The Big Book of Screamsheets

A few months ago, my VTM group, having hit peak chaos that you can achieve in V5, transitioned over to Cyberpunk Red. I have to say, I’m thoroughly enjoying the system, though I was distressed at how quickly I ran through the pre-written one-shots (called Screamsheets in the CPR ecosystem). For those not in the know, a screamsheet is a one-page sheet that mimics a local newspaper, often with a supplementary adventure to go with it. They’re an awesome way to kick off a session by giving the players something to look over and research while you get the last of your GM bits and bobs in a row.

Around the time I ran out of screamsheets, I was reading The Big Book of Cyberpunk for inspiration, which is a collection of over a hundred cyberpunk short stories. I realized that quite a few of them would make decent adventures on their own if you ripped the protagonists out and plopped the crew in. Thus, a new project was born: The Big Book of Screamsheets!

(Note: I’m calling it the “Big Book of Screamsheets” as an homage to the inspiration, not as a promise to publish 100+ screamsheets.)

Each screamsheet is inspired by a story from The Big Book of Cyberpunk. Reading the story isn’t required for running the sheet, and ‘inspired’ may be doing some heavy lifting. Sometimes, I lift the whole plot. Sometimes, I just take an element that I found to be interesting and expand on it. Also, because the story’s title could be a spoiler, I only include it in the GM notes at the end.

A bit about my style

Because I know my players will grab onto any potential hook like a terrier with a stolen bone, I don’t tend to put red herrings in my games. My screamsheets reflect this, with each story leading to uncovering a part of the underlying plot. Even in games that start with the crew getting the hook directly, the stories will help them uncover clues as to what the heck is going on. Each story has their own set of skills that can be used for research, as well as what information certain DVs will get them.

I also tend to take an ‘all roads lead to Rome’ perspective when it comes to plot: There are many ways to get pulled in, but everything will lead to one final resolution. That said, there isn’t one given outcome assumed. While one group may negotiate with words, another might use guns, and that’s perfectly fine.

When it comes to combat, I give some guidance as to how many combatants, but nothing is set in stone. Crank up the heat as needed.

Finally, I have a section on ways the crew could get paid, though not how much. I leave that to the GM since they know how much they want their players to feast or starve.

The Screamsheets!

Enough chatter! Let’s get to the screamsheets!

Dhampir$: Lenore’s Shopping Spree (session five)

Author’s note: I’ve recently started a PF2 stream with a few friends on the Twitch channel Roll the Role. The premise: A crew of dhampirs with the same ‘sire’ have banded together to make coin, a name for themselves, and sort out their complicated past and future. This flashback takes place after session session 5.

[ < The Datoning ] [ Next > ]

Years before…

Absolom seemed to be the place to start. Where else to plan but in the city at the center of the world?

Anna dismissed her driver, sending her off with some coin and a glowing reference. The Kellid woman seemed relieved to go. Ever since taking the position, she’d had nightmares and had been growing ever weaker. Her once ruddy complexion had become sallow and pale. Obviously, traveling in this soft, hot land was taking its toll on her.

Obviously.

Anna set up in a small apartment her father had set up for ‘business.’ As the business was less than gentlemanly, it wasn’t a part of his holdings that the rest of the family knew about. She could remain there unperturbed… mostly.

Lucia kept to herself, mostly hovering in corners, watching Anna sort through papers. She sometimes offered a morose comment, but she was hardly one for conversation. Left to her own devices, Anna noticed that the spirit tended towards household tasks. She even took to braiding Anna’s hair, which was just as well: It wasn’t as if Anna could hire a proper staff.

Still, it was curious, and a clue. Had the spirit been a lady’s maid?

Whatever she had been, a conversationalist she was not. Anna was never overly social, but her time at The Acadamae had given her a taste for company. She found she regretted not doing more to bring back poor Everett, and missed the uneasy banter between herself and Maizon. She wondered if he had made his way to the Magaambya. Perhaps she could visit… but no, that would be too much of a distraction. Besides that, she had read up on the arcane college’s moral bent. She doubted her research would be welcome there.

She sighed. It was a pointless train of thought, at any rate. While she hadn’t been explicit, Maizon was no fool. He realized what she was, and had left as soon as humanly possible. Anyone who realized would quit her company out of ignorant fear and, she had to admit, valid concerns.

She ran her tongue over her sharp cuspid, and an idea came to her. Mortals would flee, but if they were like her…

Her father said little about her condition, save that it was an unfortunate side-effect of his attempt to break the family’s curse. He would obliquely mention a visitor, some sort of expert, in unguarded moments, but if she pressed, he would change the subject. She moved to a trunk that she had yet to unpack and opened it. She hadn’t packed much when she left, but she did take what couldn’t be replaced: The LeClerche registry and journals.

It was the custom amongst the noble class to keep track of who visited the estate, when, and for how long. After all, one never knew when a biographer might see fit to immortalize you, and you would want to prove that you had hosted illustrious individuals. More practically, it allowed the house staff to prepare for a returning guest.

Anna flipped through the leather bound journal, scanning until she got to her birth. No, she knew all these names… family, clergy, healers. Back further, then. Few visitors during her mother’s confinement. A dinner party with cousins. A visit from some of father’s business associates. And then…

She found it. Her blood turned to ice.

Julian. A viscount, with a family name she can barely make out. He stayed for a month, so obviously a traveler from far. That month? Nine months before her birth.

She did some quick mental math. A human pregnancy is 40 weeks, but two of those weeks don’t count. Her mother may have already been with child when he arrived… or Anna may have arrived early.

She stared at the name. She had her father’s journals, but she’d never seen mention of a Viscount, nor a Julian. She’d read over the events of her birth more times than she could count on the way to Absolom, and outside of family and healers, there were no visitors. Her father had always been a voracious journaler, never leaving out a detail of leading his household. Would he have been able to resist recording such an auspicious visit?

Of course not. Not unless he wanted to hide something…

She found herself looking around the sitting room. The accommodations were lush in a way her home never was: Deep, soft fabrics, overstuffed divans, candleholders placed just so in order to give guests a lovely glow to their skin, suggestive paintings of fruit and scantily clad nymphs. A love nest for a man who, at home, was formal to a fault and never drank more than one glass of wine in an evening.

If he had kept a secret apartment, then why not a secret journal…?

She was on her feet in a second, tearing apart the desk. Lucia rose from her morose reverie. [Mistress? What do you seek?]

“A journal. One my father kept.” The spirit looked at the trunk Anna had brought with her. “No, not any of those. One that’s here. It might be hidden, or it might be out…”

It took an hour. The bookshelves were emptied, the desks and curios gutted, the walls tapped upon. Anna finally found it: A slim green volume, just like the others, with only one difference: The pages were gilded silver rather than gold. A subtle difference, but one that would stand out to one in the know. She opened it, and her father’s words stared back at her.

Met with the most unusual gentleman at Mistress Honeysuckle’s salon. A Viscount… My favorite practitioner had taken ill, so I spent the evening talking with him instead. I find myself envious of how well-traveled he is. I can barely extract myself from my responsibilities long enough to look after our interests here once a month.

