Tales of Ravenloft

Undefiled

Fire ran through the knight's veins, burning his body in the pain of his struggle. His legs blazed from the constant effort to keep upright, to keep moving, and his arms felt like two hot pokers pressing into his shoulders as he held the unconscious form of his sister. Each breath ripped spikes of fiery agony into his lungs.

A vampire!

His mind raged at the thought of the attack. For the hundredth time, he mentally reviewed the battle. Guilt caused him to wonder if there was anything else he could have done to save his sister from the coma the vampire had forced on her.

In his mind's eye, he again saw the battle, saw himself drawing the sword:

Leaping from his bolting mount, the knight had activated his weapon's magic to slay the vampire with sorcerous fire and enchanted steel. The sword struck the vampire's side, and the creature hissed and turned away from the still form of his sister. Rising with bloody fangs, it stepped back. The knight would never forget the red glare of the undead monster's eyes.

"Leave the woman and go," the creature growled.

Its words tried to beguile; the vampire's magic prodded at the knight and commanded him to flee. . but his sister's life was at stake.

He raised his sword again and uttered a word. A blast of intense mystical heat bathed the vampire in flames. The creature must have had some type of magic of its own, because it stood proudly in the flames, flames that had turned many a previous monster into ash.

"Your puny weapon's magic can't hurt me."

Despite his words, the vampire was favoring the side where the enchanted sword had first struck. Maybe the magical flames weren't effective, but the cold steel of the blade had done its work well.

"Begone, foul creature. I've holy water and the cross of my god to protect us. "Filled with energy, he raised the silver cross. The flames of the sword were an afterthought, but they worked well to cast the shadow of the cross on the undead thing.

The creature's flesh erupted in fire, causing the monster to swirl into a man-shaped green mist.

"As the sun sets, Knight, I will be back with the strength darkness gives me. Prepare to feel my fangs when your sword and cross mean nothing," warned the creature's disembodied voice.

The green mist had blown away with the wind.

The remembered words of the monster sent new strength into the knight's legs. He had to find somewhere to hide before night fell. He wondered if he should again try to wake Larom, but before nothing had roused her from the unnatural coma. Holy water, healing potions, even gentle slaps had failed to open her eyes.

As the mists lifted before him, the answer to several prayers appeared ahead in a large valley. At the valley's center was a walled city.

Surely within the walls of that place there would be protection from the vampire.

The duty of the first speaker was to get the congregation quiet and ready for Friar Whelm's sermon. During the first speech, people could still walk in, as latecomers often did, but when the White Friar spoke, no one was allowed to disturb his message. Though he demanded absolute attention, Friar Whelm never gave a long sermon, for he believed temple pews and worshipers'bottoms weren't meant to be long in contact. First speakers,

on the other hand, often weren't as merciful: today's first speaker, a merchant, rambled on pointlessly.

"Estrangia, my brothers and sisters, is a dark, gloomy city cowering behind its tall walls. Fear has governed the people of the city for centuries. Fear's name is Crave, a vampire who considers our metropolis his dinner plate and has feasted well for over four hundred years.

"In the past, those bold enough to attack the undead monster have found themselves transformed into his minions. Today, such bold folk are gone from the dreary streets of Estrangia.

"In the past, those brave enough to try to move elsewhere found themselves drained of blood before they left the valley. Today, there are no brave people rousing the populace with talk of stakes and crosses.

"In the past, those stout of heart enough to remain in Estrangia prospered. And they are we: enduring, hardy souls living under the fear of the vampire. Today, Estrangia grows, filled with the lucky and not so lucky as the vampire Crave feeds once a week.

"Our Temple of White Hope presents the only bright spot in our lives. Legends tell of the founding of the temple, even before the coming of Crave. One day a white-robed friar came within the walls of the city and brought hope and love with him. From that time on and down through the centuries there has always been a single such friar serving the needs of the growing city.

"Our temple is now the oldest building in the city. Its white marble walls glow with a holy power, even in the darkest part of the night. Its single spire rises above the gray and black buildings around it, and nothing is taller. The bell in the spire brings worshipers to the daily service. Ringing clear and heavenly over the other sounds of the town, the bell welcomes the middle of the day.

