or pleasant, but it kept him alive, if not particularly healthy.

His half-brother’s death had been the first blow, and then his mother’s the final blow. Things had started to spiral downhill at the point. It was difficult for a single person to manage all the tasks on the farm; particularly when the chickens were scared shitless of him. Literally shitless — ever since he had turned, when he came near the chickens they would try to run away while dropping a trail of dung behind them.

So the farm had been suffering from neglect, and Rede from hunger, and then four months ago the Unlife finally overwhelmed the nearby town. The small army that finally felled the town and its militia naturally encountered his farm. The scent of the chickens had drawn them.

The only benefit to his condition, at least as far as Rede was concerned, was that Unlife had no interest in him. The first group to locate his farm had been some ghouls, who had swarmed over his walls to eat his blood supply. He shuddered in remembrance of the disgusting slaughter. As the ghouls were feeding, a ghast had shown up and realized he was a dhampyr.

The ghast had been moderately interested in finding a dhampyr youth living alone on a farm near the village they had just overrun. He had taken Rede to his commander, a vampire. The vampire had asked who his sire was and Rede had told him.

Surprisingly, his father, whom Rede had never met, but whose name his mother had told him, was not only still alive, but actually quite high up in the Storm Lords’ service. Rede had ended up spending about a month as a “guest” of the local vampire commander while word got back to his father.