CHRONICLES OF STORMHALLE.
By Stark Winter.
 
The vampires came in through the southern gate. It only opened at night, which earned it the Lunar Gate nickname; and only once a month at that, when the vampires sent word that they were approaching the city, bringing the precious resources that could only be found outside. The solid iron gates slowly creaked open, moved by the combined effort of ten strong men.
 
Past the thick defenses, imposing walls, and towering turrets, which they had been watching from miles away, went the vampires, stepping into the main street that, now, after decades of repeating this same dance, was actually quite familiar to them.
 
The cobblestone road was, usually, more than wide enough to accommodate its usual fare of peasants hurrying to and fro, hawking their wares and calling out to potential customers from their haphazard stalls, along with the occasional horse and cart, and on either side of it were lampposts that cast a warm glow over the area.
 
At that moment, though, the street seemed small and cramped, if only for the sheer number of people that had congregated there for the event. For a moment, there was silence, despite the several hundred huddled together in the congregation along the main street.
 
Several flags and colorful banners fluttered in the breeze, and the sound of cheering filled the air as the first sights of the vampires were seen by the fearful, yet hopeful humans. A group of knights atop magnificent steeds led the reception, armor gleaming in the moonlight. Nestled between them, walking on foot, were the vampires, their saviors.
 
The vampires’ gait was slow and deliberate, and their movements were fluid, almost ethereal. Behind each of them billowed long, flowing cloaks, as dark as pitch, with fitted dresses and suits underneath that caught the moonlight and cast it back in a thousand different hues.
 
Looking out at the crowd, Keth'vah noticed how excited the people were about her arrival. Most of them cheered and waved, visibly grateful for the resources that she brought, yet she couldn’t help but notice the presence of some who looked on with suspicion, or even terror. She could feel their eyes on her as she passed by, her every move watched and analyzed.
 
There were many times she was called a striking figure, Keth'vah - and a natural leader, too. Slender and tall, with long, pitch-black hair that falls in loose waves to her waist, and smooth, pale, nearly translucent skin.
 
For the humans’ sake, she put on a little show, moving with a graceful, almost regal bearing, easily commanding the attention of all those around her. Her piercing green eyes scanned the crowd, taking in their reactions to her presence, and a small, enigmatic smile played across her lips.
 
“This never gets quite old,” Keth'vah muttered to herself.
 
“You tell me.” Drathir agreed. He was smirking - in fact, he was always smirking. Keth'vah learned to ignore that. “Don’t you ever miss them? The old days?”
 
Drathir, or troublemaker, as many referred to him, was tall and lean, with angular features and piercing blue eyes that were never looking at one single thing for too many seconds. When it wasn’t tied in a loose ponytail, his long, jet-black hair fell down his back in waves.
 
Keth'vah gritted her teeth and cast a glance at the humans around them.
 
“Oh, please.” Drathir chuckled. “Don’t you worry about them. It’s like they’re not even here.”
 
“Drathir, that’s enough.” Nyraxxen called out from the back of the group. Nyraxxen was taller than Drathir, and towered over the group even from where he stood. His tone bore no patience for talking back, and, thus, Drathir didn’t.
 
He just scoffed and moved back to his position, an action for which Keth'vah was thankful. The deliveries - that was the designation of their current endeavor - were an important affair, at least in Keth'vah’s mind. They could just as easily drop these resources and go about their business quietly, but then the humans wouldn’t get to look at them - their saviors, that is.
 
And Keth'vah knew, better than anyone in their little group - for as far as her knowledge of their personal stories went - just how important that was. These humans were kept caged up their entire lives. If they didn’t get to see something to prove that it was all necessary, they might start having ideas. And that, the vampires couldn’t have.
 
Of course, it's not like Drathir was finished trying to stir up trouble. That would be the Bloody day.
 
“And what about you?” Drathir inquired of Noktal, who was walking with her hair in front of her eyes. Drathir brushed the wild strands of curly chestnut hair back around her ear.
 
Noktal was the third vampire on the formation, owner of a petite form, high cheekbones, delicate features, and a skin that was pale to the point of translucence. She was currently the only one who wasn’t wearing the billowing black cloak - Keth'vah guessed she probably gave it to a human in the crowd - exposing the muted colors of her loose, flowing garments instead.
 
“Hey, I was watching that.” Noktal pouted, her blue, almond-shaped eyes turning to look at Drathir with a deep, unsettling intensity.
 
“Excuse me?” Drathir asked, with a chuckle that didn’t quite come from his heart.
 
“You know how it goes, Drathir.” Vehemeth interposed herself between Drathir and Noktal, taking the strand of hair Drathir had just brushed away and putting it back in front of Noktal’s eyes.
 
Vehemeth was just a bit taller than Noktal, though Keth'vah knew she was glad not to be the shortest in the group. She could also claim long black hair and piercing green eyes, with the added benefit of a perfectly positioned small beauty mark, just above her upper lip, which only added to her allure. Not that she needed that, in Keth'vah’s opinion.
 
After a few muffled complaints from the young vampire, Noktal went back to whatever it was that she had been watching before Drathir interrupted her, not a care to be had in the world.
 
