The Baron Cortier is perched in the window. On his face, rage. He glares down at the book bound with purple vellum. This time there will be no parley. Leaping forward, he grabs Icoriol by the throat and throws him out the window with inhuman strength. The elf feels the cool air rushing past his face, but just in time he grasps the windowsill with his fingertips. He dangles one-armed 60 feet above the misty courtyard. Behind him and over the wall, he hears the sounds of the soldiers of Sarath dying to an undead hoard.
On the ground floor of the study, Talari and Balthazar use their body weight to keep the trap door closed. Brutish wardens pound the door from the other side. The wood splinters, the lock breaks. Behing them, they hear a forlorn moaning from an unseen chamber on the other side of the southern wall. Undeterred, they fire spells towards Cortier, but he has already crawled out the window and on to the roof.
Looking down on Icoriol, who is struggling to climb, the vampire baron aims a spell, but is intercepted by Siriel, who has used her acrobatic experience to vault seamlessly onto the domed roof of the study and parries Cortier’s spell arm with her rapier. The two engage in melee under the light of the full moon, his brute strength versus her poise and finesse.
The moaning behind the wall inside the study grows louder and louder until, with a furious crash, Rykus Kilran smashes through the wall. He still grasps his two swords, but his body is lifeless beyond lifeless. An undead mockery of decaying flesh. From his mouth and eyes bubbles viscous green liquid. Following him are five skeletal soldiers gripping sabers. Talari and Balthazar climb the ladder to the upper platforms of Cortiers study before they are swarmed, covered by a strategic blast of mental energy from Monkey. The blow causes his head to ache and his nose to bleed, but he demolishes the skeletons with ease.
He also demolishes the trapdoor keeping the brutish wardens at bay. They surge into the room and begin climbing the ladder with Rykus. With nowhere else to go, The Friends begin climbing out the window onto the roof where the melee with Cortier rages.
Siriel has taken several heavy blows, though she has returned them with likely-powerful stabs. Despite her assault, Cortier’s flesh stitches itself together, aided by his unholy curse. Hanging from the window, Icoriol fiddles with his belt, grasping at a bottle of holy water. Above him, Monkey has reached the window and starts pulling him up.
“No, I need to get on to the roof!”
Monkey thinks for a moment, then closes his eyes. With a great rush of energy, Icoriol is lifted up as if being thrown by a mighty giant. Siriel, seeing the sight (but being no stranger to taking advantage of whatever strange things happen around her) leaps into a weaker position by the edge of the roof. Cortier, seeing his opponents mistake, launches a punch to send her hurtling off the roof. His fatal blow is interrupted by an intense pain - a burning he has not felt for many years. Icoriols holy water strikes true, melting the flesh on the vampires face. He hisses and retreats to the other side of the roof, hiding his face behind his cape. When next he looks, the rest of The Friends of Orthos have arrived.
He grimaces at Balthazar, the object of his fight. At Talari, the pesky spellcaster. Where is that strange one with the powers of the mind? He must still be below. His face burns. How dare they insult him like this? Not only had they escaped, but they had returned! How many times had he overcome similar foes in the centuries of his life? How many magical secrets taken from meddlesome interlopers? He cannot lose his head. But this pain! When he attains his own sainthood he will make the rest of them pay for this burning. He glances at his foes between his fingers. Yes, he must calm himself. There are but four of them. He still retains the upper hand.
Corter lifts his hands and chants a spell. Great plumes of fire wrap around The Friends as they leap into the fight. It’s an even match between the experienced friends and the vampire baron. Talari’s cuts through the air with his bladesong, Balthazar wields blasts of divine force, Siriel dances in and between other combatants, taken sneaky strikes. Icoriol’s turrent provides cover and support to his allies. Below, Monkey battles Rykus and the wardens.
Despite his regeneration, Cortier begins falling behind. His arcana runs thin, his spells losing potency. The Friends are similarly battered but, for the first time, he considers that he may have met his match. He hates to think of escape for the interlopers have his book - his collection of magic from the ruler of the sunless age. Rage bubbles in him again. But is simmered by temprement. A failure will be a humiliation, but he can outlive humiliation. He will have his book back, even if it takes a century (or a millenium - damned elf!)
Monkey’s cry of pain from below distracts The Friends. Rykus and the wardens have finally ascended to the topmost floor of the balcony. Monkey’s mental prowess is unmatched, but he cannot compete against the physical might of Cortiers creations. He falls to their punches.
The Friends know that Cortier is on the ropes. They have seen his eyes dance furtively toward the sky. They know he can turn into a bat, and they know there is little they can do to stop it if they retreat to help their friend. They suddenly have to make a very tough decision.
