The Vampire & Her Witch

Old Fabiene’s tale of Nyrielle’s legendary battle in the arena of High Fen City captivated the entire hall. From the esteemed guests at the high table to the lucky servants who waited at the side for orders to fulfill, the Frost Walkers listened in rapt attention.

Bit by bit, the elderly woman recounted the Blood Princess’s ordeal, facing one challenger after another while enduring grievous wounds. As Fabiene continued her story, parents lifted up their children, pointing and whispering to pay attention to a tale they would likely never hear told again.

Lord Ritchel himself leaned forward, his massive frame casting a shadow over the table. On his plate, a half finished portion of fish lay forgotten as he became engrossed in the tale. He’d heard the story before, but this was his first time hearing it in so much detail from someone who had actually witnessed it.

Somehow, when the story was distilled down to simple facts recounted by his grandfather, the enormity of what Nyrielle had accomplished felt almost... ordinary. His grandfather said she was strong enough to do it, so she was strong enough to do it. Only now did he realize how savage those battles must have been and how agonizing the injuries she suffered in the process truly were.

Beside him, Hauke sat transfixed, his mouth slightly agape. The glow in his horn pulsed erratically, flaring with excitement when Fabiene spoke of victory and dimming to a pale flicker when she spoke of Nyrielle’s horrific wounds. He glanced at Nyrielle, then back to Fabiene, struggling to reconcile the elegant vampire at the table with the relentless warrior in the story.

"Father," Hauke whispered, his voice barely audible so as not to disrupt the story. "Is this why you always say we cannot lose the goodwill of the Vale of Mists? Because of Lady Nyrielle?"

"This, and many other reasons, my son," Ritchel said solemnly. "Listen closely, and remember how hard she fought for her people. She saved more than just the Vale of Mists with her courage. You could do far worse than to learn from her example."

Further down the table, Paulus glowered as he overheard Lord Ritchel’s words. Certainly, Lady Nyrielle’s actions sounded grand at the moment, but in the end, had she truly treated her allies well? From the stories he’d heard, this battle didn’t gain her any allies, only kindling to burn in the fires of her vengeance, but these fools were too blind to see it. At least, too blind at the moment.

"I came back the next night," Fabiene said. "And I watched her do it again. More men surrendered, but word had spread that a person could become a Lord of the Vale of Mists if they could defeat one vampire in the arena, and even stronger fighters began to come forth."

For Nyrielle, the stronger challengers were what she needed most, but in the depths of winter, many of them took several days to arrive. Still, she couldn’t stop. Once she’d made her declaration, she’d wagered her future and the future of the Vale of Mists on what she could achieve on the Arena sands.

"Ten days," Fabiene said. "The sons and daughters of Eldritch Lords and High Lords came from countless miles away to take the Vale of Mists from her, but none of them did. Some pierced her through with spears and one man severed her arm, but no one could claim victory."