“I guess I should thank you, Vehemeth. For dealing with that.” Drathir gestured openly towards Noktal, who just ignored him. “And for being the only one here I can talk with. I swear, these people are going to have me walk up and strike up a conversation with a random human, next thing I know.”
 
“That would be most unwise, even by your standards, Drathir,” Vehemeth said, giving Drathir a half-smile and an amused glance from the corner of her vision.
 
“Yeah, even by ‘my standards’, that would be too much.” Drathir chuckled, knowingly adding a tad of self-consciousness to his tone.
 
“I know you don’t like being around kids, Drathir, but try to bear with us, will you?”
 
“Oh,” Drathir said, as if he had just realized something. “You’re under 200, aren’t you?”
 
“Could use a bit of subtlety when asking a lady’s age, but yes, that’s correct.” Vehemeth shook her head lightly, mock irritation laced with her tone. “Why’s that, if I may ask?”
 
“Because you’re not like the others, you know.” Drathir ran a hand through his jet-black hair. “Your age doesn’t stick out like a sore thumb. It’s actually hard to tell.”
 
“Alright.” Vehemeth chuckled softly. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
 
“As you should,” Drathir added, which earned him a mock push from Vehemeth.
 
The two then fell into a comfortable silence, both lost in their own thoughts as their group walked on towards their destination.
 
The knights around them knew better than to inquire as to what the vampires were talking about. They simply followed their instructions, helping part the sea of people that had formed on the main street; which they knew was only a prelude of what was to come when they reached the narrower streets that waited for them.
 
Raising her head ever so slightly, Keth'vah caught a glimpse of the towering Obsidian Keep that loomed to the northeast, its dark, smooth walls standing in sheer contrast with the dead gray of the buildings it towered over.
 
Out of habit, she looked to the opposite direction, and immediately regretted it, as the image of the crumbling spires, once-beautiful stained glass windows of the Six Churches, now shattered, and blackened walls, abandoned to vines and weeds, glued itself to her retina. Keth'vah pressed the memories of the children she used to visit at the Six Churches down, hard, and shook her head.
 
She wished her kind hadn’t needed to destroy the building, too, after having decreed the humans’ worship illegal while under their arrangement, if only not to add insult to injury.
 
Before their final destination, the Castle District, they needed to make a stop at the Greylane; once one of the richest districts of the city, its inhabitants competing with power with the royals themselves - now a nest of what Keth'vah could scarcely call greedy rats with a strange and cruel sense of longing for riches long gone.
 
Rats or not, they still bought a fair share of the resources they brought - metal ore, hardwood and cloth, baser materials to be passed through the skilled hands of the merchants who lived and worked in the Greylane, producing tools and offering services for the entirety of Castleholm. For that reason, both Vehemeth and Nyraxxen and a detachment of the knights in shiny armor stayed there, while Keth'vah, Drathir and Noktal went on to the Obsidian Keep.
 
They left what was known as the Summer District - a beautiful word for the slums - behind. Homes and gardens, grain storage facilities, brick warehouses and wooden lodges, vibrant markets, boisterous pubs, cemeteries, and brothels, all stacked on top of each other.
 
That was one of the things to admire about humans. Even when forced to live in such a small, confined space, they somehow made do with the conditions they were given.
 
Of course, they still depended on vampires like her to go out and gather the resources for them to grow and cultivate inside, but what they managed to accomplish was still commendable; not even the vampire kind’s pride could take that away from them.
 
“So, brave leader, what is our game plan?” Drathir inquired, as soon as Nyraxxen was out of earshot.
 
“Don’t overcomplicate this, Drathir.” Keth'vah answered dryly. “You keep your mouth shut and let me do the talking. Then you take your vessel and we’ll be on our way out.”
 
“Oooh. Plain and simple. Ruthless. You know, I think that’s why they chose you to be the leader. What about her, though?” Drathir put his hand over his mouth as he spoke and pointed in Noktal’s direction, an action which earned him an exasperated sigh from Keth’vah.
 
“I already know where my vessel is,” Noktal spoke out, before Keth’vah could swallow her irritation. “Do you mind if I go looking for her, Keth?”
 
“We all need to be present while delivering this to the city’s council, Nokt.” Keth’vah looked over her shoulder, her tone apologetic.
 
“It’s okay.” Noktal gave Keth’vah a understanding smile, before her expression turned sour as Drathir gave her a bump.
 
“Care to share with the class how exactly you know where your plaything’s at?” He asked with a grin.
 
“She’s not a plaything.” Was all the answer Noktal gave Drathir before puffing air out of her lips, causing her hair to fall over her face again.
 
“And we’re back to that same old game.” Drathir rolled his eyes.
 
“Stop trying to cause trouble, Drathir. We’re here to deliver a message, not cause chaos and undermine the system while we’re at it.” Keth’vah turned her attention back to Drathir, her expression cold.
 
“I know, I know. You’re always so serious, Keth. Why couldn’t I go with Vehemeth is beyond me.”
 
“Because Nyraxxen can’t stand you.” Noktal chimed in. “And neither can I.”
 
“Oh, look, she speaks!” Drathir shot back, not missing a beat.
 
“Let’s go. The council is waiting.” Keth’vah ignored the banter and gestured for them to follow her.