#v:cabal

Fat on blood and glory, the vampire army marched toward its next target: the walled city of Draumverg. The walls had been erected relatively recently in defense from the demons that now plagued every corner of Nosgoth. As the army approached under cover of the new moon, they found Draumverg’s wall alight with torch fire and studded with surly men in heavy plate. This time they had been expected.

Draumverg might have had a numerical advantage, but numbers meant little against an army of the damned. Even a young vampire could easily overpower three humans at once. Undeterred, the army advanced on the walls. 

Suddenly the gates began to creak. Chains rattled and gears turned, raising the  porticullis. The army momentarily halted. Was this surrender? 

Fruedenberg had disappeared. A small army of vampires, a menace long considered extinct, overwhelmed the isolated hamlet in a single night, massacring the guard and rounding the civilians into cages. No other town or city in Nosgoth yet knew of Fruedenberg’s fate. Like light from a dead star, news traveled slowly. 

Vorador awoke sluggishly, lured by the music of human misery. Birthing new vampires from the residents of Fruedenberg took its toll, making him feel as weak and blood starved as the ravenous fledglings lurking in the chapel undercroft, but his purpose was sustained by rage. 

Inside the chapel sat rows of humans fresh from the cages, wrists and ankles bound, mouths stuffed with dirty cloth. Gleefully he slit their throats, squeezing and draining them like oranges while the rest looked on with teary eyes of horror, their faces screaming, Why? Why!? Vorador did not reply. Having sated his thirst, he grabbed a human by the bindings of her wrists and dragged her down the stairs to the undercroft to be food for his new children. 

There were three. All had been raised from the pitiful cemetery behind the chapel, for the bodies in the undercroft belonged to the priesthood. Those who had been poor in life made better, more malleable recruits than self-righteous holy men. 

However, one of his children seemed to be missing. When he interrogated the first two they explained that the third recruit, a woman, had been acting strange and violent, so they chased her deeper into the undercroft. Vorador huffed as he tossed them their food. 

This sort of behavior was not unusual for fledglings. When left alone it was only natural for them to try attacking each other, but they quickly learned the blood of other vampires did little to sate their gnawing thirst. At least the situation seemed to have sorted itself out. 

“Have you ever killed a human?”

The answer was plain: Mae had never killed a human being before. Her eyes were too innocent, too full of fear from the mere question of it. Vorador held in a sigh. 

Vorador - in his human guise, Vincent Blackwood - chuckled softly and refilled her mug with the Red Raven’s finest.

“I don’t believe I’ve heard that one. I can only assume he mistook the poor creature for one of Infernus’s children.”

Vorador, under the guise of Vincent Blackwood, showed no reaction to Marcus’ thinly veiled threat. He came here to persuade Marcus to join the Cabal, not to exchange quips.

“You must realize this ‘alliance’ is only temporary. Suppose your master succeeds in wiping out the Cabal, why should he stop there while still vampires still live in Nosgoth?”

They put their gear together quickly. While he waited for Mae to finish getting ready, Valesco burrowed a moment of Umah’s time to make her aware of their plan to spy on the wrights doing maintenance by the opera house. He worried Vorador would object if he told him directly. Fortunately, Umah seemed to understand.

“Just in case,” Valesco explained to Mae as they made their way to the secret exit in the ally behind the Blue Lady. “Not that I think we’ll need her help. It’s just a good idea to have someone who knows where we are. Besides, I wouldn’t want Vorador to worry.”