The Ascendancy of the Vampire

22. The Sage Of Shadowdale

The party of six traveled the mountain pass trail, following Mint’s map. Over the next several days, they learned more about each other, and the group fell into a new routine. Along the path, they encountered a variety of enemies, allowing them to get a feel for each other’s abilities.

A flock of harpies nested near a cliff face. These sadistic birds were monsters with black eyes, messy hair, claws, and upper bodies reminiscent of old women. Their lower bodies had scaly legs and clawed feet, and they used their siren song to lure and charm victims into approaching them.

This particular group, which had chosen to make their nests among large roots jutting out of the cliff face, enjoyed toying with their victims, making charmed individuals fall to their deaths. The harpies would then fly down to the victim’s body and feast like carrion birds.

The song started before they even realized there were harpies nearby. Karlach, Shadowheart, and Night fell under the charm. Karlach walked to the edge, then immediately started climbing down the precarious cliff, entranced by the harpies’ call.

Astor held one arm around Night’s waist, lifting her feet off the ground and preventing her from walking. She squirmed in his grasp.

Kal held Shadowheart by her arm, similarly restraining her.

Wyll peeked over the edge, seeing Karlach already halfway down to the nest. He picked out which harpy held the charm over her, then threw several eldritch blasts. The force of the spell hit the harpy sharply, pushing it out of the nest. It was distracted by the attack, spreading its wings to fly, and Karlach’s trance broke.

Karlach blinked, confused about what she was doing and why she was hanging off the cliffside, grasping a loose root for support. Wyll called down to her, quickly explaining what was happening, and her anger flared. How dare these dirty birds toy with her mind like this?

She held her greataxe in her hands, and in one heavy jump, she landed in the largest nest, shaking the entire base. The harpies gathered around her, using large bones to hit her or attacking with their claws.

Fueled by her rage, her body grew hotter, and she swung her greataxe in arcs around her, clipping through multiple monsters at once.

The party above could hear the shrieks and cackles from the harpies as Karlach beat them into a bloody mess.

“She…has quite a temper,” Astor said. He recited an incantation, one he had been practicing, and then hurled a small bolt of fire. It hit a harpy in the shoulder, causing it to scream and caw and glare at Astor. Distracted, it didn’t even react as Karlach cleaved it in two.

Wyll flung more eldritch blasts down to help Karlach. His aim was accurate and true, hitting each harpy in the head.

Night and Shadowheart snapped out of their trance, looking around in confusion. Night was indignant about being carried by Astor like she was luggage and demanded to be let down. Astor rolled his eyes and tossed her into a bush.

Kal explained what was going on, and they all watched Karlach, cheering her on.

Finally, the harpies were all dead, but before Karlach could celebrate, the roots that acted as a makeshift platform shook, coming loose from the cliff face. Karlach started falling with the nest.

Before Night could react to help, Kal jumped off the cliff, transforming into his dragon form. He caught Karlach on her way down, and she climbed onto his back, hugging his thick neck for support. As they climbed into the sky, she stared in wonder at the mountains and valleys, the sun high overhead.

They circled the group, eventually landing. Karlach laughed loudly, patting Kal on his rump.

The group encountered numerous swarms of undead. Death shepherds, ghouls, skeletons, and ghasts wandered the trail near sunset, traveling in small parties of their own. With Karlach’s greataxe sweeps and Wyll adding to the group’s magical arsenal, they had a good balance in skill set against the monsters. The undead hordes became more of an annoyance than a problem because they were active past dark and constantly triggered the camp’s wards, disrupting their rest.

Weary after consecutive days full of combat and feeling sleep deprived, the group was eager to reach the forest that would lead them to Moonrise Towers. They could see the forest in the distance, a swath of dark, swirling shadows looming on the horizon, but they were still several days out.

One evening, as the sun slowly set, the party found a man standing amid a large group of undead. At first, they raised their weapons, ready to help. But then the man gestured with his hand, quickly summoning a beam of radiant fire that fell from the sky, burning the horde. The monsters all dropped to the ground, their bodies strewn at the man’s feet.

Night pushed to the front. “Elminster?”

“What?” Astor did a double take.

“The very same. It’s good to see you alive, Nightingale,” the man replied, dusting off his hands and turning to greet them. He eyed Astor’s pale complexion and red eyes. “And you must be the vampire, Astor.”

“Erm, yes. That’s my name,” Astor replied.

“What are you doing here?” Night asked, frowning.

“That’s a strange question, is it not? You sent me a letter asking for my help.”

“I only asked for information.” Night stepped closer, and then she suddenly grabbed Elminster’s hand. “Aha, you’re frigid. You sent a simulacrum.” Night dropped his hand and smirked. “A mortal’s avatar.”

“Well, yes, I am a busy mage,” Elminster said, sounding annoyed. “This avatar will have to make do. Now, where is your camp?”

Night introduced Elminster to the group, and then they found an open plateau to make camp. The party made themselves busy preparing dinner and setting up tents. A stack of unlit wood sat in the center of the space.