She looked at the date. A year before her mother would have fallen pregnant with her. She scanned forward. It seemed that every time her father made his way to Absolom, he made certain to find time to spend with the mysterious Viscount. ‘Smitten’ was the only word she could use to describe his entries.

Nine months after their first meeting: He asked if the rumors of the LeClerche curse were true, and I confess, I was too drunk to be a convincing liar. A fortunate folly, though, for it seems he has some ideas on how to break it… He spoke of previous ‘experiments’, but I was too much in my spirits to retain details. Not that it matters. Vincent is terribly clever, and I confess, my training was scant at best.

She stared at the words for a long time. Experiment.

And she wasn’t the only one.

And her father… not a bad man. Never a bad man. But obviously pulled too easily into someone’s confidence. She suspected his favorite ‘practitioner’ falling ill was no accident. Anna never knew her mother, but by all accounts, she was a lovely and mild woman… And even if she were a shrew, she was Anna’s shrew.

Carefully, she paged back to their first meeting and started making notes. Where had the Viscount been. How long had he stayed. What names he dropped. It wasn’t much information, but it was enough, for she knew two things: She wasn’t alone, and this man had likely killed her mother and preyed upon her father’s hope. He promised a cure and left behind a monster. Well, so be it. A plan was forming her head:

She was going to find the others.

They were going to find the Viscount.

And then, they would get their revenge.

Together.

Dhampir$: The Datoning

[ < Study Hall ] [ Lenore’s Shopping Spree > ]

After wishing her siblings good night, Anna returned to her room with no intention of sleeping. Instead, she opened her notebook and started to write. A journey to another world, filled with dangers but few explanations. Perhaps it was the fey? But it seemed almost too orderly for the wild folk. And the gifts they had found were of the Material world. A magical tattoo. A feast for the undead. Instructions on creating a revenant. Deadly weapons…

Almost as if someone wants them tested and armed.

She found herself flipping through journals, looking for signs of a benefactor. Enemies they had, but friends…

She stops on a page towards the front of one book. It contains one thing: A list, carefully copied from a previous journal, which itself had been copied from an even older journal. It contained only four items. She’d long ago lost track of how often she’d rewritten it, but even so, not a single item had been ticked off…

✱✱✱

She didn’t go home.

She did send word back, once she found an inn, that they were to close up the wings and admit no guests. She gave leave to the family’s butler to pull from a special fund of reserves to keep the estate standing, but otherwise, the manor would be kept silent and still, like a tomb.

She also sent the driver back, hiring a new one. After all, the man had family he wouldn’t want to leave for weeks on end. Also, he was older. She wanted someone hale, who could endure longer roads and harder climes, and… well. Just in case.

Food didn’t really satisfy Anna. Not completely.

So a Kellid, far from home, was hired. A woman, to keep tongues from wagging, but still able to move her luggage around with one arm and crack the skull of anyone who might give them trouble. She also didn’t ask questions, as long as the coin kept coming. In fact, she didn’t seem perturbed that Anna’s only instruction had been to vaguely wave east when asked where they were to go. “Give a shout when you want to stop.”

Anna stared out at the road from within her carriage. She didn’t have a plan. A plan, though, was useless if you didn’t know your goal… or what threatened you. And it was clear that the vultures were coming. Her cousin had been warned off easily enough, but could she keep everyone at bay? Her particular line of the family was small (just her, in fact), but several generations back, it branched out and spread through Golarion. Word would spread about a part of the estate being up for grabs, and it wouldn’t take long for a cousin with more guile and desperation to come calling.

She took out a journal and began to make a list of things that could secure the LeClerche estate in her name without question:

A marriage of good standing
A writ from the Emperor of Taldor
A legitimate birth

She stared at that last one, then scratched a deep line through it. That could take centuries. Betting on that sort of luck was for fools and halflings.

The shadows stirred across from her, and her fingers tightened on her pen, leaving her white knuckled. She forced her face into a placid mask and looked up. “Ah, good. I was hoping we might talk.”

She had been hoping for nothing of the sort. The spirit dredged up uncomfortable emotions in her. It had saved her, twice, possibly thrice. It had answered her call.

It killed her father.

The spirit’s form was of a woman, of an age that was neither young nor old. Her eyes were void-filled pits of shadow, and her skin so pale it was practically see through. Her clothes, dark, were tattered beyond recognition. Her hands were unnaturally bony and long, with ragged nails. The aura around the creature screamed malevolence, both pinning Anna to the spot and daring her to flee.

Anna, however, was a monster as well. She didn’t scare easily.

“Thank you,” she said, “For playing along back at the house. Cousin Preston would have been an enormous headache.”

The void studied her.

“And, of course, your help with the solicitor.” She’d already forgotten his name, again. It wasn’t important. He’d drawn a weapon on Anna, after all. He’d lost the right to a name. “And his body.”

The face floating across from her remained impassive. Time to press.

“Was that the first time you helped me?”

She braced herself, ready for her fears to be confirmed. The spirit spoke, its voice caught somewhere between a hiss and a gurgle. [Of course, mistress. We have helped before. The servant.]

Anna blinked. “Servant?”

[You were small. So small. Your mother, she had just passed. The woman, the servant, she was a lady-in-waiting, and followed the Lady of Graves. She said you were wrong. That you should be made right.]

Anna thought back. A story, told in whispers in the back hallways, caught only in bits and pieces, came to her. Yes, something had happened to her mother’s maid… “What did you do?”

[She went to fetch water. Deep wells hold many secrets.]

“Ah. Well. Thank you, for that. Good help and all that.” She barely noticed the words tumbling out of her. Her father had always called her a ‘creative’ child, when she talked about seeing things in the shadows. All this time, she had a guardian angel…

The spirit had not stopped talking. [–wanted to take you, kidnap you, ransom you. A fire took him. The parson who carried Daemon’s Touch meant no harm, but could not be allowed upstairs. His heart gave out in the parlor. A grey hound who took offense to you–]

A rather enthusiastic guardian angel. Anna held up a finger, and the spirit stopped. She had to ask.

“And my father?”

The spirit was silent for a heartbeat. [He did not mean you harm.]

“So, you didn’t kill him?”

Another silence that stretched. [Mistress, he was marked. I did not like it, but he bore the mark.]

The death was fresh in Anna’s heart. Her father was only a few weeks gone. With her research, she knew exactly what state his body would be in by this time. The worms crawl in, the worms crawl out… Technically larvae, but that doesn’t scan as well. She blinked back tears that she could not let herself cry here.

“What mark, praytell?”

[The one that draws me. The one they bear when the time has come.]

“And me. I suppose I’ll bear the mark?”

The spirit cocked its head to the side, dark caverns regarding her curiously. [Mistress, only the living can bear the mark.]

Interesting. “Did my mother bear it?”

[She might have, in time. But another took her away. Something rotten in her veins sapped her strength. I would have regretted that one, as well. Most, I have regretted.]

