The Intervention

Pretenders

The city of Gresit was hardly ever a lovely tourist site. It was a backwater squalid town in Walachia, at an age where the definition of tourism did not even exist. Some would argue that its architecture was far more impressive than its status. Polished stone and brick houses were far more common than in other places of the country. Those that were of the same humble size and population, that is. The town also boasted a stone wall, which was also unheard of to many. Perhaps to that barrier the town owed its survival throughout the latest days. Certainly, most predators of the night possessed wings and beastly strength to smash the gates, but it bought the townsfolk some much needed time. There was some gothic influence that far East, as the spires of its catholic cathedral could be seen to anyone in a several mile radius, serving as a beacon to those lost in the surrounding forests.

A person who was visiting the town would first be greeted by a sorry, grim and macabre sight, for the moats and ditches were filled with corpses, and wooden pikes had an addition in the form of impaled heads. For mindless beasts, the creatures attacking the city had a twisted sense of humour and symbolism. Unsurprising, considering who was sending them after the people across the entire kingdom. The visitor would wrinkle the nose in disgust, and would once again be convinced that he had been correct to come there. Crossing the wooden bridge on his two feet, as he had never learned to properly ride a horse — not that there were many uneaten by beasts — the visitor once again examined the sorry condition the town was in. Many houses were broken into from above, as signalled by the collapsed roofs, many houses had been touched by all-consuming flames, damaged in a fire started for no certain reason. A torch fallen on a haystack, ignited oil from occasional lamps? Who knew and who actually cared. What mattered is the cause of all local misfortunes.

The visitor would have gone further, concealed by a well-woven cloak, if not for a sudden interruption. Not from the guards, who were noticeably absent, too busy tending to the wounds inflicted the night before. Rather, it was a bunch of little rascals that came up to him with little fear, as nowadays any human would appear less imposing. Not to mention that the newcomer himself did not appear menacing. Loudly begging for food or a coin, they remained unperturbed by the visitor's thoughtful silence. Eventually, a sigh escaped from under the hood, as he sat on his knee, lowering to the kids' eye level. He took off said hood, revealing the face of a young man around twenty, with messy raven hair and the eyes of the coldest shade of blue. With a kind smile he apologised for not having any food supplies on him, evidenced by a lack of any extra luggage, but he handed the band of children a coin of pure gold, enough to feed them all for quite some time. It didn't matter to them that the coin was Roman, and that the entire coin purse of the newcomer was a numismatist's dream.

Warning them to only show it to their parents, lest some less savoury people decided to harm the helpless kids for a single coin, the newcomer left the thankful children and pulled on the hood once more. Of course, he entertained no illusions. If the attacks continued, there wouldn't be anything they would even be able to buy on that money. The town was effectively besieged, and eventually the locals would have nothing to eat. The corpses of night creatures were a death sentence to the eater. They were an unholy mixture of ectoplasm, dark magics and rotting flesh. Each of these ingredients alone was enough to kill someone willing to try. Lightly shaking his head to push away those gnarly thoughts, the visitor made his way forward, unsure of what he should do himself.

After all, he came to that country, to that town without a strict plan of action, guided only by advice of his close associates and his own ideas. To be more precise, he in particular was coming at the problem from a different angle. His goal was very broad, for he came to defend the people from the initial onslaught of night creatures and confirm some things. And plucking the source of the problem — the vampire king himself — was a more distant goal. Coming and challenging him in the open would be dangerous, for the vampires were unburdened by traditions the guest was beholden to. There was nothing stopping most powerful vampires from coming together, other than their own petty rivalries. The visitor would know of such danger, for his predecessor met his first demise after facing a united front. And since the defeat would come from vampires, rather than his own kind, it mattered even more. Everyone advised him to exercise caution, and he had no reason to doubt their judgement.