She watched as Astor flicked fire bolts into the stack until finally, a fire caught and grew.

They turned around, looking toward an ornately carved table surrounded by wooden armchairs. The furniture had appeared at the edge of the plateau, overlooking the valley below. Sunlight was quickly fading as the sun disappeared past the horizon, but the area where the furniture stood was in was lit, small orbs of light hovering overhead.

Elminster sat in one of the armchairs, picking at a plate of cheese and dried fruit that Wyll had graciously prepared. He looked up, gesturing to the other two chairs beside him.

“So,” Elminster said, regarding Astor as he and Night took a seat. “I have with me notes collected by an acquaintance of mine, on the topic of the Rite of Profane Ascension.”

“Who’s your acquaintance?” Astor asked curiously.

“A devil who works in Mephistar,” Elminster said simply.

“That’s Mephistopheles’ base in Cania,” Night explained.

“As you can see, this information must be closely guarded lest my informant’s identity be leaked.”

“We won’t spread it. I only need to know the details of the ritual so that we can prevent it.” Nightingale explained that she thought Astor’s vampiric master was attempting the ritual.

“Then see for yourself,” Elminster said, passing a scroll of parchment to Astor and Night.

The scroll was in Common, and they read through the contents together. It described the ritual in more detail, explaining that a sacrifice of at least seven thousand mortal souls was needed.

Each sacrifice had to have the ritual runes inscribed somewhere on their body, all slightly different. The runes acted as a counter for the soul the body contained, so that Mephistopheles could keep track of how many souls had been sent.

At the ritual’s completion, the vampire who performed it would become a vampire ascendant, a living vampire with increased physical abilities, pushing them to the upper limits of vampiric prowess. Their body would receive all the benefits of the living, including body warmth, the ability to gain sustenance from food, and a reflection in the mirror. They would no longer burn in the sun, and their hunger for blood would greatly diminish.

Astor’s eyes widened in absolute bafflement, and his fingers gripped the armrest tightly, his mind racing. Such a ritual exists? And Velith had been planning this? For how long? Seven thousand souls? How could she even gather that many?

He paled as realization crept in. The victims her spawn were to bring back every night. It made no sense that she was consuming that many bodies per day. She must have been stashing them somewhere, preparing them for the ritual.

Night was already questioning what she was reading. “How can this ritual be real? Vampires are undead powered by the Negative Energy Plane. How did Mephistopheles manage to make living undead?”

“That’s a good question, and I asked my informant the same.” Elminster’s eyes twinkled. “The exact way the magic of this ritual works is a closely guarded secret, and they were not able to figure it out. But they hypothesized the ascendant is not a true ‘return to being alive,’ but rather a condition that gives symptoms similar to those listed.”

“That seems plausible,” Night said, tapping her lips. “Perhaps Mephistopheles will use infernal magic to mimic the traits. But then this seems like false advertising. I could sue him in Infernal court.”

“That trial would be quite entertaining to watch from the outside,” Elminster said with a chuckle, “but if he doesn’t use living vampire verbatim anywhere, he is safe, legally speaking. These are rough notes. We do not know the exact contract Mephistopheles offered.”

Night nodded in agreement.

“What does this mean?” Astor pointed to the bottom of the parchment. “This says two contracts are in progress. Two?”

“Two vampires are currently preparing for this ritual,” Elminster explained. “We don’t know their identities, though.”

“We are pretty sure one is Astor’s master, but…that’s interesting. Who could the other one be?” She turned to Astor. “Any ideas?”

“Velith hid this from me, and I’m literally wearing the runes. It’s not important anyway, as long as I’m not the one on the sacrifice list.”

“True,” Night agreed, “but now I’m curious.”

Astor’s expression hardened. He looked at the scroll again, his fingers tapping the table. This was information sourced directly from the archdevil’s own home. This meant Velith would have no idea Astor knew what she was up to.

At the edge of the plateau, Elminster talked animatedly, gesturing with his arms like he was giving a passionate lecture. Meanwhile, Night wore an expression of frustration and annoyance.

The two were deep in private conversation. The rest of the camp watched from near the campfire.

“Is that Night’s granddad?” Karlach asked Astor.

“What?” Astor laughed, like he had heard a funny joke. “Oh, wait, you’re serious.”

“Elminster is a famous wizard,” Wyll explained. “The Sage of Shadowdale. He’s done a lot for the people of the Realms, saving them from multiversal threats and working with the gods directly. He’s the most famous Chosen of Mystra.”

“So he’s like a hero?” Karlach asked, trying to understand.

“More like Mystra’s tool,” Astor scoffed.

“Night does not make working for Mystra sound very flattering,” Kal agreed. He threw more logs into the firepit, its flames growing taller and brightening the campsite.

“It’s less about the work and more about showing your dedication to your god,” Shadowheart explained, slowly chewing a meat skewer. “That’s what being one of the faithful is about.”

With Elminster’s departure, Night was not in a good mood. After her shower, her hair dripped water all over the couch, and she wore a permanent scowl.