Something rotten in her veins. Anna ran a tongue over her cuspids, too sharp for comfort. They drove her, sometimes, to do things she didn’t wish to do. And a mark that appears… that sounded rather like something with some logic behind it, rather than mere bad luck. And this poor creature had been bound to it for who knew how long.

Rather than hate it, he felt a growing kinship with this wisp of a soul.

“Do you have a name, spirit?” It shook its head no. “Well, that won’t do. You’ll need one for the task ahead.” She added an item to the list: Revenge.

“We shall call you Lucia. Our enemies will need something to use in their laments.”

Dhampir$: Study Hall (session three)

[ < Save the Princess ] [ The Datoning > ]

Anna’s head swam as she looked over the collected notes from La Bibliotecha de los Meurtos. She’d long known the library existed, of course, but she’d never realized what a treasure had been at hand. She’d sent off her request to gain access on a whim, and had only been interested in a ritual she’d heard rumors of…

She settled into her desk, even though she should have been seeking her bed instead. “I wonder if I could petition for full access. They seem to like deals? Perhaps if I had an interesting enough project…”

ɖơɛʂ ɱıʂɬཞɛʂʂ ῳıʂɧ ɬơ ცɛ ą Ɩıცཞąཞıąŋ?

She could feel her spirit floating behind her, bringing a damp chill to the air. It bothered Anna, once, but now, she only reaches for a shawl and pulls it around her.

“Mistress is much too busy to take up a profession. I’d prefer something looser, like a fellowship.” She frowns, flipping between a selection of papers: The journal written concerning Lenore’s mother and her journeys. Notes on dragons, especially white. The timeline of where her father had been over the years. Raveners. She tried to tease apart what was coincidence and what was connected.

A fellowship of adventurers, one who would bear a dhampir some years later. Of them, one ended up as a lich, one was reincarnated to be an undead bookshelf, one showed a fascination with death.

A white dragon was hounding them, hoping to use them to bring forth a ravener.

Their father spent much time in the north, in the cold, where two of their group hailed from, and where white dragons roam.

Death and snow and second chances. A motif that played on her mind like a concerto that grew ever stronger.

Anna sits back and rubs her temples. Once she had been given a choice. She might have had a comfortable life amid learning and books and research. But she took another path, started by the breaking neck of her family’s solicitor.

✱✱✱

Once the maid was calmed, the butler and the gardener were tasked with getting him down, then with fetching the dead man’s cohorts. It didn’t take them long to materialize on her doorstep, aided by a mage for hire. Anna put on a show that was made of grief and sympathy. How terrible this business was.

Of course, Anna agreed to cover up the unfortunate incident.

Of course, she would swear up and down it was an accident with a horse.

Of course, she wouldn’t dream of sharing that letter.

Suicide, in a client’s house. How dreadful. Had they known, they never would have sent him to help her family in their time of mourning.

Anna waited for them to bring up the papers encouraging her to give up the title, but it never came, confirming a suspicion she’d had since leaving the solicitor strung up in his bedroom. He’d worded things very specifically, as his kind were wont to do. Her father would have wished the family name to continue. Her parents would have liked the estate in more fecund hands. She couldn’t speak for her mother, but she could never imagine that her father would ever have ousted her from her home and made her a commoner.

The solicitor had been acting on his own. Well, not completely on his own, of course. He needed motivation. That motivation, she suspected, was from a certain distant cousin of hers who had more children than estates to hand out–

“What are your plans, now, milady?” The senior solicitor, an older half-elf woman, looked at her with sympathy that was almost sincere.

Anna pulled herself out of her reverie. She managed a thin, sad smile. “I was thinking of visiting some family.” The other woman smiled, and patted Anna’s hand.

“That would be good for your spirit.”

The air around Anna grew cold, but she managed to keep the smile where it was, unshaking. “That was just what I was thinking.”

Several days later, she found herself at the Howes estate. Unannounced, of course, but that had been her intention. She wanted her cousin caught off-guard. Besides, they were family, were they not? Etiquette dictated that they were closely enough related so that surprise visits were still acceptable.

He must have seen her approach, so by the time she was at the grand entrance, the whole clan had gathered to greet her. A host of what children he had left at home (five, by her count, including the youngest, who would have usurped her lands), his overly-fertile wife, and him… Preston Howe the Third. It was a temperate day, and yet the sweat clung to his brow. Anna alighted from her carriage and made a show of smoothing her mourning garbs.

It was the wife who broke rank first. Her smile was more practiced, but she came from Galt, one of the few noble families to escape the bloody revolution. She was good at wearing a mask. “Anna!” She swept Anna into an embrace and kissed each cheek. “Oh my dear, you poor thing. We were going to come by, but Edouin wasn’t feeling well.”

Anna accepted the embrace stiffly before she was ushered inside. The children, ranging in age from marriageable to still having milk teeth, kept their distance. Preston echoed his wife’s sentiments, but he lacked the social graces to give them heart. He was anxious. Good.

Of course she understood why they didn’t come to pay their respects.

Of course she would stay for dinner.

Of course she wouldn’t brave the road again tonight.

Of course, she would welcome a chance to visit. They were family.

Dinner was dimly lit, and Anna spent much of it trying to ignore the flicker of shadows in her peripheral vision. Even though the night was warm, the air grew cold, leading the children to finish their dinner quickly so they could retire to the sitting room, where a fire had been stoked.

Preston, finally, said something that wasn’t an echo of his wife’s platitudes. He cleared his throat. “Did your father’s solicitor talk to you?”

Anna looked up from her final course, barely touched. Food never sat well with her. She cocked her head to the side. “Oh… you haven’t heard, have you? It’s so sad.” She took up her wine and took a sip. “You’re family, so I suppose you should know the truth. His people will say it was an accident, but the truth is, he hung himself.” Her tone was neutral. “In the guest bedroom. A broken heart, it would seem.”

Preston turned several interesting shades of gray. His wife covered her reaction with her napkin, but didn’t manage to hide sideways glances at her husband.

“How dreadful,” Preston said, once he’d gathered his voice. “I never knew he was such a sensitive soul. Did he–” The man fiddled with his wine glass. “Were you able to talk business before he… passed?”

“He did mention something of import, but I’d only just gotten back. I suppose he put it off. Something about the title?”

She was giving her cousin a chance. Greed can do strange things to a person, but so can direct confrontation. Perhaps he would take the bait and allow this all to die gracefully. But of course he didn’t. Greed would always win. With halting words and darting eyes, he laid out his plan to Anna, pleading his case. He knew of her condition, so could she even pass the family title on? And she was an academic. Wouldn’t she be happier, getting a position at one of the many centers of learning in Golarion? Surely, she wouldn’t be content, throwing balls and hosting dinners and dealing with minor politics. And the money, why, he could offer more. And even a tithe for a certain amount of time. And the boy was so bright and…

“And technically, not a blood relative,” offered the wife. “The curse wouldn’t touch him.”

And there it was. Anna smiled coldly.