"No matter how large the city grows, there always seem to be enough benches to welcome worshipers into the spotless temple walls. Not everyone in Estrangia worships at the temple, but everyone respects the good friar who works here. Whenever Crave takes a victim, the good friar visits the families, even if they don't believe in the God of White Hope. His comforting words make things seem better somehow.

"Let's raise our voices in song as the last of us enter to hear the words of the friar."

In reply to these words, the congregation began to sing, and the melody filled the temple to overflowing.

Once the parishioners finished singing, they sat. It was the normal crowd of people today. The poor tended to rest in the back where no one could see their threadbare clothes, while the rich took up positions in the front for just the opposite reason. Kids, being kids, fidgeted beside their parents. Sometimes they were put on their mothers'laps, and that would quiet them. Sometimes a caring father would give them a sweet to nibble on during the service.

There was one special white pew right at the front of the temple.

It was for the friar's favorites.

Every service, several distinguished worshipers were ushered by the friar himself to the front of the temple. All sorts sat up there at one time or another: rich, poor, meek, mild, young, old — though for some reason there weren't many old people in the congregation.

Those sitting in that special pew were smiled upon by the faithful. At each service, Friar Whelm explained the act of kindness that entitled each worshiper to a place of honor on the front pew. Sometimes a child had been kind to his little sister or had helped around the house. At other times someone had given gold to a soup kitchen. Always, the person's good deed had aided the community.

On rare occasions during the service, a spark would emerge from the friar's eyes or hands and float out to one of the people sitting in the special pew. The spark was a sign from the gods that the person was being blessed. It could happen anytime during the service, though lately it had been occurring right after the first hymn. While Friar Whelm was speaking, a white light would flow from him and touch one of the people on the special pew. The person would fall over, unconscious, and others, hoping the spark would touch them, would joyfully catch the lucky soul. That person would awake tired but happy a few minutes after the pale spark spewed out. It was also said that these blessed individuals looked older and wiser from the touch. Parishioners tended to be nice all week long with the hope of sitting in the special pew and being recognized by the gods.

Now all eyes turned eagerly toward the front of the temple, where Friar Whelm stood in long, flowing white robes, preparing to speak. To his right, in a pearly marble alcove, stood the ten-foot-tall statue of the God of White Hope. The snowy, cold stone robes of the statue were just like the pearly ones Friar Whelm always wore, robes that remained clean no matter what work the good friar performed. The short, snowy hair and balding head of the god resembled those of Friar Whelm as well. Some said this was the merest coincidence. Others whispered it would be grand if an incarnation of the god actually serviced their temple. Many were oblivious to such talk, but proclaimed for everyone to hear that the friar gave a damn good sermon.

He began to speak, and his pure voice reached out to everyone; he never needed to shout. Today the talk centered on lost ones.

Three days ago, Crave had taken a little girl, and her family sat in the special pew for this service. Their grief, clearly written in their tired eyes and slumped bodies, was shared by many around them. Several times during his sermon, the friar approached them and repeatedly prayed for the little girl. He spoke eloquently, almost wistfully about the unsullied innocence of the lost daughter. Speaking with the sound of grief in his voice, Whelm sermonized about the little girl, about the intelligence in her eyes and the energy in her tiny body. He reached out to the parents and touched them, tears rolling down his full cheeks. Both parents began to quietly sob, bending over with exhaustion and grief. Ever louder, ever more vigorously, he eulogized the power of this family and their strength in loss.

Just when he was coming to the main point of his sermon, the doors burst open at the back of the temple. A huge warrior, outfitted in plate mail, strode boldly through. In his arms he carried a beautiful, unconscious woman.

"Someone please help us!" The knight took three more steps and collapsed from exhaustion. Even then, as he fell, he made sure the woman took no harm.

Men rose to remove the warrior from the sacred place, but Friar Whelm waved them back. "He seeks aid, and he could not have known of the weapons ban in the temple. What is your name, Sir, and what has happened to you and this fair one?"

The warrior threw off his ebony helm and revealed a care-worn face, rugged and handsome. "I am Lord Tenet. . A vampire attacked us. . Our horses went wild with panic. They threw us. . "He gasped in exhaustion. "I fought the creature, but it seized my sister, Lady Larom. . Help her, please!"

"Rest easy, young warrior. I'll do what I can, with my god's help. Did you kill the vampire? "

"No, damn me for a weak fool. My sword cut deeply into it, but the monster turned into mist and floated away, leaving me to tend my sister. Cease this questioning! Can you help her, or must I…" He was too weak to continue.

