The Vampire & Her Witch

In the wake of two bitter wars that saw the death of her parents and the fall of the Vale, followed by a ruthless reclamation of the territory she’d lost and her blood-soaked vengeance on Cellach Lothian, Nyrielle spent years searching for something that would soothe the jagged wounds in her heart.

While it was true that Nyrielle had recaptured the Vale of Mists, she lost several of her forty-seven progeny in the process and even more in the war that followed when Cellach Lothian’s children came of age. Her heart was still filled with hatred, burning with the desire for revenge, but she was also haunted by a terrible, aching loneliness that had plagued her since her parents’ death.

Pouring herself into the reconstruction of the Vale did nothing to fill the void that threatened to consume her. Too many of her people refused to return, and those who did were as frightened as mice gazing at the shadow of a cat on the wall. They demanded safety more than anything, and so Nyrielle built the strongest walls she could, sealing the entrance to the Vale from the Lothian threat without realizing that she was only isolating herself further from the villages that couldn’t be part of the smaller, reconstructed Vale of Mists.

In the end, it had been a cook in the kitchens, a man named Yorig, one of Georg’s ancestors, who suggested that she seek out humans who might be worthy of becoming her progeny.

"We all have each other, My Lady," he’d said at the time. "And your champions are all fierce warriors. But... none of them are more than that, and few of them think of the Vale as a place where their heart belongs. They belong here because you are here and they are bound to you, but... they don’t care about us and they don’t care about fighting our enemies."

"The soldiers all know that they may have to fight again," the chef continued as he set out a small dish of her favorite pickled vegetables and sweet beets. "But they don’t have a champion among your progeny that inspires them the way you do. Maybe... maybe that’s what we’re lacking. And if none of our people in the Vale are worthy of being your progeny, then maybe our enemies have enemies among the humans."

"How did you become so wise, Yorig?" she asked between bites of the sweet and sour salad. "Where did you learn these things?"

"Everyone needs to eat, my lady," he replied. "Even you. And when people eat, they share their thoughts. I just happen to be good at listening."

"You’ve become wise from listening," Nyrielle said, giving the bearish chef a reevaluating look. "Are you sure you aren’t worthy of becoming one of my progeny? Just for your council alone, you would be worthy, and I wouldn’t mind being able to eat your cooking for many years to come."

"I’m honored, my lady," Yorig replied, bowing deeply. "But I have a wife and three little ones to raise. If I were your progeny, I’d have to..."

"Say no more," Nyrielle said, pausing before his words could pierce any deeper into her heart that still ached for the family she’d had with her parents and grandsire Torbin. "But I take your meaning. Take care of your own little ones," she said as gently as she could manage. "And when the time comes, if any of them wish it, I’ll be happy to have them cook for me as well."