“So you subscribe to that theory. Interesting.”

A pair of frowns. Hope had been building while they spoke, since Anna didn’t appear to be arguing with them. These fools actually thought they had been making good points. Anna refilled her glass, the servants having taken the hint to vacate some time ago.

“The unpleasantness doesn’t just travel through the bloodline. Great Aunt Martina married in, and she was the one who fell to house drakes, of all things. Cousin Albert was technically adopted, but ended up beheaded in Galt when they mistook him for someone else. Also, of Mother and Father, only one was of the line, and, well…” She touched her dark clothing. “Both are gone well before their time.”

She leveled a look at Preston as she sipped her wine. “I’ve done my research. What did you think I was doing at the Academae? Reading poetry?” She set down her glass. “I was researching the curse. And do you know, I do think I learned a few things.”

Here was the gamble. She prayed to her mad god that he might show her mercy as the lie she’d prepared came smoothly from her lips.

“For example, that it might be controlled. That it might be wielded. That denying it only makes it strike out, but if one learns to live with it, why… it becomes a most effective tool.” She leaned forward. “You and yours can barely talk about it. I know you don’t have the will to bend it.”

The room was still. The others barely drew breath. Preston had his hand around a dinner knife, his knuckles white as he gripped it. A shadow behind him darkened, and the air grew cool.

“What did you do to Javert?”

“Who?”

The grip tightened. “The solicitor.“

“Oh. Was that his name?” She leaned in. “A better question: What do you think I’ll do to you and your brood if you cross me again?”

Her cousin almost struck out at her, but something stayed his hand. Perhaps he felt the presence at his back, not yet fully manifested. Perhaps he saw the tiny shake of his wife’s head, begging him to rethink his actions. It was more likely, however, that it was only cowardice. He let go of the knife and sat back, defeated. Anna dabbed at her lips.

“Thank you for the lovely dinner,” he said, her best manners back on display. “I do think I’ll head out, though. The night has never bothered me, after all, and I’ve so much to put in order.” And she excused herself and made her way to the carriage, which her driver had never unpacked.

Dhampir$: Save the Princess (session two)

[ < Family Reunion ] [ Study Hall > ]

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-YsER2EuONQ

Anna settled into her room at the Barrel & Bullet saloon. She’d learned to travel light over the years, much to her displeasure. When she was young, and still known as a woman of station, even a visit to nearby notables would require several trunks, stuffed to the gills with gowns for every conceivable event: feather-light dresses for brunch, simple yet colorful gowns for afternoon tea, dark, figure-hugging silks for formal dinners, lacy constructions for balls. Father would often secure a second carriage to ensure they could travel in comfort, without hat boxes at their feet and chests rattling above them.

Now, somehow, she managed to fit most of her worldly goods into one extremely well-worn case. She sighed and motioned for where Lucia should settle it. The spirit did so, then settled in a dark shadow to watch over her mistress. Anna opened the case and pulled out what she needed: Her writing kit and her dressing gown.

Downstairs, someone playing the part of a bard led a boisterous song in the round, encouraging patrons to join in, creating a hellish cacophony. It was a mélange of puns and overwrought metaphors, mostly about body parts and what one might do with them behind the cow shed. Anna sighed. “I really should teach you to sing, Lucia…”

The spirit’s voice rasped from the darkness. (In a creepy font) Shall I silence them another way, Mistress?

“No, no.” And Anna took out her journal. “After all, we might be forced to come this way again…” And she started to write.

✱✱✱

15 Gozran 4720 ~ Bullet and Barrel Saloon ~ North of Alkenstar

The visions did not lead us astray. We found our… brother? I’m still not certain what to call Lobo, but brother seems fairest. And, as the visions implied, we found Lenore as well, in good spirits as always, despite her predicament.

Where to begin…

I suppose, chronologically, Lobo makes the most sense. The poor thing… An orc, but unlike the rest of us, he wasn’t born with fangs. I’ll need to get the rest of his story out of him later, but from what I can gather, Lobo’s tribe attacked one of father’s estates as a youngling. Lobo ‘survived’, though some might debate that. Things became rather fuzzy in his retelling after that. He’s a man of spare words, which I suppose isn’t surprising, given that the rest of his rearing was left to literal wolves.

He came upon us. He’d been tracking us, which was convenient, though he did try to attack poor Chadwick. Fortunately, we discouraged him, though he was obviously distressed by us. In spite of this, we forged an alliance. The same dragon that took Lenore also killed his pack–

Oh. Drat. I just realized. He was speaking of wolves, wasn’t he? I had assumed he meant his Orc brethren… Ah, well, I’ll clear that up in the morning.

At any rate, we found Lenore on the top of a mountain, with dragons performing a ritual of some kind. Why the mountain was necessary, I’ll never know, but I need to shop for something that allows me to fly for more than ten minutes. Or at least teleport. My shoes are ruined.

We freed Lenore (of course), and discerned the ritual. It was for making a ravener… Fascinating. Terrifying, but more importantly… interesting.

✱✱✱

Years before…

Anna opened her eyes. She was on the floor, staring up at the ornate tin plate ceiling of her bedroom. Her head ached, as if she had been drinking. There had been something, something terrible—

She turned her head, and found her gaze locked with the dead solicitors. She pushed herself up into a sitting position, swallowing a scream. She looked around the room, well-lit in the midday sun. Besides the two of them, it was empty.

The wraith.

She forced herself to her feet. Her heart, normally sluggish, hammered in her chest. She stared hard at every shadow of the room, waiting for a dark form to step out of it. There were stories about a dark figure, a portent of death for their line. A woman, shrouded in night. She had always thought it an allegory, or some flight of fancy inserted later by those who survived the dead. It was a person they could blame for their extraordinarily bad luck when it came to clinging to life.

But she had seen it. And it had… it had left her alive.

Her eyes fell to the dead solicitor. He had been about to attack her. At his side was a pistol. She bent to retrieve it. Her father had taught her a few things about firearms, having been robbed of a son he might share with, so she knew how to check it. It was, indeed, loaded. He’d fully intended to kill her. And yet…

She shook her head. She didn’t have the time to think over the implications. Anna had a much more pressing issue at hand. Someone was trying to take her birthright… and she had a dead lawyer in her bedroom.

Drat. She really could have used Maizon for this.

She tapped her foot as a plan formed in her head. Normally, the bodies she dealt with were already dead, and their families were well aware of this fact. All they had to do was return the body to the grave in a timely manner. This one required a story, something that would give her plausible deniability. Even if it wasn’t her who broke his neck, she knew it wouldn’t take long for an investigation to turn up certain unfortunate truths that made her the most likely culprit.

She knelt, examining him. His neck… Perhaps a fall down some stairs? But then she might be accused of pushing him. No, she needed the blame fully off of her. She traced the bruising where the creature had grabbed him. Very much like an injury she’d seen a few times at the Acadamae…

She would have to work quickly. No one had come when she screamed, so the servants were occupied (she had her guesses). That wouldn’t last long, however. Eventually, the chambermaid would come asking about tea, or the butler would announce dinner. For a staff that was supposed to be invisible, they had a terrible habit of appearing at the worst possible moment.