Astor took the hairdryer, sat her down, and helped her dry her hair.

“Thanks,” Night said. Finally dried, her indigo hair was fluffy and messy.

“So what did you and Elminster talk about?” he asked casually.

Night turned to look at him, opened her mouth, and then closed it again, looking away.

“Never mind, you don’t have to tell me,” Astor said quickly, already feeling like this was going to be a pain.

Night took a deep breath. “We were discussing the matter of my…previous employment. And what headspace Mystra is currently in about my…future…”

“Your future?” Astor asked. “Wait—you’re not wanting to become her chosen again, are you?”

“If she would have me back, I would agree to take up that mantle again,” Night replied meekly.

Astor stared aghast. “You want to be her slave?”

“Being a chosen is not being a slave, Astor.” Undeterred, she launched into a speech. “Those years were the most fulfilled I’ve ever been in my life. I felt like I stood at the very precipice of existence, able to see the building blocks of reality. But I wanted more.” She covered her face and bowed her head in dramatic anguish. “If she would elevate me, grant me divinity, I could wield magic the gods use. I could create! I could transcend mortality!”

Astor stared. “Are you saying… you wanted her to make you a god?” he asked slowly.

Night grimaced, and then nodded, lowering her hands. “Now, before you think that is a ridiculous notion, let me tell you that Lord Azuth used to be her mortal chosen, and she granted him divinity, allowing him to ascend to godhood.”

“But the Lord of Spells is subordinate to Mystra. For eternity.” Astor gave a confused look. “Why would you want that?”

“I…” Night looked down. “I see your point.”

“Plus, your existence becomes tied permanently to a job,” Astor continued. “Doesn’t that feel like chains?”

“You’re only looking at Kelemvor. He’s different. Being God of Death is a huge responsibility. Most gods don’t have that much to do.”

“It’s still a job.” He paused, then looked at her cautiously. “And…what was Elminster saying that upset you?”

“He lectured me, saying I’m naive, immature, and that my hubris is why Mystra kicked me out. Nothing I haven’t already heard.” Night picked some lint off the couch. “What do you think?”

Astor didn’t speak for several moments. He could tell her what she wanted to hear, take this opportunity to flatter her and get on her good side. But instead… “I think—well, he’s not completely wrong.”

“What?” Night flared up, her voice high and loud. “Which part?!”

“For starters, it is true that Mystra kicked you out because you overreached, is it not? That sounds like hubris to me.”

“Astor!” she yelled, gritting her teeth. “You’re supposed to be on my side.” She moved toward him, and then shoved him into the sofa arm.

“Wha—hey. You’re the one who wanted me to be honest with you.” He pushed her back, and she fell onto the cushions. “And it is true that your constant need for more is what got you into your current predicament.”

“I made one tiny mistake—” She threw a pillow at his head, and he caught it. “And you! You only ever use the excuse of being honest to be an ass.”

“I’m being honest because I know this is important.” He chucked the pillow back with a bit too much force. There was a sharp thwack and a muffled yelp as it hit Night squarely in the face. It dropped to her lap, revealing her expression of outrage. Her nose was red from the impact.

A tense silence followed. Then she smiled with mischief. Lunging at him, she tackled him into the couch.

“You—“ Astor gasped, the breath knocked out of him. He was confused, not understanding what was happening. Was she upset? Or…

Night giggled as she sat on top of him, pushing his cheek into the cushions. She looked down at him with a smug expression, while he lay there, perplexed.

“Look at what I caught,” She pinched his cheek. “It’s a vampire! Whatever shall I do with him?” Her expression turned wicked, and then she leaned down and bit Astor on the tip of his long ear.

His ears were sensitive, and he yelped in surprise, pushing her away. How dare she—?? In one fluid motion, he rose, flipping her around, and then he was the one on top, pinning her to the couch. He held her by each wrist.

She was still laughing, and he paused for a moment, watching. Then he smirked. “You insolent pup,” he said darkly.

He lowered himself, his nose brushing her cheek. “You don’t toy with a monster and get away with it.” He nibbled the soft spot under her ear.

Night gasped. “Astor—“ she breathed, squirming under his hold. “Wait—“

She hadn’t reacted with magic, and emboldened by that thought, he moved lower. His fangs extended instinctively. The collar of her nightgown covered half her neck, and his fangs brushed the skin above it.

Night tensed, and he could hear her breathing quicken. She expected him to bite and didn’t push him away. She was allowing it.

Astor remembered the bitterness of her blood, and he didn’t want to taste that again. Instead, his cool tongue brushed her neck, leaving a wet trail of his saliva.

She squealed loudly, her voice cracking.

He burst out laughing. “What was that, Night? You sound like a dying cat.” He propped himself up and looked at her. She was blushing hard, dazed and breathless.

Night met his eyes, and then, in embarrassment, she shoved him off her. “Stop teasing me,” she mumbled. She rubbed her neck and fixed her collar, looking away.

But Astor saw that she was smiling.

Too easy, he thought.