Lifting Lady Larom up as if she were a weightless child, Friar Whelm placed her on the snowy marble altar. The white of the stone matched the ashen color of her flesh.

"Pray for her, my people," Friar Whelm asked as he examined the huge bruises on her arms and face. He noticed several hidden pockets in her crimson gown, holding what he took to be mage's spell components.

Lord Tenet needed help to rise and come to the side of his sister. "She's only seventeen. If anything happens to her, I don't know what it will do to me."

"I feel the same way about my flock. Don't worry, I can take care of most of her wounds. Lady Larom — is that her name? "

"Yes, that's right. Her friends and I call her Lar."

The friar closed his eyes and stroked his hands over the unconscious woman's tangled hair. Her pallid expression marked her blood loss as did the fang marks in her neck. Even near death, her beauty showed through. There was an energy and power in this woman that the friar very much appreciated.

Several of the more helpful parishioners gathered behind the warrior at the altar. They noted the woman's pallid skin and wan movements. Her eyes opened, but there was no intelligence behind them. "Grave's work for sure," some of the watchers whispered. Most of the congregation held little hope for her survival. Looking at the brother, some of the parishioners backed away at the thought of having to tell him about his sister: it was common to stake the heart and take the head of someone bitten by Crave.

A smile filled Whelm's face as he chanted words of hope and love. His hands moved deftly and swiftly, circling over the still form of the woman. A chalky mist spewed from his palms and drifted over the bruised flesh. Frosty blasts of air hit everyone in the congregation.

Truly their friar worked a miracle this day.

In seconds the woman was lightly covered in snow.

"What insanity is this?" Lord Tenet reached for his weapon, but didn't have the strength to draw the blade. "Stop him, someone stop. . "The warrior fainted. He'd done too much that day, already, and his body collapsed into blessed unconsciousness.

Friar Whelm stopped his hand motions and lightly blew the snow from Lady Larom's body. The flakes of frigid whiteness wafted throughout the temple and melted as they touched the worshipers. Each one singled out by these cold flakes sighed in wonder, touched in a mystical way by the icy flakes.

Most of the snow, however, fell on the warrior. His bruises and fatigue melted away with the flakes. Where wounds were, now only chalky, undefiled skin remained on brother and sister.

The healing took a toll on the friar. He looked visibly older. One of the congregation moved to steady the friar, but was waved off.

Reaching down, the friar helped Lady Larom rise from the altar. She shook her lovely head, and a cascade of raven-black hair moved in a tumble down her shoulders to her supple waist. Life and intelligence clearly returned to her.

"Where am I?"

"You're in a house of hope and light!" Friar Whelm said, loud enough for everyone to hear.

"Hope and light!" The congregation chanted back, all with mindless smiles on their faces. Miracles! They'd seen wonders to tell their grandchildren. Truly wondrous occurrences filled their hearts with joy.

Lord Tenet woke, surprise filling his face. A born warrior, he knew how long it should have taken to recover from the exhaustion of the vampire battle. Stretching his whole body, he found himself free of pain and full of vigor. In the past, he'd never had much use for friars and their talk of peace and brotherhood, but this cleric had saved his sister and healed him.

"Brothers and sisters, let us welcome Lord Tenet and his sister, Lady Larom."

Awe and respect filled Lady Larom's face. "I've never met anyone like you. What did you say your order was? "

"I serve hope, the light of truth. If you will permit me, we can talk of the faith in the weeks ahead as you rest and recover."

"Rest!" interrupted Lord Tenet. "That's just what we can't do. We're going to ride out of this valley while there's daylight!"

"You will be attacked by minions of the vampire in countless numbers, numbers even too great for your magical blade and battle skills."

"Then I'll lead you and some of these other men to kill the creature," Lord Tenet said. "I've killed vampires before. We must go, now!"

Many in the congregation shook their heads. They knew what the knight was feeling.

"My order and my people are of a peaceful nature.

None of us can stand against the might of the undead Crave. With faith in the light and enough hope in your heart, the monster won't come and attack you again. Won't you believe, Sister?" The friar took Lady Larom's hands in his and smiled down at her.