She rifled through her bag and found a mossy green bottle. It held only a gulp of liquid, but that was all she needed. She uncapped it and drank the foul liquid in one gulp. She gasped, then swayed on her feet as she felt something inside her change. Though she couldn’t see the change, she could feel her muscles burn and harden as a newfound strength coursed through her body. She always kept one on hand, but it had been Maizon or Jace who had taken it when they needed heavy lifting done.

Anna forced herself to move. How long did the potion last? A few minutes, at best. Sometimes less. She grabbed the solicitor’s rapidly cooling body around his chest and lifted. The bulk was awkward, but his weight felt like little more than an overburdened backpack. She started to drag him…

In his room, she found a curtain tie that would do the job. Up through the rabbit hole, round the big tree; down through the rabbit hole and off goes he… She secured the rope around the man’s broken neck, threw the other end over one of the sturdier ceiling fixtures, and pulled…

He was only halfway up when she felt the potion start to fade. She gripped tighter, but the rope started to slip through her fingers, burning her skin. Distantly, she heard the sounds of someone moving below. If his body fell, it would be heard, and they would come, and they would find her in the middle of a cover-up, which was even worse, and–

A dark shadow reached from behind her and grabbed the rope. The air in the room grew cold, and it felt as if a window behind her had been opened during a blizzard. She knew the day was warm, though. She knew what was behind her. But she also knew what was at risk. Anna forced herself to speak, keeping her voice level.

“A bit higher, please.”

The hand yanked down, hard, undeath giving it a frightful amount of strength. Anna bent to secure the other end of the rope to the leg of a bureau, not wanting to waste the momentary truce. When she looked up again, she was alone once more, save for the body swinging from side to side above her.

Fascinating. Terrifying, but more importantly… interesting.

The rest of the ruse was easy to set up. She gently laid down a chair, then found some stationary from a set long-forgotten. She’d learned to do a half-decent forgery while at school (money only went so far, sometimes), so crafting a letter from a lover breaking it off only took a few minutes. She left it out, then returned to her room. The stage was set.

Time passed. The chambermaid finally materialized and asked Anna where she would prefer to take her tea. Anna didn’t even look up from her book. “In the blue room. And do ask our guest if he would join me. I have some questions about the estate.”

The young woman dipped into a passable curtsy, then padded off down the hall. A moment later, a blood curdling scream broke the crypt-like silence of the LeClerche estate.

✱✱✱

Anna startled as an icy hand landed on her shoulder. Her mind had drifted… Perhaps she had been asleep? Her pen had dropped from her hand, leaving an inky blot on the desk. It wasn’t the worst stain the table had suffered.

She felt Lucia’s presence behind her as it leaned in and spoke. (In a creepy font) Brother Cyt is done in the bath, mistress. Anna looked down at her journal. Not complete, but close enough. She set it aside to fully dry. A bath was just what she needed.

Dhampir$: Family Reunion (session one)

[ < A Prologue ] [ Dhampir$: Save the Princess (session two) > ]

Leaving Alkenstar before dawn, Anna had hoped to be enjoying the clean air of the countryside by evening. Instead, she found herself anointing her room with scented oils to keep the acrid smoke of the city at bay. They’d made good progress, but the smokestacks were hard to outpace.

She sat at the tiny writing desk and took out her journal. It was a habit from childhood, drilled into her by an endless stream of nannies, who saw it as a calm and harmless pastime for a girl who was too curious by half. Perhaps if she had been interested in the arts or other mundane affairs, they would have been more comfortable with her explorations, but after the frog incident…

Well, they preferred a medium that was more easily put out of mind.

Anna dipped her pen and began to write…

✱✱✱

12 Gozran 4720 ~ Rusty Bedfellow Inn ~ North of Alkenstar

Lenore has been taken. I expected one of us would one day be carried away, but I thought it would be a crowd with torches and pitchforks, or perhaps a duke in desperate need of a scapegoat. I didn’t expect a dragon. And a dragon with portal magic.

Even stranger, her abduction came with a vision.

I do suppose I’m getting ahead of myself. We had been asked to take care of a small matter of a cult in the outskirts of Alkenstar. A rather dull matter, but cults have a nasty habit of creating larger issues for us down the line (either adoration, admonition, or in the worst cases, both), so better to be nipped in the bud. Even better if we’ll be paid for it.

It was just as we were putting ourselves to rights that the portal opened, and poor Lenore was snatched away. We had no time to react, though I’ve spent more time than I like second guessing our actions. Perhaps if we had a counterspell ready, or one of us had moved faster…

Ah, well. I’m sure Lenore is fine. She’s unparalleled as a warrior, and resourceful as well. She wouldn’t have made it this far if she weren’t able to take care of herself. If anything, we siblings persevere…

But speaking of siblings…

I’ve never been one who’s prone to visions. Poor aunt Martina was plagued by them, and I heard my mother would have episodes, but they never struck me. I had assumed that they skipped over me… until now. I would have been ready to disregard it as an overtired mind, but Cyt and Samael experienced them as well. A cold plain, a love for one’s kin, a thirst for blood, a need for revenge…

I do believe we have family in the North, which is where we believe Lenore was taken. It can’t be a coincidence. I don’t believe in coincidences.

I should write of the unfortunate events of the bar, but I find myself growing tired, and I’m certain we’ll rise early. Suffice it to say, it is likely a good thing that we chose to leave Alkenstar for a time.

✱✱✱

Anna sat back from the journal, yawning. From the darkness came a tutting. ภ๏Շ שєгץ ɭค๔ץɭเкє(in a creepy font) Not very ladylike

One of the shadows in the corner of the room had solidified. Anna hadn’t called her eidolon forth, but that rarely stopped her companion from showing up. Anna gave her a rueful look. “My accommodations are rubbing off on me. ‘Rusty Bedfellow,’ indeed. I’m shocked they didn’t rent by the hour. You’ll keep watch, my pet?”

Silence was the only response, but that was better than the usual morose retort. Before long, Anna was tucked into a bed that would be better used as kindling under whoever managed the cleaning staff, and was asleep.

✱✱✱

It was not a peaceful sleep.

She was back in her room, in the sickly light of the LeClerche manor. She stood at her window, watching as Maizon made his way to the main road, and hopefully to a caravan that would take him to the Mwangi Expanse. Jace was gone. Her father was gone. Most of the staff had left, save for their aging butler and a plain-faced chambermaid who she suspected he was tupping. Even them, they were planning on moving on as soon as Anna signed the papers…

She looked down at them. Their solicitor had drawn them up, likely while her father’s body was still warm. He’d laid out the particulars for her: She wasn’t quite alive, and her kind wasn’t known for being fecund. Therefore, wasn’t it in the best interests that she quit her claim on the LeClerche estate? She would be given a settlement, and a distant cousin (from a branch untouched by tragedy) would absorb their titles and estates. The name would be given to one of his mewling brats, and really, isn’t that what her mother and father would have wanted? To have the name continue?