In a mere moment stretched out to a minute, Balthazar considers his allies. His tools. Does the effort of saving the psionicist enhance his chances of completing his goal? Perhaps, but he cannot be sure. He has known this person for a short time, though they have journeyed on the road together. Still, he finds himself leaping off the roof, plummeting through the air, grabbing monkeys body slumped out the window, and activating his divine ability of teleportation to bring him safely to the roof. A purely tactical decision… or could there be something else at play? His divine soul stirs quietly.
Cortier has not wasted the divided attention. With the last of his strength he leaps off the tower and transforms into a bat. He flaps his wings madly, aiming for the full moon. The freedom of the open sky.
The moon seems to get larger and larger, then begins rising. Up and up, out of his grasp, out of his eyeline. It begins passing him again, from the bottom of his eyes up and over again. He feels the pain in his wings as he realises what has happened. A well aimed bullet from the demonhorn girl (how he underestimated her!) sends him tumbing through the sky, back towards the roof where The Friends stand waiting! A being as old has he has long eschewed fear, but he feels a similar sensation in his rage. Enough for him to forget himself. He transforms back into a vampire as he crashes to the ground, claws and fangs exposed. He lunges toward Siriel, but it is his own scream that echoes out in the night as Icoriol intercepts his leap by smashing a bottle of holy water over his face.
Staggering back, he clutches his burning face. The Friends bear down on him, closing in for the final blow. Cortier looks inside himself, welling up lifetimes of arcana into one final cataclysmic spell. The object of his wrath, his key to the celestial mountain, and target of his spell is Balthazar. The chaos erupts from his fingertips, shere bolts of magic that transfigure streams in the air into water and fire, dust and feathers, claws and steel. These streams of annihilating chaos pierce Balthazar, tearing across his flesh in great streaks. It obliterates his flesh, tearing meat from the bone. Balthazar’s body is thrown backwards across the roof.
But not his soul.
With the divine fury of all the celestial mountain, the light explodes from the rooftop, bathing the castle courtyard in bright white light, harsh shadows projected like long spikes stretching down the castle. The energy sears into Cortier like sunlight, cracking his face like porcelain and burning his eyes to ash. The uncaring light of the gods afflicts The Friends as well, burning them badly, Icoriol so much so he falls into unconsciousness.
Cortier howls a long howl, centuries of careful preparation escaping into the night sky as he has failed to do. He begins to lose corporeal form, transforming into a mist, the barest essence of him that can remain, animalistic, and flee through the night. Now pure instinct, he lets his forgotten fear rule him. He flees in every direction he can.
But he is stopped, again, but a thick clock quickly wrapped around him. His every exit blocked, he wafts fearfully, angrily through a maze of tumbling cloth, looking for any out. And lo, he spots one! A fatal gap in the last defence against his escape. He surges forth through the gap, out into the sky, out into escape!
But to his horror, he finds himself stopped yet again, this time by an invisible sheet, and realises the trick. He has not been freed, but coerced! The opening led into a glass jar held by Talari - that blasted mage! Before he can escape, it is sealed behind him. As a mist, he cannot exert force. The glass is impenetrable. There are no gaps.
The Baron Cortier is well and truly trapped.
The Friends are elated, though injured. In the distance, they watch the undead armies fall apart, their master no longer able to maintain his enchantments. A precious few men, but a fifth of the soldiers of Sarath, retreat along the road. But the danger has not yet passed. Rykus Kilran, last remaining loyal servant of Cortier, corrosive green fluid leaking from his face having degraded his skin, claws his way onto the roof. The last will of the vampire baron attempts to finish off the unconscious Friends, but Talari and Siriel come to their aid. They throw their betrayer off the roof, where he impacts the ground in a great green sizzling explosion. In the study, The Wardens bash the walls angrily, but they are too big to get onto the roof, and lack the dexterity to in any case. At last, The Friends are safe.
The Friends set up a makeshift camp atop Castle Cortier. In the center, the jar containing the mist of the vampire baron. They consider what to do with it, ultimately deciding the peace in knowing he is destroyed is greater than any magical potency his mist might lend to icoriols constructions.
The orange glow of the sun washes over the land as it crests the horizon. The Friends surmise the land from above Cortiers study. The mist on the lake seems lighter, floatier, more free to move than before. The grass seems to move in the wind with carefree ease. Lake Odol, which the castle looks down on from high on its cliff, sits contented. Eventually the golden radiance of the sun finds the bottle in which Cortier sits trapped, and with less ceramony than one would think, obliterates him completely.
Thus ends the tale of the vampire baron who sought sainthood. In the coming days, The Friends tale spreads all throughout Cortier. Many knew not of their barons monstrous nature, but it feels as if a heavy weight has lifted from the land. The roads become safer, the nights less dim. Local militia and volunteers arrive at the castle to aid in the redistribution of it’s stolen wealth. Religious artifacts returned to the church, monstrous Wardens cleared out, much magical treasure secured for The Friends of Orthos.
One question remains unresolved, weighing heavy on everyones mind. Now that the baron is gone, who is going to rule?