A shining glow of faith filled her pale face as she turned toward her brother. "Tenet, I feel so weak. I can't help you with my magic. Won't you wait until I'm stronger?"

"I've weakened the creature. I know it. Now is the time to strike. Won't anyone help me?"

Everyone's head bent down. No one could look into the bold eyes of this powerful man.

"My congregation, be not ashamed that you don't go with this man. None of us are warriors, but all of us do what we can for our families and city. Lord Tenet, if you must go — and I recommend against it — you'll find the creature in the cemetery north of the walls. Crave is guarded by minions who don't fear the light, and by cunning traps. It will know of your coming and will be prepared. May hope and light go with you, my son."

"Hope and light," The congregation intoned without conviction.

Lady Larom turned, trying to leave with her brother, but the good friar held her back. "You can't go with him. I have restored his strength, but you are still weak."

One hand went to her brow, and a rush of fever overtook her.

"I, I do feel faint. Please, where can I lie down? I need to rest."

The friar took her into his study, and the congregation let itself out. Lord Tenet stood for a moment, worried about his sister. He couldn't think of a safer place for her than behind the walls of a temple. Holy ground was usually safe from most foul creatures, and especially the undead. Grasping the hilt of his sword with grim determination, the warrior went to kill the foul beast that dared to harm his sister. Looking at the sky overhead, he saw the sun come out of a light scattering of clouds and took it as a good omen.

Lord Tenet easily found the tumble of toppled gravestones that marked the cemetery beyond the walls. Warrior's senses, sharpened from hundreds of battles, searched the area for traps and enemies. Several large mausoleums dotted the fenced area, but a large one in the center caught and held Tenet's attention.

"Why is it always the center one?"

As he had expected, skeletons, zombies, and ghouls leapt out at him as he approached the vampire's lair, but his sword of magical flame made short work of these lesser foes. Holding his flaming blade aloft, he charged the crypt door with quick steps and an armored shoulder. The ancient wood gave way with a splintering crack, and he was inside.

"Crave! I've come to kill you!"

The light of day and the fire of his sword revealed a huge stone sarcophagus in the room beyond, and on the far side of the room, a set of stairs spiraling down into the depths. There was no doubt where those stairs led, but a sound of crying came from beside the stone coffin, in this very room.

As Tenet carefully maneuvered the area, heading toward the sound, he noticed that the lid of the coffin was carved into the shape of a warrior at rest. The stone man in plate mail had a comely form and bold manner. Tenet couldn't help thinking it was in just such a noble coffin that he would like to be buried when the gods saw fit to grant him death.

He rounded the corner of the sarcophagus and discovered a little girl curled up into a ball, sobbing, her hands covering her face.

"Don't hurt me, don't hurt me!" She screamed in panic.

"The vampire must have been keeping you for a snack. You're not large enough for a full meal." Tenet sheathed his sword and tried to get the spratling to uncurl. "There, there, little one. No one is going to hurt you. We'll get you back to your parents, but first let's get you into the sunlight, where you'll be safe."

A gravelly voice erupted from the tiny fanged maw," No!" Talons reached for the knight.

Suspecting something like this, he'd kept a stake in his hand. Lashing out, in one strike, he put the little one to rest for eternity.

"You won't find me so easy to destroy."

Lord Tenet whirled as Crave floated into view from the stairway. The foul stench of rotting flesh and ancient blood wrapped around the monster in a dusky mist while dark clouds rolled out from it and blocked the sun's rays.

Twirling in the air, the vampire floated to the top of the arched vault and glared down at Lord Tenet.

The knight drew his sword and blasted flame at Crave.

"I thought we'd decided your magical fire couldn't hurt me," the creature hissed with a smile. "Now it's my turn."

With a few gestures and words, the vampire cast black bolts of energy from its talons, striking the knight in the chest. His armor glowed white for a second, then dimmed. The knight appeared unharmed.

"A magical sword and magical armor? I had no idea you were such an enchanting fellow. I guess we'll have to do this the old-fashioned way. "The monster hurled itself down on the knight. As it fell, its talons, muscles, and fangs grew larger and larger.

Flaming sword out, the knight pierced the breast of the monster as its talons ripped and tore at his armor. With every blow, the vampire raged at Lord Tenet, but the knight grasped his sword with two hands, causing it to tear and burn at the vitals of the undead thing.