She looked up. The fog had swallowed Maizon. The house was silent. She had never felt so alone, and the dread of it threatened to swallow her whole. Her kind could live as long as elves, and just two decades in, Anna had lost everyone—

A knock sounded. “Miss?”

The solicitor. Anna swallowed her growing despair and turned. “Enter.”

The door opened. The man her father had retained was in his middling years, youth being eaten away by fine lines and touches of gray. He wore a vest that Anna was certain he thought was the height of fashion, but that Absolom had given up on three seasons ago. He gave her a sad-eyed smile, acting out the part of the sympathetic compatriot.

“How are you doing today, Miss Anna?”

“As well as can be expected.” She realized her eyes were too dry, but it couldn’t be helped. Another side-effect of her ‘condition’: She rarely cried. “I hope the day finds you well.”

“Much the same. Your father and I hunted often. I was so stunned when I heard his horse had thrown him. He was an excellent equestrian.”

“If his death surprised you, then you couldn’t have studied our history too closely. Horses were a popular way to go. I always told Daddy he should avoid them.”

The solicitor cleared his throat nervously. “Well, he was a man who little liked being told what to do.” Oh, he’d heard. “Have you had a chance to read over the papers?”

“I have. Do you know, I think Daddy liked riding because he thought he’d sorted the curse. He did all sorts of things he shouldn’t have…” Anna picked up the papers and started to leaf through them. “Ate fish with bones. Boated. Fenced. He even liked to toy around with firearms, though he was a terrible shot.”

“Er, yes, quite the character. Do you have any questions about the settlement?”

Her gaze landed on the settlement. A heady amount for a peasant. A paltry amount for one who might live as long as an elf. “I don’t know if I would have called him a ‘character.’ But he really thought he had beaten it. Even if he hadn’t, he was still a credit to the name, don’t you think?”

“Yes, just as your cousin shall be. I’ve heard he’s quite the bright lad. He’ll marry well, I have no doubts. It’s what your father would have wanted.”

Anna smiled, keeping her lips pressed together. “My father is dead. What he wanted doesn’t matter.” And she tossed the papers into the fire.

The solicitor cried out as the flames consumed them. He reached, but a word of magic made the flames hungry, consuming the parchment in seconds. He turned on Anna, hatred in his eyes. “You prissy little bitch…” He stepped towards her, one hand going for his pocket. Anna, too late, realized how alone she was, how easy it would be to pay off the servants. He pulled out a gun. “You know, maybe this is easier. The despondent daughter eats a bullet and saves the Howes some gold–“

A hand wrapped around the man’s neck, inky black and trailing a dark smoke. In an instant, the solicitor was thrown across the room, cracking the plaster and wrecking the wainscotting. His head lolled at an unnatural angle and his eyes stared blankly. Anna found herself staring at a dark form, a woman, but her face was gaunt and her eyes shone with a terrible light. (In a creepy font) Misstress… it hissed in a voice from beyond the grave, and it reached for her. Anna heard someone screaming, and it took a moment to realize it was her own voice. The hand touched her cheek, and all went black.

[ < A Prologue ] [ Next > ]

Dhampir$: A Prologue

Author’s note: I’ve recently started a PF2 stream with a few friends on the Twitch channel Roll the Role. The premise: A bunch of dhampirs with the same ‘sire’ have banded together to make coin, a name for themselves, and sort out their complicated past and future. To get read for this, I wrote a backstory for my snobby summoner Anna… This takes place several years before the first game.

[ Next: Dhampir$: Family Reunion (session one) > ]

The Acadamae was never quiet, with students working at all hours to please patrons who were rarely satisfied. The first three years of a student’s life was never easy, balancing studies with constant work assigned by professors and older students. It wasn’t uncommon for a student to stumble, bone-tired, into a magical trap and end up eviscerated, exploded, or banished.

So common was this, in fact, that a permanent nook had been set up in the main courtyard for remembrances: Flowers, candles, letters left sealed in wax and never to be read. The name of the student (or, in the case of a particularly good trap, several students) would be painted onto a plaque, and their likeness added beneath that. On this fair fall evening, the previous name had been washed away, and a new one left in its place.

The last fallen student had been popular, a catfolk named Jyrre who had been quick with a smile and a joke, but not so quick with gusts of flame. The platform had overflowed with tokens, but these had been cleared away. The new name was one that the students barely recognized, and the portrait that went with it didn’t help matters much. Everett Danisoe, human, only on campus for a few months. The only tokens were from the followers of Pharasma, who leave a token for everyone, and one from a professor who was likely more annoyed that she’d have to find a new gopher.

A woman stands in the courtyard, eyes appraising the paltry offerings. The best word to describe her is ‘pale.’ Her hair is blonde, close to white. Her skin looks as if the sun has never touched it. Even her eyes are gray. Even her dress is a dull blue. She looks as though all of the color has been wrung out of her, leaving only traces behind. The only mark of color she wears is a patch on her cloak, marking her as a student of the second year.

After a moment, she’s joined by two more second-years: A red-cheeked young man with a baby face and a mop of dark hair, and a half-elf man, his skin ruddy and eyes shining with a strange light. The apple-cheeked man curses at the tableau. “Not even a week. Pity.”

The half-elf frowned. “Did you know him, Jace?”

“I ran into him a few times in the library. I told him to be careful around the southern perimeter.” Jace sighed and pulled a coin out of his pocket. He whispered a prayer over it and laid it on the altar.

The woman tapped a finger against her lips, a sign of her thinking. “Did he have family?” Both of the men froze, and looked at her. She gave them a measured look. “I’m merely curious.” She looked at the half-elf. “Maizon, you have some shifts in the records office, don’t you? You could find out.”

The half-elf sighed. A sane man would tell her no, but he simply nodded. “I’m sure someone will be claiming his body, Anna. But I’ll check.”

✱✱✱

Maizon was wrong.

When it was his time to work in the records office, he found some time to steal away and read poor dead Everett’s file. No next of kin. The only contact was a distant friend of the family’s, and he’d approved of Everett being interred in the cemetery next to the Acadamae. It was, after all, free. He didn’t even want the poor man’s paltry possessions.

Golarion was set to forget him.

He told Anna. Of course, he told Anna. She was too good at reading people to risk lying to her, and he had a feeling if he told her no, she simply would have bribed someone else to check for her. She brightened when he told her, though as always, that never quite translated into a smile. She had the continence of a porcelain doll. Some noble thing, he assumed.

“Excellent. Let’s meet in the lab tomorrow. Usual time.”‘

And she left to go bribe someone completely different…

✱✱✱

The ‘lab’ was actually a rented basement apartment. The owner upstairs was a pesh addict who seemed to be happy to turn a blind eye to whatever was going on under his feet in return for favors Maizon didn’t like to ask about.

Jace and Anna were already there… as was their ‘guest.’ On a long oak table, Effron was laid out, face already puffy and discolored with decay. He was clean, though (Anna’s work, he guessed), and his modesty was covered by a cloth (probably Jace).

