Hunting Shadows

So it was, then. We were to hunt the Strigoi.

Such a task, at least according to what few records survive the world's willful forgetfulness of the Strigoi, has historically been quite the ordeal. As it would turn out, our excursion would be no different. Among our group was Sir Anya Reinhalt, Sir Miriam Hanlon, Sir Alexander Mason, and His Majesty's alchemist, Cyril Vemrae II. Of those, only I and mister Vemrae survived, myself unscathed but mister Vemrae forever changed.

The three knights accompanied us bearing not their standard maces, nor even the tower shields emblematic of their rank, but foreign lances which I had never seen, their blades swathed in flame. They acted as torchlight to guide us through the pitch sewers, but brought us little comfort--the Knights rarely deigned to adapt to their foe, and for them to have done so meant that we were surely in for trouble. Worse yet, they had draped their already heavy plate in thick cloaks... did they truly fear the teeth of these beasts so deeply?

Mister Vemrae and myself lingered at the back, content to let the more trained warriors take the lead. Not long after we entered the sewer, one scent began to crown from the manifold of sensory abuse the tunnels exposed us to: rot. A distinct, slippery, oily grey liquid coated much of the stone in long streaks, which smelled for all the world of decay of all varieties; somehow at once smelling of dust, rotting meat and mold.

Starpeak's vast web of sewage tunnels is truly a wonder of engineering--if only it were not so difficult to appreciate. We found ourselves wandering the tunnels for what felt like two hours aimlessly, often stumbling across signs of the Strigoi's presence but never encountering them. I was puzzled by this--all of our research implied that there must be a vast quantity of these horrors below, and yet they were nowhere to be seen.

Deeper and deeper still, we coursed through tight maintenance tunnels and along canals, until one of the knights suddenly called us to a halt. Sir Reinhalt, leading the group, lifted her hand sharply and everyone stopped. Just ahead was a door, leading out to a catwalk overlooking a vast tank where excess sewage was to be stored. She muttered that she'd heard something.

We all fell quiet, listening for anything beyond the roll of the putrid sewage. A chorus of overlapped, wet, raspy breathing, echoing off the stone of the cesspit ahead. Cautiously, Sir Reinhalt opened the door, passing through and... visibly jumped.

We peered in just behind her, at a sight that--in spite of the ephemerality of recollection surrounding them--I will never forget.

More than 30 feet below, far into the depths of the cistern, were the Strigoi. Their exact features elude my mind--sinewy, slick ashen bodies, a cruel and wretched caricature of the human form. The cesspit had been all but empty for some time, disused, and there in its depths, bathed in a foot of ancient waste, was a nightmarish clump of dozens of bodies. Motionless but for the gentle shift of their troubled breathing, entangled through each other in a haphazard pile. Outside of this nest, satellite clumps cling to the walls like spiders, somehow adhering despite appearing slippery with that indescribable rot.

I heard two of our regal Knights utter shaking prayers, backing out of the room quickly and shutting the door. It was clear that we had to put an end to this nightmare--these beasts had claimed scores of our people, and the knights certainly couldn't stand by and let them live a moment longer. Down a nearby ladder, we found a lower entrance to a second level catwalk over the cesspit, and paused to talk strategy.

"Vemrae--" began Reinhalt, "--You take point. Cast your spell and keep 'em back so we can do our work, and stay out of our way."

"Understood," said the alchemist, the two nodding at each other. With a nervous sigh, he drew a finger across the flat of his cane sword, wreathing it in radiance resembling that of the Architect itself, and burst into the cesspit. Immediately, the still bodies turned into a whirlwind; they moved so swiftly that we could scarcely see them, darting around at the edges of the light and hissing viciously, but clearly frightened by its cast. The sounds of their claws scrabbling against the stone and their high-pitched shrieks echoing in the pit was almost too much to bear!

The three knights charged in, swinging their burning polearms into the whirling shadows, streaks of ashen powder bursting into flame in the arc of their strikes, sending the creatures reeling and howling in fury! Cyril, renewed in confidence, marched forward with the knights, the glare of his blade pinning the beasts to the walls and attracting more from deeper into the pit, calling them into the fray and to their spectacular demise.

The might of Starpeak shone through those knights as their blades coursed through the dark, ripping it asunder piece by piece. Eventually, though, one of the horrors burst into the light! It exploded into flames as it charged down mister Vemrae and sunk its teeth deep into his throat, bringing the two to the ground. The knights and I felt a horrific sickness overcome us merely being nearby as it happened, causing them to make a clumsy retreat from the frontline struggling to even stand under the weight of their plate armor. Emboldened, the bloodsuckers darted into the light, crossing over twenty feet in under a second like arrows, eagerly sacrificing themselves to take the knights apart at the first sign of weakness. The knights fought valiantly against the tide, but smothered nevertheless under a burning mass of teeth and claws.

Mister Vemrae, who at first I assumed dead as I tried to retreat from the tank under the cover of his waning light, suddenly threw the beast off of him! His blade flared with renewed light, and he swung it hard into the crowd, shouting in delirious rage. The light became blinding and I was forced to scamper out of the room lest it burn me to death, the maddened alchemist scattering the remaining Strigoi as ash through scouring arcane brilliance.

He staggered out of the door moments later, armor heavily damaged and dripping with blood. He looked at me and... I felt a chill run up my spine. Something was wrong about his eyes. His gaze felt cold. He pulled the door shut behind him, quietly panting and staring through me. "Go. Let's go. We are done here. L-let us report to the King," he insisted, his voice wavering.

"Ah... yes, of course, sir," I said; mister Vemrae and I both clearly struggled to comprehend what had even happened. I guided him back out of the labyrinth of tunnels, the two of us wordless and vacant the whole time. We stumbled into the snowy night just outside the city, free to make our way back and painstakingly record the nightmare we'd endured for the interest of the royals. That you still read this document is a good sign that we have done well to remember the threat the Strigoi pose to us.

One thing still haunts me, though. That day, I witnessed mister Vemrae fight just as hard as the knights for Starpeak--he had surely shown valor in the face of an unfathomable enemy, and yet the royals dissected his new affliction as soon as he arrived. There was no reward for his service, only scrutiny and disgust over what he had become--in their name.

Still, it is best I do not burden this page with the lore of the Vampire too--to do so would only guarantee that it will not survive correction. I recommend monthly sweeps of the sewers, to ensure that no more of the agents of rot may blight our city again.

-- John Kerry Sr.
Written testimony under oath to His Majesty the King Gallaro Amarlan II, Bearer of the Crown of Starpeak