"Yes, it hurts! Yes, it burns! But you'll be dead before your blasted weapon kills me!"

The vampire ripped off the shoulder plates and helm of the knight and sank its fangs deep into his throat. New energy filled the vampire as it hurled away the sword that had caused it so much pain and ripped apart the body of the human who dared to use the weapon.

In one gruesome moment of raining blood, the knight was unmade.

For hours after the battle, the vampire lay gasping for life on the cold stone floor. Shards of the sword were still buried in its flesh, preventing it from regenerating to full health.

Crave could hardly think, the pain was so terrible. It needed more food; it needed the sister and knew where to get her.

Many hours later, it gathered enough energy to turn into mist, then floated into the city, seeking a meal seasoned with revenge.

Sitting by herself at the funeral, Lady Larom seemed fully recovered from the previous day's attack. Several congregation ladies had donated their clothes and other accoutrements to properly outfit her for the temple service. An ivory shawl draped a snowy blouse and creamy, form-fitting skirt. It was obvious to the women that Lady Larom looked good in white things.

Many had sadly shaken their heads at her hair. The lustrous, dark tresses of yesterday were peppered with gray today, and the sheen of her hair was also gone.

"It must have been the horror of the attack," some had said behind concerned hands.

"The loss of a loved one can often do that, too," others had added, thinking of times when the friar had come to their houses.

But now, all the voices were silenced, for Friar Whelm was beginning his eulogy.

"We are here today to honor and mourn a brave man. Some would argue a foolishly brave man, but I would never say that. "Whelm's hand reached out and touched the now-graying hair of Lady Larom.

Looking up, her devotion and respect plain to read in her face, Larom shed a single tear.

"This wonderful lady took up the faith of hope and light, taking it into her bosom. That strength comforts her in this sad hour. The vampire must have taken her brother as it has taken others down through the centuries. But she sits here, a shining example of what hope can do. Pray with us, brothers and sisters."

The service was simple and quick. Friar Whelm made sure Lady Larom went home with respectable people, people who would feed her well and take care of her, people who would show her the ways of the city and help her learn how wonderful it was to be a part of the temple.

Friar Whelm wanted her around for a long, long time.

Filled with vigor it hadn't known in centuries, the friarcoraltan closed the doors of the temple, warding them from entrance. The portal wasn't locked, but anyone coming to the doors would suddenly find something else to do.

It needed to rest after feeding so well. It wondered if it should have used an energy spike on the woman: the herd expected such things. But the undead thing was so full that the thought of taking more energy during the normal feast time made it nauseated.

Then it felt a presence in the warded temple, an energy source it hadn't felt for centuries.

"Crave?" the coraltan asked the empty air. "Didn't I tell you never to come in here after your first foray into the city?"

Turning from mist into monster, the vampire gasped in pain while leaning against the altar.

"I had to!" Fear and anger mixed with a plea for help in the sound of the vampire's voice. "Part of that warrior's blade is still in me. It burns; the pain is unbearable. Do something, or I'll perish and you'll be left to your own devices."

"Perish? You can't do what you've already done, and perishing is something we all do but once. Go back to your comfortable dirt before I become angry."

"I want the sister. You've sensed the energy in her. I must have her, and I will. Today. Now!"

The coraltan shed its robes like a snake shedding its skin. Standing before the vampire, the creature revealed its true, undead nature, its desiccated and worm-infested body, and the vampire knew itself for the puny thing it was. Crave curled up before the transformed friar, much as the vampire girl before Lord Tenet.

"I won't hurt you while you remain useful. Come, let me heal your wounds and show you the light of truth."

A spark spewed from the tangled maw of the coraltan and sucked energy from the vampire. It used that energy to heal the wounds the magical sword had made. Judging from the damage done to the vampire, the warrior would have made a nasty foe. The monstrous friar was glad.

"Did you turn the knight into a minion, or drain him dry? "

"After the pain he caused me? His body is in pieces all over my lair. His weapon and armor hide forever in a sarcophagus ten men couldn't open. Now, may I have her? "

"The Lady Larom is much too tasty a morsel for the likes of you. Feed, as we agreed, in your own way. I'll feed in mine."

The coraltan stroked the head of the vampire as the creature rested in his lap. A look of wearied peace was on the face of the vampire.

The White Friar started growing new robes and thought of its next sermon. . and the need to talk again about patience. .