Anna was inspecting a tray full of wicked tools when Maizon came through the door. She looked up. “Ah, good. He’s in remarkably good shape for having tangled with one of the traps. Normally, they’re in more pieces. Can you help me crack the chest?”

Maizon picked up one of the more severe looking tools. The trio worked quickly, the sounds of cracking bones and ripping flesh muffled by a clockwork recorder, playing the sounds of a popular bard. They each had their own interests… Jace’s practical research leaned towards making items that could be used by the common man in the field, for areas where there wasn’t a healer nearby. Maizon leaned more theoretical, fascinated by differences in the various ancestries and how they affected their internal workings, and how it lead to some being stronger, or faster, or sturdier. Anna’s interest…

Maizon wasn’t quite sure what her interests were. She wrote her notes in a language he didn’t know, and she guarded her journal closely. Even talking to her about the natural sciences didn’t yield many clues: Her interest was so broad, she could talk about anything, but she pulled back as soon as he tried to go deeper.

Normally, Maizon wouldn’t have paired with her, but she had one thing he didn’t: Money. Money to pay graverobbers. Money to keep a pesh addict happy and silent. Money for hats of disguise to keep their movements secret. But not, apparently, enough money to skip to the upper echelons of the Acadamae, where she could study bodies without reporting to some gray beard about her findings.

She also lacked scruples, but that was something they had in common.

Finally, Jace sat back with a sigh. “Poor sod. I’m not sure anything could have saved him besides a healer in the room. The blade went through his carotid. Maybe a special patch of some sort?”

“Healer’s gloves?” Maizon decided to take a break as well. Jace snorted.

“That’s the problem with medicine in Golarion. It’s so magic focused. The gods have died and left before. They’ve refused services. And even if they were reliable, it’s not like we can put a cleric in every town. We need more practical solutions. Practical knowledge is lacking because magic makes everything so easy.”

Anna continued her examination of the dead student’s eyeball. “You’re starting to sound populist.”

Jace glared at her. “So sorry, milady. My concern for the common man must be distressing for your delicate soul.” His tone dripped with sarcasm, but she shrugged it off.

“Hardly. It’s just an observation.” She picked up a spoon and, as delicately as if she were retrieving a cherry from a syllabub, plucked the eye from its socket. “I agree, you know. I think it’s absurd that knowledge is hoarded.” She snipped the nerve. “The elder mages aren’t clever: They simply moved faster. They’re standing in the way of progress.”

Jace blinked. “Oh… well. Glad to hear we agree.”

“Mm.” She looked between Jace and Maizon. “I can clean up the body. My associates will be here to retrieve him soon. You two should probably head back.”

The ‘should’ wasn’t a suggestion. Anna may sometimes use conditionals, but her meaning was always in absolutes. Jace and Maizon cleaned themselves up, donned their disguises, and headed back to the university, the smell of the grave still clinging to them.

✱✱✱

It was a week later when Maizon was woken by the slamming of a fist on his dormitory door. He stumbled out of bed, and for a panicked moment, he considered throwing himself out of the window. Yes, he was three stories up, but if he were lucky, it would kill him. Surely, someone had found out. Someone had found out about all of the bodies they had stolen and dissected and even though they were all returned surely they had broken enough laws to leave the three of them disgraced, ridiculed, and hanging from a scaffold–

But then he realized the voice on the other side of the door wasn’t security. It was merely his neighbor. “Maizon! Get up! The library!”

Maizon wrenched open the door to find himself face to face with Garundi whose dark skin was strangely pale. Maizon tried to merely look annoyed rather than panicked. “What is it?”

“It’s Jace.”

And then Maizon saw the rest of the other man. Blood splattered the front of his robes. He didn’t have to say more.

Maizon dressed in a hurry and sprinted across the campus to the library. The crowd was still there, in the east wing, near one of the sections that was riddled with traps and alarms due to the nature of the books within. A newer student sat on the ground sobbing, rocking, covered in blood, moaning about how the ‘other boy’ had been trying to help her and how she wanted to go home…

And, in the crowd, a gray rose amid weeds, stood Anna. Of course. She looked unwell, her normally placid visage cracking as she stared at the body that had been her friend. The trap had left his body mostly whole, but had shredded his chest open, making a mess of his internal organs and bones and muscle and skin. Jace’s face was frozen in a look of surprise, tinged with resignation.

Maizon went to Anna’s side, tempted to ask what happened, but it was obvious. Instead, he did something he’d never done before. He took her hand. It seemed natural, but he almost immediately regretted it. He was shocked at how cold her skin was, as if she’d been holding a ball of ice seconds ago. Her slim fingers locked with his, though, and he couldn’t pull back.

“I have enough for them to bring him back,” she said, a tremor in her voice. “Not in this body, but… good enough. He has work to do. This can’t be how he ends.”

Technically, students had to pre-pay for reincarnation or resurrection, and most didn’t have the funds. But the Acadamae wasn’t above bribes. Money solves many problems. Anna had proven that over and over again… One of the permanent staff in the natural sciences wing agreed to take her gold, and with the addition of a few gems, even offered to show them the ritual.

It was fine, Anna kept assuring Maizon. It was dealt with. She had it under control. Jace would adjust and they’d be back to work in no time. Maizon started to wonder who she was reassuring: Him, or her.

The day of the ritual, the sun was blotted out by gray heavy clouds. As they set out the oils and herbs and recited the incantations, the rain started to fall heavily against the windows. Time stretched, and the air grew heavy with the smell of incense and the storm. The final words were spoken…

And nothing happened. The staff member sighed.

Anna was still as death, holding her specially cast candle in her hands. “Well?”

“I’m sorry. Pharasma has closed this–“

Her words were cut off by dozens of bottles shattering. The light of the candles dimmed, Maizon felt his blood run cold. For a moment, no longer than a heartbeat, he swore he saw something behind Anna, shadowy and indistinct. Anna was the only one who didn’t jump. Instead, she carefully set down the candle and smoothed out her dress.

“Someone will be by to collect him. We’ll attend to his burial.”

And she swept out of the room, glass shards crunching under her shoes.

✱✱✱

Of course they didn’t take the body to the morgue. Maizon had hoped his cohort had found it in her, just this once, to rein in her curiosity, but no. The staff in the morgue had looked at him blankly and said they never got such a body in, and had been informed a private caretaker was dealing with Jace. The only ones he could imagine Anna going to all pointed to each other, claiming to have never seen the body of a young student.

In a rage, he stormed over to the secret lab. As he threw open the door, he realized he should have gone there first. Jace, affable, concerned, self-sacrificing Jace was laid out on the table, flayed open, his innards spread out over several tables, his eyes staring blankly to the uncaring heavens.

Anna didn’t even look up. She was too busy examining the man’s still heart. “I was wondering if you were going to join me.”

“He was our friend.”

“Alive, he was our friend. Wherever his soul is now, he’s our friend. But this? This is a husk that we can learn from. I want to know why the ritual failed. He would have wanted us to–“

Maizon was never known for moving fast, but he found speed now. He crossed to where Anna stood and grabbed her arm. He wrenched her back, forcing her to look at him, something dark in his mind telling him to hurt her if she wouldn’t listen to reason– And then, he was across the room. His chest ached, and he realized that this was because something had hit him. Hard. Hard enough to send him flying. He looked up, and saw the shadow behind Anna once more. It blossomed out from behind her, a nightmare made real. And Anna…

For the first time, he saw fear in her eyes.

“You should go,” she said, a tremor in her voice. “Before…”

He didn’t stay long enough to find out what would come next. He scrambled to his feet and was gone, as the sounds of shattering glass filled the room behind him.

✱✱✱

Nights passed. He saw the notice that Jace had been buried. He left tokens at Jace’s portrait. He visited the grave and wondered what was under his feet. He’d forget the whole mess. He merely had to survive another year. He only had to keep his head down. After a week, he had almost convinced himself that this was possible…

And then the reports came from the graveyards: The dead rising up.

All recent students.

All students that had been in that secret lab, under Anna’s careful knife.

Anna got word to him, and they met at the memorial. She looked unwell. Her skin was paler than usual, and there were circles under her eyes. She started, before he could say anything. “He won’t rise up like the others.”

Maizon’s fists tightened, then released. “Because the resurrection didn’t work?”

“No.” She tugged at her cuff, a rare show of anxiety. She didn’t elaborate. “I’m going home. I’ll need someone to accompany me. You could make yourself free, yes? It’s only until things calm at the school. It’s simply too difficult to focus right now, don’t you agree?”

It wasn’t really a request. Maizon signed, nodded, and left to put in his leave of absence notice.

✱✱✱

At the very least, she traveled in style.

She had a carriage that was sturdy and comfortable. The only complaint (coming from Anna) was that it was several years out of fashion. She hired a driver who agreed to double as a porter, and he found them two sturdy horses. They packed quickly, and were on the road within a day, barely noticed by a panicking campus. No one seemed to question their rapid departure. After all, they’d been friends with Jace, and Anna, a noble, was already seen as ‘weaker’ when it came to ‘troubles.’

The porter, a rough half-orc, spoke no Elvish, so that’s what Maizon and Anna stuck to, when they spoke. Most of the time, they sat in silence with the books they’d borrowed for the trip, or worked on theoretical research. It wasn’t until it was clear they weren’t being pursued that Maizon felt comfortable asking about anything more than where they might stop on the way.

“Why don’t you think he’ll come back?”

Anna looked up from her book. “Because I only looked with him.”

“The others. They’re you?”

She sighed and set her book aside. “I suppose. I thought the rituals had failed, but… perhaps there was a delay. I wish I could have looked one over before we left. They burned them, though.”

“How shortsighted,” drawled Maizon, but then dropped the sarcasm. “Necromancy. That’s been your interest all along. Why? You could go to Geb and have endless research material. You could make a fortune out there.”

She rolled her eyes. “Necromancy isn’t just churning out endless undead. If I only wanted coin, I would have stayed home and gotten married. This is… personal.” She looked out of the window, raising an eyebrow at the landscape. “We’re close.”

“Changing the subject?”

“Not really. But some things, you have to see. If my guess is right, we’ll be home by dinner tomorrow.”

And she settled back in with her book. Apparently, the discussion was over.

✱✱✱

Anna was right. Before long, they were riding through a small town. It was downtrodden under gray skies. Some buildings were empty, abandoned long ago. Those that were filled blocked out the day with heavy, dark curtains. Anna frowned as they rode by, her fingers beating a nervous tattoo on her knee.

For only the second time, Maizon dared touch her, taking up her slim fingers in his. They were ice cold. “Something’s wrong?”

She nodded, only once. “Black curtains. It’s a local tradition.”

“For what?”

“Keeping out evil spirits. Something’s happened.”

And again… Anna was right.

The LeClerche estate was large, and in better times, might have been lovely. But now, the orchard was rotting, the grass was a sickly yellow, and the colors of the building had faded into a muddy brown. The only thing fresh were black banners set to hang from the parapets. Anna’s face, normally expressionless, was suddenly fragile. She laughed. “Oh… it always had a sense of timing.” And then… she was crying. Maizon searched frantically for a handkerchief.

“What is it?”

“My father. He’s dead.”

✱✱✱

They were greeted by staff in deep mourning and fed cold funeral meats. They seemed confused to see her, since they had just sent a notice, and hadn’t expected her for at least another two weeks. She waived off their questions, then sequestered herself with her family’s solicitor.

Maizon took the chance to freshen up. The estate was large, and if it were better maintained, would be comfortable, but as it was, every room held a draft, and the air was thick with the smell of mold and mildew, even if the room looked clean. Still, he was tired, so he found himself falling into a deep sleep before long.

He dreamed… a woman, pale of hair and skin, eyes dilated with need, dressed in a pale chemise that was mostly lace. The bed shifted to accommodate her weight as she joined him. Her cool body warmed to his touch. Her breath, strangely sweet, as they kissed. The way she nuzzled his neck, cooing for him to relax… And then a pain, sweet and sinful and dangerous– His hands went to lift her chemise, but something shot out from the dark, shaped like a person, but lost in inky tendrils. It pulled the woman away and pushed him into the abyss.

He woke up with a start, crying out and reaching for the dagger he always kept on his nightstand. It wasn’t there, because he wasn’t in his room. No, he was in a different room, larger, quieter… and there was a woman sitting at the foot of his bed. He shook off the sleep and sat up. “Anna?” He twisted his fingers and produced light.

She’d been crying. Of course she had been crying. Her father had just died. What else would she have been doing? “I’m so sorry about your loss.”

She nodded, then held out a paper to him. “A letter of introduction. Magaambya should still be taking students, and our family worked with them in the past. This should be enough to get you a seat. It would suit you better.”

He read the note. Whoever had done the wordsmithing knew their craft. Maizon sounded like a god’s gift to academia. “Will you be coming?” She shook her head. “Ah. I… suppose you have to be the Lady of the House, now.”

She gave him a thin smile. “No. My position is uncertain.”

Maizon frowned. “Are you illegitimate?” He pushed himself up, realizing he had probably overstepped. “I mean, no worries if you are. I’m a bastard, myself. Some elf bard came through town and did what elf bards do.”

She shook her head. “No… It’s more that my existence is something of a gray area.” She smiled, and it was only then that Maizon realized he never saw her smile. At best, if she laughed, her mouth was hidden behind her sleeve. He assumed it was a noble affect, or her feminie side coming out.

By the light of his magic, he saw her fangs for the first time.

The smile vanished. “I’m still leaving, though. I have research to do. I’ll simply do it elsewhere. Good luck, Maizon.”

And with that, she left his room. Maizon’s fingers went to his neck, and came back wet, spotted with his blood.

[ Next: Dhampir$: Family Reunion (session one) > ]